A slightly disheveled cascade of dark green hair whipped through the air as Loran radiated surging magical currents. Fresh from her clash with Herman, both her body and spirit stood at their absolute peak. Merely standing there, she exuded an overwhelming pressure—unlike Melissara’s restrained aura, Loran now blazed with unrestrained sharpness.
Grace understood this was a warning meant for her.
Loran’s gaze flickered for a moment over Mushiyu’s face in Grace’s arms before shifting to Grace herself. She slowly lowered her sword tip toward the ground, extended her left hand palm-up, and tilted her chin—a clear, unspoken demand.
A faint smile suddenly touched Grace’s lips. She turned, gently placing the unconscious Mushiyu on the grass nearby, propping the girl against a tree trunk. Rising, she faced Loran, raised her own sword, and pointed its tip precisely at Loran’s throat.
“Let’s end this quickly,” Grace said, smiling.
The moment her words faded, thick Dark Aura erupted from Grace’s body. Deeper black flames ignited within her dark eyes—unnerving and mesmerizing.
Loran sensed it immediately: unlike Herman’s tainted darkness or Maelon’s savage fury, Grace’s Dark Aura was intensely pure. It swirled around her, viscous as royal ink.
“Are you a Demonkind imposter,” Loran asked, raising her sword as mana flooded its blade, making it glow with a soft white light, “or were you always one of them?—Sword Saint’s prized disciple.”
Grace ignored the question. “My master once told me that decades ago, he was defeated by the Elven Forest’s captain of the guard. That loss taught him the wisdom of sheathing one’s sword. He secluded himself for years, finally grasping the Great Way of Heaven and Earth. He said his greatest enlightenment came from you, Loran. Though not his first teacher, you were the one he revered most. He asked me to seek you out during my travels—to convey his gratitude.”
“That was his own realization,” Loran replied coldly. “It has nothing to do with me.”
“Regardless, his gratitude is genuine. As his student, I’ve long been curious about your swordsmanship. Today offers a perfect chance to learn.” Grace’s eyes sharpened. Her sword thrust forward in a flash. “Teach me!”
Loran reacted instantly. Poised for combat, she met Grace’s strike simultaneously, deflecting the thrust upward with a flick of her blade before lunging forward. Grace retreated smoothly, parrying the follow-up.
In that single exchange, both gauged the other’s skill. Without hesitation, they clashed again. Parrying, thrusting, flicking—every nuanced technique flowed seamlessly. Their focus was absolute, movements precise as woven silk, each strike measured to the millimeter. Razor-sharp sword energy erupted with every collision, carving deep gashes into the earth and tree trunks like axe blows.
Deliberately or not, neither fighter neared where Mushiyu slept. Not a single stray energy wave disturbed her. The girl slumbered on, though each metallic clash made her delicate brows furrow in restless unease.
Their duel was a perilous duet in midair—breathtaking yet lethal. One misstep would shatter the balance. The dance’s end meant death.
*—No wonder she defeated my master!*
*—No wonder she’s his true disciple!*
Similar thoughts flashed through both minds. Then their blades crashed together with a ringing *clang*. Mana and Dark Aura surged violently, forcing them apart.
Though brief, the fight had been as grueling as traversing Cursed Dragon Gorge before Adonis’s fall. Both panted, sweat beading on their foreheads. But Loran’s breathing quickly steadied, while Grace still gasped heavily. The gap between them was undeniable—especially after Loran’s prior battle with Herman.
Loran silently restored her mana, letting it soothe her muscles. Like in Cursed Dragon Gorge, this dead forest offered no replenishment. Her reserves were low—not enough to easily subdue Grace in this strange state, but sufficient to stall until Melissara arrived.
Grace clearly realized this too. Watching Loran recover, a flash of resolve hardened her crimson eyes.
“I *will* take her away. It’s my promise,” Grace said, locking eyes with Loran.
Loran frowned, puzzled by her fixation. Her gaze dropped to the ring on Grace’s finger, then recalled the human corpses along the path. Her eyes darkened. “You killed your fiancé?”
A shadow of sorrow crossed Grace’s blood-red pupils. She lowered her lashes, murmuring softly as if in prayer: “May he find true love in his next life.”
“Unfathomable…” Loran muttered.
Grace lifted her head, smiling faintly. “Aren’t you the same?”
As if struck, Loran’s eyes widened. Her mind reeled—then froze at the suffocating power surging before her. Thick, near-solid Dark Aura poured relentlessly from Grace’s body.
For a heartbeat, Loran was back at Beyond Sea decades ago, facing the Demon King commanding legions. That same earth-shattering dread choked her. “Impossible! What *are* you—”
“I am human,” Grace stated without hesitation. “But for her… I willingly embraced demonhood.”
For the first time, Loran understood. This woman named Grace loved the girl Mushiyu with an ocean-deep devotion—untouched by outside forces, pure and absolute as the Fountain of Life beneath the Tree of Life.
Watching Grace raise her sword, heavy with condensed darkness, Loran channeled every drop of remaining mana into her blade. She braced for defense—but silently admitted defeat. Part of her even felt Mushiyu *should* go with Grace. If her own prince wished to reclaim the girl, chains and force would only push that fragile soul further away.
Darkness crashed down. Loran raised her sword—
—and was swallowed by the black tide within seconds.
When sight returned, Loran lay broken in a deep trench carved by that final strike, strength gone.
As consciousness faded, a ring was placed gently before her eyes.
“Return this to Edmund. My last request.”
Then—darkness again.
