Brook swung a vicious punch at Morris. Morris reacted swiftly—sliding his right arm beneath Sherlock’s legs, lifting her into a princess carry—and stumbled back several steps. To the onlookers, he seemed barely managing… yet narrowly evaded the lethal blow.

The fist slammed into the marble floor with a faint *crack*. Spiderweb-like fractures spread instantly. Brook retracted his fist, staring at the small crater. A renewed obsession flickered in his eyes. “So this… is the power of the Lawform Tier…”

Father Nolls gritted his teeth. “Young Morris! Come back! I’ll hand it over—”

“What nonsense, old man?” A flintlock pistol pressed silently against the priest’s temple. Caudos’s gaze turned glacial. “If this kid doesn’t die today, you’ll all join him in the grave.”

Morris caught his breath. Sherlock, nestled in his arms, felt a pang of sympathy. He was so young—becoming an Artificer Tier wizard at this age was exceedingly rare. He deserved a brighter future, not death here.

“Mr. Morris…”

“Shh.” Morris smiled down at her. “Just watch.”

His smile held quiet enchantment. Sherlock blushed, nodding slowly—wondering if something was seriously wrong with her.

Seeing their tender moment, Brook lunged again without hesitation. Sherlock burrowed into Morris’s chest like a tiny kitten. The boy sidestepped. Gasps rippled through the crowd—another barely-there evasion, perfectly timed.

After two misses, Brook’s fury erupted. He crouched low, calves tensing, then shot forward at unimaginable speed. Morris flinched—hastily casting a transparent barrier. Brook’s fist shattered most of it in one blow!

“This is a wizard’s power!” Brook roared. “Look closely! Even Arcane Source Magic that blocks flintlock bullets can’t withstand my bare fist!”

The black tattoo circling his arm blazed to life. Countless Arcanum swirled within. Brook pressed his palms together. Muscles bulged violently, as if an engine raged inside him. White steam erupted, forming a hazy mist. At peak expansion, he let out an earth-shattering roar, glaring down with a sinister grin. “Time to die!”

Sherlock silently gripped Morris’s shoulder.

Brook’s rage-fueled fist shot toward them. The gust tore up shattered floorboards. Glass shards and wood splinters swirled into a blinding storm.

Caudos smirked in satisfaction. Father Nolls watched in despair. In the distance, the awakened Usak struggled to rise but failed. Everyone in the church instinctively turned away—unwilling to witness the gruesome end.

The girl cradled in his arms squeezed her eyes shut.

“I see. So you’re a Transformation School Arcane Source Wizard.”

A whisper reached Sherlock’s ear. She jerked her head up. Brook’s mountain-like fist had frozen a foot away. He strained desperately—but couldn’t advance an inch.

“Miss Sherlock,” Morris chuckled lightly, “did royal tutors teach you this? Arcanum divides into five schools: Transformation, Incantation, Revelation, Summoning, Forbidden.”

Sherlock nodded instinctively.

“You little—!” Brook tried to pull back, but his body locked solid. Shock flashed across his face, twisting into sheer terror. “What’s happening?!”

“The Transformation School is rather dull,” Morris said, gently setting Sherlock down. As her toes touched the floor, a fleeting hint of reluctance stirred in her heart. “Early stages only alter your own body. Only at Lawform Tier or higher can you affect surroundings. Obvious flaws make it weak among wizards. Let me demonstrate.”

Morris stepped forward. Caudos paled as if seeing a ghost. “Hey! Brook! Move! Why aren’t you moving?!”

*This isn’t Tie’ao*, Morris thought. He placed a hand gently on Brook’s chest.

Brook’s eyes widened, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. His bulging muscles rapidly deflated. The crowd froze. The masked thug trembled violently, haunted by memories of that demon wizard.

Caudos’s composure shattered. He stomped. “Brook! What the hell are you doing?!”

The hulking frame withered visibly. Morris withdrew his hand, gazing at the gaunt man before him. Sherlock blinked slowly, long lashes fluttering—unable to link this frail figure to the mountainous Brook moments ago.

“See?” Morris smiled. “Disrupt his Arcanum circuit, and the energy sustaining his form severs. He reverts. Arcanum backlashes upon the wizard.”

“You… you…” Brook’s arrogance vanished. He stared wide-eyed at the calm boy, voice weak and trembling. “Who exactly are you—”

“Enough farce!” Caudos seized Father Nolls, pressing the flintlock to his temple. “Suicide—now! Or the old man dies!”

“You wear piety like a mask,” Morris said, shoving Brook aside. The man collapsed onto marble with a groan. “Beneath it? Still just an incompetent thug. That’s you, Caudos.”

“Don’t act like you know everything!” Caudos’s voice wavered as Morris advanced. He glanced sideways—the other thugs had already fled. Panic seized him. “Don’t come closer! He dies!”

Morris halted. Caudos exhaled shakily, forcing a chuckle. “Hurry… kill yourself…”

“Why approach you?” Morris’s face darkened. “Someone who defiled my companion isn’t worthy of my hands.”

Caudos froze. Space warped. Arcanum energy rippled outward. He dropped the flintlock with a cry, tumbling toward the floor.

Brook, prone on the ground, stammered in disbelief: “This… is the Revelation School?!”

Caudos clutched his head, rolling to Morris’s feet. He strained upward—meeting only cold scorn.

“Apologize.”

“Huh?” Caudos’s mind went blank.

“Apologize.” Morris frowned, stomping his foot onto the man’s head, grinding his face into glass and splinters. “To Sherlock. Understood?”

“I understand! I’m sorry! Sorry, Your Highness! Forgive this servant’s impulse—”

“No excuses.” Morris kicked him away. After crashing through a dozen pews, Caudos went limp. “Wrong is wrong.”

A deathly silence fell over the church.

Brook lay weak. Caudos unconscious. Usak’s jaw hung open. Father Nolls stared, stunned. The scene felt surreal—too dreamlike to be real.

“Quick—!” The masked man’s shout broke the trance.

“RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!!!”