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The imposing sword lingered above the battlefield as it formed, its tip aimed downward, pointing straight at the restrained white devil.
At first, only the tip of the blade was visible. As the surrounding mana poured into the spell, a transparent body of a magnificent blade began to take shape. Within moments, it fully solidified, its see-through state vanishing in just a few breaths.
All eyes were fixed on the sky. However, Yselda and Vek remained focused on the devil, struggling against its bindings.
Just as the Light-Net Formation was beginning to tear apart under brute force, its aura underwent a qualitative change.
They had seen this before—a year ago, when the devil first attacked. It had used the same technique in its battle against Ryker, the previous patriarch.
After undergoing metamorphosis, aura and magic merge. Both are, after all, different applications of mana; once the body can freely manipulate mana, the distinction between them becomes irrelevant.
What remains are only the habits and strategies the user has refined through battle. Thus, a demigod's mana manipulation can resemble both aura techniques and magic spells.
Swoosh!
The oppressive, demonic aura that had spread across the battlefield abruptly receded, gathering back toward the devil in an instant, as if it had never been exuded. The crushing weight of its presence eased, and breathing became just a little easier.
But no one here was fooled. They had witnessed this before, and this time, Kael had warned them in advance.
A tendril-like black aura emerged from the devil's back. As if tentacles were growing from its gray skin, they oozed outward and began to squirm, their ends condensing into needle-thin points.
The sharp tendrils were formed from highly condensed mana, their principle similar to the rank 4 spell Telekinesis, which condensed attributeless mana to manipulate objects and people.
However, the difference in both quantity and quality of mana between a mortal and a demigod was like the difference between heaven and earth. Not only was the sheer amount incomparably vast, but the precision of control reached a level mortals could never replicate.
Having witnessed firsthand the devastation this spell wrought, none dared to underestimate it. Anyone pierced by the sharp tendrils was beyond saving, even with immediate treatment.
The theories the Dawnblades had formed aligned with Kael's explanations.
"The white devil cannot consciously use mana. The only exception occurs when it perceives a life-threatening situation. In order to preserve its existence, it will attempt to wield mana. However, without a mana vessel to regulate it, the mana will be erratic—the spell won't reach even half of its original effect."
He pondered for a moment before continuing. "Its most used spell was called Myriad Sword. Earth mana is shaped into long, thin blades and controlled through wind and attributeless mana. However, since its mana vessel has already shattered, it will be unable to replicate the spell's effects."
During their strategy meeting, the Dawnblades exchanged information. When the tentacle-like aura was mentioned, Kael nodded. "Since the vessel has collapsed, it will slowly leak death mana, hence the black coloration. The reason no one could be saved after being struck is due to this very death mana. Their life essence was tainted through divine mana—unless an artifact or elixir infused with life mana is used, they cannot be saved."
The elders and Liora alike gained new insights into the nature of the mana vessel from Kael's words. He spoke with confidence, further analyzing the situation.
"After all, he never engaged in close combat." He let the statement linger, allowing everyone to draw their own conclusions about their enemy.
"Cutting the tendrils is the most effective countermeasure. Without a mana vessel, the white devil cannot absorb mana. Since it can no longer remotely control its blades, it has resorted to the next best option. But once the connection is severed, it will suffer a significant loss."
The meeting continued as Kael laid out strategies to counter the attack, gaining a deeper understanding of everyone's capabilities. The Dawnblades, in turn, had no choice but to reveal certain secrets regarding Vek's and Yselda's true strength in order to formulate a proper plan.
Under normal circumstances, this would have been unthinkable. But given the stakes, there was no room for secrecy.
Liora, however, had a different concern.
During her grieving, she had recalled her husband's words about a prophecy written within their clan's inheritance. Upon assuming the role of matriarch—albeit temporarily—she had gained access to their records. After poring over them, she had finally found it:
"In the innermost layer of the forest lies a sealed god. Be wary of his wrath, for even the remnants of his existence can bring destruction.
What was buried was never meant to be found. What was silenced was never meant to be heard. And yet, the path winds ever inward, drawing hands that do not know what they grasp.
When the seal is undone, it will not be mere ruin that follows, nor only death. The sky shall bear witness, the earth shall recoil, and what once was lost will demand its place.
The forest is a keeper, but not a gate. The seal is a warning, but not a shield."
A warning left behind by the founder of the Astrea Kingdom. She was the one who created the first seal around the mana lake when the Cycle began.
After witnessing the devastation caused by the white devil, Liora was certain that the prophecy referred to it. After all, her husband—an ascended demigod—had struggled against it and ultimately lost his life repelling it.
But only a year later, Kael had emerged from the Forest, unbothered. His strength was indiscernible, even to Yselda.
At first, she had only felt uneasy. But once Kael revealed that he had been sealed within the forest, along with his knowledge of the dragon bone recovered from the mana lake, she realized a darker possibility.
And that was; Kael was the god mentioned in the prophecy.
She lacked the courage to ask outright. Though she had once carried herself like a lion in her husband's presence, his death had changed her. She still projected authority, but beneath it, her thoughts had become more meek, almost cowardly. Though Kael's demeanor differed greatly from the figure described in their inheritance, all the clues led to the same conclusion.
A shift in the battlefield jolted Liora from her thoughts. When she saw the tentacle-like aura, an image flashed through her mind—her husband, Ryker, his torso pierced by those very same needle-like tendrils.
She had been hundreds of meters away, unable to interfere in a battle of such scale.
But she had seen it all, clearly. Every tendril piercing through Ryker's chest, protruding from his back. She had seen the drops of blood falling from the blackened tips, hitting the cold ground underneath.
"N-No!" Her mind reeled, and the current scene overlapped with her memories. The cry tore from her lips before she could suppress it.
The sword hovering above the white devil trembled, tilting slightly. The brilliant light radiating from it dimmed.
Though it appeared solid, it still needed time to fully form. This was a killer move, designed to both strip away the divine shell of mana surrounding the white devil's dead vessel—its core—and strike with an attack strong enough to end it.
A rank 7 spell was not something a mere four-circle mage and a single dragon horn could sustain alone. Under Kael's guidance, the sword was drawing in all the mana from the surrounding environment, preparing for a devastating strike. As of now, it was merely a hollow framework.
Whoosh!
A tendril shot toward Vek, who stood closest to it among the blood-colored flames. Strangely, it didn't lunge straight at him; instead, its movement mimicked the arc of a blade swing—as if acting on muscle memory.
Clang!
The strike was deflected by Vek's greatsword, sparks flickering for a fleeting moment before vanishing into the haze of battle. Yet, the attack did not relent. The deflected tendril recoiled and struck again, like the snapping jaws of a ravenous beast.
Vek ducked, his instincts honed by countless battles. As the tentacle twisted to strike from behind, his sword ignited with a grand golden light—
Aura!
Like Yselda, he had held back, relying solely on physical strength so as not to alert the devil. But now, hesitation was no longer an option.
Swish!
Without turning, Vek swung his sword upward. The approaching tendril was severed in a single stroke, falling lifelessly to the ground before melting into raw mana that dispersed into the air.
Kael's instructions had been clear—the most efficient way to weaken the devil was to sever its control over its own mana.
But the enemy was tireless.
A flurry of black tendrils surged toward Vek from all directions. He took a brief glance at the devil, noting how more and more tendrils emerged from its back and sides at an alarming rate. The name 'Myriad Sword' was not mere exaggeration.
Vek smiled grimly. The more tentacles he cut, the weaker the devil would become. Severing them not only reduced its total mana reserves but also ensured that the lost energy would be absorbed by Kael and Liora's killer move instead, accelerating its completion.
Yet, each attack carried the weight of death. Even for him, facing twenty at once was no small feat.
Vek moved like a tempest, his greatsword carving through the darkness in dazzling arcs. His aura flared, circulating throughout his whole body, enhancing his strength and endurance. Each swing cut through the writhing mass, yet for every tendril he destroyed, two more took its place.
From the formation's perimeter, the spectacle was almost surreal—on one side, a warrior bathed in faint golden light, his swordplay unrelenting; on the other, a monstrous entity radiating a white shine, its tendrils lashing out with terrifying speed, carving through the air itself.
A soft female voice echoed from above.
"Frost Fawn."
It was Yselda. Until now, she had refrained from using her true affinity due to the risk of harming her allies. Instead, she had borrowed a technique from the Dawnblade patriarch—fire magic, an element ill-suited to her. But now, with a window of opportunity, she wielded what she truly excelled in.
The temperature plummeted. Snowflakes drifted through the burning battlefield, a paradox of frost and flame. From within the frozen mist, a creature emerged—a small, graceful being of pure ice. Its body bore the elegant form of a fawn, its crystalline antlers glimmering as it stepped lightly upon the ashen ground, leaving trails of snow in its wake.
The white devil reacted instantly. Tendrils lashed toward the fawn, sensing its presence before it had even finished materializing.
But the mages had anticipated this.
"Now!"
Golden barriers formed around both Vek and the frost fawn. Tentacles slammed into them, some deflecting away, others shattering upon impact. At the same time, the frost fawn completed its summon, and sharp icicles materialized around its antlers—before launching in a relentless barrage.
The shields trembled, cracks spreading rapidly. Several mages staggered, some collapsing with nosebleeds, their mana reserves strained. The devil was weaker than it had been a year ago, unable to absorb mana, yet its raw strength remained terrifying.
Yselda and the other magicians had a myriad of spells at their disposal, but in this situation, they had to conserve mana. High-tier magic required immense reserves, and the ongoing killer move hovering above them demanded all available energy. The faster the sword was completed, the sooner the battle would end.
That was why Yselda had chosen an elemental summon. Unlike direct casting, the fawn could wield mana far more efficiently than even she, a rank 6 magician. However, the summoning still drained her vessel—it was a calculated sacrifice.
The battle raged on. Each supporting spell delayed the completion of the rank 7 spell by a little. But at the heart of it all, Kael and Liora remained unmoving.
Kael stood behind Liora, both with closed eyes. The cracks across Kael's body had reached his lower lip, creeping ever upward. Liora, drained beyond measure, maintained the spell's stability, her mana channels overworked to the brink of collapse. But the pain was secondary—what truly threatened her was the toll on her mind.
Kael extended her senses, drawing on her mana to keep the construct stable, acting as a medium between Liora and the divine mana.
"Her soul is cracking," he muttered "her mind is in disarray."
He understood her grief, the sorrow buried deep within her heart.
But there was no better choice.
He had promised no casualties. Yet injuries—even permanent damage—were unavoidable.
He knew the truth behind the mask of loyalty. Most who swore utter devotion carried selfishness beneath the surface. But this selfishness is not necassarily bad; Self-preservation is instinctual; few would willingly sacrifice their future, their very being, for the sake of their clan. Especially when others can take on that role.
But Liora had made that choice.
Kael's thoughts churned as he maintained the spell. If she died, the Dawnblade clan would come for him.
("I can barely keep myself alive. I can't afford to fight even the weakest mage.")
Even if Liora had accepted this outcome, the clan would not. They had already suffered immense losses. If Kael survived while their matriarch perished, they would demand answers—demand everything he knew. His abilities, his knowledge, his very existence could be their salvation, the key to their revitalization.
And they would not let that slip away.
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