The battle did not slow; it became a grinding loop of devastation and seamless renewal. Every time Mor'gan crushed through Sora's guard, cyan brilliance bloomed in response. Burns vanished, bones realigned, and her breath returned to a perfect, rhythmic cadence. She stood again in flawless condition. Peak stance. Peak focus. Peak readiness.
They collided, separated, and clashed again. The environment now a molten basin of ash and fractured stone. Mor'gan's flames roared hotter with every exchange, his *Flame-Hungered* ability gorging on the stolen mana. He had already drained more than twice the reserves a human of her level should possess, Yet she remained at peak output. He scowled.
"Tch." Mor'gan leapt back, his boots skidding across blackened rock. "You've got to be kidding me."
His molten-gold eyes scanned the glowing bands around her wrists—the faint, rhythmic pulse beneath her scorched sleeves. He tracked the periodic surge of energy that clearly did not originate from her core. Internal realization struck
"Damn it." He spat to the side, his mouth curling into a snarl. "This is why I despise fighting these patrician heirs. Loaded with artifacts. Walking vaults stuffed with high-tier relics. Always equipped with some kind of backups."
"No wonder you're not running dry. You aren't even dipping into your own reserves anymore. Trying to bleed you of mana is like trying to dry the ocean with a rag."
For the first time since the engagement started, Mor'gan wasn't scheming how to decimate her. He was calculating. Hard. This stalemate had become dangerously volatile. Each subsequent clash gnawed at his patience. He could feel that the trajectory of this fight would tilt precariously against him if he didn't finish it soon.
After all, he is still operating deep within enemy territory. In addition, he is actively attempting to murder the direct the disciple of Divine Holiness on her own sovereign land.
His expression darkened. 'Damn my idiocy. I should have adhered to the tenets of the mercenary code my brother drilled into me.'
His brother's voice echoed faintly through his memory: Never accept a contract where pride outweighs the ledger. Never overstay your welcome on hostile ground. Always secure your exit before you draw your steel.
"Greed clouded my judgment. I should have walked away the exact moment I confirmed her identity." he thought bitterly.
Sora watched him warily. Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she silently welcomed the few seconds of reprieve, but her guard never dropped. Her light never dimmed.
Mor'gan's molten-gold eyes narrowed as he analyzed the field. Then, a flash of superstitious recognition lit his gaze. A minor detail—a memory from the initial encounter—surfaced. The girl hadn't arrived alone. She had a companion.
His gaze shifted. Not toward her, but past her shoulder. Straight toward the distant white asylum.
Sora's heart skipped a beat, a cold sensation creeping down her spine. No... Her eyes instinctively followed his line of sight. The instant she realized exactly what his focus had locked onto, a heavy dread settled into her heart.
***
A minute earlier—
Within the vow of celestial asylum, Null stood alone, his dark-red irises whirled with enigmatic interest and occasional frown.
Then, a thread of telepathic mana brushed against his senses, cutting through the ambient clamor of the battle outside. It was familiar, gentle, and trembling with anxiety.
Sora's voice echoed in his mind, carrying an ache of worry. Null's eyelids lifted slowly. The unreadable calm in his gaze wavered for a split second before he exhaled.
'Alright... Time to get into character.' His posture shifted. His expression softened with deliberate genuinity, and his thoughts aligned
When he replied through the telepathic mana-link, his tone was warm, steady, and laden with unyielding sincerity.
Sora was in the middle of a high-speed parry sequence with Mor'gan when his thoughts hit her consciousness. Before initiating the transmission, she had cast a light-type focus spell over her mind, splitting her cognitive focus into two parallel processing streams. One half fought; the other listened. Every word reached her with absolute clarity.
Her blade collided with Mor'gan's greatsword, but her consciousness heard only him.
Her breath hitched. She almost miscalculated Mor'gan's incoming swing.
Her chest felt unbearably tight.
His voice lost its playful edge, turning raw and briefly unmasked.
Her grip on her light hilt trembled. A lash of hellfire grazed her shoulder, but she didn't even register the pain.
Silence filled the link. Sora did not respond. She couldn't; her thoughts were in complete turmoil. A soulful warmth spread through her chest, invasive and heart-consuming.
Why? She had healed and preserved countless people on the brink of death. They had wept, praised her name, and pledged their lives to her. They had called her a divine miracle. None of it had ever truly registered, because she was simply performing her duty as a Saintess. Yet his...
'Focus, Sora,' she reprimanded herself. But her heart wouldn't stop misbehaving. This is entirely his fault.
If he had simply followed her directive and escaped, he would be kilometers away by now. Then she could have safely activated her spatial anchor, returned to the Sanctum, and brought back a knight detachment to neutralize this demon and his nefarious undertaking.
Then... her eyes trembled faintly. 'It is my fault as well. I never fully clarified to him about the escape plan if things got out of hand.'
All of a sudden, Mor'gan's eyes narrowed slightly as understanding fell into place. His expression wasn't one of anger or frustration, but cold, tactical calculation.
"Heh." A low, humorless chuckle escaped his throat. "So that's the play."
The sudden stillness snapped her awareness back to the battlefield. He wasn't looking at her. He was looking at the asylum.
The demon's grin widened into something ugly and knowing. "Heh. You're not stalling because you think you can win. You're stalling because you're protecting something."
A violent pulse of dread shot through her chest. He knows
"Should've realized earlier," Mor'gan purred, his gaze shifting between her and the asylum. "You've been fighting like someone buying time, not someone trying to kill. That brat… he's your weakness."
Sora moved, her white radiance flaring in palpable fear. "Don't you dare—"