Surely, with four spells active at once—woven together by both Xierra and Yuno—the battlefield itself should have buckled.
The air had grown dense, saturated with layered mana that pressed against skin and bone alike, as if the dungeon had been forced to acknowledge their presence. Wind screamed through lattice and sigil, light bending around blades of gale, each spell reinforcing the next with near-perfect alignment.
It should have been enough to draw blood.
Power came in facets, Xierra realized then. Not as a singular blaze, but as angles—each reflecting intent, resolve, and sacrifice differently. Yuno's magic carried focus sharpened to a needlepoint, relentless and precise. Hers spread outward, deliberate and expansive, shaping the battlefield itself. Klaus anchored them with unyielding defense, while Inari's flames stitched support through every opening. Together, they formed something whole. Something formidable.
And yet, power alone did not guarantee victory.
The enemy stood at the center of the storm, crystalline constructs blooming and shattering around him like malformed flowers. He gave ground, yes—but only by steps. Each trap Xierra had laid flared and detonated in sequence, bursts of warped gravity and starlight forcing him back inch by inch. It was progress, measurable and hard-earned, but never decisive. His footing slid, his posture shifted, but surrender never crossed his features.
Xierra watched closely, her gaze following the lattice of orbital lines she had summoned. They crisscrossed the space like a celestial net, cutting through crystal growths as Yuno's wind hawk descended in violent arcs. Talons of compressed air tore through jagged pillars, while wind blades—guided, bent, refined by her lattice—sliced them apart before they could reform.
The crystals shattered.
Over and over.
Again and again.
Still, it was not enough. It was never enough.
The enemy answered with relentless barrages, his magic flowing without pause, without chant, without hesitation. Crystal spikes erupted from stone and air alike, ignoring the scorch of Inari's flames and slamming against Klaus' steel defenses. Even as Klaus' walls groaned under pressure, he held them firm, teeth clenched, mana flaring as he refused to give an inch.
Xierra scanned the battlefield, heart pounding, searching for an opening that refused to reveal itself. Her grimoire answered her unease, pages flipping sharply as she reacted on instinct. A crescent blade shot forth, shattering the crystal encasing Klaus' left leg up to the knee. He staggered but remained upright, immediately raising another barrier in front of the group.
Even restrained, he still protected them.
That realization struck her harder than expected.
Perhaps Klaus was not as rigid as he presented himself to be. His pride grated, his constant insistence on lineage wore thin—but here he stood, trapped and strained, still choosing them over himself. The thought settled uncomfortably in her chest.
Yuno and Xierra halted briefly, observing. The enemy responded with little variation, crystalline spikes forming and launching once more. No anger. No frustration. Just persistence.
Klaus adjusted his glasses again, the small gesture oddly human amid the chaos. Xierra noticed it, fleetingly wondering if battle-grade frames might spare him the trouble. The thought vanished as another wave of crystal surged forward.
Her traps dissolved one by one, overwhelmed with alarming ease. The enemy pushed through them as though wading through shallow water, expression unchanged, grimoire still absent from his hand. The imbalance of it made her teeth grind.
She moved before doubt could root itself.
Rolling aside as crystal spears tore through where she had been standing, Xierra rose in one fluid motion, mana surging as she chanted, "Astral Magic: Moon Wax Ritual!"
Silver-white wax poured forth in a sudden tide, luminous and viscous, flooding the space between them. It met the oncoming crystals head-on—one jab hardened and shattered, another wave slowed and broke apart.
Yuno's wind swept through the wax, tempering it, freezing its surface into brittle strength before shattering it anew. The cycle repeated relentlessly: form, harden, break. Again. Again.
The battlefield became a crucible of repetition and resolve.
Inari let out a sharp whistle from afar, tail flicking. "Quick thinking, Master. That was well executed."
Xierra shot him a sharp glare without breaking concentration. "This is not the time."
He only grinned wider.
Wind blades rained down once more as Yuno pressed the assault, his hawk circling high before diving with renewed ferocity. Xierra followed suit, sending crescent arcs and astral constructs in rapid succession, half-bickering with Inari as she did so, her focus never wavering.
Despite exhaustion creeping into her limbs, despite the mounting pressure, she refused to slow.
Power had many faces, she knew now. And they would show every single one of them—until the enemy finally broke.
Yuno straightened, spine aligning as though drawn by an unseen string, and lifted his grimoire into the air before him. Verdant light bled from its pages, steady and unwavering, bathing his features in green brilliance.
At his command, blades of compressed wind burst forth—sharp, numerous, relentless—cutting through the space between him and the enemy. They screamed forward in tight formations, colliding with crystal growths and reducing them to glittering debris that scattered across the dungeon floor.
Mars stood unmoved.
Mars—a man of a foreign land, carved out of a kingdom not their own. A foreigner within a dungeon that rejected all who entered it equally. He bore the title of general with an ease that felt unnatural for his age—young and yet to be weathered in appearance, yet his eyes told a different truth. There was no spark there. No hunger. Only a hollow stillness, as if countless battles had passed through him and left nothing behind.
Combat did not stir him.
Facing nameless opponents did nothing to quicken his pulse.
Wind roared as the great white hawk wheeled beside them, its wingspan eclipsing the crystal-strewn ceiling. Each powerful beat drove currents through the battlefield, scattering fragments and clearing sightlines. Starlight bled into the chaos—astral residue from Xierra's magic—casting pale reflections across shattered stone. Crystals that dared to reform were met by moon wax pooling at Mars' feet, silvery and luminous, creeping outward before hardening and breaking them apart once more.
Xierra extended her arm, palm forward, not to whisper secrets but to command. Moon wax surged again, responding to her intent, flowing in measured waves that swallowed crystal spikes mid-formation. It wrapped around jagged edges, blunted their advance, and shattered them into harmless shards that skidded across the floor.
He paid her coordination no heed. He sent another barrage without hesitation, wind blades multiplying as his mana flared brighter. Each strike was calculated, honed, refusing to relent even as strain began to creep into his limbs.
The battlefield shifted in their favor by inches. Wax and wind worked in tandem, giving Klaus the opening he needed. Reinforced by hardened moonlight, his steel walls rose thicker, broader, forming a bastion that absorbed the worst of the counterattacks. Crystals struck and splintered, their force diminished before they could threaten those behind him.
Above and around them, star-like motes flared into being—Xierra's astral constructs, drifting with purpose. They intercepted stray shards and redirected hostile force away from Mimosa, where Inari remained stationed, vigilant and unyielding. The fox's attention never strayed far from his charge, even as starlight danced with the help of his command.
With a thunderous sweep of wings, the white hawk surged higher, the pressure of shifting air weighing down upon the battlefield. Dust, debris, mana—all of it was caught in the current, spiraling in violent harmony.
They did not stop.
They could not.
Attack followed attack, spells layered upon spells, each of them pushing past exhaustion with sheer resolve. Sweat clung to skin, breaths came sharper, heavier. They told themselves that persistence would break him—that time favored those who refused to fall first.
They were wrong.
They did not know.
No—they couldn't have known.
They were new. Barely months into wielding the grimoires that had chosen them. Geniuses, prodigies, hailed and whispered about—but still human.
They were human.
Mana was not endless. Strength demanded payment, and their reserves were thinning with every spell cast.
They were no different from anyone else.
Training, refinement, mastery—those things took years. Time they did not yet have.
And then, at last, Mars moved.
His grimoire opened.
Pages turned with deliberate calm, crystalline light spilling forth as the air shifted once more. The change was immediate, suffocating. His prior restraint had been a choice, not a limit.
The plan had worked.
He had forced it. Drawn out the enemy's true strength.
Success—if it could be called that.
He wanted this. He wanted Mars to fight at his best, to face him without restraint, to win against that. It had been reckless. Even Xierra had nearly shut it down before it began.
Yet here they stood.
Now what?
Even with falling stars, with moon wax, with wind blades, and the white hawk tearing through the air, damage remained minimal. Crystal answered the wind. Power answered power. Fire against fire.
They should have expected this.
Still, they fought.
From afar, Inari watched, fangs pressed together hard enough to ache. Foolish, they were—yes, that was the word that rose first, sharp and bitter on his tongue. He had always known his master to be calculating, observant, someone who weighed consequence before action. This choice ran against that image, scraped uncomfortably against everything he believed about her judgment.
Drawing out a general's grimoire when they had failed to so much as bruise him beforehand was not a bold strategy—it was courting disaster.
Even without his grimoire, Mars had stood like an unyielding monument, every strike dissolving against him as though strength itself bent away at his feet. There had been no panic in him, no urgency. Only restraint.
And now that restraint was gone.
The moment his grimoire opened, the air itself seemed to tighten, pressure sinking into stone, into bone. Mana thickened until breathing felt heavier, as though the dungeon had leaned in to watch. Crystalline light refracted across the chamber, cold and merciless, casting jagged reflections over wind, wax, and steel alike.
Inari's tail flicked once, restless, flame dimming as unease gnawed deeper.
And the result unfolded exactly as he had feared.
Mars struck back without hesitation. Crystal surged forward in merciless arcs, heavier, denser, sharpened by intent. Yuno's winds met them head-on—and were torn apart in the same breath. Even with Xierra's moon wax rising in layers and Klaus forcing steel into place again and again, the formation buckled.
The ground was lost in heartbeats. They were driven back past their original line, boots scraping stone, balance fought for rather than held.
Exhaustion settled in like a tide that refused to recede.
Xierra noticed it first in the smallest things. The way Yuno brushed trembling fingers across the bruise blooming on his cheek, as if testing whether pain was real or imagined. The way Klaus' stance faltered half a step too late, his boots skidding as he narrowly avoided a crystalline spike that carved the floor where he had stood. And in herself, her chest burned with every breath, air slicing in sharp and shallow. Blood traced a thin path from her chin, warm and unignorable, dripping onto stone she could no longer bring herself to look at.
Mars chanted again.
The words slid through the chamber like something meant only for the dungeon itself. Xierra's attacks met his advance and vanished—wax split, hardened, shattered, erased before it could even cling. Wind blades collided and scattered like leaves against a cliff face. No matter how they pressed, how desperately they pushed mana into form, nothing so much as marked his armor.
Not a crack.
Not a flaw.
Not even a pause.
Everything blurred after that.
The battlefield became a rush of motion and force, too fast to follow, too heavy to fully understand.
With his grimoire open, Mars' power no longer felt restrained—it expanded, filled every corner of the space, pressed down on their shoulders until standing upright felt like defiance. There was no retreat to be found, no opening waiting to be seized.
There was only survival.
Klaus gasped, teeth clenched as sweat ran freely down his face. "Kkhh—!! How can this be...?!" The disbelief in his voice carried sharper than fear.
Above them, the white wind hawk faltered.
Its wings shuddered mid-flight, feathers unraveling into pale fragments that drifted down like fallen petals. Each piece dissolved before touching the ground, the spell unraveling in silence as the creature lost form. He watched it go with wide eyes, jaw set, as if willing it to stay through sheer force of will.
It did not.
The wind blades that once cut through crystal now rebounded instead, turned aside, and forced into the ground around their caster. Stone split where they landed, pinning the space around him with reminders of what his magic could no longer do.
Xierra felt it then—the lattices thinning, their silver lines dimming until they scattered into dust and vanished entirely. Her grimoire fluttered weakly at her side. Mana refused to answer the way it had moments ago. Vision blurred at the edges, sound dulling as though the world had pulled away from her by inches, she could not close.
She had given everything.
And it had not been enough.
Power, she realized, was not simply about force or brilliance. It was weight. It was existence. It was a privilege. It was the quiet certainty of someone who did not need to prove they would win—because they already knew.
For the first time, a thought slipped past her defenses, cold and unwelcome.
They might not leave this place alive.
Her fingers curled against her palm as the truth pressed in. The dungeon no longer felt like stone and passageways. It felt like a sealed chamber. A testing ground with no promise of mercy.
Yuno glanced at her then.
Concern crossed his face in a flicker—brief, sharp, unmistakable. His eyes traced the blood, the unsteady sway she tried to hide, the way her shoulders lifted with effort rather than strength. He took a step, instinct urging him closer.
Xierra shook her head.
It was small. Weak. But deliberate.
Don't look at me.
Look at him.
Yuno hesitated only a moment before turning back toward the enemy, jaw tightening as resolve replaced worry. There was no room left for distraction. Not now.
They barely had time to steady themselves before Mars denied them even that.
His grimoire pages flipped violently, stopping with sudden finality. Slender fingers brushed across the parchment, and his mouth moved in a chant carried too low for others to catch.
Inari's ears flattened. "This isn't good," he muttered, gold eyes narrowing as unease coiled tight in his chest.
Mars extended his right hand, the other hovering over the open grimoire. From nothing, crystal began to bloom—shard by shard, forming structure, gaining weight and shape. A sword took form in his grasp, its surface jagged and uneven, edges honed smooth and merciless. Three points gleamed with lethal precision. Twin crystals pulsed near the guard, light trapped within them like restrained stars.
He looked at the Magic Knights then.
Not as opponents.
Not as threats.
But as obstacles.
And when he spoke again—chanting the spell for the second time that day—they finally understood what he intended to unleash.
"Mineral Creation Magic: Laevateinn."
Mars' opalite eyes reflected nothing. No hesitation. No regret. The decision had already been made long before the spell left his mouth—engraved into him, repeated until it became law.
"Begone."
The crystal blade answered.
Pressure flooded the chamber as the weapon descended, its presence alone bending the air. Xierra felt it before she saw it—the weight of intent, the certainty that the next strike would not test them. It would end them.
Somewhere else, another battle raged. Somewhere else, friends fought their own demons. She could not afford to look for them in her thoughts now. Worry was a luxury they no longer had.
"This isn't good—!"
"Well, of course it isn't!!" Inari snapped, fur bristling as his flaming tail swept wide, vaporizing a spray of stray shards before they could reach Mimosa's resting form. "What possessed you to think provoking a general was a sound plan, Master?!"
Xierra ducked beneath a slicing arc of crystal and rolled, moon wax flaring to life around her boots to keep her balance. "I don't know?! Ask Yuno!"
"I didn't suggest that part," He shot back, wind snapping around him as he deflected a falling spike with a hurried blade. "You agreed."
"You didn't object!"
"That wasn't an agreement!"
Inari let out a sharp laugh, half-disbelieving, half-exasperated, as another wave crashed toward them. "Unbelievable. Truly. Two prodigies, one shared brain cell." His tail flicked again, forming a barrier just in time. "And here I thought my Master was the careful one."
Xierra thrust her hand forward, moon wax surging upward to intercept the sword's path, hardening under pressure. The impact sent a tremor through her arms, teeth rattling as she staggered back. "I am careful!"
"You charged a general!"
"I charged a problem!"
Klaus' voice cut through them, sharp and strained. "Enough!" Steel rose at his command, locking into place as another barrage struck. The wall shuddered, lines warping under the force. "Focus, all of you! Bickering will not save us!"
Yuno clicked his tongue, eyes never leaving Mars as he sent another cluster of blades forward, testing, probing. They shattered on contact, scattering uselessly. "We need to disrupt the swing," He said quickly. "If that sword connects cleanly—"
"It won't," Xierra cut in, breath uneven as she forced more mana into form. Moon wax spread across the ground, thickening, anchoring their footing. "I won't let it."
Inari snorted. "Bold words for someone running on fumes."
"Still standing, aren't I?"
"Barely!"
Another strike came. Klaus braced, steel screaming as it absorbed the blow. Xierra reinforced it at the last second, wax sealing cracks before they could widen. Yuno's wind wrapped around the structure, redirecting the force just enough to keep it from collapsing entirely.
For a heartbeat, they held.
Then Mars stepped forward.
The sword rose again, crystals catching the dungeon's dim light as if eager. He did not rush. He did not need to.
Xierra swallowed, eyes flicking between her allies. "Ideas?" she asked, breath tight.
Inari huffed, flames dimming for the briefest moment as his gaze sharpened. "I have one," he replied. "But you're not going to like it."
Yuno glanced at him. "We're past that point."
Klaus adjusted his stance, jaw set. "Then speak."
Inari's grin returned—thin, dangerous. "Good. Because we're about to gamble what little mana you have left."
The crystal sword began its descent once more.
.
.
.
Asta's blade cut through the air with reckless certainty, its black edge swallowing mana as it went. The swing landed true—clean, brutal—crashing into Lotus' left side with a sound that felt heavier than steel. Anti-magic devoured the spell, reinforcing the man's arm, shattering it on impact. The force did not stop there; it traveled inward, rattling bone, driving the breath from Lotus' lungs as his body twisted from the blow.
The cavern rang with the aftermath. Lotus skidded across the stone, boots scraping uselessly as he struggled to remain upright. Pain flared hot and immediate, his vision smearing at the edges as something wet gathered at the corner of his mouth.
The sword—absurdly large, utterly impractical—fit the boy as though it had been made for him. Asta wielded it with a raw familiarity, shoulders squared, stance steady despite the weight. There was no hesitation in his follow-through. No doubt.
Lotus coughed, crimson staining his glove as he pressed a trembling hand to his side. His ribs screamed in protest, each breath sharp and shallow. Running calculations filled his head, one after another, only to collapse under their own futility. Fighting back was no longer an option. Every path forward closed like a door slammed shut, leaving only a narrowing corridor behind him—dark, cold, and far too final.
The smoke he had summoned earlier unraveled into nothing; its magic was erased the moment it brushed against that sword. A bitter laugh threatened to rise in his chest. Even that was taken from me, his mind supplied dryly, exhaustion weighing heavier than the pain.
If the boy decided to press the attack alone, if he charged forward without pause, then this would end here. Lotus found himself wishing—no, hoping—that stubborn bravery would turn reckless. That fate, just once, might tilt back in his favor.
His knees buckled.
For a fleeting instant, he felt himself slipping, pulled toward something vast and soundless, a depth that promised rest if he only let go—
And then, warmth.
Not here. Not this dungeon. A quiet home bathed in afternoon light. Laughter too loud for the walls meant to contain it. Small hands tugging at his sleeves. Three familiar faces waiting at the door, eyes bright, voices calling him back.
Lotus sucked in a breath that burned all the way down.
"No," he breathed, fingers shaking as he forced them to move. The pages of his grimoire fluttered wildly before he seized control, flipping through with urgency born from desperation rather than strategy. "Not yet."
"...Smoke Creation Magic: Hustling Lazy Car."
The words dragged themselves from his throat, hoarse and uneven. Mana answered sluggishly, but it answered all the same. Smoke poured beneath him, thick and swirling, shaping itself into a ridiculous, unmistakable form—a squat vehicle with puffing wheels and a slanted frame.
Lotus collapsed into the seat as it formed, the spell shuddering once before stabilizing. He slumped forward, hands barely gripping the edges as the construct lurched into motion.
Asta froze.
The battlefield shifted in the span of a heartbeat, victory slipping just out of reach as the smoke-car surged past him. Lotus did not waste the opening. The moment of shock was all he needed.
"Wh— hey! Wait, Mister!" Asta shouted, scrambling forward, arm outstretched as if he could grab smoke itself. His voice cracked with disbelief more than anger.
"I'm runnin' away, and you can't stop me!!"
Laughter burst from Lotus' chest, rough and breathless, but genuine. It startled even him. The absurdity of it—the spell, the escape, the sheer luck—nearly made his ribs ache all over again.
If I hadn't remembered this, he thought, eyes stinging as the dungeon blurred past, I'd be meeting the reaper about now.
"Huh?! Come back here!!" Asta protested, already giving chase. "And what's up with that car?!"
The smoke thickened behind Lotus, rolling outward in heavy clouds that swallowed sight and sound alike. It curled around the cavern, blinding, disorienting, until even Asta had no choice but to halt, coughing as the last traces drifted away.
"Argh! I lost him!" he cried, fists clenched as he stared into the space Lotus had vanished from.
Footsteps approached from behind.
Luck appeared first, hands tucked behind his head, grin sharp and unbothered. Noelle followed close behind, brows drawn tight, eyes flicking between Asta and the dissipating smoke.
"I would've liked to finish him off," Luck remarked lightly, "but now's not the time."
Noelle spun toward him, disbelief flashing across her face. "You're saying that? After he just—!!"
"Oh, yeah!! Whatever, let's goooo!!" Asta cut in, already marching ahead with renewed energy, fist thrust skyward as if the detour had never mattered. His optimism snapped into place with familiar ease.
Luck laughed, eyes closing as he joined in, the sound bright and careless—
Then he stopped.
Something prickled at the back of his mind. Not danger. Not fear. A pull.
His eyes opened slowly, gaze shifting toward the depths of the dungeon. The air felt different there. Heavier. Charged.
It was as though an unseen thread had tightened around his senses, tugging him toward something vast and restless.
Mana. Magic.
An overwhelming presence coiled somewhere far beyond their current path, dense enough to press against his skin. It wasn't wild like his own. It wasn't refined either. It was sharp, layered, and crushing in its certainty.
None of the Golden Dawn Magic Knights carried power like that. Luck hadn't crossed blades with the Crimson Lion Kings yet, but even he knew—this wasn't Clover's magic.
A bead of sweat slid down his temple, though his grin never faltered.
What... is this magic...?!
Static crawled across his nerves, sparks snapping faintly around his boots as excitement surged unbidden. His hair lifted with the charge, laughter bubbling up again, brighter this time, edged with anticipation.
He was holding it back until just now?!
Luck's smile stretched wider, eyes gleaming as he leaned forward on his heels.
"Apparently," he announced, voice buzzing with delight, "there's another strongest guy here!!"
.
.
.
Yuno dragged in a breath that scraped his lungs raw, shoulders lifting and falling in sharp intervals as he forced air back into himself. Sweat traced the line of his jaw, slipping down his neck as his amber gaze refused to leave Mars for even a blink. The crystal sword gleamed under the dungeon's cold light, impossibly large, impossibly close—each subtle shift of its weight promising devastation. His fingers twitched at his side, wind stirring weakly around him, as if his mana itself were bracing for the next strike.
Inari's eyes narrowed to slits.
A low snarl rolled from his chest, vibrating with warning as the fox stepped forward without hesitation. His form expanded in a blink, shadow and flame swelling outward until he stood between Mars and his master. The ground beneath his paws scorched faintly, stone darkening as heat pressed down.
The ends of his fur bristled, every strand standing rigid as if charged by lightning. Fire licked along his long black tail, hues of blue and violet colliding within the blaze, volatile. His glare locked onto the Diamond mage, sharp enough to cut, daring him to advance even a step.
"Back. Down."
The command struck with iron certainty. Inari's growl deepened, flames flaring higher as his body angled protectively in front of Xierra. He readied himself without pause, every instinct screaming the same vow—if that blade fell, it would meet him first. His life was a small price if it meant hers remained untouched.
He did not need to look back to know the truth.
Xierra's clothes hung in tatters, sleeves singed, hems burned black and brittle. Blood marked her chin, her breathing uneven, forced. Inari committed the sight to memory with a sharp flicker of irritation. He would scold her later. Patch her wounds. See her rest.
—If they made it out alive.
Mars did not retreat.
The crystal sword remained poised, its surface shifting as fresh minerals crawled along its edge, growing sharper, heavier. Inari's lips peeled back from his teeth as another warning growl tore free, flames snapping louder in the air.
"Fine," he snapped, tone dry and edged with biting humor even as danger closed in. "I asked nicely. Guess I'll stop pretending you're reasonable."
He cast a sharp glance over his shoulder. Yuno met it at once, jaw set, giving a firm nod despite the tremor in his stance. Xierra followed, raising her head just enough to mirror the gesture, determination burning stubbornly through exhaustion.
Inari exhaled through his nose. "Figures. Three and a half kids and a half-dead fox against a walking executioner. Sounds about right."
The battle dragged on, stretching time until it felt warped and endless. Minutes blurred into something heavier, longer—every exchange stealing more strength than the last. Mana drained until limbs felt distant, uncooperative. The air itself pressed down, thick with heat, dust, and the weight of Mars' presence.
Anticipation gnawed at their nerves.
Every breath carried the expectation of impact. Every movement felt like it might be the one that came too slow.
Even at his peak, Yuno's power failed to leave so much as a scratch. Wind blades scattered uselessly, diverted by shifting crystal planes as if the air itself refused to obey him. Klaus watched, eyes trembling behind his lenses as the truth settled in with brutal clarity.
He had expected this.
And still—it struck like a blow to the chest.
"What an ominous magic..." Klaus forced out, teeth clenched as he struggled to draw in a steady breath. His legs shook beneath him, mana thinning dangerously, yet he pushed himself upright all the same.
The more power Yuno and Xierra threw at Mars, the more overwhelming the Diamond mage became. Their strongest efforts fed the very force that crushed them, amplifying his attacks into something monstrous and unrelenting.
Klaus' gaze snapped upward.
Three gems gleamed from Mars' forehead, embedded into flesh with unnatural precision. They looked wrong—foreign and invasive—yet disturbingly seamless, as though they had always belonged there.
"Those embedded jewels..."
Xierra heard it as she leapt back, narrowly avoiding another surge of crystal that tore through the space she had occupied seconds earlier. She skidded across stone, boots scraping, and landed near Klaus just as he raised another shield to cover them both.
She followed his stare.
"I've heard of them," Xierra breathed, eyes narrowing despite the burn in her muscles.
Klaus nodded grimly. "There's a rumor that the Diamond Kingdom is raising mage warriors with artificially amplified magic."
"Amplified magic, huh?" Xierra scoffed weakly, wiping blood from her chin with the back of her hand. The bitterness in her tone barely masked the unease crawling beneath her skin.
Sweat rolled down Klaus' temple as he adjusted his glasses, dread coiling tighter with every second. "They select children with powerful mana. Force them into competitions. Embed magic tools to increase their output..."
Another wave of crystal crashed down, forcing him to halt as he reinforced the shield, arms trembling.
"...And in the end," he continued, voice strained, "they make them kill each other."
"What?!" Xierra cried, shock slicing through her exhaustion. Her focus faltered just long enough for a shard to catch her ankle, sending her stumbling with a sharp gasp.
Klaus reacted instantly, catching her arm and hauling her back behind the shield. Both of them grimaced—not from pain alone, but from the weight of what those words meant.
She had heard rumors back at headquarters, whispers traded between Magic Knights in quiet corners. But never this. Never the full truth.
Children killing children.
Even Klaus—raised in nobility, trained for combat—felt his stomach churn with a deepening pit forming. Defeat was one thing. Killing was another entirely.
And here stood the survivor of that nightmare.
Mars.
Power incarnate, shaped by cruelty and survival, wielding strength beyond comprehension. Shock painted Klaus' face, edged with a fear he could not suppress.
How were they supposed to win?
Mars' strength eclipsed expectation. No—part of him had known this from the start. A mage capable of such devastation without a grimoire had always been an omen. With one, he became something else entirely.
Klaus' fists clenched until his hands shook, shoulders quivering as his head dipped forward. Fury tangled with disbelief, hot and suffocating.
"No matter who the opponent is... this isn't acceptable...!"
Denial surged, wild and desperate. Anxiety twisted with guilt, responsibility crushing down hard.
What is this?! I'm a noble! A member of the Golden Dawn!
The words looped endlessly in his mind, heartbeat pounding in his ears—not awe, not admiration, but a sickening kind of shock.
He looked back.
Mimosa lay resting behind them, pale and unmoving. Inari stood rigid before her, flames snapping as he shielded her with his own body. Yuno struggled to stand, wind flickering weakly at his side.
Then there was Xierra herself—bent, shaking, still fighting.
Neither she nor Yuno had much mana left. The spells they had cast earlier weighed heavily on their bodies, toll written into every strained breath.
"I let my comrade be wounded so easily..."
Badum, badum.
"I'm being shielded by younger members. By peasants."
Badum, badum.
"I'm a Golden Dawn Magic Knight—the best squad. And still, a member of the Crimson Lion Kings is fighting harder in my place..."
Badum, badum.
"This—" Klaus snapped his grimoire open, stepping forward without warning, voice breaking with resolve. "—could never be all right!!!"
He slammed his foot into the stone, mana surging despite the cost. The spell tore more strength from him than he could afford—but this was no time for restraint.
He would not stand back.
"Steel Creation Magic: Fierce Spiral Lance!!"
To Be Continued...