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The moment the priest struck, the entire room turned into chaos.
Mordred moved first.
She twisted her body, barely dodging a punch that still carried enough force to send her crashing into nearby furniture. Wood splintered on impact, fragments scattering across the floor, but she didn't hesitate.
Her grip tightened around Clarent.
In the next instant, she launched herself forward.
The priest vanished.
To an ordinary eye, it would have looked like teleportation. His speed blurred his form completely, leaving nothing but a faint afterimage.
But Mordred was not ordinary.
Her eyes tracked him.
Her body reacted.
The moment he reappeared behind her, she had already moved. Her hand shot out, catching his leg mid-motion before he could complete his strike. The priest reacted instantly, kicking off the ground and using the ceiling as leverage, twisting his body to bring his blade down toward her back.
Mordred didn't even look surprised.
She raised Clarent.
Steel met steel.
A sharp explosion rang through the room as sparks burst outward. The impact alone sent a shockwave through the house, furniture breaking apart as if struck by an explosion. The floor cracked beneath their feet, fragments lifting into the air from the force of the clash.
For a brief moment, they locked blades.
Neither moved.
Both observed.
Mordred narrowed her eyes slightly, assessing him. He was skilled—far more than the average exorcist. His raw strength wasn't extraordinary by her standards, somewhere around lower servant-tier, but his speed and technique more than made up for it.
If she were at full strength, this wouldn't even be a fight.
But she wasn't.
She had just finished hours of training, and traces of damage from Bararaq Saiqa still lingered in her body. It slowed her—just enough to matter.
Across from her, the priest remained calm, but inside, he was anything but.
He had expected resistance.
Not this.
The girl was fast enough to match him, strong enough to withstand his strikes, and her swordsmanship—refined, precise—was beyond what he had anticipated. And yet, her aura was completely human.
That made no sense.
How could a human reach this level?
The moment passed.
Mordred pushed forward, forcing him back. The priest slid across the floor before regaining his footing, immediately countering with a thrust aimed directly at her center.
She raised Clarent and deflected it, but the angle left her slightly open.
She attacked.
The priest reacted instantly, kicking off the ground and pulling back just in time to avoid being cut. Both of them reset their stances, preparing to engage again.
Then—
they stopped.
A presence filled the room.
Heavy.
Overwhelming.
Both turned toward the door.
Standing there were Enkidu, Sebas… and Gilgamesh.
None of them looked pleased.
Gilgamesh stepped forward slightly, his crimson eyes locking onto the priest.
The atmosphere shifted instantly.
It wasn't just pressure.
It was instinct.
The kind of feeling prey experienced when faced with a predator.
The priest felt it clearly.
His body reacted before his mind could process it.
Fear surged through him—not hesitation, not doubt, but pure survival instinct. Every part of him screamed to act, to strike, to eliminate the threat before it was too late.
So he moved.
Without thinking.
Without planning.
He charged.
His sword—an Excalibur fragment—flashed forward, aimed directly at Gilgamesh's head with lethal precision.
It stopped.
An inch away.
The priest's eyes widened.
His body refused to move.
Chains of golden light wrapped around him, binding him completely. Enkidu stood behind him, one hand raised calmly, as if this outcome had been inevitable.
Gilgamesh stepped forward.
Calm.
Unhurried.
He reached out and grabbed the priest by the neck, lifting him slightly off the ground as his grip tightened.
"Give me a reason," Gilgamesh said, his voice quiet but suffocating, "why I shouldn't kill you right now."
The priest froze.
Not from the chains.
But from the eyes staring into him.
Fear—real, undeniable fear—settled deep in his chest.
"W-wait!"
The voice cut through the tension.
Asia.
She stepped between them, her expression filled with worry as she looked at both sides.
"P-please stop!" she said, her voice trembling. "C-can't we just talk?"
She turned toward the priest.
"Valerie-chan said you came to take me back to the Church… right?"
Her hands clenched slightly.
"Then… shouldn't we talk about it first?"
The room went quiet.
Surprise flickered across several faces.
That was not what they had expected.
Gilgamesh's eyes narrowed slightly.
"...It depends," he said calmly.
He glanced at the priest.
"I would have been willing to talk," he continued, "if he hadn't decided to attack first."
The words settled heavily.
The priest's expression tightened for a moment before he exhaled slowly.
"I apologize," he said, lowering his sword. "If this can be resolved without violence, I am willing to speak."
His tone was sincere.
No deception.
Gilgamesh watched him for a moment before snapping his fingers lightly.
The chains disappeared.
The priest stepped back, sheathing his sword.
Gilgamesh glanced around the room.
Destroyed furniture.
Cracked floor.
Total mess.
His gaze shifted toward Mordred.
She looked away immediately.
A quiet sigh escaped him.
He raised his hand, a small blue sphere forming above his palm, intricate symbols rotating around it.
"Time Magic: Temporal Regression."
The words were spoken softly.
The effect was immediate.
Everything began to reverse.
Fragments of wood reassembled. Cracks in the floor sealed themselves. Broken objects returned to their original state as if time itself had been rewound.
Within seconds—
the room was restored.
Perfect.
Untouched.
Everyone stared in silence.
Gilgamesh sat down on the sofa as if nothing unusual had happened. Enkidu and Valerie took seats nearby, while Mordred and Asia sat on the adjacent sofa. Sebas stood quietly behind him.
The priest sat opposite them.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Then Gilgamesh narrowed his eyes slightly.
"It's been a while… Ewald Cristaldi."
Recognition flashed in the priest's eyes.
"Yes," he replied calmly. "It has been a long time… Paladin Gilgamesh."
The tension in the room rose again.
Thick.
Heavy.
Because this—
was not a coincidence.
Of all people, the Church had sent someone like him.
Ewald Cristaldi.
A legend.
A man with no Sacred Gear, no special bloodline—yet strong enough to defeat Ultimate-Class devils alone. A swordsman whose skill alone placed him among the strongest of the Church.
Someone comparable to Vasco Strada himself.
And now—
he was here.
For Asia.
The situation had just become far more complicated.