"Dia'Tia!" Klarineht's voice rang out, fierce and determined, her palm blazing with intensified fury as it clashed against Primnear's shadow shield. Red and black sparks exploded in all directions, a testament to the raw power at play. "We can't let him drain the altar's divine energy!"
The giantess hesitated, her massive form poised with uncertainty. Raiking's back was turned, a vulnerable target. Yet, striking him now, after he had once shown her mercy, seemed wrong. There had to be another way to resolve this without betrayal.
He's not just a heartless killer. There's a soul worth saving within him, she reminded herself. That was why she had tried to understand him. Raiking was the same man she met at the inn, sitting across from an enemy commander, sharing tales of the loneliness that accompanies power.
Once, she had extended a proposal of marriage to him; now, she would make the decision she should have made then. Klarineht's words resonated: life is a long and arduous journey. Instead of rushing to the end, offering a hand was often the wiser path. For warriors, true understanding often emerges in the heat of battle.
"Raiking!" she called out, her voice unwavering and resolute, cutting through the chaos like a battle cry. "You claimed I fought Arshara, not your true self! You said if I faced the real you, I wouldn't be standing! Well, here I am—ready to meet the real you!"
Raiking's gaze flickered towards her, a spark of interest igniting in his eyes. With a swift motion, she stomped her foot into the stone ground, summoning a jagged earthen spike. Skillfully catching it mid-air, she propelled herself above the swirling tempest of fire and shadow.
Descending upon Raiking like a divine spear, she aimed to pierce through to the core of his being. He raised a hand with effortless grace, his spiritual energy halting her advance with a breathtaking burst of power. The grinding clash of stone against invisible force echoed through the hall as their eyes locked in a fierce and unyielding standoff.
Suspended in mid-air, their clash mirrored the intense duel they once fought atop the tavern roof, each determined to unearth the other's true essence. Dia'tia then spoke.
"You never told me why you quit drinking..."
"Is that really what you're here to find out?"
"Yes."
"Even if it changes nothing?"
"I'm not sure if we'll ever see eye to eye," Dia'Tia replied, her aura blazing with intensity. "But at least you'll know there's someone who understands the path you're walking."
Raiking didn't respond right away. The cold indifference in his eyes cracked, replaced by a deep, ancient sadness. He looked at her not as an adversary, but as someone gazing into the soul of a kindred spirit, lost yet familiar.
"She once told me something remarkably similar..."
"Are you talking about Arshara? What happened between you two?"
Raiking paused for a moment, then unleashed a massive surge of energy. The cathedral quaked as Dia'Tia was propelled skyward, her body shattering the celestial stained glass and shooting into the clouds above.
Raiking lingered in the air for a split second before propelling himself toward the gaping hole in the ceiling. As he ascended, the shattered pieces of the mural cascaded down, their reflections dancing in his dark eyes, momentarily revealing the poignant, ancient saga of a man who once loved the Goddess of Creation.
Yet, he did not spare them a single look.
Effortlessly trailing Dia'Tia into the fierce, high-altitude winds, he finally spoke. "When I first crossed paths with Arshara, I thought she was nothing but a fool."
"And I had the exact same thought about you," Dia'Tia shot back, regaining her composure in the thin air. She vanished, reappearing at his side. Her spinning kick collided with his raised forearm, the impact powerful enough to send him skidding across the sky. Igniting her aura, she pursued him relentlessly. "I figured anyone wandering around with a barbarian in the most militant city in the realm had to be either recklessly daring or just plain foolish."
A faint, ghostly smile played on Raiking's lips. "And what do you think of me now?"
"When a beautiful, vibrant woman offers to marry a gloomy but slightly handsome man, and he turns her down? What else could he be but a fool?"
Raiking steadied himself, rocketing back toward her. They collided in the center of the sky, unleashing a devastating flurry of martial strikes. Each kinetic impact exploded across the sky like booming fireworks, leaving mortals below to gaze upward in terrified awe.
"Since my opinion of you hasn't changed," Dia'Tia called out over the shockwaves, "did your opinion of her remain the same?"
"If a mortal stands on the brink of achieving their ultimate dream, only to forsake it all for one person... aren't they a fool?" Raiking replied, his words sharp and penetrating.
"What did she really do?" Dia'Tia demanded, tired of cryptic language and half-truths. She wanted nothing but the raw reality.
"Knowing the truth strips away innocence," Raiking cautioned, his voice slicing through the thin air. "And once ignorance is lost, there's no reason for me to spare you."
"Just because the Compassionate General failed you, doesn't mean I will," she retorted.
As soon as those words left her mouth, Raiking's fist moved with blinding speed. It was faster than thought itself. She barely sensed the motion; the fierce gust of wind that whipped against her face was her only alert before his fist halted, mere inches from her skull.
Yet, she stood her ground, unwavering.
She locked eyes with the Demon King, her determination to confront whatever fate awaited her unshakeable.
"Very well," Raiking conceded.
---
High above in the stratosphere, Raiking began to recount the tragic tale that set him on his vengeful path. Meanwhile, on the ground, the earth trembled under the cataclysmic battle between two Immortal-stage cultivators, threatening to shatter the sacred cathedral to ruins.
A colossal shadow scythe sliced through the air with deadly intent, aiming to slice Klarineht in two. With a swift, ethereal leap, she evaded the threat.
As a grandmaster in the art of palm techniques, her true prowess lay in commanding the battlefield from a distance. While airborne, she unleashed a flurry of fireballs with rapid palm strikes. Before her feet touched the ground, she watched with narrowed eyes as Primnear effortlessly swung his scythe, reducing her fiery attack to harmless sparks.
Yet Klarineht was far from conceding defeat. The moment her boots hit the ground, she clapped her palms together—a gesture that resembled a fervent prayer, summoning divine strength to vanquish the Evil Barbarian desecrating this sacred space.
Her fire magic intensified. Blazing sparks cascaded around her as she gradually separated her hands. Between them materialized a concentrated string of pure fire, growing longer and more volatile as she widened her stance, ready for the next strike.
Amidst the clash of these Immortals, Elinea's military instincts kicked in. Her gaze darted to the shattered doors. The courtyard was filled with a small army of holy cultivators, yet none had entered the hall to lend assistance.
"Where is your Vanguard? Where are the Twelve?!" Elinea demanded urgently.
"The Order is divided!" Klarineht replied through gritted teeth, the fiery string vibrating with power. "Half support Arshara's strategy, while the others side with Raiking! If one group moves, the other will be compelled to act."
Elinea needed no further explanation. Her experiences on the battlefield had taught her all about the paralysis that gripped leaders—the endless nights spent as generals argued over logistics while the fighting continued unabated. To the average soldier, the world was simple: when attacked, you retaliate.
But Elinea had moved beyond the life of a mere soldier. As a lieutenant, she was no longer a passive observer outside the command tent. She had been at the strategy table and grasped that nothing is ever purely black and white. There were always hostages to negotiate, sacred sites to safeguard, and traitors lurking in the shadows. A single wrong move could do more than just cost lives; it could shatter the backbone of their entire campaign.
"I get it," Elinea murmured.
Beside her, Klarineht's spell reached its crescendo. The air buzzed with the oppressive aura of a late-stage Peak Immortal.
"Fire Magic—Hell's Fire, Divine Temperament."
Klarineht gripped the fiery strand, coiling it around her fist. A devastating surge of mana erupted from her being. The gale force sent Elinea reeling, forcing her to shield her eyes from the scorching winds as the solid ground groaned beneath them. Cracks spidered out from beneath Klarineht's feet, splintering the sacred stones. Then, the ancient bricks collapsed inward, revealing a yawning chasm hidden beneath the hallowed cathedral.
Suddenly, within the abyssal depths, a solitary ember of flame began its slow, deliberate ascent.
Tiny though it seemed, Elinea was no amateur. She could sense that whatever primordial spark Klarineht had pulled from the darkness would undeniably prove why she stood at the absolute pinnacle of the Twelve.