Several more minutes passed, yet neither Tris nor Veylor had managed to inflict any real damage on the other.
Even so, both remained extremely patient.
'Fast… but still not fast enough to catch me.
That puppet's defense is troublesome, but if I keep focusing my attacks on a single point, it should eventually break.'
Veylor calculated calmly, showing no sign of impatience as he continued the fight.
At that moment, he noticed something strange.
Tris had stopped chasing—and was now standing still.
A sense of unease crept over him.
'Is the boy about to use some kind of special magic?'
Veylor immediately raised his guard, pouring more Spiritual energy into both speed and defense.
As a seasoned Mage with vast experience, he did not dare underestimate an opponent like Tris in the slightest.
Suddenly, a sound of wind descended from above.
Not daring to take his eyes off Tris, Veylor only allowed himself a glance upward from the corner of his vision.
'Something's there… a shadow just passed overhead. A bird?'
He couldn't be certain—there was no time to look closely.
Then—
Something fell from the sky.
Through Berserker's massive hand, Tris calmly caught it.
Only then did Veylor see clearly what had been dropped.
A human arm.
On one of its fingers… was a ring.
Because Berserker's hand was so large, Tris had to carefully adjust his grip to retrieve the ring without crushing it.
Once secured, the puppet casually tossed the ring into its mouth.
Given the puppet's structure, it was obvious where the ring ended up in Tris's hand, hidden within.
"Oh? Staying quiet? Don't you have any questions, Veylor?" Tris's voice echoed from inside the puppet.
"Where did you get that arm?" Veylor demanded, anger flaring in his voice.
"Oh? Where did that usual composure of yours go?
With your keen observation and analysis… You already know the answer, don't you?"
Tris's childish voice carried an unmistakable note of delight.
That tone… it sounded like a child receiving a long-awaited gift.
But in stark contrast, Veylor's heart grew heavy with dread—and fury.
Yes.
With his observational ability, the answer was obvious.
And it was an answer he wished to deny.
"Zarek… is he dead?" Veylor asked through clenched teeth.
The sleeve.
The ring.
The way it was worn.
Everything belonged to Zarek.
"Ah, he's still breathing for now.
But judging by how much blood he lost after dropping this…"
Tris waved the severed arm lightly.
"…he probably doesn't have long."
How had Tris managed to reach Zarek?
Did he have an accomplice?
Veylor did not know.
But one thing was clear—
He had been cornered.
If escape was the goal, Veylor was confident he could shake off Tris and get away alone.
But to locate Zarek, rescue him, and then escape with both of them—while still being hunted—
That was impossible.
Especially when the method used to attack Zarek remained unknown.
If he wanted to save Zarek—
even if the chance was vanishingly small—
There was only one path left.
He had to kill Tris.
As quickly as possible.
At that moment, a chilling realization struck him.
'That earlier conversation… about my motives…
Did the boy already plan everything from the start?
Knowing I swore loyalty to the village chief… did he turn Zarek into a hostage, forcing me to act exactly as he intended?'
Cold sweat soaked his back, washing away even his anger.
The feeling of being played—of dancing in the palm of another's hand—
This was the first time Veylor had ever felt such terror.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself.
'This… may very well be my final battle.'
As that thought settled, he removed his cloak.
Seeing the unusual action, Tris's vigilance immediately sharpened.
Despite the relaxed—even mocking—demeanor he often displayed, his mind never stopped analyzing, calculating, and guarding against every possibility.
Defeat could strike the moment one believed victory was certain.
That was another lesson he had learned from his dreams.
Countless experiences had shaped a mindset that left no room for carelessness.
Once Veylor discarded his cloak, his puppet moved close behind his bare body.
From its chest, countless thin tentacles emerged—
wrapping tightly around his limbs and torso.
Many of them pierced directly into his flesh.
The puppet's head split apart, enclosing his own like a helmet.
'Human… and puppet fusion? Does a technique like this exist?'
Even Tris was taken aback.
With Berserker, he merely controlled from within.
But Veylor's method was clearly different—
Those tentacles were embedded in his body.
"Care to explain this new form?" Tris asked, genuinely curious.
"I would… but I don't believe we have the luxury of time," Veylor replied—and charged.
"Cry of Banshee"— From Veylor's mouth, a sudden sonic attack surged toward the "Berserker."
More precisely, it was aimed straight at Tris, who was hiding inside."
Tris reacted instantly.
"Echo."
The two sound-based attacks collided midair, producing a thunderous resonance that echoed across the mountains.
Anyone nearby would have been knocked unconscious—
or killed outright.
Without hesitation, Berserker's massive fist shot forward toward Veylor.
But his speed and reflexes had reached a terrifying level.
He weaved through the air, evading the blow, while counterattacking with the puppet's blade-like hands.
They struck like twin swords, repeatedly targeting Berserker's joints.
Defense, evasion, counterattack—
Tris and Veylor clashed relentlessly in brutal close combat, each intent on crushing the other.
Their battlefield turned into a storm of wind and steel—
ready to grind anything caught within into dust.
Knowing he couldn't afford a prolonged fight, Veylor unleashed even stronger techniques.
The tentacles on his puppet's back twisted together, forming two massive tendrils.
From them, two enormous cyclones erupted.
They twisted violently through the air, drilling straight toward Tris like gigantic spiraling lances.
Tris responded instantly.
Activating the magic embedded within Berserker's arms—
Space magic: Devouring Hand.
The puppet raised both hands toward the incoming cyclones.
At the center of each palm, a tiny black point appeared.
Every object within the area near the hand it pointed to would be pulled in, as if sucked into a vortex.
The closer one came to the black dot, the stronger the twisting force became, until at last it would crush and devour its victim.