Lancer dropped from the air, boots hitting the ground with a dull thud.
But his stance faltered. His face tensed.
Brrt. A thin stream of blood spilled from the corner of his mouth.
The poison's acting up again, he thought bitterly. Overusing my power only accelerates it…
The signs didn't escape those watching.
Eryndor's sharp eyes narrowed. Mirelle's expression turned wary.
"Black Vow," the Headmaster said coldly. "You've gone too far."
Lancer wiped his mouth, his grin flickering. "He was corrupted anyway. Why bother mourning him? Or is this how justice works now? Mourning the wolves while ignoring the fangs?"
"How dare a criminal lecture us on what's right," Mirelle snapped. Her voice was calm, but her fingers had already curled around her wand. "Father, his condition looks off. That kind of strain isn't normal. Let's capture him together. I'll assist this time."
Eryndor gave a solemn nod. "Vellian is dead. This is no luxury situation to keep a fair fight anymore. Let's end it."
Mirelle lifted into the air, wand in her right hand, while her left hovered over a glowing sphere—pulsing with power, radiant blue energy flickering across its surface.
Lancer tensed.
This is bad.
"Come forth."
Her voice echoed with command.
In the distance, a roar built. Then—
FWOOOOSH.
A tidal wave surged into view—an entire wall of water rushing in from a nearby source, drawn by Mirelle's elemental focus. It hovered beside her like an obedient beast, churning with restrained wrath.
She's an Elementalist, no doubt, Lancer noted grimly.
"Hah!"
With a cry, the front line of the water crystallized—dozens of icy spears forming in midair, then launching in rapid succession.
SHNK! SHNK! SHNK!
A blizzard of projectiles tore through the battlefield, aiming straight for Lancer.
He moved.
His spear spun like a rotor, deflecting the incoming barrage in a blur of motion. Ice shards shattered around him like glass, but even as he blocked, more came.
A faint hum rose. The Codex of Gold behind Eryndor gleamed again.
BOOM—!
A beam of pure energy lanced toward Lancer.
He sidestepped—only for his body to jerk in pain as another strike burned into his back.
"Ghh—!"
He twisted around—
And saw it.
One of the ice crystals had formed a reflective mirror—still hovering in place. The earlier beam had ricocheted off it, curving to strike from behind.
Mirelle's doing.
Father and daughter. Fighting in tandem.
More ice launched. Another beam followed. Then another. Ricochets danced unpredictably, bouncing through air like deadly light traps. Lancer blocked what he could—but each second stretched him thinner. Every breath became heavier. Every dodge more desperate.
If I were at full strength, he thought grimly, this would've been manageable. I could've broken the deadlock, escaped clean.
But the poison—the exertion from unleashing Shooting Star and Absolute Thrust back-to-back—was crushing him from the inside.
And the storm wasn't stopping.
Another beam closed in—fast, direct. Too fast to block.
But just before it struck—
FWWOMP.
A barrier appeared in front of him. The beam shattered against it, dispersing into motes of gold.
Lancer blinked.
Beside him, a figure had stepped forward.
Soren.
"You—" he muttered.
"What is the meaning of this, Instructor Soren?" Mirelle asked sharply.
Soren met her gaze without flinching.
"He killed Vellian. That much is true. But in my eyes," he said, his voice calm and deliberate, "Vellian was the villain."
He turned his head slightly. "So tell me—why shouldn't I help the one who stopped him?"
Mirelle's face darkened. "Justice is not decided by one man's judgment. We must bring him in for trial. Whether Vellian was good or not is beside the point."
Then Eryndor spoke—cutting the tension with surgical precision.
"Instructor Soren." His tone was quiet. Dangerous. "Where is Elara Kinsley?"
Soren froze.
His throat tightened. He couldn't tell them. Not yet.
He couldn't admit that Elara was sealed within the devour dimension of his eye—a forbidden domain tied to a power that once belonged to a Demon Lord. One step out of line, and he'd be marked as a heretic. A traitor.
"She…" Soren finally said, "She's somewhere safe."
Eryndor's eyes narrowed, suspicion deepening.
There was something off. He could feel it.
The man before him was cloaked in half-truths, hidden motives, unreadable silence. Even his aura felt… fragmented. Like a mirror reflecting something not quite real.
The air held still.
"Save the explanation for later," Mirelle snapped. "Father, focus on capture them!"
She raised her left hand. The levitating sphere pulsed—
WHOOOSH.
A freezing gale surged forward, a sweeping arc of howling frost aimed to engulf both men.
But before it reached them—
Soren stepped forward.
His hand snapped up, no medium—just raw will.
FWHOOM.
Powerful heat burst forth from his palm—pure, roaring madly. It met the oncoming frost in a violent clash, erupting into a storm of searing vapor. Steam exploded around them, veiling the battlefield in a dense white mist.
Mirelle flinched. Shock crossed her face.
He blocked it? Not only that—but without a helping medium? No staff, wand, not even a codex?
Even Soren looked momentarily stunned by what he'd just done. The magic hadn't just come easily—it had poured out of him, like a surge he could barely contain.
His heart pounded. His body buzzed with excess mana, almost like a fever. And beneath that—
Rage.
A sharp, restless fury coiled beneath his skin. He couldn't stop thinking about Lyra. About what could be happening to her right now. About how long she'd been alone, vulnerable, while he was stuck in this mess.
He needed to end this. Fast.
What he didn't notice… was the change creeping along his skin.
From the left side of his face, rooted from Ruin to his temple, faint cracks had begun to form—like fissures on porcelain, glowing faintly red beneath the surface. As if something inside him was struggling to break through.
—
Inside Soren's mental world…
Greed stood with arms folded, casting a lazy sidelong glance toward another presence that had emerged in the mist.
A tall figure, arms tense, posture rigid like a loaded spring. Fury radiated from him like heat from a forge.
"Wrath." Greed's voice was dry. "Why now?"
The new figure didn't look at him, eyes burning forward. "I smelled it," he said, voice rough like grinding stone. "Anger that exhilarates me."
Greed scoffed. "You feel exhilarated, yet you never smile."
"That's just who I am."
—
"HRAAGHH!"
Soren shouted as he unleashed an arcane bolt—but it wasn't like the usual occurence.
The spell surged with raw, almost primal power—tinted crimson at the edges, its trajectory lashing like a whip of rage.
Mirelle's eyes widened.
She thrust her sphere forward—water surged to form a thick wall of ice.
KRK-K-KRSHHH—!
The arcane bolt slammed into it, drilling into the frozen barrier with wild force. Cracks spiderwebbed across the surface as the wall strained to hold.
"What is this…?" Mirelle whispered.
This wasn't a normal arcane attack.
He's supposed to be an arcanist.But this felt… enhanced. Augmented. As if something was feeding him more than his own talent.
Lancer, still engaged with Eryndor, flicked his eyes toward the clash.
And frowned.
Something was off about Soren. His stance was tenser, his aura darker. And his eyes—
His eyes were glowing, just faintly—but enough to unsettle. One of them, especially, looked almost manic.
Eryndor, too, had taken notice. Even amid his own fight, his eyes narrowed in concern.
The ice wall finally shattered with a deafening crack, shards scattering in all directions. Mirelle shielded her face, but when the mist cleared—
Soren was already moving.
Fast.
Too fast.
BOOM—!
He surged forward with a blink, almost teleporting—one palm glowing with unstable arcane energy, the other already raised for another cast.
Eryndor shouted, "Stop—!"
But Soren expression was blank. No, worse—distorted.
The faint red glow from the crack on his face pulsed again, brighter now, snaking further across his temple. His lips moved, but the voice that came out—
Wasn't quite his.
"I crave destruction."
Mirelle froze.
From behind, Eryndor shouted, "Stay back—he's losing control!"
And Lancer, watching with narrowed eyes, muttered:"…No. It's not that he's losing it."
His grip on his spear tightened.
It's like it's someone else.
Then—
CRK-CRRRKKK.
The sound of breaking glass—from within Soren himself.
His left eye burst open with a sudden flare of blinding red, the crimson cracks on his skin expanding like lightning, crawling toward his jaw.
The wind around him howled unnaturally.
And from deep within that fractured power—
A voice whispered.
"Unleash me."