The silence of the basement library was absolute, broken only by the rhythmic sound of a pen scribbling on paper.
One week had passed since the shores of Lake Balaton had seen the ash of a Noble. For Jay, that week had been a blur of physical recovery and mental autopsy. He sat on a low wooden stool as his right hand wrapped in thick sterile bandages.
The wound from the Manthar Noble's claws had been deeper than he'd initially realized as the necrotic mana had curdled his blood, leaving a lingering chill in his veins that even his own internal heat struggled to burn away.
He had returned to Verona with barely 20% of his mana reserves, it was a dangerously low threshold considering that trip was just to make himself used to a real battle after all.
'I was too confident,' Jay thought, his hazel eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight.
The most stinging realization was the failure of his Domain of His Own. He had viewed it as a perfect defensive system, that's theoritically is true. But real battle taught him that theory will take you only so far. The Vampire had taught him that math can be deceived by a bait. By throwing his coat, Manthar had created a spatial ghost that the Domain had prioritized, leaving Jay open for the real strike.
"Variables," Jay whispered, the word tasting like copper. "In a real fight, the variables are infinite. You don't just solve the equation; you have to predict who is writing it."
But the battle had yielded one golden fruit, the memory of wielding Durandal.
He looked at his bandaged hand. When he had held that blue blade, something fundamental had shifted. It wasn't just a sword, it was a force multiplier. His physical capabilities such as his speed, his reaction time, his durability. It all had tripled. It was as if the sword had acted as a second nervous system, one that was perfectly tuned for the slaughter of supernatural beings.
That's when he reaized that he needed a weapon. Relying solely on magic was like trying to paint a masterpiece with only one color. Magic was versatile, but in the heat of a high-speed confrontation, the cold, physical certainty of steel was what decided who lived and who became ash.
Jay closed his eyes and reached into the pocket-dimension of his spatial storage. With a soft shimmer of distorted air, he pulled out Sister Andrea's sword.
It was a standard-issue light-based sword, light and sharp with platinum blade etched with minor purification sigils. It was the sword that had protected him that night in Romania. But compared to the sheer, overwhelming presence of Durandal, it felt like a toy.
Jay stood up, ignoring the dull throb in his hand. He stepped into the center of the library, cleared a space between the stacks of ancient scrolls, and took a stance.
He swung.
The blade cut through the air with a crisp whoosh. He followed through with a fluid horizontal slash, a parry, and a thrust. His body still remembered the movements, how his body moved and swing Durandal during his fight. He was fluent, his form was technically correct, and his spatial awareness allowed him to move without a single wasted inch.
But there was no "hum." There was no surge of holy energy that turned his blood into liquid lightning.
"As I thought," Jay muttered, lowering the sword. "It's different."
The physical and mental reinforcement that a true Holy Sword gave its wielder was something that couldn't be simulated by mere magic, not at his current level. Durandal hadn't just been a weapon, it had been an anchor for his mana, allowing him to output power that his own body shouldn't have been able to handle.
'I should have kept it.' He thought, maliciously. He started to regretting it now.
He could have teleported away with the Blue Blade. He could have vanished into the mountains of Slovenia, the deep forests of Germany, or just simply come back to Glenda's house and wait if they can find him.
But then the pragmatism returned. Keeping Durandal would have made him the Church's "Most Wanted." He was powerful, but he wasn't ready to have the whole Heaven faction breathing down his neck. Not yet.
He needed to reclaim mastery over the True Cross of Golgotha, a power he had neglected for the past month ever since its last use in the battle against Berjequel. Even though he himself didn't want to just use it on a whim for a mere practice. He need to find a more efficient way to used it for himself.
He also had to complete his work on the Anthem of Life as it would be a game changer for his magical capability. He also needs to learns more type of magic, deeper circles to inscribe, older spells to unearth or simply create one by himself just like he used to.
And finally, there was the matter of armament. To Jay right now, weapons were not luxuries. They were necessities.
Collecting Sacred Gears would be the simplest path. Humans wielded them, after all. But that road reeked of hypocrisy. Slaughtering humans for power would make him no different from those he had sworn to hunt. Power gained that way would rot him from within.
That left the other path.
Legendary weapons and divine artifacts, scattered like relics of a forgotten age across the world like Durandal.
There are some of them that he has in his mind after read the books in the library. The Shroud of Turin in Italy is the nearest from him. Gáe Bolg in Ireland. The Heavenly Jade Seal in China. Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi in Japan. And even older things, unrecorded by any modern Pantheon yet whispered of in broken myths. Artifacts of Mesopotamia, such as Shamash's Sun Disk, said to embody judgment itself.
Or even, the one which he already planning to do and search for is a collection of books that is owned by the only man that is mentioned to be the master of Spirit Magic itself, Solomon King of Israel. Ars Goetia the Authority over Demon, Ars Almadel the Authority over Angels, Ars Paulina the over Time and Space, and the said bible of spirits magic, Ars Theurgia the Authority over Spirits.
If they truly existed, then they could be taken.
He exhaled slowly.
It seemed he would need to start booking flights and steal some God's toys.
"But still," he said to the empty room, "I think that is too early for now."
He began to practice again, his movements growing faster, more aggressive. He began to integrate his Spatial Shifts into the swordplay, flickering mid-swing to change the angle of the blade, using the momentum of a teleport to add weight to a thrust.
He was so engrossed in the movement of his blade that he didn't hear the heavy iron door at the top of the stairs creak open.
"What the hell is this? I leave for a week and you've turned into a wannabe samuray or whatever they called it Japan?"
Jay froze mid-swing, the tip of the blade inches from a bookshelf. He turned his head to see Glenda standing at the entrance. She looked like she had been dragged through a hedge backward. Her hair was a mess, there were dark circles under her eyes that looked like bruises, and her cloak was stained with what looked like expensive wine and old soot.
She stomped down the stairs, her boots echoing with annoyance.
"What the hell brat, who said you could wield a sword when your magic isn't even halfway decent yet?" she scolded, tossing her bag onto a nearby table. "I know you are a fast learner, but focusing on two
Jay lowered the sword, his face returning to its usual empty, stoic expression. "How am I supposed to learn magic if my supposed teacher isn't even here to teach me?"
Glenda paused, her hand halfway to her hip. She glared at him, her mouth twitching. "I was out... gathering intelligence. Doing things that a brat like you wouldn't understand. Networking! It's called networking!"
"You smell like a brewery and old parchment, Glenda."
The woman let out a long, dramatic sigh and collapsed into a plush velvet chair, rubbing her temples. "Gods, I hate kids. Why did I agree to this? Listen, kid. I have good news and bad news. Which one do you want to hear first?"
Jay didn't hesitate. "Bad news."
"Hm... Nevermind, since they're related, let me tell you the good news first."
Jay gave her a flat, unimpressed look. "Why even ask then? You never make sense."
Glenda ignored him, leaning forward, her expression suddenly losing its playfulness. The fatigue was still there, but there was a sharp, predatory focus in her eyes.
"The good news is... I know where Lavinia is."
The air in the basement suddenly felt very heavy. Jay's grip on the hilt of Andrea's sword tightened until his knuckles turned white. The name Lavinia Reni was the thread that connected him to Sister Andrea's final breath. She was the one he had to find, and the reason why he even here in the first place.
"Where?" Jay's voice was like a rasp against stone.
"But the bad news is," Glenda continued, raising a finger, "she won't be there for weeks. Maybe months. I don't know the exact timeline."
Jay's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"
Glenda sighed and gestured for him to sit. When Jay remained standing, she rolled her eyes and continued.
"Right now, there's a project being run by some... acquaintances of mine. It involves a group of stray magicians causing trouble in the Far East. Japan, specifically. And to solve that, an organization you might have heard of, the Grigori is getting involved. The Fallen Angels don't like it when human magicians start playing with things they don't understand."
Jay listened, his mind cataloging the names. Grigori. Fallen Angels. Japan.
"My reliable sources tell me that the Grigori are seeking help from Grauzauberer to contain the situation," Glenda explained. "Since it's shaping up to be a major incident, Grauzauberer is probably going to be sending their high-ranking members to assist. And that includes the 'Ice Princess' herself. Lavinia Reni."
Glenda leaned back, watching Jay's reaction. "I know the chairman of Grauzauberer quite well. He doesn't move his best pieces unless the board is about to catch fire."
"But you don't know when?" Jay asked. "It's just a speculation then."
"It's a bad news after all, bear with it," Glenda snapped, though her eyes softened for a fraction of a second. "The world of magic doesn't run on your schedule, brat. You can't just charge in. If you go to Japan now, you'll be caught in the crossfire between Fallen Angels and rogue magicians before you even find her."
Jay went silent. He looked down at his bandaged hand, then at the sword in his grip. The burning need for vengeance was a physical weight in his chest, but he wasn't a fool. If Lavinia was as powerful as the stories said—if she was a "High Ranking Member" of a global magician guild—he wasn't ready to face her. Not as he was now.
"Fine," Jay said, a cold, dark resolve settling over him.
He didn't just want to find Lavinia. He wanted to be ready for whatever came after.
"I'll wait. But I won't just sit here."
"Good," Glenda said, closing her eyes. "Because while you still have time, I'm going to make sure your magic is actually worth a damn. Even if you are not officially my disciple, i still have a pride as both magician and teacher you know. "
Glenda fell silent, her gaze drifting as if caught on a distant memory. Regret lingered there, tangled with a quiet sadness she did not bother to hide.
"And if you ever meet Lavinia," she added softly, "do not tell her that I taught you magic. Do not even say that you know me."
Jay said nothing. The look in Glenda's eyes was too complicated, too heavy with things left unsaid, and he had no desire to pry into wounds that were clearly still open.
"Anyway," Glenda said, wrinkling her nose, "why does this place reek of bats?"
Her gaze slid to Jay's right hand, hastily wrapped in fresh bandages. She stared for a second longer than necessary.
Then realization struck.
"Y-you… don't tell me-"
"Umm," Jay said weakly, already knowing there was no saving himself. "I can explain."
He in fact couldn't.
That night, Jay learned firsthand what it meant to incur the wrath of the Legendary Witch of the South.