The night sky split open with a blinding flash. The meteor fell wrapped in a burning radiance, its light devouring everything until the forest below shone as bright as day. The roar that followed was deafening—a rending of air so violent it made the earth tremble to its roots. When it struck, the explosion was cataclysmic. The ground shook as if the bones of the world had cracked.
From his hiding place in the shadows, Hans watched the cataclysm without blinking. The shockwave reached even his position, tearing through leaves and branches, forcing the three demi-humans to shield their faces with their arms.
"…Meteor Fall," he murmured, recognizing the spell with solemn calm. "I see. It seems my lord has decided to take the fight more seriously."
He wasn't sure whether to feel relieved or uneasy. As a loyal subordinate, it was natural to be at his master's side—to assist, to protect. Yet that was not the order. His lord's will was clear: to face that woman alone. Hans exhaled with the quiet acceptance of one who obeys even when it unsettles him. Then he turned toward the three figures he was meant to guard.
That was when he frowned.
"…Hm?"
***
Tama and Pochi were still trembling, their wide eyes fixed on Liza in confusion.
"What was that…?" Tama whispered, her voice shaking.
"It's scary… so loud…" Pochi stammered, gripping her weapon with both hands.
Liza didn't answer right away. What she had seen streak across the sky was absurd—impossible. The idea that such destruction could be born of magic wasn't worth believing… and yet, that thought crept in. She shook her head sharply, rejecting it.
"Ready your weapons," she ordered at last, her tone firm though her hands betrayed tension. "Don't get separated. We'll go see what happened."
The trembling of the earth didn't stop. For long minutes they had listened to explosions and distant rumbles, as though the heavens themselves were tearing apart. Liza took a slow breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "Master…" she thought, a silent mix of worry and faith.
Then the ground convulsed with a far heavier impact than before—a deep, hollow sound, as if something immense was splitting open beneath them. Before they could react, the earth cracked apart and a colossal root erupted upward, dragging soil and stone in its wake.
The impact would have crushed them—had they not been torn from the spot in an instant.
Hans emerged from shadow at the forest's edge. He held Tama under one arm and Pochi under the other, while Liza landed hard on the ground, disoriented. None of them had even realized they'd been moved.
Liza blinked, still dazed, and fell to her knees as the earth steadied beneath her. She rose unsteadily, gasping for breath, her eyes instinctively searching the man who had saved them. His presence was suffocatingly heavy—so much that she could barely breathe clearly. Only her master's aura could compare.
"Who… are you?" she managed, her voice less steady than she would have liked.
Hans turned his head slightly, his lips parting as if to answer.
The sound of battle reached them from afar—explosions, fire, and the clash of powers that shook even the soil beneath their feet. At that same moment, more roots burst upward from the ground, tearing through the forest in wild fury.
Hans said nothing. His gaze sharpened, his voice cutting the air.
"Hold on."
He gripped Liza firmly, lifting her onto his shoulders as if she weighed nothing, while the girls still hung under each arm. With a powerful leap, he vanished between the trees, dodging the whips of wood that lashed out behind them.
As he ran, Hans glanced back briefly. The forest was warping around them: trunks rose like walls, roots tangled together to block every path, and each gap he opened closed instantly behind him.
"They're herding us away from the exit."
It wasn't that he refused to take them out—it was that he couldn't. With them in his arms, escaping that woman's domain was impossible.
Hans clenched his jaw and accelerated.
The roots did not relent. They surged in waves, thick as stone pillars, ripping through the soil to strike again and again. Hans weaved between them, his feet barely touching the ground before springing off once more. Each leap carried the three demi-humans with him in a blur of motion they could barely comprehend.
Tama and Pochi clung to him desperately, eyes wide with fear, while Liza, balanced on his shoulders, fought not to lose her spear amid the dizzying speed. Their breathing was pure panic.
A root the size of a house erupted before them, slamming into their path. Hans didn't slow. He leapt straight at it, one foot finding purchase on the bark before he used the rebound to launch higher. Another root crossed their path—and another. He climbed them like steps, twisting midair with the three still secured.
The final leap sent them soaring so high it felt like flight. The cold air struck their faces as they hung suspended for an instant. Then Hans released them, throwing all three upward.
"Tamaa!" cried Pochi, kicking wildly through the air.
"Pochi!" Tama shouted back, arms outstretched as though she could reach her.
Their voices tangled in midair; panic etched into every word.
Liza crossed her arms over her chest in reflex, trying to steady herself against the spin—but her eyes widened when she saw beyond them.
In the distance, two figures clashed across the sky. A root the size of a building froze midair, shattering like glass, while another exploded from within. And above them, a dragon of lightning descended like a whip against a dark silhouette that deflected it with magic.
The radiance of that clash lit their faces as they fell through the air.
"What…?" Liza breathed, disbelief widening her eyes—too awestruck to even scream as they plunged.
Time itself seemed to slow.
With a swift motion, Hans's shadow rippled and split apart into multiple fragments.
"[Multi-Shadow Clone]."
Three dark figures emerged, each materializing beside one of the demi-humans. They caught them midair with seamless precision, ensuring none of them struck the ground unguarded.
Hans, freed of his burden, descended like a feline. As he fell, his hands moved with rehearsed precision—two daggers appearing from the shadow, their blades traced with burning crimson light.
Below, three enormous roots rose vertically, ready to impale them mid-descent.
Hans vanished.
The next instant was a roar of fire and steel. Hundreds of flaming cuts crisscrossed in every direction, reducing the roots to incandescent fragments. The blazing blades carved red arcs through the gloom, encircling the clones and the girls in a perfect ring of defense.
The clones landed softly with their charges, sparks dancing around them, and Hans landed moments later, upright, the twin daggers still steaming.
For a moment, all seemed under control. The charred roots collapsed into ash, and the circle of fire still crackled, guarding the perimeter. Tama and Pochi panted in the arms of their doubles, while Liza rose unsteadily, her eyes never leaving the sky—now alive with lightning and flame.
Hans turned his head slightly, eyes narrowing. A chill crept down his spine.
"…Something's wrong."
Without hesitation, he strode toward the clones. One by one he took the demi-humans from their doubles, pulling them away with calculated force.
Then it happened.
A searing heat filled the air—suffocating and unnatural. From deep within the forest, a sphere of blue fire rose, enormous and alive, illuminating the night like a distorted sun. It grew with every heartbeat, dragging sparks and wind in its wake until the earth itself quaked under its pressure.
The clones had no chance. The explosion fell upon them, erasing them in an instant along with everything around them. The forest roared, trees were pulverized, and the ground itself became a sea of blue flame.
Hans didn't look back. With the three held tightly in his arms, he vanished in a flash before the blast could reach them.
But he was not the only one affected by this battle.
***
On the city walls of Seiryuu, the night stretched quiet and uneventful—until the distant horizon lit up with lights.
"What the hell…?" one guard muttered, squinting.
"They're stars… right?" his companion said uncertainly.
At first, the sentries compared the sight to the meteor shower from days before—white trails crossing the sky, fading into the clouds. But soon there were too many of them, falling too close together.
"What is that?" another whispered.
Beyond the fields, a strange glow shifted along the horizon. It wasn't fire or lightning; something seemed to rise from the ground toward the heavens—a serpentine shadow colliding with those "stars."
A nervous laugh broke the silence.
"Must be the moon's reflection…"
No one answered. The undulating form kept growing, and soon more appeared, twisting shapes of light and shadow.
One of the guards stepped back, swallowing hard.
"That's no reflection," he said at last, retreating another step.
The silence thickened. As they watched, one of the men furrowed his brow.
"Wait…" he murmured. "Isn't that the direction that mage went earlier today?"
His partner didn't reply—but the change in his expression was answer enough.
Without wasting another word, the first guard turned on his heel and sprinted down the stairs, calling for the captain.
At the inn, Martha clutched a tray to her chest while her mother reviewed the day's accounts. The laughter of customers filled the air—a warm, familiar murmur of clinking mugs and soft chatter. Then Martha froze mid-step, her gaze drawn to the door. She couldn't explain why, but something tugged at her chest—a pull, an urge to look toward the city walls.
"What's wrong, girl?" her mother asked, seeing her stand motionless.
"Nothing… I just thought I heard something."
A group of drinkers near the window burst into laughter.
"Waiting for that guy to come back, are you?" one teased.
"Ugh, that man was terrifying," another said. "Why would she?"
"Well, she was the only one who could talk to him," a third added, prompting another round of chuckles.
"What was so good about him anyway?" a woman asked, smirking.
"I kinda miss him," the first one replied. "It was fun seeing what he and his demi-humans brought back from their hunts."
"He didn't seem like a bad guy," someone else offered. "And he had money… didn't look too bad either."
"He never took off that hood—how would you know?" another laughed.
"I don't know, I just got the feeling," came the shrugging reply.
"I get it," another chimed in mockingly. "Maybe that's why little Martha misses him."
"Oh, she's at that age, huh?"
The tavern erupted in laughter.
Martha pressed her lips together, ignoring them.
"Drunks," she muttered, collecting empty plates.
But even as she worked, her eyes drifted once more to the door. She saw nothing, heard nothing—yet the feeling wouldn't fade. She shook her head slightly and returned to her duties, unaware that the laughter around her was dimming, the air itself waiting for something unseen.
***
In Yusa's shop, the air shifted without warning.
Mia clutched her head, breathing heavily. Nadi, who had been arranging bottles on a shelf, turned immediately.
"Mia, what's wrong?"
The girl didn't answer. Her eyes had turned silver, glowing faintly. Tiny motes of light floated around her—fairies, usually playful and carefree—but now they were hiding, seeking refuge under tables, behind books, within the smallest shadows.
"They're scared…" Mia whispered. "Really scared."
Nadi exchanged a glance with Yusa, who had risen from his seat. The elf extended a hand, reaching out with his senses to feel the flow of nature—but detected nothing unusual. His magic wasn't fine enough to sense what only the fairies could.
"I feel nothing," he said calmly, though doubt colored his voice.
Mia shook her head slowly, still staring at the air where the tiny lights clustered together.
***
In the deep levels of the Tower—The Cradle—a dryad slowly opened her eyes.
Her body, intertwined with roots and wilted flowers, released a faint sigh of sap as she stirred. Something trembled in the distance. She couldn't see it, but she felt it: an immense vibration coursing through the flows of nature, disturbing the very rhythm of life.
The echo of that energy made her shiver.
"What an annoying noise…" she murmured sleepily.
She tried to listen more closely, and for a moment caught scattered impressions—the fury of the earth, fire consuming everything, air torn apart by dense magic. Two presences. One of them… felt oddly familiar.
"An ally?" she wondered aloud, tilting her head. There was something akin to her race in that presence, something faintly kin.
"Oh well, it doesn't matter."
She closed her eyes again, letting the tower's quiet envelop her. The roots around her stirred lazily, searching for mana within the cold stone. She had no way of knowing who that presence belonged to; few in this age ever received a dryad's blessing.
"That ninja…" she whispered at last, her voice drifting like a thought escaping into sleep. "If I see him again, I'll ask."
***
The air was thick with dust and smoke. In the distance, the trees stood like blackened pillars—remnants of a forest that no longer existed. The cracked earth glowed faintly from the magma beneath, and amidst that scorched wasteland, Mito struggled to breathe. Her body slammed against a charred root before collapsing to the ground; the dry soil splintered beneath her weight. Magic stirred around her, and a soft green light enveloped her wounds, forcing her to rise again on trembling legs while the air vibrated with energy.
Ahead, floating in the air, Satoru watched her in silence. His figure stood against the distant blaze of fire. His cloak and armor had long been reduced to ash. His skin—pale, almost unnatural—was covered in cuts that still bled faintly. Only one wound, the one in his abdomen where the sacred sword had pierced him, still glowed with a dim white light, an eerie radiance that refused to fade. Despite everything, his posture remained upright, his breathing steady, his cold eyes reflecting the fire around them.
Mito clenched her teeth. From the ground, thick roots began to emerge once more, twisting in every direction. They advanced toward Satoru, splitting the soil with a dry roar. The thinner ones curved like spears, striking from all sides. Satoru watched their approach, unflinching, and raised his hand with slow precision.
"[Triplet Magic: Shark Cyclone]."
The wind split open. Three massive tornadoes erupted around him, lifting dust, rock, and flame. The roots shattered instantly, dragged into the sky and torn apart by the violent pressure. The storms rose over a hundred meters high, spiraling outward until they devoured the horizon. The roar was so immense that even the air seemed to implode.
Mito shielded her face with her arm, the gale throwing her several meters backward. When the winds finally subsided, the terrain had changed—what remained was a plain of molten earth, scarred by fissures and scattered fragments of smoldering wood.
She gasped for breath, trembling, and lifted her sword. A rain of sacred light formed above her—hundreds of white spears descending with precision. Yet before they could reach him, they vanished, dissolving into smoke. Satoru didn't even blink. The air around him shimmered faintly, rippling with the invisible defense encasing his body.
"Her holy magic is weak," he murmured, almost as a scientist might. "Nature magic, however…"
He extended his arm again. The ground beneath his feet glowed, and an explosion of fire and lava surged outward. The blast consumed an entire section of land, melting what remained of the battlefield. Mito was thrown back, crashing into the ground. Her sword quivered in her grasp, its aura nearly extinguished. For an instant, she didn't move.
Satoru descended slowly, his gaze never leaving her. There was no anger in it, no impatience—only an overwhelming calm.
"That's enough," he said at last, his voice barely audible over the echoes of fire. "This has gone on long enough."
He turned his wrist, tracing an invisible pattern in the air.
"[Triplet Magic: Greater Magic Seal]."
"[Triplet Maximize Boosted Magic: Magic Arrow]."
The magic circles hovered for a moment, pulsing faintly before fading from view—sealed, awaiting command.
Mito stirred. She coughed, breath ragged, and forced herself upright. Her skin mended little by little, the wounds sealing beneath flickers of green light. She raised her head toward Satoru and met his gaze. He didn't advance. He didn't strike. He simply watched her—letting her heal.
Frustration spread through her body. She gritted her teeth, fingers tightening around the sword hilt. She couldn't tell what enraged her more—the pain, or the fact that he no longer saw her as a threat.
The air still burned with the remnants of his storms. Through the haze, she rose to her knees, her body riddled with wounds that closed at an unnatural pace. The charred roots around her cracked like brittle bones, sinking once more into the earth only to rise again seconds later.
From above, Satoru watched her with the expression of someone studying a phenomenon, not an opponent. He lifted his hand, and a faint violet glow covered his eyes.
"[Life Essence]."
The world changed.
Where darkness had reigned, everything was now bathed in a sea of green light. The forest still breathed; trees, grass, even the air itself pulsed with faint vitality. But soon he noticed the anomaly. The energy of the surroundings weakened in waves, fading only to converge upon a single source—her.
Mito's life force burned like a miniature sun, vibrating in sync with the earth. With each breath she took, the green around them dimmed, trees withering as though their life was being drained and returned to her body.
Satoru lowered his gaze slightly, comprehension mixing with detached intrigue.
"So you borrow the forest's breath. What an efficient method."
He moved his hand again, and the glow in his eyes shifted to a pale blue.
"[Mana Essence]."
The lights changed color and form. The flow of energy surrounding Mito was irregular—the torrents of mana around her did not originate from within, but from her sword. The weapon pulsed brightly, each spell draining its reserves to sustain her.
The Overlord narrowed his eyes.
He recalled immediately what he had read in the sage's records: holy swords could act as mana batteries—artifacts capable of storing absurd amounts of energy. Satou himself had once used one as an emergency reservoir.
"So that's the source," he thought. "She isn't using her own mana."
And yet, he sensed there was something more.
Satoru's gaze dropped, thoughts aligning silently.
"It seems I'll have to see for myself."
The air around him changed. A thin mist began to spread—first a whisper, then a thick curtain that blurred the outline of the battlefield.
"[Silent Magic: Mist Field]."
The fog rose, swirling around him like a silver shroud, dimming the glow of the fires and cloaking the shadows in an eerie haze.
Satoru stepped forward—and vanished without a sound.
Mito turned her head, her eyes scanning the mist. The ground beneath her feet creaked softly.
A drop of sweat slid down her cheek. She couldn't see him, couldn't sense him—but she knew he was there.
A single instant of hesitation, a blink—
And Satoru appeared before her.
It was as if the air itself had been torn open. His figure materialized just inches away, a cold hand raised to intercept her movement before she could react. His fingers closed around her wrist with surgical precision.
"[Maximize Magic: Shockwave]," he whispered.
The invisible blast erupted with a sharp crack.
Mito wasn't thrown backward—but her sword was torn from her hand, spinning through the air before striking the ground several meters away in a burst of golden light. Dust and echo faded, leaving behind a silence heavier than the impact itself.
Satoru's eyes followed the fallen weapon.
"Now then… what will you do without your—"
He didn't finish the thought.
"Hah!"
The world twisted. Mito's fist shot upward faster than instinct, a pure reflex. The strike landed squarely on his jaw, the sound of the impact carrying all the rage she hadn't yet screamed.
Satoru's head tilted slightly back—not from pain, but from surprise. The sensation of the hit rippled across his face, a physical reminder that his opponent was still far from surrender.
Before he could stabilize, Mito spun on her axis, hooking his body with her shoulder. In a single, fluid motion, she threw him over herself.
His body traced a perfect arc through the air—just as a colossal root erupted from the ground, wrapping around him with crushing force. The wood groaned as it tightened, and with a deep rumble, it slammed him into the earth like a divine hammer.
The impact erupted in a cloud of ash and flame. The ground cracked outward from his body, and for a moment, the forest itself seemed to hold its breath.
Within the crater, Satoru remained motionless. Then, calmly, he exhaled.
"Physical combat," he murmured to himself, almost as a note of assessment. "Another area to improve."
The roots around him moved again, quivering with almost animal rage. They rose once more, thick and braided, falling upon him in a crashing avalanche meant to crush him completely.
Satoru lifted his gaze, his expression calm.
"[Widen Maximize Magic: Fire Aura]."
The air roared. A blazing circle burst from his center, expanding like a living wave. The roots ignited instantly, carbonizing before they could touch him. The heat distorted the world itself—the night turned crimson, a burning inferno that devoured the forest's quiet.
In the distance, Mito shielded her face with her arm, the reflection of fire dancing in her eyes. She gritted her teeth, feeling the heat bite into her skin, and reached out toward the point where her sword had fallen.
The golden blade answered her call. With a magnetic pull, it tore free from the ground and flew back into her hand, light coursing along its edge like a pulse reborn.
Mito inhaled sharply. Her body flared with a brilliant green aura, energy enveloping her, repairing bruises and cuts. Then, with a flash, the ground beneath her cracked.
A gust of wind surged upward, lifting her high above the sea of flames. She rose between the pillars of fire, her figure silhouetted against the orange glow. From above, she looked down at Satoru, her expression hardened, her hair whipped by turbulence.
The fire mirrored both her resolve and her fear.
Satoru looked up, the cold gleam of his blue eyes piercing the smoke. Without words, both understood—this was no longer a battle for advantage. It was resistance against inevitability.
The air at that height was heavy, dense with ash. Mito hovered over what was once a green forest, now reduced to smoldering ruin by his flames. The smoke rose in columns, and the silence that followed was almost reverent.
For an instant, she thought about running. She could try to fly north, to vanish into the valleys—but she knew it wouldn't work. She couldn't move faster than him.
"What about teleportation?" she asked under her breath.
Akon's voice, faint but ever-present within the sword, sighed.
"I can't use it. Something's blocking the space around us."
Mito lowered her head slightly, the wind tugging strands of hair across her face.
"Of course… I should have known."
Her gaze drifted toward the distance. For a moment, she thought she saw movement among the charred remains—the roots she had summoned still writhed faintly, and beyond them… the hostages. Her hand trembled around the sword hilt.
"I could use them," she murmured.
"You wouldn't gain time," Akon replied quietly, his tone tinged with sadness. "That ninja wouldn't allow it."
Mito let out a dry, humorless laugh.
"I know."
For the first time since the battle began, fear gave way to a strange stillness. Akon sensed it too. The energy of the dryad's blessing was fading, the pulse of nature growing erratic, and every breath cost her more.
"I'm sorry, Mito," the sword's voice whispered amid the crackling of flames.
Mito shook her head slowly.
"You don't need to be. Even without you, I would have come." Her tone was serene—almost childlike.
The sword's light flickered softly, echoing a faint chuckle as she gripped the hilt with both hands.
"At least… I'll see how far I can go."
The green aura flared around her again. It was no longer the pure vitality of before, but something more stubborn—a reflection of willpower itself. The energy of the forest flowed toward her in thin strands, as if the very earth refused to let her go.
Akon said nothing more. He only watched as his wielder descended, wrapped in that shimmering light that wavered between life and death.
Far below, Satoru waited. His gaze rose, impassive, as the remnants of fire burned at his feet. The winds quieted, and the night seemed to lean toward them both—as if the world itself understood that the end had already been decided.
Yet before it came, as he watched her descend with unbroken resolve, Satoru raised a hand to his temple.
"[Message]…"
***
The forest screamed.
Every movement Mito made drained more life from the surroundings. Grass withered under her steps, tree trunks twisted upon themselves and collapsed into ash. The roots that once obeyed her splintered, unable to bear the strain of her own magic. In the distance, flocks of birds fled north while slower creatures were caught in the consuming wave of fire and ice battling for control of the land.
A roar of wind split the air. Satoru descended, his body still marked with wounds that no longer bled. His presence dominated the field—not rage, not glory, but a calm force that compelled destruction itself to orbit around him.
Mito turned her sword, sacred flames flickering weakly along its edge. The ground erupted, pillars of fire clashing with a whirlwind of scorched leaves. In response, Satoru extended his hand.
"[Twin Maximize Magic: Abyssal Lance]."
Two spears of black energy tore through the air, colliding with the surging fire. The ensuing explosion shook the battlefield, ripping roots and chunks of earth upward in a storm of ash and molten sparks.
The impact forced her back. Mito barely managed to guard, her sword trembling in her hands. The sacred light was fading, pale and translucent.
Akon's voice wavered, almost drowned by the thunder.
"Mito, enough."
But she only gritted her teeth and lunged again. Roots burst beneath her feet, her figure merging with smoke and flame as she rushed at Satoru like a dying star.
The clash was brief—and absolute.
A flash, a roar, and silence fell over the forest once more.
When the haze cleared, Mito lay on the ground. Her body, coated in soot and dried blood, trembled weakly—her will clinging desperately to the last fragments of life. No vitality, no mana remained to sustain her. Each breath was a convulsion. She tried to rise, but her legs gave out beneath her. The sacred sword, embedded beside her, vibrated faintly, its light fading into darkness. Mito reached out a trembling hand—but she couldn't touch it.
In the distance, Satoru stood still, watching the ruined landscape without expression. The flames were dying, the frost melting, and the air, now still, smelled of iron and scorched soil. The forest was silent. Only the heroine's labored breaths broke that quiet. All life, except hers, had vanished. What had once been a vast, thriving woodland was now only ashes—a sculpture of pure destruction.
"It's over."
Satoru's whisper was soft, but it fell like a verdict.
Those words echoed inside her mind. This was truly the end. Her journey, her purpose, her life—all would end here.
How had it come to this?
For a moment, her gaze drifted, and a name—his name—beat faintly in her heart.
Ichirou-nii.
She had known him, long ago, back in Japan. Through all her struggles in this medieval world, he had been the flame that kept her alive—in battle, in sleepless nights of doubt, in every victory and defeat. When she laughed, when she cried, she remembered him. His kindness had been constant, his presence warm, like an older brother's embrace.
He was someone who would never harm another. Someone who would never do wrong. He had been the reason she survived the war, the reason she chose to remain in this world—hoping she might one day see him again.
And such a man… had died.
Why?
What sin had he committed? What fault deserved such an end? None.
Mito's eyes turned to the creature before her. From her point of view, there was no being more vile. Once, she had wondered what reason it had to kill Satou—but from the first moment she saw him, she knew there was none. That monster had slain the most important person in her life simply because he stood in his path.
Had her beloved suffered? Had he felt fear? What had he thought when the light left his eyes?
Those questions had burned within her ever since. And in their flames, she could not resist the urge to take up her sword and destroy the creature before her.
But in the end, even she had not been enough.
The plan she and her friend had prepared had failed completely.
"At least…"
Her lips trembled.
"At least… one last time."
Even if it meant nothing to the world, she wanted, for one last time, to stand against that thing.
Satoru blinked as he watched her staggering body rise once more. Her eyes unfocused, her limbs shaking, her mana and vitality nearly gone… From his perspective, nothing had changed. She hadn't recovered—she hadn't grown stronger. At the start of this fight, she might have been stronger than Hans, but now…
A familiar image passed through his mind—the homunculi who had once confronted him in that ruined tower. Seeing this repetition, Satoru felt the same question echo once more: Why? What's the point?
A green light began to form between Mito's trembling hands, a flickering spark that refused to die.
Satoru couldn't help but repeat his own words from before.
"With such meager strength… what do you hope to accomplish?"
Mito didn't answer. Instead, the light in her palms grew stronger.
And then it happened.
Steel pierced the heroine's heart.
The air left her chest in a muted gasp; her spell dissolved like smoke between her fingers. Mito's eyes widened, staring at the blade protruding from her body—shocked, disbelieving.
Before her stood Hans.
She looked at the dagger embedded in her chest, then at him—her gaze filled with shock, hatred, and a sadness so raw it made her seem younger, fragile.
Satoru spoke without raising his head.
"[Release Seal]."
Hans gave a slight bow. His form dissolved, swallowed by the air itself.
And then, the sky rained light—dozens of magic arrows descending in perfect, silent formation. The last thing Mito saw was their cold glow filling her vision before the world vanished into white.