Nathanaël stood back up. His body shone like the sun at its zenith. His eyes radiated nothing but an exalting golden light.
Azraël slowly stepped back, sensing the danger surrounding the young man.
"I see... so this is it."
He was stunned, yet at the same time moved. Watching the words of the book come true made him uneasy, as though his destiny had become inevitable before the mountain of aura overflowing from Nathanaël.
Then, in a silent whisper, the man in the black robe spoke into his ear.
"Shall we switch?"
But Azraël refused.
"No. We won't switch. I'll defeat them without you."
"You don't have the means."
Azraël answered with unwavering determination.
"Then I'll create them."
The voice seemed to laugh before gradually fading away until it became completely inaudible.
Azraël was left alone once again in the middle of the chaos that consumed the ruined royal hall.
At least, in his mind.
Because before him stood an overwhelming source of light that refused to stop shining.
Yet he remained resolute.
"I'll do it."
Nathanaël straightened himself completely.
He could feel an enormous amount of aura overflowing from his body. It was powerful, immense... and alsoterrifying. He had never imagined he possessed so much aura.
He looked at his hands, then at his own body. Powerful rays of light seemed to pass through him every instant, as if they were piercing him from within.
"What is..."
He didn't really understand it, nor did he want to for now.
Still, he was certain it would help him.
Because Azraël, standing before him, looked slightly discouraged by the overwhelmingly radiant aura pouring out of Nathanaël.
"So... this is how it is."
Nathanaël felt that something was still missing from his understanding of aura. He certainly possessed an incredible amount of it at that moment, but the most important thing was understanding its true nature and what was tied to it, so he could use it to its fullest potential.
Yet he had absolutely no idea where it came from... or why it was there.
"That man's words... Did it come from him?"
Nathanaël had heard those voices before.
Or rather, the first one belonged to the woman who often spoke in his dreams. At first, he had believed she was speaking to him.
But he had been wrong.
She had been speaking to that mysterious man. He had never seen his face, nor anything about him.
Only a deep, gentle, mature voice that felt as though it were carrying him in its arms.
"Was he an Entity?"
Nathanaël had already heard his name....
Omrir.
The man's name was Omrir, and he spoke of justice. The woman often asked him why he never acted. Why he kept turning a blind eye to everything that was happening.
"Justice always waits."
That had been his answer.
He waited. But why? What was he waiting for? What was he refusing to see?
If that man truly embodied Justice, then Nathanaël's aura made much more sense.
A brilliant light that appeared only when everyone else needed it. When the world had sunk to its lowest point. When everything had fallen into despair. Justice patiently awaited its moment, like a calm predator silently watching from the tall grass.
Nathanaël had no idea why Justice had chosen him. He didn't believe his soul was that righteous.
If anything, he thought he was a coward.
His kindness was merely the other side of his cowardice. He hid behind it to make people believe he was good and just. But in truth, he never stepped into conflicts. He didn't want to suffer for nothing. Not anymore.
That part of his life...
He wanted to erase it.
He wasn't just.
Maybe he became just without even realizing it through the choices he made.
But if it happened unconsciously...
Could that truly be called justice?
"I don't understand any of this... but whatever."
Marc had also mentioned something.
When he and Elie had been in the other world, someone had saved them. Marc had concluded that he had simply blacked out, but somehow, the man in black had failed to kill them. Yet while he was being carried away, he heard a sentence spoken by the man in black.
It pierced straight through his mind, inflicting unbearable mental pain.
But amidst that agony...
He heard a single word.
A proper name.
One that somehow eased his heart just enough for him to endure the suffering.
"Omrir... It was Omrir."
"Where exactly are you looking... one of the Six?"
The thoughts racing through Nathanaël's mind were suddenly interrupted by a gigantic black, ominous blade hurtling straight toward him, ready to split him in two.
Yet Nathanaël barely reacted.
Instead, he slowly raised his hand, and a brilliant light gathered into a single point floating just above his palm.
Then, the instant the gigantic blade collided with that tiny point of light...
It came to a complete stop.
Azraël's eyes widened in shock.
"What...?"
A moment later, Nathanaël casually pushed his hand forward.
The point of light shot straight through the black blade, slicing it apart effortlessly before rushing toward the utterly stunned Azraël.
A magic circle appeared at the very last second to save his life.
But, against all expectations, it failed to stop the sphere of light.
Realizing the barrier wouldn't last another instant, Azraël threw himself aside at the last possible moment.
A fraction of a second later, the point of light shattered the magic circle and continued flying forward without slowing down.
Only once it had climbed high into the sky did it explode.
A magnificent explosion erupted overhead, unleashing a tremendous shockwave that rippled across the entire capital.
The whole arena fell silent in disbelief.
Everyone wondered what could possibly be happening inside that ancient city they thought had already witnessed everything.
Azraüs watched the point of light explode violently in the sky.
A blinding radiance burst forth, scorching his eyes until his vision was swallowed by white.
Nathanaël was unbelievably powerful right now...
But what about him?
Only a few hours earlier, he had watched a gigantic lightning dragon appear in the sky.
It had been magical. Spectacular. And Above all... fearsome
Could he stand against something like that? Probably not.
Yet now, he stood before the very man who had unleashed that attack. His own brother. For the first time in his life, Azraüs felt powerless.
This was far beyond the strength of a warrior from Nozras. It was inhuman. Refined beyond comprehension. He couldn't make sense of it.
He had always fought with raw strength. Crushing people beneath his mace or his fists. Destroying entire clans by trampling them beneath a single foot.
To him, that was strength.
But now he was facing a man who could teleport, summon gigantic dragons into the sky, create armored warriors of light as large as houses, rain countless bolts of lightning over an enormous area...
...and probably much more.
Was this...true strength?
On the other hand, Nathanaël seemed less overwhelming, yet no less formidable.
His radiant golden light protected him. He could summon weapons from thin air. He could forge gigantic swords. Even his light itself could wound his enemies and shatter magic circles.
Was this what a true warrior looked like?
He didn't understand.
To him, his father had always been the very pinnacle of strength. A monstrous man over two meters tall whose skin could scarcely be pierced by any weapon, whose physical might no one could rival, and whose mere presence inspired more fear than anyone else's.
But the Ogre of Nozras was dead. He had to accept it.
Had the soul of Nozras died along with him? He didn't know.
Then, all of a sudden, in the midst of his doubts, he remembered something his father had once told him.
"If you ever stand before true strength, smile, Azraüs... because it means you're not that far from it yourself. Very few people ever get to witness true strength. The kind that twists your guts... the kind that makes people give up. But you... never give up. Because if you've made it all the way in front of it, then you already have what it takes to defeat it."
A confused Azraüs had asked,
"But Dad... have you ever met someone stronger than you?"
At those words, his father had simply grinned.
"No! HAHAHAHAHA!"
It had been inevitable. One day, Reno would meet true strength...and die.
And even before that, he had lost his wife in a battle he never once found the courage to speak about.
But Azraüs could imagine what his father had probably done. He must have smiled with everything he had and thrown himself into battle with the same wild ferocity as always.
Maybe it was true.
Maybe it was nothing more than the murderous battle frenzy that seized every warrior of Nozras.
But for now...
...it was all he had.
And somehow..it made them happy.
So Azraüs smiled.
He wasn't going to spend the entire fight looking miserable. He wasn't here for nothing.
And he intended to prove it.
After all...that was what his father would have done.
And that was what it meant...
To be a warrior.