Ankh glanced toward the darkened cave entrance, his sharp senses picking up the hurried footsteps echoing against the stone walls.
"It's fine," Ankh said calmly, sensing Ultear's tension. "Just reveal the truth to him. Lyon's strength is no match for yours, even if he were fighting at his peak."
As he spoke, the nature of Ankh's Magic Power subtly shifted.
The air around him shimmered, and his casual clothes emitted a faint, distortion-like glow.
In the blink of an eye, the fabric re-wove itself.
The casual attire vanished, replaced instantly by a set of heavy, hooded black robes that completely obscured his figure and shadowed his face.
Ultear blinked, looking at Ankh with genuine surprise.
"As expected of my Master," she praised, a hint of admiration in her voice. "You've even mastered Requip Magic? That is a rare versatility."
Now fully devoted to him, Ultear was exceptionally straightforward.
She had realized that while Ankh was powerful, he also had a bit of an ego, so she offered flattery that hit him right where it counted.
Ankh shrugged indifferently beneath the heavy cloak. "Don't be too impressed. This is just the most basic level of Requip. It's a parlor trick compared to someone of Erza's caliber."
He wasn't being modest; he was being technically accurate.
What he was currently using was the fundamental form of Requip magic.
It was simple to learn and widely practiced by travelers and mercenaries across Ishgar as a way to store luggage, weapons, and spare clothing in a pocket dimension.
However, this basic level of Requip was almost entirely useless in actual combat.
The limitations were severe: the requipping speed was sluggish, taking a full second or two to materialize items, and the pocket dimension couldn't stabilize equipment with high magical density.
If one tried to store a legendary artifact, the dimension would likely collapse.
In the guild, Bisca Connell's "Gunner" magic and Erza Scarlet's famous "The Knight" were the genuine, combat-grade evolutions of this art.
The reason Erza's combat style was so terrifyingly versatile was that her requipping speed was instantaneous.
When serious, Erza could cycle through armor and weapons faster than the human eye could track, matching her offensive output to the changing rhythm of battle in real-time.
She combined this with her own monstrous physical strength and a vast collection of magical armors, allowing her to counter virtually any elemental or physical threat.
Since Ankh wasn't pursuing the path of a magic swordsman, he hadn't invested much effort in refining this specific magic.
To him, it was merely a functional utility spell—a magical closet.
'Still,' Ankh mused, adjusting his hood, 'I've learned quite a few of these miscellaneous utility magics. Perhaps I should organize them later. Combining basic spatial magic with my gravity powers could yield... interesting results.'
Just as Ankh and Ultear were finishing their preparations, a figure burst from the tunnel entrance.
Lyon Vastia, the self-proclaimed "Ice Emperor" stormed into the cavern.
His silver hair was disheveled, and his chest heaved with exertion.
The moment he stepped inside, the sounds of Ankh and Ultear's unrestrained conversation reached his ears.
Lyon sharply turned toward the source of the voices, his eyes widening in shock and anger.
He saw Ankh and Ultear standing casually before the frozen demon.
"Who are you?!" Lyon roared, his voice echoing off the ice. "Why are you here?! This is sacred ground!"
Ankh remained silent, playing the role of the mysterious observer.
Ultear, however, stepped forward.
She resumed her usual confident and charming demeanor, but there was a new edge to it—a sharpness born of her recent emotional awakening.
Smiling at Lyon beneath her mask, she said, "Lord Zero, don't you recognize your own partner?"
Lyon's eyes twitched.
He stared at the masked woman, realizing she wasn't using her transformation magic to appear as the hunchbacked little man anymore.
"You..." Lyon blurted out, pointing an accusing finger. "You're that masked guy, Zalty! You were a woman this whole time?!"
Ultear didn't answer his question directly.
She reached up, unclasping the native mask that covered the upper half of her face.
"You're not completely foolish, Lyon. But you are blind."
The mask fell to the floor with a clatter.
Lyon's expression grew wary, frost emanating from his palm as the temperature in the room dropped.
"You went through all that trouble to get close to me, to deceive me... just to use me for the Moon Drip ritual?"
Ultear ignored the accusation. She was too busy analyzing him.
Her dark eyes swept over Lyon, dissecting his magical stance.
Her thoughts drifted back to the memories she had just witnessed—the memories of her mother, Ur.
Ice Make...
This eldest disciple of her mother had truly forged his own path, but it was a divergent one.
The Creation Magic originally used and taught by Ur required both hands to cast.
One hand to give the ice shape, the other to give it stability.
This two-handed posture ensured a balanced, powerful output that could withstand heavy impacts. It was the stance of a guardian.
However, what slightly displeased Ultear was that Lyon's approach was the exact opposite: Single-Handed Casting.
He cleverly utilized the "instability" of an unbalanced cast to create dynamic formations.
By sacrificing stability, he gave his ice "vitality," allowing his creations—eagles, apes, dragons—to move rapidly like living creatures.
The variations were indeed more diverse and aggressive.
'But it is flawed', Ultear thought critically. 'While this method offers flexibility, it disrupts the core balance of the Magic Power. It leaves the caster open to counterattacks and makes the ice brittle against sustained pressure.'
Ultear appreciated Lyon's developmental talent—he was a genius in his own right—but she didn't agree with his disrespect for the foundation.
She turned to Ankh, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Master, may I teach him a lesson? Consider it... a familial obligation. On behalf of my mother."
Ankh glanced at Ultear in surprise.
He saw the fire in her eyes.
It wasn't hatred anymore; it was the stern look of a senior sister preparing to discipline a wayward sibling.
He nodded gently. "Permission granted. But exercise restraint."
Since Ultear had resolved her misunderstandings with her mother, her animosity toward Lyon and Gray had dissipated, replaced by a complex curiosity.
She wanted to test them.
She wanted to see if the disciples Ur chose over her were actually worth the sacrifice.
Lyon watched in growing irritation as Ultear and the robed stranger discussed his fate as if he weren't there.
"Stop ignoring me!" Lyon shouted. He took a step forward, ready to attack.
But then, the light from the glowing ice of Deliora caught Ultear's face.
Lyon froze mid-step. His breath hitched in his throat.
That face. The curve of the nose. The shape of the eyes. The jet-black hair.
It was... impossible.
"You..." Lyon whispered, his voice trembling. "Who... who are you?"
It was as if a ghost had stepped out of his memories.
She looked exactly like her.
Too similar.
It was as if she were carved from the same mold as Ur!
"Why?!" Lyon shouted, confusion spiraling into rage. "Why do you look so much like Ur?! Answer me!"
Ultear acted unusually out of character.
She gently handed the crystal ball she had been cradling to Ankh.
She dusted off her hands and took two steps forward, stopping mere meters from Lyon.
She offered him a faint, ambiguous smile—a smile that was equal parts mockery and melancholy.
"As for that matter," Ultear said softly, "I don't intend to tell you just yet. You haven't earned the answer."
Lyon's temples bulged with veins.
The resemblance felt like a cruel joke, a mockery of the woman he had dedicated his life to surpassing.
His silver hair flew backward as his magic power flared uncontrollably.
"Fine!" Lyon snarled. "If you refuse a toast only to drink a forfeit, then I'll beat the answer out of you! I will not let an imposter wear her face!"
Lyon spread his arms wide, unleashing a chilling, bone-piercing cold that filled the cavern.
He raised both hands high—but only mobilized magic through one—and slammed them toward the ground.
"Ice Make: ICE GEYSER!"
The ground rumbled violently.
The ice formation swiftly took shape.
Freezing mist erupted from the earth as countless jagged ice spikes surged forth like a volcanic eruption.
The frozen pillars rushed toward Ultear in a massive, wave-like assault, threatening to skewer her instantly.
It was a fast, violent spell.
Facing the fierce onslaught, Ultear showed no trace of fear.
She didn't dodge. She didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled with a hint of disdain.
She didn't use her signature Arc of Time to fast-forward the ice into vapor.
That would be too easy!
Instead, she slowly raised her arms.
She brought her hands together in front of her chest. Her right fist rested in her left palm.
The Two-Handed Stance.
Lyon's eyes widened in horror. "That stance...!"
Ankh watched with keen interest from the sidelines.
'Ice formation... and with that specific gesture... only the direct lineage of Ur on the entire continent uses that style.'
Ultear's lips curled slightly as an even more extreme cold wind—purple-hued and elegant—swept through the cave, far surpassing Lyon's raw power.
A soft yet clear chant followed.
"Ice Make... Rosen Krone (Rose Garden)!"
Crack!
The ground before Ultear instantly transformed.
Thousands of thorny, pinkish-purple ice vines exploded from the soil.
The thicket of thorns clashed head-on with Lyon's Ice Geyser.
The result was instantaneous.
Lyon's dynamic, unstable ice shattered upon impact with Ultear's dense, balanced creation.
The thorny vines devoured the geyser, crushing the spikes into powder, and continued their momentum unchecked, surging toward the stunned Lyon like a tidal wave of roses.