Lusian moved first—like a shadow weaving through flashes of light. He evaded attacks that would have pulverized anyone else, slipping between Noceron's bursts of radiance with almost instinctive precision. Every strike, every wingbeat, every explosion of light was anticipated and countered before it even happened. Not a single attack touched his body. It was the perfect fusion of Erwin's experience and Lusian's physical strength.
Even so, the mistake he had nearly made still echoed in his mind: even the most prepared are still human.
Noceron attacked relentlessly, draining his own mana with each radiant explosion. Lusian did not expose himself. He moved through the flashes as if he knew the creature's choreography, staying just out of reach while delivering precise, calculated strikes—forcing the monster to keep its armor of light active. The Ætherion Sword whispered with every cut, leaving dark sparks that hissed as they struck the luminous defense.
The first contact was minimal. Lusian calculated roughly 400 points of damage—barely a scratch, but enough to force Noceron to spend more mana. The second strike was lighter: about 220, by his estimate, and the armor began to flicker—small oscillations of light that betrayed the monster's growing exhaustion.
For an instant, beneath that irregular flicker, Noceron's scales revealed a fatigue that had once seemed impossible.
The third strike was cleaner: around 410, he estimated, feeling the vibration of the impact run through his arm. Noceron growled in fury; his luminous shell was weakening, unable to sustain the energy that kept it stable. For the first time, the titan showed true vulnerability.
Lusian flowed between offense and defense like water through stone. Every movement was measured, optimized—aware of the consumption of his own mana and the enemy's gradual depletion. This was not a battle of brute force but a game of strategy executed to perfection. All of Erwin's knowledge—his memories, patterns, and learned reactions—manifested in every dodge and every strike. The air smelled of scorched light and dark energy. The tension between the two combatants was almost tangible.
Noceron roared, a sound that made the earth tremble. His attacks were devastating: blasts of pure light capable of annihilating any human, and waves of energy that warped the very space around him. Lusian leapt, spun, and slid between them, feeling the searing heat of magic pass within inches of his skin. The Ætherion Armor absorbed part of the radiant force, while the dark mana within him remained intact—waiting for the perfect moment to strike back.
Each evasion not only kept him alive but forced Noceron to spend more mana, slowly wearing the monster down. Each lateral strike of the Ætherion Sword drained a little more of its strength. The armor of light began to fracture, flickering like a flame on the verge of extinction.
Lusian felt it: Noceron was tired. His strength was fading, his defenses collapsing. Every decision, every measured strike, brought him closer to victory.
The entire valley trembled with the battle. Heat, intermittent light, and mounting tension stretched each second thin. This was no longer a simple fight—it was a duel of mana and will, where strategy mattered more than any single blow.
Finally, Noceron exhausted his mana. The radiant shell collapsed in a flicker and vanished completely.
Lusian did not hesitate.
He leapt, wrapped in an aura of dark mana, his body transformed into a projectile of contained power. The Ætherion Sword flashed with a shadowed edge and plunged straight toward the beast's heart.
The impact was brutal: 865 points of direct damage.
The light surrounding Noceron died in an instant.
The final roar thundered across the valley…
and then there was only silence.
A heavy silence.
Absolute.