The arrow was flying in.
"On my call," Isaac said as he raised his finger at the arrow.
Time slowed down. Everything visible in his surroundings slowed down—along with his body, that is.
Yet, his mind remained. The flow within his Manafold Circuitry remained. In other words, his cognition accelerated.
[Condensation].
A drop of moisture gathered at the tip of his finger.
Pressure. Temperature.
Mana accelerated within his Circuitry, in the form of a thread. Its acceleration developed an output that many, if not everyone, would consider impossible—not just for someone with F-ranks in both the Total Reserve and Mana Efficiency, but for even those with A-ranks in both.
Supercritical Bullet.
Time resumed. The droplet of supercritical fluid was fired from his finger, shooting through the eye of the incoming arrow, and simultaneously, through the right shoulder of the unexpected enemy.
There was grunt from the man before the penetrated arrow exploded.
The smoke from the detonation mixed with the mist.
Isaac moved in the same instant—not toward the enemy, but toward Henrick's position, closing the distance between them while the enemy's line of sight was obscured by the combined smoke and mist.
The mist was still approaching them.
Corruption.
Henrick appeared exhausted.
Does that mist also sap mana out of those who contact it? Isaac hypothesized, and it made sense.
First of all, the fact that his accelerated cognition also accelerates his Manafold Circuitry and skill usage just as much indicate that mana is an extension of one's cognition.
The mist corrupts mana. Therefore corrupts mind.
What was the word for it? Mana and mind… spirit, yes, that was it.
Isaac operated [Condensation] near Henrick before mist managed to reach the man once again.
Mist flew on top of his finger tip, dense and rotating.
"[Condensation]…" Henrick mumbled through his breaths, "could it be that your [Condensation] is A-ranked? Otherwise, this doesn't make sense…"
There was no time to answer. Isaac, looking through the mist toward the enemy's position, found that the man, who seemed to have managed to deal with the pain of a wound by his shoulder, discarded his bow.
It was exactly as Isaac intended. By striking the shoulder, the man no longer had the power output to fire an arrow with such force.
Or, Isaac changed his thoughts upon noticing that bow was the only item that the man discarded, he ran out of those special arrows. Which made sense given how arrows were considered luxurious weapons in Aetherion Kingdom today.
The man leaned down and grabbed Isaac's knife, which he previously threw to catch the man off guard. Then, he began to rush toward the two of them.
"Incoming!" Isaac called. "He is running at us with the knife I threw!"
Henrick's body tensed, ready to counter.
Isaac reached his nose and flicked off the blood that trickled down from his previous usage of cognition acceleration.
On his finger, there still existed the swirling mass of dense mist—one that Isaac collected from Henrick's periphery.
Right upon the man's appearance through the layer of mist beyond, Isaac fired said dense mist right at the man's gas mask, obscuring his vision. The man, as if unexpected by this, staggered.
Finding a window of opportunity, Henrick dashed toward the man with his right fist covered by the layer of [Barrier].
Henrick struck his fist forth, but the man, with nimbleness that suggested his prowess, tilted his head to the side and dodged the fist at the last second.
The man then swung his knife. Henrick, at the same time, had his long sword—which was usually sheathed at his back—drawn, held by his left hand.
Two weapons collided.
___
In one luxurious room carved to invoke awe, Prince Gladius Aetherion sat across a table from Resmore Terra, the Terra Patriarch.
The conversation had been running for twenty minutes. On the surface it was exactly what it appeared to be—a Pillar house patriarch discussing the Caldwin Pass dispute's recent complexities, the Crown's delayed ruling, and the economic implications for both Terra and Zephyr's territorial interests.
"The situation at Caldwin is, as you know, complicated by the timing," Lord Terra said, with the easy courtesy of someone conducting legitimate business. "The fact that the route couldn't be leveraged due to the internal affairs led to the festival of a smaller scale—downplaying the Aetherion's dignity. I worry that should the delay continue, the war itself will be among the affected."
"The Crown is aware of the timing," Gladius said with the composure of the Crown Prince of the kingdom. "Unfortunately, delays are inevitable for a wise resolution. A dispute between two Pillar Houses requires a peaceful solution, especially during the war time. I request that the involved await with virtues that befit the leaders of this kingdom."
"Of course, Prince." Lord Terra picked up his cup. "Once again, forgive my hasty visit. The worries that I have for this kingdom seem to have gotten me."
Gladius looked at him.
"Rationally speaking, our kingdom is not in its best era. I am not daring to say that the king hasn't served his duties well—he was a great leader whom this kingdom didn't deserve." Lord Terra continued, smoothly and with a worried expression that, in Gladius's point of view, looked forced. "It is simply that… the Solari Empire are not focusing on the direct clash against us. They are spending their resources moreso on kingdoms allied to us rather than our eastern battlefield… it is as if they are trying to pit us in a trap."
Resmore Terra's nuance in speaking the word "trap" was different, as if he purposely accentuated.
"Currently, two allies of ours are in danger. The Solari Empire are in the progress of striking them, and the fact that we cannot aid due to our resources being concentrated on the eastern battlefield…"
Gladius's eyes narrowed. Resmore Terra's true attention wasn't on the matter of war, but on the operation of Isaac and Henrick that were ongoing at the moment. The Terra Patriarch was aware of this, and was mocking the prince—indirectly in a way that left no evidence that he was a betrayer—that the so-called operation of theirs was, in truth, a trap set against them.
Gladius decided to smile. "I understand your worry, but remain strong."
Resmore Terra didn't seem to have expected such reaction out of him.
"The royal army has been dispatched as their backup. It is true that the time has withered our strength, but the kingdom still stands mightily."
Lord Terra looked at him. Slowly, his expression darkened. "Is that so, Prince?" He slowly shook his head, "it is noble of the royal family to dispatch their personal force for the matters of allied kingdoms, however… the Solari Empire likely expected and prepared countermeasures against this."
Gladius stiffened at this. However, he immediately returned to his composed self, drinking tea to completely mask his brief slip-off.
"Nevertheless, I believe in capabilities of our soldiers." He said.
There was silence afterward, as two individuals observed each other.
"…I see," Resmore Terra eventually said. "Then, I hope the army produces good news." He set his cup down with the ease of someone concluding a conversation they had come to conclude. "I won't take more of your time, Your Highness. Thank you for your generosity in taking time for a lowly man such as myself."
"Lowly man? You are one of the Pillars of this kingdom. I would be happy to chat with you anytime."
"Thank you, Prince. Then," Resmore Terra stood. Bowed with the formal courtesy of a Pillar house patriarch. And left.
Gladius watched the door close.
He immediately revealed the teleportation device and pressed the button.
Nothing happened.
No, something did happen—and that something was the complete collapse and dissolving of the device.
Gladius stared at the device in his hand.
It ended prematurely, before its calculated lifespan.
Slowly, his eyes shook. He knew what this meant.
The trap.
Gladius recalled Resmore Terra's smile before leaving, which had carried something he hadn't been able to fully categorize in the moment. Now, with the device dead in his hand and the underground operation sealed from his end, he understood what it was.
He stood. Moved to the room's secondary door—the one that connected to the castle's internal corridor rather than the formal entrance. Opened it.
"Westia."
She was already there, having relocated herself after announcing Resmore Terra's arrival.
"The royal army," Gladius said. "Western quarter. The underground access from the castle tunnel. Now."
"Yes, Your Highness."
She moved.
Gladius stood at the open door for a moment. At the administrative documents he hadn't read. At the window where the festival's night was still running its course outside—the lanterns, the crowds, and the Kingdom demonstrating its continuity.
Then he followed Westia into the corridor.
___
Back in the underground chamber, the fight continued.
The man with the gas mask moved with the knife. To amend for the reduction in his right arm's power output, he held the knife with his left hand, and Isaac couldn't tell which hand was the man's dominant hand, for the man's work with the knife was too swift and deadly to be considered the work of the wounded.
Ambidextrous, Isaac thought, this man is even more skilled than Sam.
Clearly, this man was a veteran, someone who may be more experienced than even Henrick. The fact that the man was able to use knife alone to face Henrick—someone with broader frame and a long sword—was something that Isaac couldn't have expected.
Although Isaac having learning the basics, the extent of his weapons training was too shallow to aid Henrick in a physical combat. In a situation where the combat revolves around weapons, he was forced to step back and focus on a supporting role.
Henrick matched the man with his long sword. His coordinated movements, which packed both the strength of someone of his size and swiftness that didn't match, clearly suggested that he was in the field service for years. With his left hand on the sword, and the [Barrier] running at minimum viable output around his right forearm like a traditional shield rather than as a dome—it appeared that Henrick managed to find a way to preserve what remained of his mana reserve while maintaining a defensive layer that gave him a slight upper hand in the current engagement.
Problem was that Henrick was slowing.
Even now, as they fought, the mist was seeping out of the man's body.
Isaac, from his position, was subjected to the repeated use of [Condensation] to collect the mist as quickly as he could. However, given how Henrick was closer to the man than Isaac, no matter how quickly Isaac acted, it was impossible to protect Henrick entirely from the effects of the mist.
Time was against their side. Henrick's movements had the quality of someone running on will rather than reserve. Each exchange cost more than the last. The mist contacts had been accumulating on him.
He was wobbling slightly between exchanges. Not enough for the enemy to exploit yet, but enough for Isaac to be alarmed.
The key to this battle, therefore, was at Isaac's hands. Henrick knew. The man knew. That was the reason why the man was continuously dispensing the mist even at the risk of mana depletion—to keep him occupied.
Funnily enough, because Isaac's skill was [Condensation], he, at the moment, posed the most threat to the man. The fact that he worked outside the scope of [Condensation] meant that the man won't be able to predict his next move.
Isaac focused as his left hand continuously collected the mist away from Henrick.
The man feinted left and drove the knife toward Henrick's exposed right side. Henrick caught it with the sword's flat but the impact carried enough force to push him back a half step—which was unbelievable considering how the man was using the knife.
That was when Isaac moved. He took a step forward while raising his left hand. Then, his vision shifted as he accelerated his cognition.
[The Prism].
The mist—belonging to the enemy's skill—was still revolving on his left hand. This was, again, proof that [Condensation] is not bound by the limitations of water. By maneuvering the "pressure" aspect of [Condensation], he managed to pull and collect the mist away from Henrick.
Now, pressure and temperature skyrocketed. The mana thread zoomed through his Manafold Circuitry at a rapid pace, at zero acceleration.
Whatever skill this mist was, it has now undergone the phase change unto supercritical fluid.
Supercritical bullet—
Isaac paused. Something seemed off.
The man, within this slowed down world, appeared to be staring at him, not at Henrick whom he was clashing blades against.
Am I missing something?
Isaac's eyes widened. He discovered that there was a knife thrown at him, from the back.
It was mere centimetres away. Since his body slowed down along with the world within this state of cognition acceleration, this meant that he would soon get hit by said knife.
Of course, it was given that the man likely carried a melee weapon for himself. Question was, how did the man manage to throw a weapon from the back?
A second enemy? No, that wasn't possible. The precision of [The Prism] confirmed that the enemy at the front was the lone one. Then what?
Isaac then noticed the trail of mist at the start of the knife's trajectory.
This meant that should the man wanted, the mist had the capability to become denser—enough to hold a knife on its own and throw with strength.
Isaac solemnly faced the man. Braced for the impact. He was nearing his limit in maintaining the cognition acceleration.
Time resume.
The supercritical bullet struck the man right at his left shoulder. Isaac twisted his body as quickly as he could. The knife struck his left back.
Blood was simultaneously drawn from the two of them.
Isaac frowned in pain as he held the knife-embedded site.
It is quite deep… The fact that his frame was slim didn't help. He dropped to one knee, annoyed by the fact that one stab wound is enough to affect him to this extent. Sweating profusely, he looked ahead.
On the other hand, the man, having wounded on the other shoulder as well, dropped his—Isaac's—knife.
"Isaac!" Henrick shouted, having noticed Isaac's injury. At the same time, he stepped forward and swung his long sword, finding the man's wound and subsequent knife drop an opportunity.
The man leaned back with an incredible flexibility, letting Henrick's sword miss. At the same time, the knife, before it hit the ground, was kicked by the man.
Henrick, briefly and subconsciously, followed the knife instead of the man. Then, his eyes widened upon realizing that he let his guard down for this split second.
"Henrick!" Isaac reached his hand out, but Henrick, having taken a step ahead, was now outside the range of his skill.
The mist reached Henrick. Henrick's sword arm trembled. [Barrier] on his other arm flickered.
"—worthless—"
Isaac heard Henrick say it—not to the enemy; he was reciting the voices that the mist's corruption produced.
The man took this gap of time to regain his balance and snatched the knife before it fell to the ground—with his right arm, without a grunt even though his right shoulder was injured by Isaac.
The surrounding mist vanished, indicating that the man decided to withdraw his skill before it resulted in his mana depletion, but Henrick remained affected.
The man was about to stab the knife right at Henrick's exposed chest, through the gap of armor pieces that he wore.
Isaac, alarmed, ran toward them. His nose was bleeding due to the last operation of cognition acceleration, but he didn't have the luxury to wipe it.
For the third time, the world in his perception slowed down.
The enemy whom they were facing—it could be said that he was a superhuman at this point. The reflex, pain tolerance, combat skill—everything was at a level Isaac didn't know was possible. It was very likely that the man received years of professional training and experiences to attain this level of prowess.
The last time he fired supercritical bullet, he wasn't aiming for the left shoulder. He was aiming for the man's chest—to knock him down at the very least. However, it didn't hit; the fact that the man reacted to the supercritical bullet meant that he read Isaac 's pattern that he himself wasn't aware of.
For now, as everything slowed down and Isaac's knife in man's hand was heading toward Henrick, Isaac decided to concentrate on preventing the knife's advance.
[Condensation].
A drop of moisture gathered at his fingertip.
The knife was still embedded on his back, producing a pulsating pain throughout his body. Gritting his teeth, he refined the droplet.
Supercritical bullet, unless the man manages to react to it, would produce a hole on the blade rather than knocking it out of the man's hands. It is too sharp.
He needed something blunter. That would be the dense, rotating waterdrop, but the problem was that that application of [Condensation] was slower than the supercritical bullet, which the man had reacted to previously.
His head quickly processed for an alternate solution.
Reached a possibility.
A dense, rotating waterdrop manifested.
Time resumed.
Isaac fired it at Henrick, not at the man. Immediately after, he felt nausea overwhelming him, enough to cause him to fall back to his knee.
Just before the knife landed on Henrick's chest, Isaac's droplet struck Henrick's right arm. As the droplet splashed into an unexpected volume of water, the force caused Henrick to jolt, shifting toward the left.
Then, the knife stabbed the right section of Henrick's chest.
The sound was brief.
Henrick looked down.
"Good try, Isaac Nameless," said the man at a distorted voice, looking at Isaac as he pulled the knife out, "but it was a pointless effort." Then proceeded to stab Henrick right away, by the chest.
Isaac's knife. In Henrick's chest. In the heart.
Henrick's sword arm lowered.
He stared at the man with the expression of someone who had processed what had happened.
Then, the metal door burst open.
Royal guards—wearing the standard armor of the royal castle, moved with the orderly but swift manner that fit the movement of trained ones.
They registered Henrick with the knife on his chest. Registered Isaac with his nose and the stabbed site at the back bleeding. Registered the enemy.
"DON'T MOVE!" One of the guards shouted, seemingly the leader among them. He held his spear out as the royal guards quickly surrounded the enemy and Henrick.
"Isaac Nameless," one of the guards came by Isaac's side, "…you are wounded. Can you stand?"
Breathing exhaustion, Isaac didn't respond. His eyes were locked on Henrick, whose form wobbled.
None of the guards helped him as he fell on the pool of his blood, lifeless. The blood splashed, but neither the enemy nor the guards reacted as it splashed onto their faces.
Is it because his identity was barely known by any? Isaac couldn't help but think, or is it because we are in the middle of a battle against a potent enemy?
Just like that, Henrick died. The man who was talking and running just a moment ago was now on the floor, unresponsive forever.
Isaac felt hollowness fill him.
On the other hand, the enemy looked at the royal guards.
Then he laughed with the modified voice. "Amusing," he said. The gas mask's coverage was still complete, and the face beneath it was still invisible. "Precisely how we intended." His arms, with both shoulders wounded, hung loose. He didn't seem to mind, however.
Then, one hand seemingly regained strength before it moved toward the coat's lapel. The fingers found something there—the specific deliberate movement of someone reaching for a prepared mechanism.
What the man revealed was a watch. Small. Worn long enough to have become invisible against the formal suit.
The man brought it to his mouth.
"Do it," he whispered.
The entire chamber illuminated.
The light didn't come from the torches. From the walls, the floor, the ceiling—the mana was present at every part of the chamber, and they were being overloaded with said mana. The evidence rooms. The communication equipment. The living quarters. Everything the network had built going at once.
"What are you trying to do—" The guard's words couldn't continue as everything in the surrounding detonated.
For the fourth time, Isaac accelerated his cognition—it was subconscious, activated out of his instinct.
Isaac had one second.
He didn't know what he was doing. [Condensation] activated.
Blood, mist, moisture—everything was frantically drawn.
He manipulated them without any rational thought.
Pressure rose. Temperature dropped.
From gas to liquid, from liquid to solid.
His surrounding felt cold.
A wave of nausea hit him once again. The accelerated cognition was forcibly released, with his body no longer able to hold on.
And at the last moment, Isaac saw—[The Prism] saw—the face that lied beneath the gas mask that disintegrated due to the explosion.
The eyes. The jaw. The specific features of a face Isaac had encountered in institutional contexts since his first day at the Academy. Filed at full resolution across two years of incidental observation.
Seran Crane.
The headmaster of the academy.
Isaac saw the man.
And the recognition was mutual and simultaneous. Seran Crane's eyes in the gap registered Isaac's face and smiled—in a deranged manner that was unlike his stoic and professional persona.
Now, he knew that Isaac knew.
Then, the facility detonated.
The pressure wave arrived.
The ice held for the fraction of a second before it shattered.
Everything went dark.