Just before Enkrid blocked Balrog’s blade—right before the mismatched sawteeth clicked into place.

Shinar swung her Leaf Blade at the sparks flying toward her and deflected them.

Thunk, ssshhh.

The black spark looked as though it might burn part of the Leaf Blade, but the remaining spiritual energy extinguished the flame.

'If it stacks up, even the Naidel might get burned.'

She was short on spiritual energy—nothing could be done about that. Shinar’s gaze shifted forward. One wasn’t supposed to be struck by even these stray sparks, and yet there was a man up ahead, facing them head-on in battle.

A fairy always reaches a time when they must burn through their life. And yet, that man up ahead looked as though he had become the very spark itself.

“Good, good.”

The fairy’s murmur sank low. She avoided the sparks and slashed her Leaf Blade at the whip. While pulling her left foot back, she swung the blade up at an angle. The whip twisted its body like a snake and slipped past the blade.

Retracting her sword mid-swing, Shinar kicked off the ground and withdrew her body. A swift fairy’s footwork.

Bang!

The whip tore through the air and grazed the spot she had just been.

The green light on the blade of Shinar’s Leaf Blade flickered. The blinking flame looked precarious, as if it might go out any second.

'This isn’t good.'

Her body wasn’t in peak condition. Even fighting inside the forest, she couldn’t guarantee victory—and now, even the spiritual energy gathered in her sword was used up.

But if she sat down here, she’d never be worthy of standing beside the man who lives like a spark.

Shinar glanced repeatedly at the flame-whip and at Balrog’s movements, which intermittently sent chills through her entire body, searching for what she could do.

'What’s the best I can do right now?'

Clear your head. This isn’t the time for a pounding heart—what’s needed now is a cold mind.

'Am I helping right now?'

No. She didn’t even have the nerve to interfere in her fiancé’s battle. She couldn’t step forward to block the sword in his place. With the spiritual energy she had left, she could hardly buy time.

'If I’m not helping...'

Then at the very least, she mustn’t become a hindrance.

Tap tap—Shinar’s steps were light. Despite her lack of spiritual energy, her physical technique was astonishingly refined. She kicked a stone from the ground and hurled it toward the flame-whip while flipping through the air. After a few consecutive spins, the whip found an opening and shot toward her like an arrow.

Bang bang bang!—the sounds rang out in succession. Fire circles kept appearing along the whip’s trajectory. Like a knight’s determined thrust. Or maybe more like a spear hurled with full strength.

Crash!

Once again, the tip of that whip struck against a shield imbued with layers of white light. It landed squarely in the center of the divine shield, created precisely by reading the trajectory. This was only possible because the one doing it excelled in both divine manipulation and bodily control.

“It’s called the Radiant Shield, sister.”

The one who blocked it was Audin. He smiled as he expanded his field of vision. He, too, had been watching Enkrid’s battle, and the energy radiating from it was far from ordinary.

'A solid stone wall.'

As though such a thing had been built inside his body. And now it was linked with all the muscles he had honed until now.

'The change in Will.'

'Uske and Indulesse.' 𝒻𝑟𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝑛𝘰𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝘤𝘰𝘮

The two ancient terms described stages in Will’s tempering. Uske meant Will that never dries up—like setting one’s resolve so firmly that the Will feels inexhaustible.

'Indulesse speaks of Will’s transformation.'

It’s different from Will, but divine power has a similar concept. It’s called Domain Proclamation. He couldn’t use it now. Individual ability was important, but the conditions were quite strict.

In any case, Audin had fully recognized the transformation in Enkrid. He also caught the opportunity Enkrid had created.

As the flame whip, which had struck the shield and recoiled, came flying in again, he brushed it aside with the back of his hand. The divine power layered over his hand didn’t melt or burn under the whip’s heat. Instead, part of his sleeve caught fire.

It wasn’t possible to protect his clothes as well. His garments, already tattered from breaking through the fortress wall, were now in shreds.

Audin swatted away the whip with the back of his hand and tore off his top.

Rrrip!—the sound of threads snapping, and his bare upper body was revealed. The many scars told the story of a life not easily walked.

Audin intended to buy Shinar some time.

Even if she got entangled or hurt, it wouldn’t easily break anyone’s focus or cause collapse.

'Still, it would have psychological impact.'

A preemptive block. Audin had found his role while ✪ Nоvеlіgһt ✪ (Official version) Enkrid held off Balrog. His job was to serve as the weight that balanced the battlefield from its center.

Sometimes as defense, sometimes as offense—he had to become the core of the field.

“Lord Father, grant unto me the wisdom of Your neighboring deity.”

Now was the time for the god of the Scales.

Alongside that peculiar prayer, the divine radiance flowing over his whole body grew even denser. The light gathered and replaced his clothes. A Radiant Armor. It was a declaration that he didn’t need armor or garments.

Thus, Audin stood at the center of the formation. Once again, Enkrid was holding off Balrog to the front-right, while the flame whip probed for openings at the center.

Enkrid was blocking Balrog’s sword, fists, and feet—while also accounting for the whip’s attacks. He was literally aiming to block everything passing near him.

One could tell just from the way he occasionally pulled back a foot or twisted his hips at an angle.

While Audin was steadying the center, someone even more perceptive—Rem—had already leapt far back.

He widened the distance and gauged the spacing. That alone was enough to determine positioning.

He hadn’t given a damn about Shinar’s safety from the start. If she died from this, she wouldn’t be qualified to be the captain’s fiancée anyway. As expected, she had found her role.

Instead of charging in stupidly to offer a helping hand, she had smartly retreated.

'Retreating is also a tactic.'

It’s not always wise to fight until death.

If necessary, you survive even by throwing sand hidden in your palm.

Well, maybe not when you're fighting for honor—but in a battlefield fight, it's said the cheers of victory ring only for the survivors, and the goddess of fortune smiles only upon the living.

There's even a mercenary joke that seeing the goddess smile after you’re dead is meaningless.

The god of war welcomes the dead, but the goddess of fortune always watches the living.

'So don’t get upset if I’m striking from afar.'

It wasn’t necessary to think this, but Rem brought in even the gods of the continent to justify himself.

With that thought, Rem triggered his spiritual power. Once this fight ended, he’d be bedridden for a good while, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that.

Through Divine Descent, he allowed divine power to flow through his entire body. Spiritual power was the foundation—the vessel. If emptied, it would fill with the god’s power.

Strictly speaking, it wasn’t so much “emptying” as it was pouring everything into strengthening the vessel itself—but no matter how much you explained that trick, those who couldn’t do it just couldn’t.

Among the clans in the West who handled shamanism, only a rare few—true geniuses—could perform Divine Descent. It was said to be just as difficult to master as Indulesse.

“Descend here.”

Divine Possession was received with the body, while Divine Descent was received through space and tools. If the ritual tools were carefully crafted through an offering-filled ceremony, they were sufficient as vessels for descent.

At some point, strange markings surfaced in Rem’s eyes, and his shadow morphed into a form with long arms and a small body.

In the West, there were eight Divine Beings, including Grime. That was the pinnacle of Western shamanism. The one now invoked through Divine Possession was one of them: the ancestor of sling-stones, the one who felled sky-flying Divine Beings—a small giant called Sky-Hurler.

He pulled out a ritual tool carved from Black Gold, loaded it into a sling, and spun it. Every movement flowed naturally.

Whirrrr—WHIIIIIZZZZ!

Two disks floated in Rem’s hands. But he couldn’t throw them right away.

“Now, let me show you something fun.”

He waited. If he threw it now, he might hit the back of an ally’s head. No—he’d likely smash one of their skulls.

Even from far away, just watching, he could tell—this Balrog bastard was good at fighting. He would surely twist a pincer attack from allies into a battlefield advantageous to himself.

Rem gathered all his senses, including sight, to search for an opening—but he saw none.

You can’t proceed through pitch-black darkness without even moonlight. It’s like sinking into a deep lake where you can’t tell up from down.

Only if someone grabs your hand and pulls can you rise to the surface.

Once Audin anchored himself at the center, Ragna positioned himself behind him, Shinar retreated further, and Jaxon vanished without leaving a trace.

The flame-covered whip lashed about like a living creature, flicking its tongue once at Audin, and once at Enkrid. That tongue was blisteringly hot—just brushing it scorched skin and heated the air.

Before they knew it, the surrounding air had grown parched. The acrid smell thickened. Shinar’s fragrance was being overwhelmed. The Radiant Light no longer spread outward but clung close to Audin’s body.

Because of that, Balrog’s shadow seemed to stretch and dominate the battlefield. Of course, it was all just perception—but once someone reached the level of a knight, even perceived sensations couldn’t be ignored.

At that moment, his movements changed. More precisely, Rem’s instincts screamed that Balrog’s sword strike was no longer the same as before.

Rem’s thoughts accelerated. His pupils dilated. This was the process of parsing the visual information pouring in.

Balrog’s motions in the fight ahead seemed to pause mid-flow. In an instant, a different tempo began. The distance between Balrog’s feet shifted. He slid his left foot diagonally back and slammed down with his right as he brought his sword down in a cleave.

“A crown cleave.”

Power, speed—and the precision of technique.

Even his long arms and legs were put to use to stretch the blade’s reach to its limit. A true crown cleave would have involved stepping forward diagonally with the right foot for a downward cut—but this time, he’d done it while retreating. Just the way he balanced his center of gravity said enough. It was a veteran’s move.

“Even if I block it, I’ll be pushed back.”

Something as unique as Rem’s Divine Possession was taking shape now in Balrog’s sword. His Will had coalesced into a blade. The demon’s two eyes trembled along long lines.

As Balrog’s sword came down toward Enkrid’s head, Rem had to choose.

“Act, or believe?”

Enkrid had said he would block it himself. He’d told Rem to throw from afar.

The disks were already prepared—if Rem just moved, he could prevent Enkrid from falling in a single blow.

The disks remained. In that fleeting moment, seeing it all through accelerated thought, Rem held back.

At the same time, Enkrid became a wall of solid stone. Or rather, the formless force within him—his Will—transformed into one.

Enkrid raised his sword diagonally and blocked Balrog’s blade.

Scrrrrreeeee.

There was no burst of sparks. No thunderous noise. Instead of a shattering boom, the only sound between the two swords was the quiet twang—like harp strings snapping.

Two formless forces had collided and come to a stop. A gap opened between them.

The moment Enkrid blocked the sword, Audin seized the end of the flame-whip.

SSSSSSHHHHHH!

A bizarre sight unfolded—the flame was burning the divine light.

White smoke billowed from Audin’s hand gripping the whip.

“An opening.”

He saw it the instant it appeared. And once seen, his hand moved on its own.

“Fire Command.”

The bullet imbued with Sky-Hurler’s essence flew toward Balrog’s forehead—but the demon raised a hand and blocked it.

Will—or in his case, since he was a demonic being, one could call it magic energy—formed into a shield to intercept it.

“Not bad, you bastard.”

Rem muttered nonsense after that, but no one listened.

Ragna drew Sunrise with both hands. Its blade lay quiet, as if asleep. It neither radiated heat nor blazed with flame.

That was because its master had yet to ask anything of it.

Amid the dry air, Ragna steadied his breathing. Then waited behind Audin’s back.

At the moment Enkrid blocked Balrog’s strike and Rem’s bullet burst—

That’s when Ragna moved.

“One Point Focus.”

Enkrid said he would block it—so he would.

Ragna hadn’t doubted it for a second from the start.

Because of that trust, he hadn’t allowed anything else to enter his thoughts. He was focused solely on the chance to land one blow.

The knight he’d met in the labyrinth, and later his teacher—Donapha—had spent decades refining his specialty, but Ragna had been born with the ability to do it naturally.

He blocked out sound. Narrowed his sight. There was only one target in his eyes.

Ragna swung his sword toward Balrog’s side. It was the moment Enkrid had amplified his Will and used it to bind the black flame sword in place.

From right to left—a slash that brushed past Enkrid, who stood on the right. At some point, the blade of Sunrise had begun to glow red.

It had transformed through Ragna’s Will into a blade of extreme heat.

CRACK!

The strike, sharp enough to cleave through anything, was blocked.

Balrog, having his sword caught, thrust out his left arm.

A thick bracelet popped out along his skin. He’d hidden the artifact beneath his flesh.

As the bracelet shattered, a screeching wail echoed—the howl of a vengeful spirit.

Just when it seemed the attack had failed, Ragna’s sword moved again.

The slash from right to left reversed, pivoting around Balrog’s forearm into a horizontal strike. A double blow.

Balrog wasn’t the only one with precise technique.

The blade radiating extreme heat from Sunrise traced to the opposite edge, scraping Balrog’s forearm—grrrkkkk—but it only scratched the skin. It didn’t cut or burn.

Instead, the blazing sword line moved directly for Balrog’s chest.

BOOM!

In that moment, Balrog wrapped his body in his wings, balancing on one leg while kicking out with the other.

Ragna ignored it and kept swinging.

Enkrid had said he’d block—so he would.

That belief remained intact.

Enkrid didn’t betray that trust. He shrugged off the force and went straight for Balrog’s ankle.

THUMP!

The explosion came from their feet clashing. And still, Ragna’s Sunrise didn’t quite achieve its goal.

PZZZZZZZRT.

His blade shattered one of Balrog’s crystals—but didn’t cut them all.

A long line sliced through Balrog’s chest, and black blood poured down.

Originally, he had planned to sever all three crystals at once.

But he had failed.

—“Seems I’ve been bleeding often lately.”

Balrog muttered nonchalantly, adjusting his stance.

Blood trickled from Enkrid’s nose in a steady stream.

Not that he had the attention to care about that now.

In that brief exchange, Enkrid had felt Balrog’s power all over again.

“Is it only the sword and whip that are his weapons?”

In response to that question, Balrog had once said—his entire body was a weapon.

The Demon of Struggle—even a fingernail was deadly in his hands.