Under the cover of the overwhelming barrage of light, the fourteen Executors were forced back.
Heavy waves of pale yellow elemental energy surged from their hastily thrown Black Keys.
Where the energy collided with Wayland's blue Runes, the light turned into a thick, stony yellow. Layer after layer of petrification Took hold of the air, momentarily halting the advance of the blast before it crashed down into the asphalt. But there were simply too many Runes. Even the combined effort of the Executors could only neutralize a fraction of the barrage; the rest rained down upon them without mercy.
Muffled grunts of pain echoed across the highway.
While their specially reinforced vestments were durable enough to withstand the initial impact, they couldn't negate the sheer kinetic force. Every Executor in the blast radius felt the jarring, bone-deep ache of the strike.
Those who took the shards to their unprotected faces let out sharp, agonized cries.
At that exact moment, Wayland closed the distance.
The lingering flashes of light from the explosion had masked his magical signature. He appeared before the silver-haired Nun like a phantom manifesting from the shadows. Without a moment's hesitation, he swung his spear. He gathered the ambient elemental energy into the strike, the weapon lashing out like a dragon emerging from the depths, aimed straight for her head.
A sudden, sharp scent reached Wayland's nose,the sterile, biting smell of disinfectant.
He was momentarily taken aback.
But his surprise was quickly overshadowed by what happened next.
The Nun's expression remained flat, devoid of any alarm. A long, crimson silk ribbon emerged from somewhere beneath her habit, snapping taut to catch the point of his spear.
"I don't like crude men," she said. Her voice was surprisingly soft and vulnerable, carrying no trace of threat or anger.
The red ribbon wove through her hands and trailed behind her, fluttering in the wind as it formed a protective cocoon around her body.
The sight was strangely familiar to Wayland.
'Is that... the Huntian Ling?'
Before he could even process the ridiculousness of the thought, a patterns of iridescent purple and white manifested on the ground beneath her feet. It looked like a field of vibrant, intricately patterned tiles that expanded outward from her position until it resembled a massive, blooming flower. The Nun stood at the flower's center, with the red ribbon dancing around her like a nest of sentient stamens.
'What is this?'
Wayland had already retreated the moment the "flower" appeared.
As Pascal had planned, the other field agents were busy tying up the rest of the Executors, effectively compartmentalizing the battlefield. Wayland was free to focus entirely on the girl before him.
The red ribbon was clearly a powerful Mystic Code, but its specific function was still a mystery.
He halted his retreat and traced a series of symbols in the air. Two pale yellow lines of energy connected along a predetermined trajectory, manifesting into a thick, earthy ribbon of energy that spiraled like a sentient snake, seeking to entwine the Nun within its coils.
Modern Rune: [Constraint].
But as the spell entered the radius of the "flower," it began to lose momentum almost instantly. The head of the energy-snake stalled mid-air, its body bunching up behind it in a tangled mess before the entire construct flickered and dissolved into nothingness.
Wayland felt a jolt of alarm. 'A Prana-absorbing Mystic Code?'
'That's practically cheating!'
He was glad Pascal hadn't sent any of the other mages to handle her; they would have been nothing more than living targets in that field.
Even for him, this was a difficult situation.
As a magus, this kind of counter-measure was his natural enemy.
"The spirit within you is very powerful," the girl said, her golden eyes fixed on him. "It's excited. The radius of the field is much larger than usual."
'What does she mean?'
'The spirit within me?'
Wayland listened to her words, noting that she seemed in no hurry to fight. While the battle raged only meters away, she spoke to him as though they were two friends having a casual conversation.
The term 'Spirit' held many meanings in the world of magecraft.
It could refer to a Spiritual Body,like a Servant, a Wraith, or a Ghost. It could mean the Soul,the core of a human's consciousness. Or it could refer to a Spiritual Hindrance, a unique constitution that allowed one to perceive demons.
'Does she mean my soul?' He suspected that as a transmigrator, his soul likely possessed some kind of unique property or mutation.
Wayland shook the thought away. The priority now was figuring out how to bypass her defenses.
An absorption-type Mystic Code had to have a limit.
Looking at how his [Constraint] spell had managed to travel halfway through the field before being neutralized, it meant that if his Prana output exceeded the field's absorption rate, he could still land a blow.
He needed a single, lethal strike at close range.
The Nun's Mystic Code effectively doubled his Prana consumption. He had to end this quickly, or he'd find himself drained and vulnerable. He had no intention of using his own life force to power his spells unless it was a matter of life or death.
Gripping the spear with both hands, Wayland dropped into a low, predatory combat stance.
A violent surge of earthy yellow elemental energy erupted from the cold, crimson point of the weapon. It flowed upward along the shaft, filling the etched thorns with a pulsing radiance.
Wayland's hands glowed with the same light, his very being feeling as though it were merging with the spear.
With a burst of absolute speed and a singular, focused killing intent, he vanished into a blur of motion.
He bore the girl no ill will, but this was the reality of the world of Magi. To survive, he had to be faster.
The moment he entered the radius of the "flower," he felt his Prana begin to drain away. An unseen force tugged at the elements, pulling them down into the ground beneath his feet.
But it was still within his capacity to manage.
His speed didn't falter for a second.
The two-meter gap vanished in a heartbeat.
The shadow of the blood-red spear fell across the Nun's face.
Wayland could see his own reflection in her golden eyes. She showed no fear, no alarm. She stood before his lethal strike with a level of serenity that felt deeply unnatural.
'What kind of life did this girl lead to be this comfortable with death?'
A sharp, metallic Clang-Clang-Clang rang out across the highway.
The crimson ribbon, whatever it was made of, had caught the Gae Bolg Alternative. To Wayland's shock, it remained completely unscathed by the impact.
He knew the strength of his weapon. Reinforced by Scathach herself, it possessed the fundamental power of a D-rank Noble Phantasm.
'This Mystic Code is something else. It might even be a Conceptual Weapon issue by the Church.'
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]