The battle did not slow. It became a loop of devastation and renewal. Mor'gan crushed through her guard. Sora was sent flying—and cyan brilliance bloomed and answered every time.
Burns vanished. Bones realigned. Breath returned to perfect rhythm. She stood again in flawless condition, radiance steady, stance unwavering. Peak stance. Peak focus. Peak readiness.
They collided. Separated. Collided again. The clearing was no longer a battlefield. It was a molten basin of ash, glass, and fractured stone. And still—she did not slow.
Mor'gan's flames roared hotter with every exchange. Flame-Hungered was working exactly as intended. He could feel the stolen mana coursing into him, twisting into demonic power that fed his flame intensity and regeneration. By now, he had drained more than twice the reserves someone of her level should possess. Yet she remained at peak output. His eyes narrowed.
Another clash. Another restoration. Another impossible recovery.
"Tch." He leapt back for the first time since the stalemate began, boots skidding across blackened rock. "You've got to be kidding me."
His eyes scanned the glowing bands around her wrists. The faint pulse beneath her sleeves. The subtle, periodic surge of mana that did not originate from her. Realization struck.
"Damn it." He spat to the side. "This is why I hate fighting rich brats. Loaded with artifacts. Walking treasures stuffed with relics. Always equipped with some kind of backups."
He let out a harsh breath through his nose. "No wonder you're not drying up. You're not even using your own reserves anymore." He rolled his shoulder, irritation clear on his face. "Trying to drain you is like trying to dry the sea with a rag."
For the first time, Mor'gan wasn't thinking about overpowering her. He was thinking. Hard. Because this stalemate was dangerous. Very dangerous. Each clash was gnawing at his patience. He could feel that this fight could tilt precariously if he didn't finish it soon.
After all—he glanced briefly at the ruined surroundings. The scorched forest. The craters. The lingering shockwaves. I'm still inside enemy territory. I'm trying to kill the disciple of Divine Holiness on her own land.
His expression darkened. "Damn my idiocy. Should've stuck to the mercenary code my brother drilled into me," he cursed internally.
His brother's voice echoed faintly in his memory. Never take a job where pride outweighs payment. Never overstay in hostile ground. Always secure your exit before you swing your blade.
Mor'gan exhaled sharply. "Greed got the better of me. I should've walked away the moment I confirmed who she was."
Across the clearing, Sora watched him warily. Why did he stop? Her chest rose and fell as she silently welcomed the few seconds of reprieve. But her guard never lowered. Her light never faded.
Mor'gan's molten-gold eyes narrowed. Thinking. Analyzing. Then—just then, a flash of recognition lit up his molten eyes. A small detail. A memory from earlier. The girl wasn't alone. She had a companion.
His gaze shifted. Not toward her. Past her. Slowly. Deliberately. Toward the distant white cocoon barrier.
Sora's heart skipped. A cold sensation crept down her spine. No… Her eyes followed his line of sight. And the instant she realized what he was looking at—dread settled into her chest like stone.
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A minute earlier—
Within the silent white cocoon, Null stood alone. The outside world was reduced to distant tremors and muffled shockwaves that rippled faintly across the barrier's surface like rain striking glass. Light from Sora's spell bathed the interior in a soft glow.
Then—a thread of mana touched his senses, cutting through the clamor of battle outside. Familiar. Gentle. Shaking.
Sora's voice was not spoken aloud, yet it carried more clearly than sound. It trembled at the edges—not from fear for herself, but from anxiety for him.
Null's eyelids lifted slowly. For a split second, the analytical calm in his gaze wavered. He exhaled slowly. Alright.
His posture changed. His expression softened deliberately. His thoughts aligned. Time to get into character.
When he replied through the mana link, his voice was warm, steady, and filled with sincerity.
Sora was in the middle of clashing blades with Mor'gan when his words reached her. But before initiating the transmission, she had cast a minor light spell over her mind—splitting her cognitive focus into two parallel streams. One half fought. The other listened. Every word reached her with perfect clarity.
Her blade collided with Mor'gan's greatsword. Light detonated outward. But her mind heard only him.
Recollections surfaced in their minds—her sharp reprimand of the other summoned otherworlder on his behalf. Her standing in front of Null without thinking.
Her breath hitched. She almost missed Mor'gan's swing.
Her heart tightened.
He continued, his words flowing like the river of mana connecting them.
He paused, considering the weight of his words as they transmitted across the threads of mana.
Her chest tightened.
His voice lost its playful tone. It became raw. Briefly unmasked.
Her grip trembled. Flames grazed her shoulder—she didn't even notice.
Each word landed heavily in her heart.
Silence filled the mana link. Sora did not respond. She couldn't. Her thoughts were in turmoil. A warmth spread through her chest—slow, invasive, overwhelming.
Why? This wasn't the first time she had heard words like these. She had healed and saved countless people on the brink of death. They had cried. Praised her. Pledged themselves to her. They had called her divine. A miracle. A blessing from the heavens. Some had said even more exaggerated things she was averse to remembering.
None of it had ever mattered to her. Because she was only doing her duty as a saintess. Nothing personal. Nothing emotional.
But now—hearing these same sentiments from him—Why is my heart misbehaving like this?
Even while fighting for her life. Even while death stood inches away. Her chest felt unbearably warm. Her thoughts unstable.
Focus, Sora… she reprimanded herself internally. This is not the time for this.
This was all his fault. If he had just listened to her and escaped—he should be far outside the village by now. Then she could have activated the spatial artifact. Returned to the Sanctum. Brought a knight detachment. Ended this safely.
But—her eyes trembled faintly. It's my fault too… I never fully explained the plan to him.
And that's when—Mor'gan stopped moving.
The sudden stillness snapped her awareness back to the battlefield like a taut string. Her eyes lifted. He wasn't advancing. Wasn't attacking. Wasn't even looking at her. He was looking past her.
Sora followed his gaze.
And her blood ran cold. No… For a heartbeat, she forgot to breathe.
Mor'gan's molten-gold eyes narrowed slightly as understanding settled into place. Not anger. Not frustration. Calculation.
"Heh." A low, humorless chuckle escaped him. "So that's it."
Sora's fingers twitched. Her stance tightened. Her heart began to pound louder than the crackle of flames around them. Please don't…
Mor'gan rolled his shoulder once, eyes never leaving the barrier. "You're not stalling because you think you can win." He tilted his head slightly. "You're stalling because you're protecting something."
Sora's lips parted slightly. No words came out.
His grin widened. Ugly. Knowing. "That brat."
A pulse of dread shot through her chest. He knows.
Mor'gan exhaled slowly through his nose. "Should've realized earlier… you weren't alone when we met." His gaze shifted back to her briefly. "And you've been fighting like someone buying time, not someone trying to kill." His eyes returned to the cocoon. "Now it makes sense."
Sora moved. A step forward. Light flared violently around her. "Don't—"
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