Chapter 365: A Crushing Finale

A brilliant golden blade of light swept across the ground, gouging a deep scar into the frozen earth. Remo darted aside with practiced swiftness as fighting spirit coursed through his legs. The subtle gleam in his eyes was a sign of his potential. The sword that had just passed him by stopped abruptly; this was how he had managed to evade the attack so easily.

With a flick of his fingers, Remo drew several steel daggers from the satchel at his waist. They snapped forward, each release punctuated with a crisp metallic clink.

Unlike Black Benn, Remo was a different kind of weapon. If Black Benn was the raging engine of war, slaughtering masses with firestorms and sheer indomitable will, then Remo was the razor's edge—a dagger sharpened for the express purpose of striking down a single strong foe.

His flying blades curved unnaturally in the air, veering at impossible angles. The grand knight's fighting spirit shaped itself into invisible rails, guiding their deadly course. They came at Edward from every side, in a storm of steel weaving through the air.

The instant Edward raised his shield, a single blade surged forward with explosive speed, leaving only a blurred afterimage even to a knight's eye. It drove itself into the golden barrier exuded from his shield and lodged deep within it.

A hail of sharp, ringing notes followed. Remo's blades struck Edward's shield in precise succession, hammering down upon the one already embedded in the barrier and forcing it ever deeper with relentless impact.

Then Remo himself was upon him. Reflected light from the ice all around gave him countless mirrored glimpses of himself. With that, he could use his potential, Speedsight, to its fullest, boosting his speed beyond measure. His gauntleted fist closed and struck at the dagger lodged in Edward's shield like a hammer.

The barrier of faint golden light shattered, collapsing from the compounding assault. Edward's protection failed, if only for a moment.

Cold light flickered in Remo's eyes. His sword of fighting spirit spun in his grip, tracing a deadly silver arc toward Edward's throat. Steel and fighting spirit overlapped, magnifying his blade's killing edge.

Yet even stripped of his divine shield, Edward revealed no openings. At the very instant the strike should have cut flesh, another layer of defense flared to life—an unyielding barrier of fighting spirit. Steel met an unseen wall in a flurry of sparks.

"A divine barrier from the God of Light, followed by more shields from his potential and secret arts... Edward Wolyn, just how hard are you to kill?!

Remo cursed inwardly, boiling over with frustration. He hadn't even managed to touch Edward's flesh. Every strike had floundered against shield after shield.

Even after smashing through the radiant bulwark of the God of Light, his follow-up attack only hit the shield from Edward's potential, Bastion, and from his secret art, Steel Sunlight. Beyond that, he had made no progress whatsoever.

Edward stamped forward, shield raised. It crashed into Remo's chest with thunderous force. Pain blossomed, blood rose bitter in his throat, and he staggered back several steps before finding his balance.

Blood spattered the snow. Remo steadied himself, now wary of Edward's technique that he had used at the start of battle—a radiant sword that blended fighting spirit and the divinity of the God of Light. Though the attack was slow, if it were to make direct contact, he likely wouldn't survive what came next.

Edward's style was apparent: he focused on strong defenses and counters. Impenetrable walls to smother his enemy's onslaught, then precise retaliation right afterwards—a slow but inexorable victory.

"What a horrible match-up..." Remo muttered, circling his opponent warily, body shifting with a calculated rhythm. "Divine light paired with shields upon shields—my worst counter. You can't kill me, and I can't hurt you. What's the point, then?"

Edward's response was not at all what he expected. He sheathed his golden sword. Edward stood motionless, calm and steady as a glacier. His posture all but declared: I will not strike again.

"There is no need to continue," he said softly. "I do not wish to kill you. I am of this kingdom, and of the Church of Light. Meaningless slaughter is not what I seek."

His cool gaze, touched with pity, met Remo's.

"You are of Aleisterre? Then why do you stand against me? I act by order of King Donatien Charlemagne to root out these rebels! Why aid traitors of this kingdom?!"

Moray's voice hardened as his sword rose up once more. "As the son of the Grand Duke of the North, you should stand with me rather than bar my way."

"No," Edward replied gently. "They are not rebels. And the kingdom..."

"You dare—"

Remo clearly was not about to be persuaded. A jagged starsteel blade punched into the back of his skull and burst out between his eyes. A follow-up blow caved in his unguarded head.

The Lady of the Night's power ebbed. Wang Yu stepped out from behind the fallen corpse, his presence unmasked.

"Looks like Charles was right," Edward said, with a faintly helpless smile. "A knight in shining armor really is an odd kind of... deception."

Wang Yu dismissed his starsteel blade and replaced it with the Spellweaver's Tome.

"The son of a duke, hero of the capital, newly anointed paladin of the God of Light—who would believe such a man would stoop to trickery? Against anyone else, Remo would never have wasted a word. He faltered because of you, Edward."

No one else could have managed to drop the experienced grand knight's guard long enough for Wang Yu's sneak attack to work.

Edward's radiance and uprightness was part and parcel of his being. Even as an enemy, Remo couldn't help but trust him.

But Edward had spent too long alongside Wang Yu and Charles. Some of their pragmatism had rubbed off on him.

And even if Wang Yu hadn't struck, Edward's "sheathed" blade would have ended it regardless with an instantaneous draw of his blade. In battle, every advantage had to be seized.

"For my deception, I apologize." Edward bowed, then revealed a bright, sunny smile. He took hold of Wang Yu's arm as the Spellweaver's Tome flew them out of the snow-choked pit where two grand knights now lay entombed.

High above, Avia's battle with Paul neared its conclusion. It had never been a contest of equals, but rather a relentless suppression. From beginning to end, Paul, despite his status as a mage, was crushed beneath her power. The only reason he yet drew breath lay in his arsenal of specialized spells and the deep well of arcane knowledge he had accumulated over more than a century of life.

Wrapped in a current of air, Paul streaked across the snowy wastes, deliberately stirring the blizzard into a frenzy in hopes of obscuring his trail and shaking off Avia's pursuit.

A flicker appeared in the Magician's Eye he conjured to watch his rear. Sweat streaming down his brow, Paul reacted without hesitation. He swung his staff, gathering the concentrated ice mana of the tundra in the form of a whirring frost-saw that he hurled backward.

The third-tier spell shot off like a blade through the storm and vanished without sound. Yet Avia was not there.

This gave Paul no relief. The power the young woman had displayed struck at the very core of his beliefs, shattering what he thought he knew of magic.

Here, even in an environment where ice reigned supreme and all other elements were scarce, her spells didn't diminish in strength at all. Lightning, stone, even fire—elementally opposed to ice—all surged forth with devastating potency. None of them were weakened by the environment; some seemed even stronger for it.

More terrifying still was the speed of her casting, and the unreasonable force behind her every spell. Almost all were instantly cast: fireballs, wind blades, lightning lances, spears of earth—storm upon storm was unleashed without pause. Each landed with uncanny accuracy. No matter how he tried to conceal himself, it was useless.

Worse, her spells were ridiculously strong. A first-tier fireball struck with the might of a third-tier spell; a third-tier lightning lance had blasted through his defenses with fifth-tier destruction.

He bore the mark of that lesson now. His left arm was gone, his shoulder a charred ruin. His stockpile of enchanted items was exhausted, and his will was faltering. His courage to fight had fled; all he could do was flee.

This was the tyranny of hypermagic, which overturned the very foundation of magecraft. A system where spell rank no longer dictated power, where elements ignored the laws of the environment, where mere mana could fuel destruction far beyond its tier, and every incantation could be loosed as swiftly as thought.

Given this new theory of magic, the careful duels of magic crumbled into dust. Against Avia, every cast might be a trump card. Paul's cunning and experience had become a trap.

Thunder rumbled across the sky. Paul looked up, his face darkening. The sky was smothered by a thick layer of stormclouds that blotted out the sun and cast him in shadow. Lightning crackled within the clouds, an ominous sign.

This was the sixth-tier lightning spell Divine Wrath. An endless barrage of thunderbolts scoured the land. Paul's stomach clenched. Avia couldn't match his speed; she had chosen to make this a contest of pure power instead.

He gathered what earth mana he could to form a pale yellow shield around his body. Air howled about him as he accelerated further. All he needed was to endure, to flee the coming storm.

The lightning built to a crescendo. Paul braced for the first strike. But no bolt fell. Instead, there was rain.

A deluge poured from the heavens, as though the sky itself had been rent open. On this snowbound plateau, black curtains of water descended in sheets. There was far too much water than the stormclouds above could hold—it had to be condensed out of water mana.

Paul's eyes widened with dread. Of course. His opponent wasn't bound by the law of the elements. Those writhing currents of lightning had been nothing more than misdirection.

This was no Divine Wrath at all. It was something else. Something worse.

The rain was wrong. Within each droplet lurked a trace of fire. Water and fire were entwined.

The next instant, the hidden fire flared, releasing its heat into every drop of rain. Boiling steam burst forth, wave after wave, searing the air in an instant. The world vanished in white mist as the storm became a scalding cauldron.

Paul screamed. The wards he had raised against lightning were useless—no, worse than useless. They interfered with his casting and hindered his response. Currents of air fanned the steam toward his flesh. His frail, unarmored body buckled under the intense agony.

Still he struggled, clawing for one last spell, a shield against heat, a chance to break free before death consumed him.

But there was no chance. His sight was occluded by white fog, his senses overwhelmed. From within that shroud, a spear of black light pierced the fog and tore through his chest, leaving a cavernous hole in its wake.

As Paul's corpse plummeted from the sky, Avia stepped out from behind the veil of steam. The third-tier Spear of Distortion faded from her hand. Her body was sheathed in a shield of fighting spirit, warding her from the boiling air.

The battle was finally over.