"He's not fighting", Noir realized with numb shock. "He's composing. Like the whole battlefield is his canvas and death is his medium."
The rippers didn't stand a chance.
Within thirty seconds, the courtyard was silent except for the soft hiss of dissolving shadow.
Yuusha lowered his hands.
The faint glow of spiritual energy around his fingers dissipated like morning mist. He examined his hands briefly—turning them over as if checking for imperfections—then seemed satisfied.
He turned.
And looked down at Noir.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Around them, the surviving seers began moving again—checking the wounded, helping their fallen comrades. The priests in white robes emerged cautiously from where they'd taken shelter with the civilians, beginning the work of tending to the injured and calming the terrified. Soo Ah appeared at Yuusha's side, breathing hard, her axe dripping with black ichor.
"The perimeter is clear," she reported quietly.
Yuusha nodded but didn't take his eyes off Noir.
"Can you stand?" he asked.
Noir's jaw tightened. He grabbed the cracked pillar and hauled himself upright, ignoring the screaming protest from his ribs. He swayed but stayed on his feet.
"Good," Yuusha said softly.
Then he gestured toward the broken cathedral steps.
Bodies lay scattered across the stone. Not many—maybe four or five—but each one was a person who had been alive minutes ago. A woman in a blue dress. An elderly man clutching prayer beads. A young seer who couldn't have been more than twenty, their weapon still gripped in lifeless fingers.
Dead.
"Do you see them?" Yuusha asked.
Noir's throat tightened. "...Yes."
"They came here seeking sanctuary. Safety. Peace." Yuusha's voice remained calm, but something sharp glinted beneath it. "And they found death instead."
"I didn't—" Noir started.
"You didn't kill them," Yuusha interrupted. "The rippers did. But the rippers came because of you."
Noir's fists clenched. "I don't understand. I didn't do anything—"
"Your rage." Yuusha turned to face him fully now. "Your hatred. It's been festering inside you for years, Noir Adélard. Growing. Deepening. Rotting."
He took a step closer.
"And tonight, you let it loose in a place of sanctuary. You screamed your fury at me in a cathedral built to contain virtue, and your sin resonated like a bell across the spiritual realm."
Another step.
"Every ripper within miles heard it. Felt it. And they came running."
Noir's breath hitched. "You're lying."
"Am I?"
Yuusha gestured toward the bodies again.
"Walk out there if you don't believe me. See how long it takes before they find you again."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
Noir wanted to argue. Wanted to call him a liar, a manipulator.
But he remembered the ripper in the forest.
The way it had found him so quickly.
The way these rippers had ignored fleeing civilians to focus on him.
"I didn't mean to," Noir whispered.
"Intent doesn't matter to the dead."
Silence fell like a weight.
Then Yuusha reached into his robes and withdrew a small, smooth crystal. He held it up, and images flickered across its surface—Noir's face, unconscious, surrounded by mutilated corpses in the grove. Multiple angles. Perfect clarity.
"The seven men in the forest," Yuusha said simply.
Noir's blood ran cold.
"Evidence," Yuusha continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "You were found at the scene. Covered in their blood. The authorities won't care what you remember. They'll care what they can prove."
He pocketed the crystal.
"You have a choice to make."
Noir's jaw worked. He felt the trap closing around him, iron teeth sinking into his flesh.
"What choice?" His voice came out hoarse.
"Leave," Yuusha said. "Walk away. Try to survive on your own. But understand—this evidence will reach the magistrate by morning. And even if you escape them, the rippers will hunt you. Again and again, until something kills you. Or until you lead them to more innocent people."
He paused.
"Or you join the Ise Order."
Noir's head snapped up.
Yuusha's expression remained calm, almost gentle.
"Become a trainee. Learn to control whatever is inside you. Train under our seers. And eventually..."
His eyes glinted in the candlelight. "When you've proven yourself capable, I will tell you about the man you seek. The fake seer. His nature. Where to find him."
Noir's heart hammered against his ribs. "You know his whereabouts?"
"I know enough." Yuusha's voice was soft. "More than you could discover on your own in a lifetime of searching."
"Then tell me now—"
"No."
The word was final. Absolute.
"If you faced him now, he would kill you in seconds." Yuusha's gaze was steady. "Just as I defeated you earlier. You're not ready."
"I don't care—"
"You should." Something flickered in Yuusha's eyes—not quite pity, but close. "If you die, your quest ends. If you die, you'll never have your answers. Everything you've suffered will have been for nothing."
The words hit like physical blows.
Yuusha stepped back, giving Noir space.
"Join us. Grow stronger. Learn control." His voice softened. "Prove you're more than just rage waiting to burn out."
He turned away, white robes swirling.
"This is your last chance."