The battlefield did not erupt into celebration.
It couldn't.
What had just occurred… did not feel like a victory.
It felt like a conclusion that had been decided long before anyone arrived.
The forest was gone.
Not burned.
Not destroyed.
Simply… erased.
The ground stretched outward in a vast, hollow expanse—no ash, no debris, no remnants of what once stood. Only smooth, empty land, as if reality itself had been overwritten.
At the center of it all—
Raphael Arzenon stood in silence.
Unharmed.
Unshaken.
Untouched.
His white hair drifted gently in the lingering currents of displaced air, his golden eyes calm, almost distant—as if the battle that had just ended had never truly reached him.
Around him, the surviving mages and knights stared.
No one approached.
No one spoke at first.
Then—
"…He won."
A knight's voice broke the silence, low and uncertain.
"…Won?" another muttered. "That wasn't a fight."
A third mage swallowed hard, his hands trembling.
"…He erased him."
More voices followed, hushed but heavy.
"…So easily…" "…I doubt he was even trying…" "…That monster didn't stand a chance…"
A knight let out a quiet, hollow laugh.
"Too strong… he's too strong for anyone here…"
No one argued.
No one could argue.
Because deep down—
They all felt it.
That overwhelming, undeniable truth.
Raphael Arzenon existed on a level they could not comprehend.
But inside his mind—
It was a completely different story.
"YOU. ABSOLUTE. IDIOT."
The voice detonated across his consciousness like a thunderclap.
Raphael didn't even flinch externally—but internally, his expression tightened immediately.
Cielux stood in the center of the Codex Akasha's inner world, her parasol snapped shut, her entire presence radiating pure, unfiltered fury.
"You stupid, reckless, hopeless master of mine!" she continued, her voice sharp enough to cut. "I explicitly told you to manage your output carefully!"
Raphael exhaled slowly.
"…Here we go."
"You burned through THIRTY PERCENT of your total mana supply in a single engagement!" she snapped, pointing directly at him. "THIRTY. PERCENT."
"I know," Raphael replied calmly.
"You know?!" her voice rose. "You KNOW?! That was not a battlefield—it was a resource management disaster!"
He rubbed his temple slightly.
"…It worked."
"That is NOT the point!"
Her parasol struck the floor of the inner world with a sharp crack.
"You are operating on incomplete Mana synchronization! Your reserves are unstable! Your output efficiency is only at 63%—and you still chose overwhelming force over controlled execution!"
Raphael stayed silent.
Because she wasn't wrong.
"…You're treating power like it's infinite," she continued, her voice dropping slightly—but no less intense. "It isn't. Not yet."
Four minutes passed like that.
Four full minutes.
Of uninterrupted—
Relentless—
Precision-targeted scolding.
By the end of it, Raphael finally raised a hand.
"…Fine."
Cielux paused.
"…I'm sorry," he said, exhaling. "I won't be reckless again. Happy?"
She crossed her arms immediately, turning her head slightly.
"Hmph."
"…You better keep that promise, Master."
Her voice was quieter now—but the warning was still there.
"Or else."
Raphael didn't let her finish.
"Cielux."
She blinked once.
"…What?"
He narrowed his eyes slightly.
"You never told me how that teleportation works."
Silence.
Then—
A slow smile spread across her face.
"…Ah."
The inner world shifted.
The endless library of Codex Akasha unfolded around them, layers of information blooming into existence like galaxies of data.
Cielux turned, her expression now calm—focused.
"In that case, Master… allow me to educate you."
Her tone changed.
Not playful.
Not angry.
But precise.
Analytical.
"Let's begin from the beginning."
A projection appeared in front of them.
Distorted space.
Layered dimensions.
Moving coordinates.
"Approximately nine weeks ago," Cielux began, "during your encounter with… your father—"
Raphael's expression changed instantly.
Cold.
Sharp.
"…Don't."
Her eyes softened slightly.
"…Very well."
She didn't say his name again.
But she continued.
"During that encounter, I analyzed the highest available model of modern spatial transportation."
The projection sharpened.
Figures appeared—
A mage.
A distortion.
A transfer.
"This," she said, "is what modern magi call Spatial Transportation."
The image shifted.
A human body stretched—
Pulled—
Broken into layers of data.
"Contrary to popular belief, this is not teleportation."
Raphael watched closely.
"It is forced dimensional traversal," she explained. "The subject is removed from the current coordinate plane… passed through intermediary dimensional layers… and reassembled at the destination."
The process repeated.
Distortion.
Transfer.
Reconstruction.
"It appears instantaneous," she continued, "but it is not. It occurs within milliseconds—approaching the limits of causality, but never surpassing them."
Raphael frowned slightly.
"…So they're moving."
"Yes."
"Very fast."
"But still moving."
The projection shattered.
Cielux raised a finger.
"And that is the flaw."
The entire system collapsed.
Rewritten.
Reconstructed.
A new structure formed.
Simpler.
Cleaner.
More dangerous.
"I did not improve this method."
Her eyes gleamed.
"I replaced it."
A new model appeared.
Leylines.
The veins of the planet.
Flowing.
Connecting.
Binding reality together.
"Instead of moving you," she said calmly…
"I move the world."
Raphael's eyes widened slightly.
Cielux continued.
"Leylines are the foundational pathways of planetary energy—spiritual, informational, and spatial."
She pointed.
"Every location is defined by its position within this network."
The lines shifted.
Bent.
Severed.
"By severing one point…"
Another point lit up.
"And reconnecting it elsewhere…"
The space folded.
Collapsed.
"…distance ceases to exist."
Silence.
Raphael stared.
"…You didn't move me…"
"No."
"I rewrote your position."
The model stabilized.
Perfect.
Absolute.
"No traversal."
"No delay."
"No dimensional exposure."
Her voice lowered slightly.
"From the perspective of reality…"
"You never left."
Raphael's breath slowed.
"…That's…"
His expression shifted.
Shock.
Then—
Understanding.
Then—
Something deeper.
"…That's insane."
Cielux smiled faintly.
"Yes."
She turned slightly.
"There is a cost, however."
"The strain is immense. Leylines are not meant to be cut arbitrarily. The backlash is transferred directly into your system."
Raphael exhaled slowly.
"…That explains the damage."
"Yes."
"And your current mana inefficiency exacerbates the problem."
She paused.
"…Which brings us back to your reckless behavior."
"…Alright, alright," Raphael muttered.
He crossed his arms slightly, thinking.
"…Cielux."
"Yes?"
"…Can you modify any ability we copy like that?"
There was a pause.
A rare one.
Then—
"…Currently, no."
Raphael blinked.
"No?"
She shook her head slightly.
"My masterpiece—Codex Akasha—is only fifty-two percent complete."
The infinite library dimmed slightly behind her.
"At full completion, I will be able to fully deconstruct, reconstruct, and optimize any acquired ability."
Her gaze met his.
"Without limitation."
Raphael's eyes sharpened.
"…And right now?"
"I can analyze."
"I can copy."
"But full structural rewriting…"
She shook her head again.
"…Not yet."
Silence.
Raphael thought.
Fifty-two percent.
And already this much power.
If it reaches one hundred…
He didn't finish the thought.
Because something—
Moved.
His body reacted before his mind did.
Through Acceleration activated instinctively.
Time compressed.
0.01 seconds.
The world slowed—
And he saw it.
A figure.
Closing distance at impossible speed.
A leg—
Already mid-strike.
Yukio.
Raphael's eyes sharpened.
He moved.
Not back—
Forward.
Both legs collided.
BOOM.
The impact detonated across the battlefield.
The air shattered.
The ground cracked.
A shockwave tore outward, ripping through the remains of the forest and racing across the entirety of Britain like a violent ripple in reality itself.
Mages were thrown off their feet.
The sky trembled.
And at the center—
Two figures stood.
Unmoving.
Unyielding.
Raphael Arzenon.
Yukio.
Their legs still pressed against each other.
Their eyes locked.
No words.
No greetings.
No hesitation.
Only—
Intent.
Serious.
Absolute.
The battlefield, once again—
Held its breath.
The shockwave had not yet fully settled.
Wind still howled across the ruined land, carrying fragments of displaced earth and lingering heat from a battle that had ended too quickly… and begun again too suddenly.
At the center—
Raphael Arzenon and Yukio remained locked in place.
Leg against leg.
Power against power.
Neither yielding.
Neither speaking.
But the silence did not last.
"—Yukio!"
A knight's voice cut through the tension, sharp with disbelief.
"What are you doing?!"
Another stepped forward, grip tightening around his weapon.
"Have you lost your mind?! He just saved all of us!"
The air trembled—not from power this time, but from confusion.
Yukio didn't look at them.
His eyes remained fixed on Raphael.
Cold.
Measured.
Unwavering.
"…I am doing my duty," Yukio said at last.
His voice was calm.
Too calm.
"Duty?" one of the mages repeated, anger creeping into his tone. "That's what you call this?!"
Yukio finally exhaled.
Then—
He withdrew his leg.
The pressure between them vanished instantly.
But the tension did not.
"…I am a knight of the Church," Yukio continued, his voice steady as steel. "And as you all know…"
His gaze sharpened slightly.
"All mages are enemies of the Church."
Silence.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
A knight named Johnson stepped forward, brows furrowed.
"…That may be true," Johnson admitted slowly, "but this one saved our lives."
His eyes flicked toward Raphael.
"…That has to count for something."
For a moment—
No one spoke.
Then—
Raphael smiled.
It was light.
Almost casual.
"Yes," he said simply. "I did save you."
He adjusted his sleeve slightly, as if the battlefield around them were nothing more than an inconvenience.
"…Shouldn't I get the honor of respect?"
A few of the knights shifted awkwardly.
Some nodded slightly.
Others remained silent.
Yukio sighed.
A faint, almost imperceptible irritation crossed his face.
"…Perhaps," he admitted.
Then his gaze hardened again.
"But if you become a threat in the future…"
His voice dropped.
"I will end you myself."
Silence followed.
Raphael's smile didn't fade.
"…That's nice to hear."
But inside—
There was no smile.
Raphael's expression turned serious.
Cold.
Analytical.
"…Cielux."
> "Yes, Master."
"…Isn't this strange?"
There was a pause.
"…Explain."
Raphael's gaze remained fixed on Yukio.
"If he had power equal to mine… or even greater…"
His voice lowered.
"…why didn't he step in earlier?"
Silence.
Then—
"…You're thinking he let Omega fight alone," Cielux finished.
"…Yeah."
Raphael's eyes darkened slightly.
"…If that's true…"
His voice turned colder.
"…then I will never forgive him."
Cielux's response came instantly.
Sharp.
Unfiltered.
> "100% correct, Master."
"…Figures."
> "This man is absolutely suspicious."
She paused briefly.
Then—
Her tone shifted.
"…However."
Raphael frowned slightly.
"…However what?"
> "At your current level…"
A beat.
> "You are weaker than him."
Silence.
"…What?"
Raphael's eyes widened slightly.
"…We just clashed evenly."
For the first time—
Cielux laughed.
Not softly.
Not gently.
But bluntly.
> "No, you idiot."
Raphael blinked.
> "He was holding back."
"…Holding back?"
> "For the sake of the others around you. If he had used his full strength…"
A pause.
Then—
Her voice dropped.
Cold.
> "You would already be dead."
Raphael went silent.
Completely.
He had suspected it.
Some part of him had already known.
But hearing it confirmed—
Directly—
Without hesitation—
"…Damn," he muttered internally.
That wasn't fear.
It wasn't even frustration.
It was—
Awareness.
"…Then why didn't he fight Azravael?" Raphael asked quietly.
Cielux didn't answer immediately.
"…That," she said slowly, "is the real question."
But she didn't stop there.
> "Also, Master."
Raphael sighed.
"…What now?"
> "The only reason you defeated Azravael so easily…"
A pause.
> "…was because Omega Heinriel had already weakened him massively."
Raphael froze.
> "To the point where even a mid-level mage or knight could have finished him."
Silence.
> "So technically…"
Her tone turned sharp again.
> "You didn't need overwhelming output."
Another pause.
> "…But no."
Raphael already knew what was coming.
> "You chose to be stupid."
"…Yeah."
He didn't argue.
Didn't deflect.
Didn't justify.
He simply—
Accepted it.
"…You're right."
And for once—
Cielux didn't respond immediately.
Raphael's expression softened slightly.
His gaze shifted—
To the ground behind him.
To where—
Omega Heinriel lay.
Broken.
Still.
But alive.
"…You did well," Raphael muttered under his breath.
Then—
He began walking.
The others noticed immediately.
"…What is he doing?" one knight whispered.
A mage narrowed his eyes.
"…He's going to heal him."
"…Healing magecraft," another added confidently.
Raphael almost laughed.
Not outwardly.
But internally.
"…Magecraft, huh…"
He knelt beside Omega.
Slowly.
Carefully.
His hand hovered over the severed body.
Then—
He activated it.
> Codecast: Restoration Protocol — Life Reconstruction
Light didn't form like traditional magecraft.
No circles.
No chants.
No visible structure.
Reality itself simply…
Adjusted.
Inside—
Raphael spoke again.
"…Cielux."
> "Yes?"
"…Why did you create this body?"
There was a brief pause.
Then—
Her answer came.
Simple.
Direct.
> "Because of your asthma."
Raphael froze.
"…You knew?"
> "Of course."
Her tone softened slightly.
> "I analyzed your biological structure early on."
Images surfaced.
His past.
Pain.
Weakness.
> "Your respiratory system was compromised."
> "Physical exertion placed abnormal strain on your heart and brain."
> "Any prolonged movement caused internal damage."
Silence.
> "That is why you avoided physical combat."
> "And chose the path of a mage."
Raphael said nothing.
> "So I fixed it."
Her voice was quiet now.
> "I created a body that would not betray you."
> "One that would not collapse under strain."
> "One that would allow you to fight… without pain."
Raphael's hand trembled slightly.
Not from weakness.
But from something else.
"…You planned that far ahead…"
> "Naturally."
Silence.
Then—
"…Thank you."
His voice was low.
Sincere.
"I mean it."
Inside the inner world—
Cielux smiled.
Softly.
> "You're welcome, Master."
A pause.
Then—
Her expression shifted.
Slightly.
"…Now I have a question."
Raphael blinked.
"…Go ahead."
Cielux looked at him directly.
No teasing.
No sarcasm.
Just—
Genuine curiosity.
> "What is your goal?"
Silence.
> "As a mage… as my Master…"
Her voice softened.
> "What do you want to achieve?"
Raphael didn't answer.
Not immediately.
Because his mind—
Had already begun to drift.
Memories surfaced.
Uninvited.
Unstoppable.
Dark.
Cold.
Painful.
An alleyway.
A small girl.
Lifeless.
Skia.
Five years old.
Gone.
Then—
The Clock Tower.
Not as a place of learning.
But as a prison.
Pain.
Endless.
Relentless.
Hands forcing his head into a wall.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Belts.
Striking.
Over.
And over.
And over.
Voices.
"You are worthless."
"You are nothing."
"Even an ant has more value than you."
Fire.
Burning his skin.
Screams he wasn't allowed to make.
Tears he wasn't allowed to shed.
"…Don't cry."
"You don't have that right."
Silence.
Darkness.
Isolation.
Then—
The memories shifted.
A garden.
Warm light filtered through leaves.
Soft wind brushed against untouched grass.
The afternoon sky stretched wide and clear above the Tohsaka estate's outer garden, painted in a soft blue that felt almost too peaceful for the quiet tension lingering beneath it.
A small figure sat near the stone pathway, clutching his arm.
Blood had soaked slightly into the sleeve of his worn shirt—nothing fatal, but enough to sting, enough to remind him.
Raphael Arzenon did not cry.
He never did.
Footsteps approached—light, careful, almost hesitant.
"Are you okay…?"
The voice was soft.
He looked up.
There she stood.
Akane Tohsaka—only seven years old, yet already carrying herself with an elegance that didn't belong to a child. Her dark blue dress, tailored with quiet luxury, swayed gently in the wind. Her cheeks were faintly pink, her expression filled with genuine concern as her eyes fixed on his injured arm.
She was small—around 3'5—yet somehow felt… larger than him.
Raphael, slightly taller at 3'8, forced a smile.
"I am alright… don't worry about me."
The words came easily.
Too easily.
Akane didn't move.
Her brows knit together slightly, her gaze soft but unwavering. There was no hesitation in her concern—no calculation.
Just kindness.
…Or so it appeared.
Raphael's eyes lingered for a moment.
Her smooth skin.
Her pristine clothes.
Her life.
A noble.
A Tohsaka.
Someone who had never needed to struggle for something as basic as survival.
And that kindness—
…felt like pity.
He didn't say it.
Instead, his smile remained.
"Anyway, Akane… I have a question."
Her expression brightened instantly, like a light flickering to life.
"Of course!" she said eagerly, clasping her hands together. "You can ask me anything!"
That… threw him off.
For a brief second, his expression faltered.
Then he continued.
"What's your goal as a mage?"
Akane blinked.
Then—
A confident smirk formed on her lips.
She placed a hand over her chest, posture straightening with pride far beyond her years.
"Simple," she declared. "I want to grow up and become a True Magician one day."
Raphael tilted his head slightly.
"A True Magician…? What's that? Is it just a higher rank mage?"
Akane let out a small, amused laugh.
"No, silly."
She turned her gaze upward, toward the sky above.
For a moment, she looked… distant.
"As my father explained it to me," she began softly, "Magic and magecraft are not the same thing at all."
Raphael stayed silent.
Listening.
"In the world we live in now," Akane continued, "magecraft is what humans can achieve by studying, refining, and repeating things. Even if it's difficult—even if it takes generations—if it can be done eventually, it's still just magecraft."
She lifted a small hand, as if trying to grasp something invisible.
"Creating fire, healing wounds, moving objects… all of that is magecraft. Because even without magic, those things are possible in some way."
Her tone shifted slightly.
"But Magic… is different."
She looked back at him.
Her eyes held something deeper now.
"Magic is something that is completely impossible. Something that cannot be reproduced—no matter how much time, knowledge, or resources you have."
Raphael's eyes narrowed slightly.
"…Impossible?"
Akane nodded.
"Yes. For example—true resurrection, perfect time manipulation, or freely traveling between parallel worlds… those are things that should never be achievable."
She paused.
"But if someone does achieve them… that becomes Magic."
The wind stirred softly between them.
"In the distant past," she continued, "during the Age of Gods… things were different."
Her voice softened, almost reverent.
"Back then, what we call 'Magic' now was… normal. The world itself was filled with divine mystery. Gods existed. The laws of reality were shaped by them. Magecraft and Magic were basically the same thing."
Raphael listened closely.
"No one called it 'impossible,'" she said. "Because everything was possible."
Her gaze dimmed slightly.
"But that era ended."
"The gods disappeared… the world changed… and humans lost access to that level of Mystery."
She clenched her hand gently.
"And so… what was once normal became unreachable."
Her eyes returned to him.
"And now, only a few of those 'impossible things' remain."
"The Five True Magics."
Raphael blinked.
"…So becoming a True Magician means…?"
"It means reaching the Root," Akane answered. "The origin of everything. And from there… obtaining one of those impossibilities."
She smiled slightly.
"It's not about being stronger than everyone."
"It's about achieving something that should never be achievable in the first place."
Silence followed.
The explanation lingered in the air.
Raphael looked down at his injured arm… then back at her.
"…Wow."
He paused.
Then said flatly:
"True Magic almost sounds like a coping mechanism for modern magi."
Akane froze.
"…Huh?"
"It feels like," Raphael continued calmly, "instead of surpassing the past… you're just chasing what was lost. Calling it 'impossible' now, even though it used to be normal."
Akane's expression sharpened immediately.
"No, that's not true."
Her voice carried unexpected firmness.
"Mages don't chase Magic because they're coping."
"They chase it because it's the only remaining proof that the Root can be reached… and that humanity isn't completely cut off from the origin of everything."
She stepped closer.
"It's not about replacing the Age of Gods."
"It's about moving forward… even if the path is different."
Raphael met her gaze.
Unmoved.
"…Yeah."
He shrugged slightly.
"Still doesn't feel like a good trade-off to me."
Akane sighed.
A small, tired exhale—far too mature for a child.
"Fine then," she said. "What do you think is a better solution?"
Raphael didn't hesitate.
"My goal," he said, "is to become a mage like Solomon—the King of Magecraft."
Akane's eyes widened slightly.
"And then?"
"I'll find a way," Raphael continued, his voice steady, "to reclaim all the lost Magics of the Age of Gods… and bring them back into the modern world."
The wind stilled.
"…Without letting the world collapse."
For a moment—
Silence.
Then—
Akane burst into laughter.
A bright, unrestrained sound that echoed through the garden.
Raphael's face flushed instantly.
"I'm serious!"
"I know, I know," she said, trying to calm herself, wiping a tear from her eye. "It's just…"
She smiled at him.
"You always think of the most ridiculous things. Even most mages wouldn't dream of something like that."
Raphael crossed his arms, turning away slightly.
"…Maybe I'm just unique."
A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
"Who knows."
There was a pause.
Then—
Soft warmth.
Raphael stiffened slightly.
"…What?"
Akane had stepped forward… and wrapped her arms around him in a gentle hug.
"What's the hug for?" he asked, confused.
She smiled.
"It's a promise."
"A promise?"
"Yes," she said softly. "You'll chase your impossible goal… and I'll chase mine."
She pulled back slightly, meeting his eyes.
"I'll become a True Magician—like Aoko Aozaki."
"And you…"
She tapped his chest lightly.
"…will become the mage who brings back the Age of Gods."
The world felt quiet.
Still.
And for a brief moment—
Raphael didn't pull away.
"…Fine," he muttered.
The sky above remained unchanged.
But something, unseen—
Had already begun to move.
And then—
The vision faded.
The garden faded.
The blue sky… the warmth… the small hands that once reached out to him—
—all of it dissolved like fragments of a dream swallowed by time.
And yet—
something remained.
A feeling.
A promise.
Within the silent expanse of his inner world, Raphael Arzenon stood still.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then—
he smiled.
A genuine smile.
"…I remember now."
Cielux, who had been watching quietly, tilted her head slightly.
"Remember what, Master?"
Raphael turned toward her, golden eyes steady—no hesitation, no doubt.
"My goal."
A brief pause.
Then, calmly—
"I wanted to become a mage like Solomon… the King of Magecraft."
The words carried weight.
Not childish anymore.
Not naive.
Refined.
Sharpened by suffering.
Cielux crossed her arms lightly.
"And now?"
Raphael's smile shifted.
It became sharper.
More dangerous.
"…Now I understand something."
He stepped forward slightly, his presence stabilizing the entire inner world around him.
"I won't achieve that through normal means."
Silence.
Cielux's eyes narrowed.
"…So what's your plan?"
Raphael didn't hesitate.
A smirk formed.
"Simple."
His voice dropped slightly—quiet, but filled with absolute certainty.
"Once Codex Akasha is complete…"
He raised his hand.
"…we analyze every Mystery on Earth."
"And store it."
"In Codex Akasha."
For the first time—
Cielux froze.
"…You're serious?"
Her voice lacked its usual teasing tone.
It was… stunned.
Raphael nodded without hesitation.
"Completely."
Cielux stared at him.
Then sighed.
"…Do you even hear yourself?"
"That's not just ambitious, Master. That's—"
She paused.
"…absurd."
Raphael chuckled softly.
"Is it?"
He looked at her.
Eyes gleaming.
"If someone like the King of Heroes, Gilgamesh, could obtain all the treasures of the world…"
He stepped closer.
"Then why can't I obtain all the Mysteries of the world?"
Silence.
"…In the form of information."
The air shifted.
"If I'm going to stand at the level of Solomon…"
His voice deepened.
"…then I need to recreate the kind of feat that made even gods feel fear."
Cielux said nothing.
For once—
no interruption.
No criticism.
Just—
listening.
"And what better way…"
Raphael finished quietly,
"…than to possess all Mysteries that exist?"
A pause.
Then—
Cielux smiled.
Not her usual composed smile.
Not her teasing grin.
Something else.
Something… sharp.
"…Now that…"
She whispered,
"…is my language."
Raphael blinked.
"…Huh?"
That wasn't the reaction he expected.
Not at all.
Cielux turned away slightly.
But her expression—
her eyes—
They were shining.
With something dangerous.
"Do you know what I am, Master?"
Her voice softened.
"The Moon Cell Automaton was created to observe, record, and analyze all phenomena on Earth."
She placed a hand over her chest.
"And I…"
"…am born from a fragment of it."
Her lips curved.
"I've always had that desire."
A step forward.
"To scan."
"To analyze."
"To understand everything."
She looked back at him.
"I suppressed it."
A brief pause.
"For your sake."
Raphael's eyes widened slightly.
"But now—"
Her voice lifted.
Excitement creeping in.
"You're telling me… we'll analyze all Mysteries?"
Her smile widened.
"This is perfect."
She spun lightly within the inner world, her form flickering with streams of data.
"Absolutely perfect!"
She moved through floating constructs—touching them, interacting with them, laughing softly.
"You chase your dream."
"I fulfill my purpose."
Her eyes gleamed.
"It's a win-win, Master."
For a moment—
Raphael just stared.
Then—
he laughed.
"…You're way too excited."
"Of course I am!" she shot back instantly. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited to hear something like this?!"
She paused—
then looked at him again.
And for once—
her expression softened.
"…Thank you."
Raphael blinked.
"…For what?"
"For giving me a reason."
And then—
Reality returned.
The battlefield.
The ash.
The silence.
Raphael's smile faded.
His eyes sharpened instantly.
"…I almost forgot."
The shift was immediate.
The air changed.
The knights and mages around him straightened instinctively.
Weapons raised.
Magic circuits primed.
They felt it too.
That presence.
Heavy.
Cold.
Ancient.
Raphael turned slowly.
Golden eyes locking forward.
"…You were still here."
Standing not far away—
Silent the entire time—
was the second Dead Apostle.
Unmoving.
Watching.
Waiting.
Raphael's voice was calm.
But no longer gentle.
"Who are you?"
A pause.
"You came with Azravael."
His gaze narrowed slightly.
"But you didn't interfere."
"…Why?"
The figure chuckled.
Low.
Amused.
"Because…"
A step forward.
"Azravael was nothing more than a subordinate."
The air trembled.
"…And you are?"
Raphael asked.
The man smiled.
Slowly—
he removed his cloak.
And in that instant—
The world changed.
A surge of dark magical energy erupted outward.
Not a wave.
Not an explosion.
A presence.
It spread—
faster than thought—
engulfing the battlefield.
Then the horizon.
Then—
everything.
The entire country trembled under it.
Knights dropped to one knee.
Mages gasped, clutching their chests.
"…What is this—?!"
"…This pressure—!"
"…I can't breathe—!"
Even Raphael—
took a step back.
His eyes widened.
"…What kind of power is this…?"
The figure stepped forward fully.
His eyes glowed faintly.
"My name…"
A pause.
"…is Rairen."
The ground cracked beneath his feet.
"I am the Fourth Dead Apostle Ancestor."
A beat.
"…Among the original Twenty-Seven."
Silence.
No one moved.
No one spoke.
The weight of those words crushed everything.
"Do not compare me…"
His voice lowered.
"…to something like Azravael."
Raphael's heartbeat slowed.
Not from calm.
From realization.
Dead Apostle…
Ancestor.
Beings that rivaled—
Divine Spirits.
For the first time—
since arriving on this battlefield—
Raphael felt it.
Not fear.
But—
pressure.
Real pressure.
"…So this…"
He muttered quietly.
"…is the real enemy."
Rairen smiled.
And the world—
trembled.
Everyone understood.
At that moment.
The battle before—
had meant nothing.
This—
was where it truly began.