The grand halls of Raphael Arzenon's Temple of Solomon thrummed with an otherworldly resonance, the very air thick with divine-like authority that seemed to pulse in time with the clashing wills at its center. Towering pillars of ancient marble gleamed under ethereal golden light that spilled from intricate geometric runes etched into every surface, while distant echoes of the outside world—faint crashes of waves against the island's shores—faded into irrelevance. This was no mere workshop or bounded field; it was a living domain, a reality marble forged from Command Spell authority itself, where the laws of magecraft bent and twisted like clay in the hands of a god. Inside this sanctified space, the brutal dance of battle continued without pause, the stone floor cracking and reforming in real time as if the temple itself were breathing, eager to obey its master's whim
Rairen and Raphael Arzenon fought on with unrelenting fury, their forms blurring through the vast chamber in a whirlwind of ice and raw conceptual power. Rairen unleashed a barrage of multi-Ice beam attacks—each one a frozen lance the width of a tree trunk, screaming through the air with killing intent honed over centuries of vampiric supremacy. Yet Raphael Arzenon dodged every last one in the final, heart-stopping second, his informational body moving with impossible fluidity, mere inches separating him from annihilation each time The beams shattered harmlessly against the temple walls, which absorbed the impact and glowed brighter, feeding on the wasted energy.
Before Rairen could press his advantage, Raphael Arzenon's right palm flared with crimson light. A fifth Command Spell activated, its intricate design burning like fresh blood against his skin. "I command the earth and growth to rise and strike!" From the temple floor erupted a storm of summoned plants—vines thick as cables, thorns gleaming like blades—and jagged rocks torn from the very architecture, all hurledRairen at speeds that shattered the sound barrier. The projectiles screamed forward in a deafening sonic boom, turning the air into a lethal gale.
Rairen dodged effortlessly, his ancient reflexes a blur of shadow and frost, weaving through the onslaught as if the attacks were little more than annoying insects. A smirk of superiority tugged at his lips—until Raphael Arzenon invoked a sixth Command Spell without hesitation, the palm flaring once more. "I command my attack to appear before him—now!"
In an instant, space warped. The entire volley of plants, rocks, and debris teleported directly in front of Rairen's face, slamming into him from point-blank range. The impacts landed with thunderous force—barely enough to sting the vampire's reinforced frame at first, drawing only annoyed grunts. But Raphael was far from finished. With seamless precision, he re-teleported the remnants of Rairen's own discarded Ice beams right back at their creator, the frozen lances reversing course mid-air and piercing deep into Rairen's body with merciless accuracy.
Rairen felt the massive pain explode through his nerves like liquid fire. He staggered, a guttural yell tearing from his throat as ice shards erupted from his chest and shoulders in sprays of crimson. "How is this possible?! How are you using multiple Command Spells at once?! A normal Master only has three command spells, but you have already used six—so what the hell is going on?!"
Raphael Arzenon smirked, his bloodied grin sharp and unyielding amid the chaos, eyes gleaming with the quiet confidence of a man who had rewritten the rules before the fight even began. "Oh, now you notice it, huh? That's simply because I created a secondary law in my Temple. The more people there are inside the Temple, the more Command Spells I get."
Rairen's expression twisted in shock, his usual arrogance fracturing for the first time in the clash. "Wait—what does that mean? You had seven Command Spells since there are currently seven people here?"
Raphael Arzenon chuckled, the sound low and laced with dark amusement that echoed off the temple's vaulted ceilings. "False. I get three command spells per person. This means that if there are three people, I get nine Command Spells, and if there are five people, I get fifteen Command Spells. You know, basic 3×1? You know basic math, right?"
Rairen looked around wildly at the gathered figures—Rin, Luvia, Reines, the severed form of Omega Heinriel, Kevin's silent presence, and the two combatants themselves—his face draining of color as the math crystallized in his mind. "That means you have currently forty-two Command Spells," he said in utter disbelief, voice cracking with the weight of the revelation.
With a wide, predatory grin that split his face like a crescent moon, Raphael Arzenon replied, "Yes, indeed. I got a lot to spam in this fight, but that number will increase later, so it doesn't matter the current total number."
Rairen was left utterly speechless for a long, heavy moment, the ancient vampire's mouth opening and closing without sound, his mind reeling from the sheer conceptual blasphemy unfolding before him. The temple's runes pulsed brighter as if feeding on his stunned silence.
Before he could fully regain his composure, Rairen's voice returned in a growl of renewed fury. "You truly are something else… but that just means I have to destroy you before such actions even happen!"
Now Rairen rushed back to attack Raphael Arzenon, his form exploding forward in a blizzard of lethal ice and raw vampiric might, the air itself freezing in his wake
Reines, Rin, and Luvia could only stare—utterly dumbfounded—as Raphael continued to bend the rules of magecraft like they were mere suggestions scrawled on scrap paper. The sheer audacity of it all was almost breathtaking, the kind of reality-warping defiance that would have sent the entire Clock Tower into apoplectic fits of outrage and envy. In the hallowed, cutthroat world of magecraft, where Command Spells were sacred, finite contracts with the Throne of Heroes—three per Master, no more, earned through blood and ritual—Raphael had turned the system into an infinite well of authority.
Rin's mouth actually fell open this time, her twin tails swaying as she shook her head in disbelief. "…Okay, that's just cheating," she muttered under her breath, the words heavy with a mix of exasperation, reluctant awe, and the faint thrill of watching the impossible unfold. Luvia and Reines stood frozen beside her—even they, seasoned veterans of Clock Tower intrigue and Holy Grail War horrors, couldn't process the sheer audacity of Raphael's strategy.
Forty-two Command Spells. Forty-two! The number echoed in Rin's mind like a tolling bell. And he was treating them like discount coupons to spam without care. Meanwhile, most magi would kill for just one… or at least spend years scheming, backstabbing, and sacrificing everything to obtain more. Rin could only watch as Raphael continued his absurd battle—Command Spell after Command Spell flashing into existence like they were nothing more than party tricks. The entire concept of magecraft warfare had just been thrown out the window in front of them… and she wasn't sure whether to be impressed or horrified by it all. A strange warmth bloomed in her chest—part fear, part exhilaration. "…You know what?" She sighed deeply, shoulders slumping in defeated acceptance. "I'm not even going to question it anymore."
Reines' eyes sharpened with reluctant respect… but mostly irritation, her violet gaze narrowing as she crossed her arms tightly over her chest. "…Hah." A deliberate pause followed, the silence pregnant with calculation. "Forty-two. And counting." Her smirk was razor-thin, sharp enough to cut glass, laced with the dry wit that masked the storm of tactical recalculations racing through her El-Melloi mind. "At this rate, he'll probably hit triple digits before Rairen finally snaps and tries to erase this temple from history altogether."
In the distance, Raphael cheerfully teleported another chunk of debris directly onto Rairen's head while cackling like a man who had already won. The ancient vampire looked more personally offended than injured, his roars of frustration shaking the very foundations.
The sheer mathematical audacity of Raphael's scheme finally hit Luvia like a runaway freight train barreling through her aristocratic composure. Her mind screeched to a halt as she processed the numbers—forty-two Command Spells, with more incoming?! The temple's golden light reflected in her wide sapphire eyes, turning them into twin stars of disbelief and delight.
"FORTY-TWO?!" Her voice cracked into an unholy shriek that echoed through the temple like a war cry, rich and unrestrained. Rin flinched so hard her twin tails practically stood on end, while Reines simply pressed both hands to her face in existential despair. But Luvia? Oh no, she was thriving, her golden coils whipping dramatically as pure, unfiltered exhilaration flooded her veins.
Twirling in place with giddy abandon—the hem of her blue dress flaring out like a blooming sapphire flower—she jabbed an accusatory finger toward the battlefield, voice booming with theatrical flair. "RIN! REINES! DO YOU SEE THIS ABSOLUTE CHEATER?! HE JUST TURNED COMMAND SPELL ECONOMICS INTO A PYRAMID SCHEME!"
Rin's eye twitched violently, a vein throbbing at her temple. "Luvia, I swear to god—"
But there was no stopping the Edelfelt heiress now. With stars practically gleaming in her eyes and zero regard for battlefield tension or noble decorum, Luvia cupped her hands around her mouth and bellowed across the temple, her laughter ringing out like triumphant bells: "SPAM THEM ALL, RAPHAEL! DROWN HIM IN SO MANY COMMANDS THAT THE THRONE OF HEROES GETS A COMPLAINT FORM!! O-HO-HOHOHO—!!!"
Reines looked ready to combust from sheer secondhand embarrassment, her fingers digging into her temples as if praying for the patience of every Lord in the Clock Tower. Meanwhile, Rin just groaned deeply and muttered under her breath, cheeks flushing with a mix of mortification and reluctant amusement: "…We're never living this down."
The battle raged on within the temple's glowing embrace, Command Spells flaring like crimson fireworks, while the three mages stood as witnesses to a revolution in magecraft—one born not from ancient bloodlines or forbidden tomes, but from the audacious will of a single man who refused to play by the rules. Whatever Rairen's next move, the scales had tipped so wildly that even the vampire's ancient terror seemed almost… quaint by comparison.
The temple trembled under the weight of clashing powers, its ancient stone walls groaning like living things as the battle between Raphael Arzenon and Rairen reached a fever pitch. Rairen, the Dead Apostle Ancestor whose very presence warped reality, moved with a speed that defied comprehension—faster than Raphael could react, faster than thought itself. He blurred across the battlefield like a living storm, his fists carving sonic booms through the air while Raphael desperately tried to counter with a barrage of fire and lightning Codecast Spells. Flames erupted in roaring pillars, lightning cracked like divine judgment, but Rairen was everywhere and nowhere. Afterimages multiplied by the thousands, a phantom army of 4,000 identical figures dancing through the chaos.
Raphael's eyes widened in shock, his breath ragged as he pushed his limits. "Impossible… I can't even track him!" he thought, heart hammering against his ribs. He activated Thought Acceleration, the world slowing to a crawl around him, every second stretching into an eternity of analysis. Yet even that wasn't enough. Rairen's punches landed like meteors—once, twice, a dozen times in the space of a heartbeat—driving Raphael backward across the fractured floor until his back slammed into the far wall with bone-jarring force. Air exploded from his lungs in a choked gasp, and he crumpled to his knees, vision swimming, stomach twisting in agony.
From within the inner world of his soul, a soft, worried voice echoed—Cielux, the AI entity fused with the Jewel Sword Zelretch and the artificial Holy Grail data, her tone laced with genuine concern. "Master… are you okay?" she asked, her presence a gentle anchor amid the storm of pain.
Raphael forced himself upright, wincing as fresh waves of torment radiated through his battered body. Blood trickled from the corner of his mouth, but his eyes burned with defiance. "I'm… partially okay," he rasped, voice hoarse yet steady. "But this guy is too fast. How do I match his speed?" A spark of inspiration ignited in his mind, cutting through the haze. "Cielux—what's the current speed level Rairen is operating at?"
Cielux's voice shifted, analytical and precise. "He is currently operating at 45% close to the speed of light."
Raphael's eyes widened in disbelief, a chill racing down his spine. "Really? He's near lightspeed? Shouldn't that be impossible?" The words tumbled out, raw with shock.
Cielux let out a soft, almost weary sigh that carried the weight of infinite knowledge. "Light speed is impossible within the universe's physics. Light is a form of electromagnetic radiation that behaves as both a wave and a stream of particles—photons. Its speed in a vacuum is approximately 300,000 kilometers per second. Under the framework of modern physics, particularly the Theory of Relativity, this speed represents a fundamental limit of the universe itself. No object with mass can reach or exceed it. As something with mass accelerates closer to this limit, its energy requirement skyrockets toward infinity. Time and space distort—time dilation, length contraction. Because of these constraints, light speed is effectively an unreachable boundary, making it functionally impossible for physical matter to attain under normal physical laws."
But then her tone brightened, a grin audible in her words even if Raphael couldn't see her form. "However… since everything in this temple operates under Servant principles, you should be able to use Spatial Transportation."
Raphael blinked through the pain, confusion mixing with the fire still raging in his veins as Rairen's fists continued to hammer him in the physical world. He pushed the agony aside, forcing his mind to focus. "Can you explain what that is?"
Cielux's explanation flowed like a lecture from a patient mentor, rich with the lore of the Holy Grail War system she had been born from. "In a normal Holy Grail War, there exists a technique known as the Spatial Transportation of Servants—also called Forced Summoning. It is something utilized by Masters to summon their Servants to different areas with Command Spells. Even if the distance is vast, they traverse great distances in an instant after the Command is issued. They can arrive directly at the side of their Master, or be sent to another location entirely. Achieving this requires the consent of both Master and Servant, overturning the normal methods of magecraft to reach the level of true Magic. When enforced transference is used on oneself, the area around the individual begins to distort like a mirage, and the destination slowly warps into view. Your existence is pulled out of the third dimension, travels through countless other dimensions, and is dropped back into reality. Servants are stripped of all recognition of the surrounding space and plunged into a 'transfer' that has no existence or direction. Reaching a speed that nears the destruction of the laws of cause and effect, they overcome the distance of space in a 'moment' of mere milliseconds—at a speed close to that of light—completing instantaneous movement between two different points."
Raphael's shock deepened, but a fierce grin began to form despite the bruises blooming across his torso. "Wait… that means I can use my Command Spells to force myself to reach a speed that nears the destruction of the laws of cause and effect? Overcome the distance of space in a moment of a few milliseconds at a speed close to light, completing instantaneous movement?"
Cielux's smile was warm, encouraging. "Yes, Master."
Raphael's grin sharpened, determination flooding back into his exhausted frame. "Thanks for that information."
Rairen's fist drove forward again—
—and met nothing but empty air.
For the first time since the battle began, momentum fractured. Certainty shattered. The air twisted—not from wind or motion, but from pure distortion. Raphael's body flickered like a faulty hologram…
…and vanished.
A ripple spread across the temple space, reality itself folding like discarded parchment. Then—
Raphael reappeared directly behind Rairen.
Not moved. Placed. A Command Spell seared across his hand, its crimson authority rewriting position in the fabric of existence.
Rairen's eyes widened in genuine surprise—too late.
A crushing blow slammed into his spine, sending him skidding across the stone with a grunt of pain. Before he could recover, another strike hammered his side. Then above. Then below. No trajectory. No pattern. No time to anticipate.
Raphael existed everywhere at once. Each activation of the Command Spell tore him from space, dragged him through unseen dimensional layers, and dropped him back with absolute positional dominance. No travel. No delay. Just outcome.
Rairen swung wildly, his fists cutting through collapsing afterimages that weren't illusions—they were failed observations of a being unbound by distance.
Raphael's voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere, laced with mocking triumph. "You were fast before…"
A brutal strike cracked Rairen's ribs, bone splintering under the force.
"…but now?"
Another impact snapped his jaw sideways.
"…you're just slow."
Rairen roared in fury, unleashing a barrage of blows that distorted the air into plasma streaks—but every punch passed through empty space. Raphael wasn't dodging. He simply wasn't there.
A flash—Raphael appeared directly in front of him, smirking, unharmed, untouchable. "You can't hit what isn't bound to distance."
Rairen's pupils shrank to pinpricks. Confusion flickered across his face for the first time… then pure, violent anger.
The air shifted. The battlefield trembled. Mana—everywhere—began to move.
Rairen raised his hand, and the world answered. From the far reaches of Britain, every leyline, every magical reserve, every fragment of ambient energy was ripped from its origin and dragged toward him. The sky darkened as raw mana condensed into visible streams, spiraling inward like a collapsing galaxy.
Cielux's voice cut in urgently within Raphael's mind. "Master—energy spike detected. This is not localized. He's drawing from the entire region."
Raphael froze mid-transition, the strain of repeated Spatial Transportation finally catching up. His body—no longer purely physical but informational—began to destabilize. Each forced transference tore him apart and reassembled him, again and again.
Above Rairen's palm, a sphere formed. Small at first… then expanding violently. A mass of pure energy, dense beyond comprehension, growing until it dwarfed the battlefield and mirrored the scale of a nation itself.
Raphael dropped to one knee, not from damage but from the crushing strain. Cielux spoke again, deadly serious. "Master… your structure is degrading. Continued use will result in collapse."
Raphael exhaled slowly, staring up at the colossal sphere, a faint grin forming despite the exhaustion. "…yeah. I figured it wouldn't be free."
Rairen hovered beneath the massive energy mass, his expression twisted in fury. "You think… you've surpassed me?" His voice boomed, layered with raw power. "You're not fast—"
The sphere pulsed violently.
"—you're just running."
The weapon reached completion, large enough to erase everything in sight.
But Raphael's brain throbbed with a massive headache. Cielux's voice turned panicked. "Master, your back is experiencing the backlash of the power. You have to stop now!"
Raphael's face twisted in pain, but resolve hardened his features. "No. If I stop now, Rairen will kill everyone."
With that, he forced a grin and activated the artificial Holy Grail he had created earlier—the one fused with Parallel Worlds Energy via the Jewel Sword Zelretch. Infinite Magical Energy surged forth, redirected straight at Rairen's colossal energy ball surrounding the countryside. Raphael channeled his Command Spells to alter the energy's properties from destruction to one of life. The gathered power exploded outward, bathing the land in restorative light.
Across Britain, 250 million souls who had fallen to the vampires' rampage stirred back to life. Men, women, children—families torn apart—gasped as vitality flooded their bodies. A little boy who had watched his mother die stared in awe as she blinked back into existence, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Mom… is that you? Are you really alive?" he whispered, voice trembling with hope.
She pulled him into her arms, sobbing with joy. "Yes, my child. It really is me." The boy leaped into her embrace, and across the nation, countless families reunited in tearful, disbelieving celebration—loved ones embracing, laughter mixing with sobs of relief.
Rairen, witnessing the miracle, cursed viciously. "WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DO?!"
Raphael panted for air, blood staining his lips, but his smirk remained defiant. "Why don't you guess for yourself, you weakling?"
Inside his mind, Cielux sighed with a mix of exasperation and pride. "Truly, Master, you are clever. So this was what you had planned. You had me fuse the Jewel Sword Zelretch with the Holy Grail data to create this artificial Holy Grail. You already knew that the normal Holy Grail is, in effect, a mass of pure magical energy which reacts to the wishes of the one who holds it in order to grant them. But the condition to fulfill wishes is that the Holy Grail must absorb Magical Energy from six to seven Servants. You bypassed that entirely by using Parallel Worlds Energy as fuel instead of relying on Servants—creating a near-endless wish-granting mechanism." Her tone shifted to one of genuine shock and admiration at her Master's foresight.
With a teasing smirk in her voice, she added, "Master, are you sure you aren't trying to impress me with all the genius you're showing off? If so, it's sure working, you know."
Raphael's face flushed slightly red beneath the exhaustion and grime. "Cielux… not right now."
His gaze shifted to Omega Heinriel's body nearby. The once-severed form had been fully restored, no longer cut in half. A genuine smile broke through Raphael's pain. "It worked. You're living, my friend."
But the battle was far from over.
Rairen, seething with humiliated rage, raised his hands once more. Reality itself began to warp under his will—he attempted to create a new Texture, layering a Conceptual Dimension over the temple to bind and crush his foe. The air thickened, concepts of space and causality twisting like threads in a loom.
Raphael, however, refused to yield. Through Thought Acceleration combined with the lingering echoes of Instantaneous movement, he instantly analyzed the nature of Rairen's Conceptual Dimension ability—the way it imposed absolute conceptual laws upon a bounded field. In the span of a heartbeat, Raphael countered. Drawing on the same Command Spell authority and the artificial Holy Grail's boundless energy, he cast his own Conceptual Dimension: a Mirror Dimension.
Opposing mirrors materialized everywhere within the newly formed space, reflecting endlessly in infinite regression. The dimension became a labyrinth of perfect mirrors, each surface a portal under Raphael's absolute control. Infinite portals bloomed across every reflective plane, allowing him to direct attacks from any angle, any distance, without limitation.
Rairen's eyes widened in fury as Raphael unleashed endless torrents of Parallel Worlds Energy—raw, overwhelming blasts hammering him from all sides simultaneously. The assault was complete and merciless. Then, with a final surge of will, Raphael created chain mirrors that wrapped around Rairen like living bindings, indefinitely locking him in place, each link reinforced by conceptual infinity.
Raphael coughed out a mouthful of blood, his body screaming in protest, but his voice was steel. "It's over now, Rairen. You will now tell me everything… or else."
Rairen snarled, struggling against the chains. "Or else what, you human? I refuse to kneel to a lesser being like you."
Raphael's eyes turned cold as ice. He simply lifted his hand. Only twelve Command Spells remained, glowing with crimson authority. "I command you to tell me what your Team Sigma X group is and what this Grand Zero Plan is."
Rairen resisted with every fiber of his being, biting down on his own tongue until blood poured from his mouth, fighting the compulsion that should have been absolute. Raphael recoiled in shock. "How is this possible? I'm using infinite Parallel Worlds Energy—it should have bypassed his will!"
Cielux's voice cut in, firm and unyielding. "I disabled that part. Since you used it earlier and it nearly killed you, I have banned it from being used."
Raphael's irritation flared hot. "Cielux, damn it! Activate it now!" It wasn't a request—it was an order.
But Cielux refused outright, her tone laced with protective anger. "A no is no, Master. I don't have to follow your commands. I only do because I care about you. But right now, you have been acting massively recklessly. So for that, I won't be granting you that request."
Raphael realized she wouldn't budge. Fine. He pivoted. Using the 11th Command Spell, he declared, "Death, I command you to be summoned in front of me." Then, with the 10th, "I also command you to obey my orders and attack Rairen if he doesn't name his plans."
At that moment, Death itself manifested in physical form—a hooded, skeletal figure wielding a gleaming sword that pressed coldly against Rairen's neck. Rairen's face paled to ash. "Fine… I will talk. I will tell you everything. Just don't kill me."
Raphael glared at him coldly. "Then speak."
Rairen's body dripped with sweat, voice trembling yet defiant. "Me and Azravael are part of Team Sigma X. But this group isn't just us—it's made up of multiple Dead Apostles or Dead Apostle Ancestors. Our ultimate goal is the Grand Zero Plan."
Raphael pressed, voice low and dangerous. "And what is this Grand Zero Plan exactly?"
Rairen swallowed hard. "The Grand Zero Plan is about us collecting all the holy legendary artifacts—like Excalibur, Avalon, Caliburn, the Ark of the Covenant, and especially the weapon Lance Rhongomyniad. That Lance is the big final endgame goal."
Raphael paused, considering asking about Rhongomyniad but holding back. Instead, he asked, "While based on what I saw, Azravael was here for Caliburn. But what about you?"
Rairen's lips curled into a bitter smirk. "I was here for the scabbard Avalon… which is why I attacked you."
Raphael frowned in confusion. "Attack me? I don't even have Avalon. So why attack me?"
Rairen laughed, a hollow, mocking sound. "You truly are foolish. You had Avalon in you the whole time and you didn't even notice that."
Raphael's annoyance boiled over. "What are you talking about? Explain yourself."
He lifted his hand, ready to command Death once more—
Only for his arm to explode in a spray of blood and bone, the backlash of overusing conceptual forces ripping through him. Raphael staggered, shocked. "What the—?"
But before he could finish, Rairen shattered the chains of the Mirror Dimension with a primal roar. "I AM DONE WITH YOUR SHIT!" He lunged forward and punched Raphael so hard in the stomach that the impact sent him flying across the temple, skidding to a halt in a trail of dust and blood.
Raphael gasped, confused and reeling. "Cielux… what's going on?"
Cielux, still annoyed by his earlier attempt to order her around, ignored him entirely. In his mind's eye, she turned her back with a pout, arms crossed.
Raphael's irritation spiked. "Damn it, I am speaking to you! Damn it!"
Cielux simply blocked the telepathic link entirely. Raphael's eyes widened in disbelief. "No way… that bitch just blocked me."
He didn't even have time to process it. Rairen advanced, shattering the remnants of the Conceptual Dimension with a casual wave. The mirrors shattered like glass, reality snapping back. Rairen stepped forward and planted one foot heavily on Raphael's chest, pinning him to the ground with crushing weight.
"Now this will be your end, Mortal."