Ralph moved first.
The magic golem split cleanly in half under a single downward chop of his rune-forged axe. The impact didn't just break stone and mana—it erased the structure holding it together, causing the entire construct to collapse into shattered fragments of unstable energy.
But the fight didn't slow.
Assassins from the Ten Blades responded immediately.
Fire arrows filled the sky.
A burning storm of coordinated attacks.
Ralph raised his axe.
The runic stones embedded in its blade lit up with ancient patterns, and with sweeping arcs he cut through the incoming barrage. Each arrow shattered mid-air, its fire dispersing into harmless sparks before it could reach anyone behind him.
He didn't hesitate.
But he did notice something wrong.
The atmosphere had changed.
Not just hostility.
Sorrow.
---
He saw them clearly now.
The girls in the field of conflict—the ones caught between battles—stood with pale faces, their expressions empty in a way that didn't belong to living fighters.
Something about them felt… separated.
Like their souls were no longer fully aligned with their bodies.
Ralph's grip tightened.
He understood too late what that meant.
Then—
a dagger slipped through the chaos.
It struck his leg.
Instantly, his movement locked.
Not pain.
Not injury.
Freezing.
Like his body had forgotten how to continue existing in that direction.
---
The battlefield shifted again.
Jhonathan stepped forward.
Dexcalibur reformed in his grip.
A pulse of power exploded outward from him—pure, overwhelming suppression.
The mana of the assassins fractured instantly.
Even Riot staggered for a moment, his hook chains losing stability as if the concept of control itself had been disrupted.
Jhonathan didn't swing wildly.
He flicked his blade once.
A precise motion.
Clean.
Every assassin nearby collapsed instantly, consciousness severed by a single distortion of force.
Riot fell to one knee, stunned but not destroyed, his chains clattering to the ground.
For the first time, the Ten Blades felt something close to fear.
Not of strength.
But of inevitability.
---
Ralph, still partially frozen, forced himself forward.
He reached Sylviana.
And placed a hand gently on her head.
The moment he touched her, something appeared in his vision.
Not visible to others.
A bond interface.
A measurement of connection, life, and remaining time.
88 days.
That was all.
A countdown embedded into their existence.
Ralph's eyes widened slightly.
"This… isn't healing," he said quietly.
Jhonathan turned sharply.
His breath caught when he saw the same truth reflected in the system feedback only he could partially perceive.
Sylviana didn't look fully gone.
But she also wasn't fully present.
Something between survival and expiration.
---
Ralph lowered his head.
"…They only have 88 days before they die," he said.
Silence hit the battlefield harder than any attack.
"And the condition…" he continued, voice tightening, "is that they must kill the ones who defeated them."
Jhonathan froze.
Something inside him cracked.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
---
Ralph could see it now.
The bond between Jhonathan and Sylviana wasn't just friendship.
It was something deeper—something that tied his existence to her survival in ways neither of them understood fully.
Jhonathan stepped back slightly.
His hands shook.
"No…" he whispered.
Then louder.
"No."
He punched the ground.
Once.
Then again.
A 10-foot crater exploded outward beneath him, shaking the battlefield.
Dust rose.
Mana trembled.
"I don't want this," he said, voice breaking. "I don't want to kill them… I don't want any of this ending like this."
Silence followed.
Only broken wind and fading firelight remained.
---
Somewhere in the distance, the Ten Blades began to regroup.
Riot stood slowly, watching the scene with narrowed eyes.
And for the first time in a long time…
even the assassins hesitated.
Because this wasn't just a battle anymore.
It was a countdown to loss.