Location: The Central Hall of the Temple.
Time: Minutes after entry.
The hall was vast, its ceiling stretching upward into absolute darkness. In the dead center, the third shard floated, suspended inside a golden cage of energy. But standing right between the team and the shard was "The Guardian."
It was neither beast nor human. It was an entity woven from shadows and smoke, clad in ancient, tattered armor, its face hidden behind a featureless golden mask.
[WARNING: Danger Level: A- (Temporary).]
[Direct engagement is not recommended.]
"Bypass it," Lirion whispered. "Take the shard and get out."
The Guardian moved. It didn't run; instead, it glided effortlessly through the air. Striking with the mere shadow of a sword, it sent Garick flying across the hall, crashing heavily against the wall.
"Garick!" Ellara screamed, rushing to his side to cast healing magic.
The Guardian then turned its sights on Rowan. Rowan attempted to manifest an air shield, but the Guardian passed straight through the barrier as if it were nothing but mist, striking Rowan squarely in the chest.
Rowan collapsed, coughing up blood.
"His magic bypasses physical defenses!" Lirion realized instantly.
Lirion leaped toward the Guardian, rapidly drawing a water circle and an air circle simultaneously.
"Ice Tornado!"
The swirling vortex locked onto the Guardian, enveloping it completely. Yet, the Guardian merely laughed—a jarring sound like grinding metal.
"Magic cannot harm the shadow, Stone-bearer," the Guardian spoke, its voice a distorted, echoing human rasp. "I am the residual will of an ancient protector. My sole duty is to guard the shard from thieves."
"I am no thief!" Lirion shouted back. "I am the Harvester of this world!"
"Then prove it," the Guardian challenged, tossing its shadow sword aside. "Defeat me without magic. My body against yours."
It was a bizarre ultimatum. Lirion hesitated, looking back at his incapacitated team. There was no time for complex spellcasting.
Closing his eyes, Lirion recalled his earliest Arc training. The running, the lifting, the breathing. His body had been a finely-tuned machine long before he ever became a mage.
When he opened his eyes, he channeled his mana strictly into his muscles—a pure physical reinforcement—without forming any external magic circles.
Lirion charged. Because the Guardian anticipated a spell, its magical reflexes momentarily lagged.
Lirion threw a heavy punch straight into the Guardian's face. It was a solid, devastating strike backed by compressed mana. The golden mask visibly cracked.
The Guardian recoiled in shock. "Human strength... impossible."
"Human will is never impossible," Lirion retorted.
He pressed the attack relentlessly—a flurry of punches, kicks, and perfectly-timed dodges through the shifting shadows. Using his Insight of Truth, he read the Guardian's movements a split second before they happened.
For the final blow, Lirion leaped into the air and drove his heel into the Guardian's chest with every ounce of strength he had left.
The Guardian's form shattered entirely into a cloud of smoke. A faint, echoing groan rose from the mist, then faded into nothingness.
Lirion dropped to the floor, completely exhausted. His physical body alone would have collapsed under the strain if not for the passive support of the Stone.
[The Guardian has been defeated. The path is open.]