The tearing tornado slammed into Roman and detonated outward in a spiraling wave of destruction. The attack carved through the protective mana walls surrounding them like they were made of parchment.
As the barrier shattered, the force of the wind surged through the chamber. Riven grit his teeth and flooded his limbs with even more amber mana, anchoring himself as the gusts screamed past. Dust, shards of splintered wood, and rubble were thrown in every direction like the room itself was being peeled apart.
Then silence.
Riven held his breath. Smoke and debris hung in the air like a thick fog. He strained his eyes, hoping—no, praying—that Roman had somehow survived the onslaught.
His heart skipped as a shape burst through the haze, glowing red like a burning coal. Roman landed hard a few meters from the Windmere noble, his boots cracking the damaged floor beneath him.
Riven exhaled—but the relief was short-lived.
The noble's eye twitched, his earlier smirk curdling into a sharp scowl.
Riven allowed his shoulders to drop a fraction, but something felt wrong. His gaze sharpened.
Roman stood tall, but his body was marred with long, jagged cuts—deep and bleeding. Crimson streaked down his arms, legs, and across his torso. It was a miracle he was still standing.
The noble must have noticed too, because he finally spoke. His voice was smooth, disdainful—like a blade wrapped in silk.
"You really are a fool," he said, almost bored. "Why challenge me with such pitiful strength?"
Roman didn't respond. He simply looked down at the injuries on his body, taking stock of the damage without flinching. Not once did his eyes leave the noble—cold, unwavering, calculating.
Why hasn't he summoned his bond yet?
Riven's thoughts raced. From what he'd seen, Roman had to be bonded—no one with his caliber went without a beast companion. And not just any beast—it would've been powerful, elite. So where was it? Why hadn't he called it yet?
A tense minute crawled by, each second stretched thin as both men stood locked in a silent standoff. Riven barely breathed, his eyes darting between them, uncertain who would strike next. The air itself seemed to vibrate, as if the building held its breath too. With the barrier gone, any serious exchange of power would surely bring the entire structure crashing down in moments.
Roman slowly shifted, removing his left hand from the sword hilt and letting it fall to his side.
Is it over? Riven wondered, though the thought brought him little comfort. He still had no idea what had triggered this fight, but one thing was certain now—without the protective barrier, he was in danger just by being here.
Not wanting to become collateral damage, Riven slowly rose from his crouch and edged along the counter, intending to slip back into the training area. His heart thumped against his ribs, every step deliberate and silent—until the sound of a glass bottle shattering against the wooden floor split the quiet like a scream.
He froze.
Whipping his head around, Riven's breath caught in his throat.
What… is that?
Roman stood encased in a glowing crimson aura, the energy whipping around him like a living storm. It flared and twisted with erratic pulses, casting jagged shadows along the cracked floor and scorched walls.
Instinctively, Riven channeled mana into his eyes to sharpen his sight—and immediately wished he hadn't.
What he saw was no longer just Roman. The aura had taken on the shape of a beast, massive and hunched, with claws of crackling energy and twin orbs of gold for eyes, burning with primal intensity.
A cold dread slid down Riven's spine, so vivid he could almost taste the metallic tang of fear rising in his throat. The weight in the air—it felt just like that day in the forest, facing down the Fanglion.
But no… this wasn't a summon. The magical energy hadn't changed. It was still Roman's mana—morphed, twisted into something else entirely.
There were no additional signatures. No new presences. Just Roman.
What happened to him…?
Riven stood frozen, his earlier escape forgotten, rooted by awe and fear.
A sharp, mocking laugh cut through the tension. The Windmere noble doubled over, howling with condescending glee.
"What sort of vile power is this, Roman?" he managed between wheezes, straightening himself with a wild glint in his eyes. "Nevertheless, your end will be the same."
His hands lifted to his sides, fingers splayed as his beast hovered directly above him, wings beating slow and heavy like a storm's countdown.
The wind inside the building began to rise again. First a whisper, then a growl, then a roar.
This is bad. I need to run.
Riven snapped his gaze away and focused, trying to blink towards the office.
Nothing.
A chilling realization struck him—his mana wasn't responding.
The area was saturated, just like when his mother had used vines to bind him in place. The air here was thick with power, raw and volatile, choking out the flow of his magic.
The winds around him exploded in strength, spiraling like the newborn fury of a hurricane. Shards of debris flew past his face, the sting of splinters biting into his skin. Threads of green energy danced through the currents like veins of lightning in a stormcloud.
Gritting his teeth, Riven dove back behind the counter and poured all his mana into reinforcing his limbs. He gripped the counter tight, fingers digging into the grain. Strangely, the wood didn't so much as creak under the pressure.
Must be high-rank wood, he thought absently—right before everything lit up.
Flashes of light ignited at the edge of his vision.
He whipped his head around.
The noble now wielded two massive orbs of wind in either hand, each one pulsating with dangerous intensity. Above him, the beast conjured a third, even larger sphere. Mana-infused wind coiled into the orbs in jagged, spiraling lines, feeding the constructs with ever-growing power.
The air buzzed with pressure. A low, harmonic hum vibrated through the space, rising over the howling winds and clattering debris.
Roman stood unmoved, his aura flaring with renewed violence. The deep red glow bled outwards, wrapping around him like a blazing inferno, thickening with every second.
The battle wasn't over. Not by a long shot.
The hum emanating from the noble's forming attack reached a crescendo as he puffed out his chest, arms pulled back, fingers trembling with power. Above him, the beast mirrored the motion, raising its head and arching its massive body, preparing to strike.
"Eat this!" the nobleman roared, hurling the two giant spheres forward. The beast followed suit, snapping its head downward as it unleashed its own orb of condensed fury.
The three wind spheres collided mid-air.
With a thunderous crack, they merged into one—a colossal spear of spiraling dark green energy, the winds inside twisting and tearing at each other with a ravenous intensity. The air screamed as the attack tore through it, gouging a deep, jagged trench along the floor.
Riven's breath caught in his chest. He had never witnessed an attack of such scale—so raw, so utterly destructive. A part of him wanted to shut his eyes, to look away before that thing hit Roman. But he didn't. He couldn't.
Some part of him still believed Roman had a plan.
The attack was only feet away when Roman's body blurred—an almost imperceptible flicker. The dull gleam of his greatsword—once a muted grey-black—ignited with seething red energy. In the blink of an eye, Roman swung.
A beam of blood-red light carved through the oncoming mass in a brutal arc.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then—
A flash of searing white light burst outward, followed by a deafening pulse of energy that cracked through the building like thunder made flesh.
Riven didn't even have time to react.
The shockwave hit him square in the chest, flinging him backward like a ragdoll. He slammed into the wall behind the counter with bone-jarring force. The impact knocked the air from his lungs in a single violent gasp.
And then the maelstrom hit.
The roaring winds howled like a beast, pinning him to the wall with suffocating pressure. His lungs burned, his vision swam, and he couldn't draw in so much as a sliver of air.
Panic clawed at his insides.
Then—
His amber mana surged outward, rushing from his core in a protective flood. It coiled around him like a second skin, forming a radiant barrier that pushed back against the crushing wind.
His lungs gasped open. He sucked in air like a drowning man breaking the surface.
But even with the barrier, movement was impossible. The maelstrom had turned the entire room into a storm cage—and he was stuck dead center in it.