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From high above the battlefield, the situation was clear.
At the heart of the circular formation stood a single monstrosity, its grotesque form bristling with hundreds of tendrils. These dark appendages surged outward in two directions, radiating a dim black-purple glow that contrasted starkly against the white aura surrounding the creature's main body.
The monster was none other than the White Devil.
On one side of its assault stood a warrior showered in golden light, clad in thick armor and wielding a heavy greatsword. With every swing, his luminous blade carved through the oncoming tendrils in a flawless display of Radiant Dance, the Dawnblade family's revered sword art.
This was of course Vek. With practiced precision, he alternated grips, cleaving through the tide of limbs with fluid efficiency. Each motion was deliberate, each strike a masterful execution of power and technique.
Under different circumstances, others would be left in complete awe, praising his every move.
Directly opposite him, a different kind of force battled against the creature. A crystalline blue fawn—small yet radiating an undeniable presence. This was no ordinary beast; it was a pure elemental, a being composed entirely of mana.
Unlike mortals who merely stored and used mana, elementals were mana incarnate. They did not store it in vessels or circulate it through their bodies—they breathed it, consumed it, their very existence an extension of mana.
With each delicate step of the Frost Fawn, patches of ice spread across the ground, and with each spell it cast, the battlefield's temperature fell slightly.
Despite its size, it unleashed magic at an astonishing speed, outpacing even the seasoned mages supporting Vek and itself.
And above them all, Yselda floated in midair.
A mage of terrifying renown, her presence alone was enough to command respect. Yet, despite her immense power, she remained restrained. Not because she lacked the ability to assist further—but because she was waiting for the correct moment.
Right now, the situation was under control. If she unleashed her full strength, her allies would be caught in the devastation.
For all their differences, she and Vek shared one undeniable truth: they stood at the pinnacle of mortality. A rank 6 magician and a rank 6 aura user—two paths, yet both wielding enough might to shift the tide of battle single-handedly.
The long-standing debate between magic and aura had never been resolved. Was one truly superior to the other? Each had its own advantages, its own moments of dominance. But while the argument raged on, most leaned toward magic for its versatility.
However, neither was complete on its own. At the end of both paths stood a monolith, an unmoving wall that blocked all progress.
Only through harmonizing all the mana in one's body it's possible to progress further-Metamorphosis.
To achieve the realm of demigods, one needs both a vast quantity of mana as well as the purest quality.
As mortals, with their own strength, the true challenge was not defeating the White Devil—it was killing it.
Their current strategy focused on severing its tendrils, disrupting the monster's mana flow. Like an elemental, the White Devil's form was composed largely of mana, making it more akin to a half-elemental than a physical being.
But what allowed to white devil to continue fighting was simple: the difference between divine and elemental or attributeless mana was like comparing a puddle to an ocean.
Even if they managed to deplete the White Devil's mana, it would not truly die. Its form would weaken further, but as long as its will remained intact, it would continue to persist relentlessly, undying.
Around the formation, many of the supporting mages had exhausted their reserves already. Some gulped down potions in a desperate attempt to replenish their strength, while others simply sat, unable to continue.
But the White Devil showed no signs of stopping. If its mana really ran dry, it would resort to brute force, lashing out with its deteriorating body.
Near Yselda, a colossal blade hovered in the air. Every strike against the White Devil's tendrils served a dual purpose—not just to weaken it, but to accelerate the condensation of the divine sword.
A rank 7 spell.
A spell of such magnitude required an immense amount of mana. If Liora alone fueled it, it would take weeks to fully form. Even with the combined efforts of every mage on the battlefield, it would still take around a day.
But without Yselda?
As a rank 6 magician, her contribution affected that time drastically. Without her, the lower-ranked mages would need more than two entire days to bring the spell to completion.
But now, in less than a few minutes the spell had already been completed.
This was the unbridgeable gap between mortals and gods.
To reach the realm of a demigod was to become a sovereign of mana itself. And in this battle, they were fortunate to have the aid of such a being, albeit indirectly.
Each severed tendril furthered their cause, dispersing mana into the air. Normally, divine mana left unchecked would result in a catastrophe.
After all, divine mana altered the very laws of the world, influencing it in ways that affected all life.
If the devil's death mana was allowed to spread, the entire Dawnblade Estate would wither. Every plant, every creature, even the very land would become cursed—lifeless and decayed.
A year ago, Ryker, the patriarch, had faced the same dilemma. His instincts had led him to cut the tendrils—only to witness a horrifying truth.
From the first severed limb, a torrent of death mana erupted, and where it landed, everything died. Vegetation crumbled into ash, and the ground itself turned black with corruption.
Realizing the threat, he abandoned severing the limbs entirely, choosing instead to dodge and deflect.
But even that wasn't enough. When the battle ended, the corrupted land had already begun to spread—an infection that threatened to consume everything in its path.
It was only thanks to Tess, a greatly accomplished alchemist, that disaster was averted.
Even before her conversation with Kael, Tess had known of the dragon horn's purifying effects. And so, she devised a grand-scale ritual to halt the spread and reverse the damage.
Back then, every available mage had gathered, pouring their mana into the ritual's formation to complete the spell in time.
Now, the situation was different.
This time, their greatest ally in the spell's completion was none other than the White Devil itself.
Each severed tendril, each fragment of divine mana, was immediately absorbed by the colossal blade floating in the sky—its form imbued with dragon bone's power, purifying the tainted energy before it could seep into the land.
The crisis had been largely contained.
Further away at the outskirts of the formation, Liora's expression was becoming more and more pale.
A silent sigh came from Kael.
("Any more and she will really die.")
He pulled his hand back.
Liora immediately collapsed, but Kael caught her, gently laying her on the grass.
Her breathing was faint, almost nonexistent. But she was definitely alive.
The spell was complete. Yet, without anyone controlling it, it started leaning to the side, like a weightless object being pushed by the wind.
This was because mana was not affected by gravity. Instead of falling straight down, it tilted, shifting according to the mana flow in the environment.
Kael sat cross-legged and closed his eyes.
("Forcefully controlling the sword is not an option. Rather, it would be best to alter its path...")
He sighed once more.
Yselda looked up at the sword, immediately noticing that something was wrong. She glanced down at Liora's location, quickly forming an understanding of the situation.
Without a sound, she appeared next to the youth.
Their contrasting appearances created a striking harmony.
One sat cross-legged, his skin loose, body frail and ready to collapse, with long white hair tied into a ponytail that reached his lower back.
The other stood tall, her long dark hair flowing past her waist, a black dress accentuating her figure, her flawless face reminiscent of a fairy.
Lowering one knee, she placed two fingers on the matriarch's wrist, feeling for a pulse.
Her emotionless gaze shifted to Kael, who remained still, meditating in the lotus position, as if completely unaware of her presence.
Crack.
The sound of glass breaking echoed behind her.
The golden shield surrounding her summon—the fawn—had fractured.
A tendril had pierced through the protective shell, impaling the crystalline body near its throat.
Yselda did not turn immediately. She already knew.
Her superior mana sense let her perceive everything clearly.
Yet, her expression subtly darkened as she glanced back.
The fawn's once-clear, crystal body was rapidly turning a muddy gray—then, abruptly, black at the point of impact.
Death mana!
Its effect on elementals was far more severe than on humans.
Humans wielded mana with their will, allowing their bodies to resist its influence. But elementals were mana itself.
Death mana was countered by life mana, which meant humans could endure it, its effects were like a slow-acting illness that would eventually overwhelm them unless they increased their vitality.
For an elemental, however, it was a death sentence.
It would spread rapidly, corrupting its form beyond salvation.
She turned back to Kael.
His breathing was slow, almost nonexistent.
Kael looked to be meditating, and she did not dare disturb him.
If anything goes wrong, there is a risk of mana deviation.
She waited for only a few breaths.
Then, the young man opened his eyes.
Unfocused, hazy—his mind seemingly in a trance.
Black vein-like lines pulsed within the white void of his irises.
"Lower your head."
Kael spoke softly, his voice carrying a strange weight. A black-red flake crumbled from his cheek, falling soundlessly.
Yselda obeyed without question, lowering one knee into the grass.
Kael raised his remaining arm, extending two fingers toward her temple.
With each movement, more flakes fell, like dust in the wind. His exposed, fissured skin crumbled away, the decay worsening with every second.
His body was deteriorating.
The moment his fingers made contact with her forehead, Yselda's eyes widened ever so slightly.
Cold.
His touch was cold—so lifeless it sent a jolt through her body.
Then, suddenly, information flooded her mind.
Kael's thoughts, plans, and the next steps they needed to take—transmitted directly into her consciousness.
And just before his fingers fell away, an image flashed in her mind.
A woman.
Beautiful, with silver hair like Kael's, tears streaming down her face, falling onto Yselda.
Her slit crimson eyes burned into her vision, but what drew her attention most—was the horn.
A single horn protruded from the right side of the woman's head, while the left side bore the shattered remains of another.
Yselda's breath hitched.
That horn—
It was identical to the one they had taken from the mana lake.
The one they had returned to Kael.
A flood of thoughts surged through her mind, yet in reality, only a moment had passed.
("A memory?")
But the situation did not allow anyone-let alone Yselda-to be distracted.
Her sharp focus returned. She turned back toward her summon as Kael's arm slowly lowered to his thigh once more.
The fawn's body was fracturing. Deep red cracks spread across its crystal surface.
Yselda's gaze flickered.
Her eyes trailed down—toward Kael's missing arm.
No blood. No wound.
Just an empty void of black where flesh and bone should have been.
("No blood. No vitality. No heat...") She had overlooked the fact, focusing entirely on the incoming threat.
But now the conclusion was as clear as day.
("A corpse.")
More accurately, an undead. Beings that had exhausted all their lifespan, exuding the aura of death from their collapsed mana vessel.
Her expression darkened.
("Is it possible for an undead without mana to exist?")
Countless questions surfaced, yet no answers awaited her.
But she did not waver.
Her thoughts stabilized in an instant. This was the ability to focus—refined through experience and discipline.
It only took one breath.
Yselda turned, stepping toward Liora's unconscious body.
Then, she vanished.
Kael's eyes remained closed, yet a faint smile touched his lips.
("A demon indeed.")
Ordinarily, a mortal could not wield divine mana.
There were methods, of course. But all required great sacrifices and exraordinary means.
In most cases, instead of relying on one's own body to bare the extreme pressure of the mana, an artifact would be used instead, that can handle the strain of divine mana.
However there was one other exception—[Seeds].
A Seed only needed the ability to guide divine mana. Their bodies held a natural affinity for it.
Of course, the effectiveness of their spells could never compare to a demigod's.
Yselda's case was the latter. Her affinity for spatial mana allowed her to dilute divine energy, making a spell like [Teleportation] possible with little consequence.
Her control over mana was already at a level few could ever hope to reach.
This is because of her bloodline.
Mana control began with perception. The clearer one's mana sense, the more precise their manipulation.
And demons had an innate connection to mana beyond that of most races.
Their abilities were said to be second only to elementals and demigods.
Yselda reappeared on the battlefield above the white devil, near the suspended sword.
Whoosh!
A powerful wind surged across the battlefield, drawing everything toward the center.
The fawn let out a small, almost mournful sound—before charging.
Its crystalline hooves crushed tentacles underfoot, tearing through the white devil's defenses in a straight path.
The temperature plummeted.
Frost mana gushed from the fawn's body, merging with the swirling wind.
Vek instinctively stepped back, retreating toward the ring of mages while deflecting the tentacles still writhing toward him.
The white devil did not move.
It remained still—locked in place.
A habit it retained from when it was alive.
Yselda exhaled, her breath turning into mist in the freezing air.
Then, from nowhere, a weapon appeared in her grasp.
A long staff.
Elegant, with a metallic silver sheen.
Its tip split into a spiraling pattern, encasing a blue-white, teardrop-shaped gem.
The white devil's tendrils changed their trajectory; As Vek was increasing his distance, Yselda had approached closer, becoming a new target.
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