The wind howled, and Astaroth's body was flung backward like a ragdoll.
"Ugh!" he grunted, blood spewing from his mouth as he hit the ground with a thud.
I watched as he coughed and staggered to his feet, his breaths ragged and shallow. His eyes darted past me, toward Iris in the distance. His lips trembled, then tightened into a bitter grimace as he bit down hard enough to draw blood.
"…Damn it," he muttered, eyes burning with fury.
The illusions were gone. His precious Blessing of Distortion had failed. He had nothing left—no tricks, no tools, no gods to call on. Not against me.
'I'll give up on the Seven Eyes,' I could practically hear the thought passing through his mind. Maybe he would find another opportunity in the distant future. Maybe. But not today. He knew it too—any further resistance was just a death sentence.
"Dale Han," Astaroth snarled, my name warping in his throat like poison. "I will remember your name. Mark my words."
Snap.
With the flick of his last functional fingers, the violet veil that had sealed us in together dispersed. The night air rushed in, cool and fresh. Stars glimmered faintly above the blackened sky as the illusion evaporated.
He turned to leave, shoulders hunched and beaten.
But I wasn't done.
"Where do you think you're going?" I asked, my voice calm but hard as tempered steel.
As I stomped lightly on the ground, the flames within me roared to life, curling around me and spiraling outward. A crimson ring of fire burst forth, crackling as it formed a barrier that sealed us in once more.
Astaroth froze. "Is this... a barrier?" he murmured, staring slack-jawed at the flames encircling him. "No… no way. Barrier magic too?!"
"Why not?" I tilted my head. "Is there a rule that says Warrior Division cadets can't use magic?"
"..." He said nothing. Probably because he had nothing to say.
He stared at me as if he were trying to understand something fundamentally broken in the world.
"Not only do you have the Blessing of Immortality," he hissed, "but you're skilled in swordsmanship, martial arts, and magic as well...?"
The grinding of his teeth was audible.
"Seriously... this is bullshit."
He clutched his head, rage giving way to disbelief.
"Do you know no bounds?! How is this even possible?!"
His scream echoed into the heavens, not with menace—but with panic.
I could understand. As the Archbishop of the Demon Church, Astaroth commanded thousands—tens of thousands—of monsters, fanatics, and cultists. Being cornered by a mere cadet, not even a professor… it must've been the first time he'd truly felt fear in centuries.
Frankly, it didn't matter.
"So," I said, stepping forward slowly, my voice lowering. "Earlier, you said those orphanage kids had no reason to die—other than being unlucky enough to be there that day, right?"
I remembered that moment clearly. I'd overheard his words through the veil when I arrived on the scene. His voice had been casual. Detached.
"It's the same for you."
I raised my sword and pointed it directly at him. The corners of my mouth curled upward into a feral smile.
"You were just unlucky enough to meet me today."
His eyes widened. "W-wait! If you kill me—!"
But I wasn't listening anymore.
My mana surged—no, overflowed—into the blade. Flames erupted along the edge of the sword, dancing and writhing as if alive. Though I'd held a sword countless times before, this sensation was different. It was electric, pure. Every cell in my body thrilled.
"Hah." A dry laugh escaped me.
Yuren's voice echoed from the past—a memory from another life.
'You know, Dale? They say when you reach the pinnacle of swordsmanship, you can cut through the sky without using mana.'
You were wrong, Yuren.
I gripped my sword tighter. I used to struggle with even basic mana control. But now? Now, I felt as though I had wings—like the heavens themselves were within reach.
"Sun Sword, Ninth Form—Twilight."
The sky split.
I opened my eyes to a soft ceiling and sterile lights. The smell of antiseptic filled the air.
Ah. The private recovery room in the infirmary.
'Never in my life did I think I'd end up here,' I thought dryly.
A room usually reserved for wealthy cadets who could afford the "donation"—an unofficial bribe for privacy and comfort. Me? I was more often seen collapsed in the field, resurrecting myself like a freak.
The very definition of irony.
"Sigh."
I turned my head, and there she was. Iris. Sitting beside the bed, peeling fruit while humming like a saint.
Light pink hair. A high nose. Delicate jawline. Eyes full of warmth. She had the kind of face you might expect to find in a holy painting—and, well, her figure didn't help either.
Especially the two blessed orbs that occupied a solid fifty percent of my field of vision.
She noticed my gaze.
"Where are you looking so intently?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.
"At the blessed pouches," I said plainly.
"…Pardon?"
"Oh, sorry. Your chest. I was staring at your chest, Iris."
"W-What did you just say?"
She jumped, quickly crossing her arms to shield herself while shooting daggers with her eyes.
"…You pervert."
"Well, it's not like I can ignore it. It's literally blocking half my view. What do you want me to do, talk to you with my back turned?"
"Hehe." Her annoyance faded quickly into a teasing smirk. "So you've been pretending all this time, but you're just a man after all, huh?"
With a flourish, she puffed out her chest even more and dropped her arms, letting the full blessed bounty dominate the space once again.
I groaned and sat up in bed, careful not to look directly at the overflowing divinity she called a chest.
"Where do you think you're going?" she asked.
"Leaving. I'm fine."
In truth, I'd been fine the moment she dragged me into the recovery room against my will.
"You need to rest."
"I've been resting. For days."
"That's not enough. You need longer."
I sighed. "You do remember what kind of blessing I have, right?"
Her expression turned reluctant. "Well…"
She'd seen it herself during my fight with Astaroth. The Blessing of Revival. A power that brought me back again and again—even from death.
"But you were in so much pain back then!" she protested.
"That's because I died too many times in too short a span. Even if my body comes back, the mana and mental energy don't regenerate instantly."
Over a hundred deaths in ten minutes. Even for me, that had pushed the limits.
"I don't want to see you like that again," she said softly, her voice barely a whisper.
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
"…Then stay by my side," I murmured.
Iris blinked.
And in that moment of silence, I finally rose from the bed, determined to move forward once more.