The enemy was fierce, but the clock was the real threat.
The Demon Kings had ordered them to hold out for an hour. But the truth was brutal: in twenty minutes, the city would be wiped from the map by the magic circle's power.
Rias and her team could survive the blast. The city itself wouldn't. Draconis refused to let that happen—not with the people he loved still here.
He squared off against Number One, Regalia Blade clashing against the fused Holy Sword. His duplicate darted around, searching for an opening. He could just barely keep her contained, but a quick victory wasn't in the cards.
Four Holy Swords merged into one—Number One's strength was monstrous. Even with his recent promotion, Draconis couldn't break through.
Above, two muffled cries echoed—Rias and Akeno, battered as they tried to stop Kokabiel. Their attacks hadn't made a dent; instead, they were sent flying, bloodied and defeated. Kokabiel didn't even blink.
Asia rushed to heal them, her Sacred Gear glowing as she worked.
Draconis's brow furrowed. Should he unleash the Citadel of Endless Dusk? It would let him finish Number One fast—but then he'd have nothing left for Kokabiel. No. He needed to rely on Regalia Blade alone.
He sent his duplicate, shield in hand, to help Rias and Akeno.
Kokabiel watched, amused. "That form of yours is interesting. And your Sacred Gear splits apart? If Azazel saw this, he'd be all over it."
He snapped his fingers. A wave of divine power erupted, blinding and lethal, hurtling toward Draconis's duplicate.
But the shield held. Draconis braced, feeling the impact drive him backward. Rias and Akeno rushed in, catching him before he could crash. The gap in strength was painfully obvious.
"I'll handle defense. You two focus on attacking," Draconis said quietly, steadying himself. "Once I finish with Number One, I'll join you."
"Be careful!" Rias called, nodding.
With the shield now supporting Rias and Akeno, Draconis stood alone against Number One.
Regalia Blade's power surged through him, boosting his strength—but Number One's fused sword was no joke. She fought like a high-class devil.
"I'll help!" Xenovia's voice rang out. She planted her Sword of Destruction in the ground, then raised her hand. A portal opened beside her, and a blue-gold greatsword floated out, bound tight in iron chains that seemed almost alive.
"Saint Peter, Saint Basil, Saint Denis, Holy Mother Mary—hear my prayer! By the names of the saints sealed within this blade, I release the Holy Sword Durandal!"
Chains snapped, one after another. The legendary sword was freed.
"Durandal? The sword that rivals the Regalia Blade? Why do you have it?" Balba shouted, stunned. Even Kokabiel's cold composure cracked.
Number One's sword was forged from four fragments, but Xenovia's Durandal was a legend—equal to Regalia Blade, and far above the fusion.
Draconis arched an eyebrow. So that's the danger he'd sensed from Xenovia. He'd suspected she had a trump card, but Durandal was beyond his wildest guesses.
Where do these people even find all these Holy Swords? Draconis mused, but he wasn't jealous. He had his own.
Balba was losing it. "Impossible! My research never reached Durandal's level—"
"Of course not," Xenovia replied coolly. "The Vatican can't create Durandal wielders artificially."
"Then you're…" Balba stared, speechless.
Draconis felt a flicker of surprise. If Durandal couldn't be artificially cultivated, Xenovia must be a natural-born Holy Sword compatible.
Xenovia confirmed it, her voice casual. "Unlike Irina and the others, I'm one of the rare natural Holy Sword wielders."
Balba was crushed. After all his effort to engineer sword users, and his fusion project, along came Xenovia—a natural, with a legendary sword.
Draconis grinned. "You lead, I'll cover?"
He had no interest in stealing glory—Durandal was a force of nature.
"Fine," Xenovia replied, charging Number One with Durandal blazing.
Number One's long hair whipped behind her, white lab coat tight against her frame. She met Xenovia head-on, their swords clashing in bursts of light.
Draconis finally saw his chance. He called forth a sigil—a seal he hadn't managed to use before.
"Let's seal her."
An anti-magic field shimmered into existence. The sigil shot forward, slapping onto Number One's chest with a sharp snap.
Rip!
Her clothes tore, but Number One didn't flinch. Xenovia blinked in surprise.
No effect. The seal hadn't worked. Draconis realized the Holy Sword's power was sustaining Number One—she was no wielder, just a puppet.
"Pitiful," Xenovia murmured, her sword leaving glowing wounds across Number One's body.
But Number One didn't react, didn't speak. She fought on, silent, resisting the combined assault.
Balba screamed from the sidelines. "Use your ultimate! Burn every last factor!"
Number One obeyed. Draconis felt it instantly—the familiar, chilling surge of soul-burning power.
The battle was far from over.
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