The wind howled between the opposing forces as they stared one another down.
No one moved.
Arno's declaration still lingered over the water like a sharp edge, daring someone to be the first to break the silence.
Someone did.
The final member of the mercenary trio exploded forward in a crimson-veiled blur, her mana erupting around her as she skimmed across the sea with frightening speed.
Arno merely watched her approach.
A low whistle escaped him.
"Good form," he remarked lazily. "Clean mana control too."
"What are you doing, you idiot?!" the other woman of the trio shouted, instantly recognising where this was headed.
The younger girl paid her no attention whatsoever.
Behind her, the rotund man clapped excitedly, laughing like a child who had just been promised front-row seats to a festival.
"Haha! That's the spirit! Hit him!"
The woman clicked her tongue, biting at the nail of her thumb in mounting irritation.
'Damn Vaudyrian savage...' she thought, shooting an annoyed glare toward her speeding brunette companion. 'Does she not realise who that man is?'
Just before the crimson-covered fist could reach Arno—
A perfectly transparent wall materialised between them.
BOOM!
The impact rippled across the barrier like a stone crashing into still water, concentric waves of mana spreading across its surface without allowing so much as a single crack to form.
The mercenary's eyes narrowed.
On the opposite side of the barrier, Evelyn calmly stepped forward until the two women stood separated by only a pane of shimmering mana.
She let out a weary sigh.
"...Even away from the frontier," she muttered, rubbing at her temple. "We somehow end up in situations like this."
The brunette showed no sign of backing down, instead driving three more punches into the barrier in rapid succession.
Each strike sent violent ripples racing across the transparent wall, the surrounding water erupting beneath the force of the impacts.
Yet it held.
"That's third-circle defence magic," Evelyn said, allowing herself the faintest breath of relief as she closed her eyes. "You won't break through it that eas—"
Crack
Grey eyes flew open.
"Huh?"
A web of fractures spread across the centre of the barrier and before her mind could catch up—
The wall exploded.
A crimson-coated fist tore through the shattered mana and rocketed straight toward her face.
"For... Glory!"
Boom
Kern crashed into the mercenary from the side, his shoulder slamming into her with enough force to send them both skidding across the water before she could land her strike.
Evelyn staggered backwards, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. She caught herself at the last second, breathing harder than she cared to admit.
"...Thank you."
"It's nothing." Kern flashed a broad grin and gave her a thumbs-up. "You don't run into opponents like that every day."
He rolled his shoulders, his smile widening.
"Leave this one to me."
The mercenary steadied herself almost instantly.
The two locked eyes.
No words were exchanged.
Then, as though they had reached the same conclusion at the exact same moment, both launched away from the main battlefield, racing across the sea to settle their fight elsewhere.
Arno watched the two disappear into the distance before scratching the back of his neck.
"...That was a spectacle," he muttered dryly. "So no one else wants to—?"
A red-flame-cloaked hand shot toward his face.
Arno caught the strike barehanded with relative ease.
"I thought it was unlike you to make grand proclamations," Wesley said, lips curling into a sneer. "Turns out you're just as full of shit as ever."
The two separated in a burst of force, skidding across the water.
Flames licked around Wesley's body before swelling into a roaring inferno, the surrounding sea hissing violently beneath the heat.
Baron Julius stared silently.
His hand drifted toward the hilt of the black sword at his waist—
Only for Wesley to explode forward.
His foot slammed onto the scabbard, forcing the blade back down before it could even leave an inch of its sheath.
Using the momentum, he twisted into a blazing spin.
A devastating roundhouse screamed toward Arno's head.
The baron lazily leaned backwards.
The kick missed by barely a hair.
Straightening, Arno reached for his sword again.
Scattering leaves of crimson flame suddenly burst into existence around his hand.
Boom! Boom! Boom!
They detonated one after another only millimetres away, forcing him to abandon the draw.
Wesley closed the remaining distance instantly.
One hand clamped firmly over the sword's hilt, pinning it in place, while the other grabbed Arno by the collar.
The Dormese man leaned in until their foreheads were nearly touching.
"I thought you were going to kill me and leave no trace?" he said with a grin. "Fight me then."
Arno looked back at him with the same perpetually tired expression, his half-lidded eyes betraying not the slightest hint of urgency.
"...I'd love to," he replied flatly.
He glanced down at the hand restraining his weapon.
"But you'll have to let me draw my blade first."
Before Wesley could answer, two presences descended from above.
Both men backed away side-by-side as the violent splash of water subsided.
From the disturbed surface, two veiled figures emerged, clad in fine white garments that carried the unmistakable markings of the clergy.
"Battle priests..." Wesley muttered, his expression darkening in annoyance.
His gaze moved past the two in front of him.
Three more similarly dressed figures stood beyond them, their stances composed and disciplined. Further back, the short man who had appeared earlier held his staff outward, surrounded by dense white mana as intricate orange formulas rotated around him.
Wesley's eyes narrowed.
"Enhancement magic, huh?" He pulled his sleeves back, exposing his toned arms as flames ignited across his skin. "From a High Priest too... How troublesome."
Arno, meanwhile, remained unreadable.
His gaze shifted briefly toward the side of the battlefield, where his own soldiers had engaged the unsettling pair from Noctis.
For a moment, he considered stepping in.
Then he decided against it, concluding that they would be fine without him.
'Has it been enough time?' he mused, glancing at the sky for the briefest moment before sighing. "I guess I should start..."
In what should have been a fluid motion, he drew his blade, except—
The sword didn't budge.
His brow twitched slightly.
He tugged at it an additional four times, and still nothing.
"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."
Arno turned his head.
Standing behind him was the northern woman from the mercenary group, a calm smile resting on her face as she held a pipe between her fingers.
Looking at his weapon, he instantly understood what had occurred.
"Ink attribute, is it...?" he asked, more as a formality than anything. "Seals to prevent my sword from moving."
"That is correct," the woman clapped. "Unlike my comrade earlier, I'm well aware of your reputation... Evil Mane, Arno Julius."
A thin stream of smoke escaped her lips as she tilted her head.
"That sword is the Unique Grade Regalia—Pestilence, isn't it?"
The woman tapped the side of her pipe.
"You're not the only know-it-all..." Arno drawled, weakly rolling his wrists. "Lorraine the Blood Witch, Draymond the Glutton, and that girl earlier was a former Valkyrie from Vaudyra... Strangely, she's the only one smart enough to keep her name hidden."
Both of them turned their attention toward the violent collision between Wesley and the priests, with Arno sighing as the man ripped and burned through the two clergymen before charging for the others.
"You're in way over your head."
His gaze returned to the so-called witch.
"Between him and me, we have enough manpower to rip everyone else to shreds—and that's excluding our respective forces."
Lorraine's smile widened to her eyes.
"I'm aware," she replied, her demeanour the perfect picture of cool. "Which is why we're approaching this in an unorthodox manner."
A massive whirlpool formed directly beneath him, the current twisting violently as it dragged him downward.
For the first time in the exchange, Arno's expression shifted.
His eyes opened fully as he commanded his mana to fend off the twisting waves. However, the suction overwhelmed the energy reinforcing his footing, ripping him from the surface before he could properly react.
As he sank into the depths, the last thing Arno saw was Lorraine's self-satisfied expression.
She lifted her pipe slightly, waving to him in a mock farewell.
Then the darkness swallowed him.
He couldn't move.
The pressure of the current was overwhelming, twisting and dragging him deeper with every passing second. The water battered against his body from every direction, leaving him with no opportunity to properly stabilise himself or force his way upward.
For the moment, all he could do was reinforce his body and defend himself from being crushed.
Yet his expression remained unchanged.
Calm.
Unnervingly so.
'It's not her mana that's causing this...' Arno spun violently through the depths, his coat and hair flowing wildly with the current as his mind continued working. 'And it doesn't feel like a spell. Which means...'
He focused mana into his eyes, sharpening his vision beyond normal limits despite the darkness and chaos surrounding him.
The turbulent water parted into clearer shapes.
There.
A figure far below.
A large man lying almost completely still as he consumed and spat out enormous amounts of water with terrifying efficiency, his body moving with an unsettling natural rhythm.
'There he is.'
Draymond.
Arno surmised that he had a number of mana arts that allowed him to perform this feat while maintaining his breathing ability underwater.
'Now... how do I get to him...?'
---
Up above, Wesley clicked his tongue, eyeing the spot Arno had stood.
"That piece of trash..."
The pure irritation in his voice was unmistakable.
He then shifted his attention to the priests he had just "killed", rising once more under a white mana.
He glanced at Kyle behind his three guards.
Even now, despite the chaos around him, the young High Priest continued chanting without interruption, layers of orange formulas rotating around his staff.
"I'm not in the mood for this."
"Sir."
A voice called out beside him.
A woman in a pristine white uniform appeared at his side, her expression as composed as ever.
"Katrina," Wesley acknowledged absentmindedly. "What is it?"
"We've remained on standby as you ordered," she started. "However, I believe it would be best for us to step in now and conclude our matter qui—"
Smack!
The sound cut through the entire area.
For a moment, silence followed.
Wesley's hand lowered slowly.
Katrina's head remained slightly turned from the impact, but her expression did not change.
He looked down at her with barely concealed annoyance.
"Are you suggesting that I'm weak enough to need your assistance?"
"...Not at all, sir."
Wesley's expression remained cold.
He huffed and turned from her, kicking at an imaginary rock at his feet.
Despite his lashing out, he understood what she meant. The longer this dragged on, the more unpredictable the situation might become.
After all, just like they had been drawn here, more people might make an appearance.
'At best, the battle priests are all third-rate Experts,' he assessed, his gaze sweeping over the white-clad figures. 'The boost from the boy—aside from making them harder to kill—brings them up to first-rate levels.'
His eyes shifted toward the two experimental siblings fighting in the distance.
'They should be around second-rate Expert level...' he looked at Lorraine. 'Same as her and both her comrades.'
His expression darkened slightly.
'Disregarding the rest, there are currently three people here who qualify as Masters.'
He scowled, thinking of how he didn't get to gauge his level against Arno Julius.
"I'll kill the brat first..."
The air around him warped.
"...then I'll massacre the rest as compensation for wasting my time."
Flames erupted at his feet, a yellow mana trickling around him faintly as he released the highest output he had shown throughout the entire battle.
"Is that a good enough conclusion for you?" Wesley asked, glancing back at Katrina.
"Perfect, sir."
The next moment—
BOOM!
He appeared directly within Kyle's formation, the High Priest's guards immediately turning in alarm as they moved to intercept him.
Just like before, Wesley's hand shot forward.
His target was simple.
Pierce the heart, dissolve the spell.
However—
A barrier of pale blue light manifested between them, rippling with layered patterns of unearthly energy as it absorbed the impact.
Wesley's eyes narrowed.
He launched additional strikes, each faster than the last, his flames tearing through the air as the radiant barrier continuously reformed in front of Kyle.
The High Priest didn't even spare him a glance, maintaining his focus on the spell he was weaving.
The divine automatic defences granted to those who attained such a high station within a church left him utterly unconcerned by the relentless assault.
Even so, in a surprising turn of events, Wesley built up enough momentum that he eventually outpaced the barriers themselves, slipping through the brief opening between one defence collapsing and the next forming.
His flame-cloaked knife hand shot toward Kyle's throat.
Clang
It rebounded as though it had struck forged steel.
"...What?!"
"I'm impressed," Kyle muttered, his tone dismissive. "Most people would have shattered their hand."
The Dormese officer glared, vexed that he was struggling against someone he considered to be a fledgling.
"Did you think people attained this position by praying and studying alone?" Kyle continued, holding his staff to the side. "My body was tempered through years of relentless training and suffering to stand alongside my spirit."
A quiet chuckle escaped his lips.
"Attacks like yours won't accomplish anything against me."
For an instant, Wesley's world fell silent.
Then the silence ignited.
An inferno erupted from his body, flames bursting outward with such intensity that even Kern and the mercenary woman paused in their clash to look over, the heat reaching them from across the vast distance.
"Everyone wants to test me today..." he muttered, eyes twitching as his smile became increasingly unhinged.
His yellow aura swelled.
"I've changed my mind."
He pointed directly at Kyle.
"You want to brag about being durable?"
A manic grin spread across his face.
"I'll beat you bloody, snap every bone in your body, then drag you back to Dorma and make you my new punching bag."