Our fight began with a sound that tore through the dungeon—the scream of iron against iron.
The deafening clash repeated, again and again, each strike landing with murderous intent. Sparks flew as our blades met, separated, and collided once more. I wasn't thinking; my body moved on instinct alone. The sword felt weightless, my steps timed to a melody of war only I could hear. Every movement flowed—attack, parry, counter—seamless and precise.
The Doom Bringer laughed as we exchanged blows. Fast. Too fast.
Then he leapt into the air. I recognized the move instantly from my memories of the Great War.
"Counter—flash pattern," I muttered. I looked toward the students, my mind performing a thousand calculations a second. "Someone—gravity magic! Now!"
A student hesitated, then began chanting. At the same instant, the Doom Bringer vanished in a flash of light, attacking from every direction at once. I raised a barrier around the survivors and amplified the gravity spell with my own intent, shifting the atmospheric pressure to mimic the Void-Walker's techniques.
The air collapsed. The Doom Bringer's body slammed downward, cracking the floor. He looked at me, blood dripping from his smirk, genuinely amused.
"May I know your name?"
I walked toward him, my blade steady and my aura cold. "You have to earn it," I replied. "Not ask for it."
We clashed again. When steel alone led nowhere, we poured mana into our weapons. One final strike—CRACK. Both blades shattered into a thousand shards. The shockwave sent us flying backward.
He rose, laughing through the smoke. "You're truly magnificent. You hold heavy authority over this room."
Smoke exploded outward, swallowing the chamber. Even my barrier trembled under his devilic pressure.
I felt a blow from behind. I endured it. Another. Blood sprayed from my mouth. Visibility was zero.
I closed my eyes. Calm. I recalled the instinct honed through the Earth wars and dungeon. My brain sharpened; my hearing expanded. I could feel the displacement of air, the vibration of his heartbeat.
Left.
I filled my arm with mana and punched. He blocked with both hands, the impact rattling his bones.
"So your hearing is sharp too," he said, his voice echoing in the mist. "No need for smoke then."
He snapped his fingers. The smoke vanished. We collided relentlessly. His breathing grew heavier, but his madness refused to yield. Suddenly, roots burst from beneath me—nature mana responding to the same path Lysandria used—binding my legs.
He rushed forward, his aura shaping into a dragon as he summoned a soul-sword. I drew my dagger to counter, but I was too late. Thorns erupted from the binding. Poison flooded my body. My guard faltered for a fraction of a second, and he struck my left arm.
Blood poured, but the poison dissolved instantly, neutralized by the dragon blood dormant in this vessel's connection to me. I severed the roots and surged forward.
Desperate to break me, the Doom Bringer turned and fired fireballs toward the barrier again and again. Cracks spread. Students screamed. The barrier shattered.
I raised my hand to cast another, but he was faster. Four fireballs. Each aimed at a vital target: Lysandria, Aeldir, Nyx, and the Instructor. Nyx barely managed to form a weak shield.
Cold fury filled me. My mind entered a state of hyper-accelerated calculation. I watched the lethal trajectory of the fireballs, seeing the world as a tactical map of impact zones.
"So," I said, my voice dead calm. "You've left me no choice."
I snapped my fingers. "Open — Chronical Mana Shield."
"NO!" Aeldir screamed internally. "That shield was made by surgeons to seal your mana inside! If you break it—"
I ignored him. My mana erupted—violent, purple, and uncontrollable. Water arrows formed instantly, intercepting the fireballs mid-air.
Gravity crashed down on the room, but I used air pressure to launch myself out of the drain zone. The Doom Bringer raised a barrier. It shattered like glass before I even touched it.
"Aeldir!" I shouted. "Cast a barrier—if he uses flood magic, I can't protect you all!"
The Doom Bringer smiled, sensing the end. He cast Flood. Water surged violently through the chamber, exactly as I had predicted. I seized control of his own spell. The water thickened, its density increasing beyond natural limits until it was like liquid iron. Spikes of compressed water erupted from the floor.
The water reached our knees, then he flew. High above, he condensed an enormous fireball—an asteroid of pure destruction.
"You still haven't told me your name," he said, the burning sphere bending the dungeon ceiling. "What kind of existence forces a domain to hesitate?"
I looked up at him, my soul burning through the Aeldir vessel.
"A lonely wanderer who came to answer the mistake that shouldn't exist."
I raised my hand. "Second strongest spell."
The flood roared. The water beneath us shaped into a dragon, massive and violent. Shadow-fire ignited within its maw. It launched upward at impossible speed. The collision shook the entire 13th floor. He screamed as his left arm was torn away.
The dragon dissipated. Bleeding and desperate, he gathered his remaining mana and dashed toward Lysandria, grabbing her.
"Move," he snarled, "and I kill her."
He opened the gate, thinking he could escape. But he forgot one thing. I wasn't the only hunter in this school.
The Guardian had arrived.
A horizontal air-pressure strike slammed into the Doom Bringer's knees. He collapsed. He tried to fire a last-ditch blast at Lysandria
Trajectory: Lethal. Target: Lysandria.
I had a heartbeat to choose. I could cast a high-density shield, but I knew the truth—my mana was currently too abnormal, too violent. If I threw a barrier of that magnitude in her direction, the backlash of my own power would crush her lungs before the fire even touched her. I was a blunt instrument in a room made of glass.
I had no time for a complex, filtered cast. To save her, I had to be the shield myself.
On Earth, we were taught that every asset has a value. In the Great War, I was taught that a General's life is worth a thousand soldiers. But here, looking at the princess, the logic shifted. If she died now, the chaos that would follow would harden the path ahead until it was impassable. My contract would fail. My "Wanderer" status would be rendered meaningless in a world of ash.
It left me with one option. The most primitive one.
Positioning: Intercept. Execution: Absolute.
I didn't move out of love or sacrifice. I moved because, in the cold calculus of my mind, my soul could endure the dissolution, but her body could not endure the strike.
I was already there. I took the hit—a lethal fireball to the chest.
Blood burst from my mouth. The heat was blinding, but I didn't move an inch. The Guardian's blade flashed once. The Doom Bringer's neck was severed.
As he fell, the Devil looked toward the unconscious Seraphine, raised his hand, and whispered a word that was lost to the wind. Silence followed.
Lysandria stared at me, frozen. Students were trembling; some had collapsed from the sheer pressure. I was bleeding from a dozen wounds, my uniform shredded. The Guardian rushed to me, casting high-tier healing magic, but his face went pale. Nothing worked. My mana was rejecting the world itself.
"I'm fine," I said, coughing up a thick clot of blood.
I walked to where Aeldir's consciousness was huddling. He was crying.
"You should smile," I told him softly, my vision fading. "We won. We're alive."
My body began to dissolve into particles of purple light. I was evaporating, the vessel unable to hold the power of the opened Chronical Shield. My soul moved, detaching from the physical form, and retreated deep into the core of Aeldir.
The battle was over. But the "Wanderer" was no longer a secret.