Piers's instincts snapped.
Something fast — too fast — was coming.
In a blur, bam! — the attack landed.
Mutou's armored form was blown apart, cleanly disassembled — pieces of enchanted plate clattering across the ground.
his flame hovering low like a disembodied soul.
Piers' blood ran cold. "Mutou!"
"I'm… well, young master," mutou's voice strained.
Piers struggled to process what had just happened — the attack had come and gone before he could even register it. His eyes couldn't keep up.
Damn it! I'm useless if I can't even see it! Think. Think. There is no time
Then —
He raise his both hand,
Mana tank. He shouted
Orange light exploded outward. A semi-transparent shell burst into shape — domed, angular, thick, a tank shaped barrier. It wrapped around Styx, the kids, Gyuunyuu, and Mutou — sealing them in safety.
But even now, his eyes couldn't track the attacker. It was like chasing a phantom — no sound, no shadow, just impact.
What is this thing?
Too fast.. My eyes still can't keep up!
He clenched his jaw. No. Don't panic. Think.
Around him, the group stood frozen, expressions pale, mouths half-open in shock
Except one.
Styx.
She was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet inside the tank, eyes gleaming.
"Ooh! Again! Do it again!" she giggled.
Mutou finished reattaching his limbs with a faint sigh of annoyance.
Piers clenched his fists. I need to see it.
Think… Wait—no, not focus. Feeling. I can't see it… but maybe I can feel it.
Drawing in a steadying breath, he focused. pushing mana outward again, this time spreading it thin — casting a web through the air around the tank, sturdy and wide.
"Outer Vision Barrier," he muttered.
The air shimmered — a second layer of mana unfurled, like a faint ripple across space. "Thinner density… wider coverage."
If I can't track it with my eyes… maybe I can trace it through the mana.
THUMP. Something slammed into the outer edge. The barrier pulsed with light.
There.
Piers' eyes widened. "Appraisal."
A flood of data surged into his mind.
『Lightning Werewolf』
Rank: S Apex
Threat Level: Catastrophic
Description: A beast wreathed in black lightning, its body a blur of predatory motion and raw elemental energy. Its speed defies the limits of perception, moving like a lightning bolt made flesh. Its claws can tear through the strongest defenses, and its very presence disrupts magical energies.
he felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"Something I never expected…" he whispered under his breath.
An S-rank—no, maybe even worse. This… is way above my pay grade.
Across from him, Mutou hefted his sword — edge catching the light. The undead knight's voice was steady, grim.
"Young master. Let me through. I must engage it."
"Shut up, Mutou! I need to concentrate!" Piers snapped, eyes locked on the blur of motion outside the barrier.
He took a breath—steady, focused. Then, slowly, he raised his hand and pointed it at the streak of crackling yellow and black.
"Soul Puppet."
He lunged—trying to match the werewolf's impossible speed—but the projection blurred, just not fast enough.
Too slow.
Again.
Push harder.
Piers clenched his teeth, his jaw aching with tension. His mana churned dangerously, spilling from his core as he forced another cast.
it blurred — closer. Still not enough. He trailed behind the werewolf like a ghost chasing a lightning bolt.
Dammit!
He slammed more mana into the channel, drawing from deeper than he ever had. The pain lanced through him like molten needles — but he didn't let go.
Come on! I don't have time for this! If I can't match it — I can't stop it — and if I can't stop it—
He glanced at the children still huddled behind the tank. At Lucienne's trembling form. At Styx, now crouched low like a predator ready to leap.
Failure is not an option.
In silence of determination, Piers reached deep, tapping into a deeper, more volatile pool of power.
The Soul Puppet shimmered again — and this time, something clicked. It moved smoother. Sharper. Almost in sync.
Then, with a final surge of focus, he shifted his awareness — tuning in not to the werewolf's body, but to the distortions in space around it.
Every shift. Every ripple of air displaced by its impossible speed.
It struck.
And for the first time, the werewolf's movement stopped.
Frozen.
Held in place as if the very world had paused mid-frame.
Even its lightning slowed — arcing sluggishly across its fur.
Everyone stared in disbelief.
There it was.
The beast in full.
A massive, primal wolf — crackling with yellow and black lightning, every hair standing on edge with static. Its presence was suffocating.
Muscles coiled with brutal precision. Fangs bared. Eyes glowing like molten suns.
An apex.
A predator designed not to survive — but to dominate.
Piers swallowed hard.
And I just pissed it off.
He clenched his teeth.
With one hand, he kept the beast suspended in the air near the edge of the outer net barrier. With the other, he aligned the tank gun, locking onto the frozen creature. His senses were stretched thin—maintaining the tank shield, controlling the net barrier, holding the beast's position. Everything balanced on a knife's edge.
but this won't be enough, he murmured grimly.
He refocused. Drawing on a deeper well of energy, channeling his mana into something far more dangerous.
a sudden shift in the air signaled the next step — wind picked up, swirling unnaturally around the tank.
He shaped it.
he whispered the names,
HF, COCl₂, ClF₃, HCl, SO₂... a noxious, unnatural cocktail
the dangerous gases manifesting under his will. A dark yellow-green fog formed, thick with white acidic fumes. It coalesced into a dense, churning orb of chemical chaos, caged and stabilized by precise mana control — nestled in front of the tank's barrel.
Piers grinned — tired, but wicked.
"Let's see how you like this."
He fired.
The tank cannon kicked.
The corrosive sphere screamed forward.
The werewolf jerked in midair — it had sensed the danger.
But too late.
Impact.
Its triumphant snarl twisted into a piercing shriek. The fog burst across its body — and ate.
The creature's radiant yellow-and-black energy began to fizzle and flake away. Its fur, muscle, and form liquefied in patches, chunks sloughing off as the acids and toxins did their work. What once had been a terrifying embodiment of speed and power was now melting apart, collapsing into formless light.
Within moments…
Gone.
The Lightning Werewolf unraveled into drifting sparks of dying static, its presence dissolving into nothingness.
Silence followed.
Not relief.
Not triumph.
Just silence.
Piers stood where he was, arm still extended, fingers locked in place as if his body hadn't received the message yet. The air smelled wrong—acidic, burnt, metallic. His stomach turned.
He swallowed.
His legs shook.
Only now did the pain arrive—sharp, delayed, crawling up his spine. His vision swam. Sweat dripped from his chin, splattering against the stone.
"…I shouldn't have used that," he muttered hoarsely.
No one answered.
Behind him, someone took a shaky breath.
Then another.
Styx broke the stillness.
"You did it, Piers!" she shouted, bouncing on her heels. "That was—!!
Her voice faltered when he didn't turn.
The children stared at him, wide-eyed—not cheering yet. Not smiling. Watching him like he might fall apart at any second.
Only when his knees buckled did the sound return all at once.
Styx rushed forward. The kids crowded closer, excitement bleeding through fear now that the danger was truly gone.
"That was so cool!" Styx said again, louder this time—trying to bring the moment back to something safe.
Piers barely heard her.
The world tilted.
A strange pressure brushed the edge of his awareness—something shifting, unlocking, whispering—
He couldn't focus.
Black swallowed him whole.
The magnificent Lightning Werewolf dissolved into dissipating energy, its presence vanishing with one last crackle of static.
Silence.
Piers stood frozen, staring.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. The afterglow of his own attack shocked him.
"…Maybe I should've held back."
Cheers erupted from behind.
Styx bounced up and down, clapping and shouting in uncontainable excitement. The children, who had been paralyzed moments before, now lit up with wide eyes and bright smiles. Even Gyuunyuu twirled through the air joyfully, letting out an enthusiastic "Moo~!"
The adrenaline fled. A wave of dizziness swept over him.
He staggered. His vision blurred.
From somewhere above the noise, he heard Styx's voice — high and proud.
"You did it, Piers! That was so cool!"
The kids swarmed around him, eyes bright with awe.
But something else tugged at him.
A flicker of understanding…
A whisper in the fabric of his mind…
A revelation.
A skill? A unique skill?
He couldn't focus long enough to see.
The world tilted.
And then —
Black.
A faint stirring pulled Piers from his slumber. He was back in his room, though the muffled sounds of what he hoped was just a very intense family discussion drifted through the closed door.
"I can't believe you would do such a thing, Styx!"
Xylia's voice — usually warm and comforting — was laced with fury.
Piers winced.
Okay, scratch that. Definitely not a friendly chat.
Mom is in full MOMZILLA mode.
He pulled the blanket up to his chin... then sighed and dropped it again.
A choked sob followed.
Styx.
Great. Now I'm feeling like the world's biggest slacker for sleeping through this.
"Mom, please—" Styx tried, but was cut off by another tidal wave of fury.
"Please? After what you've done?!"
Xylia's voice cracked, heavy with emotion.
"Do you have any idea what we imagined? Kidnapping! Goblin markets! And you—!"
Rigas's deep, even tone finally broke through the chaos.
"Xylia, my love, please. Let's try to remain calm. "Remember what the enchantress said... about that potion for your temper?"
Piers stifled a snort.
Yeah... leaving it to you, Dad. Good luck defusing this bomb.
Still. bringing about potions in the middle of a meltdown? Really,
A beat then,
Ugh, alright.
He threw off the covers, a knot of guilt tightening in his gut.
No more hiding. Time to face the music.
He padded to the door, took a steadying breath, and descended into the living room.
The moment he stepped in, silence fell.
All eyes turned to him.
Xylia's fiery gaze softened — if only slightly.
Styx looked up with relief—and guilt—etched across her tear-streaked face.
Rigas offered a weary, grateful smile.
"Mama," Piers began, his voice calm and steady.
He stepped forward, placing himself squarely between Xylia and Styx.
"It wasn't Styx's fault. It was mine."
Xylia's eyebrows shot up. "Yours?"
Piers nodded, meeting her gaze, even as tears welled up—some real, definitely not.
He launched into a carefully constructed explanation, his voice laced with earnestness.
"I asked Neesan to go with me. I wanted to check out the Whispering Caves, and I knew she was faster and knew the area better. I told her it would be a quick trip, and that there was no danger."
He winced slightly, inwardly aware of how thick he was laying it on—but desperate times.
"I should have known better. I put her in harm's way — and Mama, I take full responsibility."
He turned to Styx, eyes softening.
"I'm sorry, Neesan."
He even reached up, subtly wiping at a corner of his eye — the universal symbol of emotional restraint (and possibly fake tears).
"I shouldn't have involved you."
Styx stared, mouth slightly open, stunned.
Xylia's expression flickered — fury giving way to confusion... then to something unreadable.
Rigas, standing slightly back, watched the whole exchange with a contemplative look — perhaps recognizing his son's subtle manipulation of the situation.
Piers held his breath. Waiting. Hoping.
Then — unexpectedly — Xylia's stern features melted. . Her shoulders lowered. Her eyes softened—twinkling now, not with fury, but with an indulgent fondness.
"Oh, my little one," she sighed, voice melting. She stepped forward, cupped his cheek, and knelt to kiss his forehead.
"My fragile, precious boy. Always so reckless... yet so pure."
Piers blinked.
Wait—this is working? Too well. What—
"Mama?"
Xylia chuckled — light and melodic.
"You were worried about your little sister. That's... honestly, very sweet."
She pinched his cheek.
"You're such a good brother. And you admitted you were wrong! How could I stay mad at that?"
Then she turned to Styx, her voice gentling even further.
"And you, my little shadow. You should've known better than to sneak off without telling us. But... I suppose I can't be too angry if you were looking after your brother."
She pulled Styx into a fierce hug.
"My brave, reckless children."
Styx, too stunned to speak, hugged her back.
Rigas watched with dense yet affectionate eyes.
And with that, the tension in the room dissipated, replaced by a sense of familial warmth and a shared, if slightly sheepish, understanding.
He offered a faint, knowing smile.
* * *