The stone floor was colder than Sora expected. Damp and uneven, it pressed against his clothes and skin like tiny needles, sending a shiver crawling up his spine. The cave's ceiling loomed high, jagged and dripping with condensation, each drop echoing through the hollow space. Shadows twisted with every flicker of light from the cavern's narrow entrance, stretching and shrinking like restless ghosts.
He sat cross-legged at the center, hands awkwardly resting on his knees. His posture was stiff—not with discipline, but with discomfort. Every nerve in his body screamed at him to move, to flee, to escape.
Lucy stood before him, arms folded, expression unreadable. The dim light from the entrance cast a long shadow over Sora's form, like the weight of judgment itself pressing down on him.
"No weapons," she said. "No mantra release. No movement."
Sora cracked one eye open. "Then what exactly am I training?"
Lucy's gaze sharpened just enough to make his stomach knot.
"Restraint."
That single word made his chest tighten, his stomach twist.
"Close your eyes," she ordered.
He obeyed. The cave went silent. No chanting, no dramatic instructions. Just the faint drip of water, the echo of his own shallow breathing, and the occasional skitter of unseen creatures along the walls.
"Mantra is not power," Lucy said calmly, her voice steady against the dripping cadence. "It is flow. If you cannot control its movement inside you, you have no right to bring it out."
Sora inhaled slowly, reaching inward.
Instantly, heat bloomed in his chest.
Too fast. Too strong.
The mantra surged like a tidal wave breaking through a dam, hammering against every barrier he tried to hold. His limbs trembled violently, threatening to buckle.
"Stop."
Lucy tapped his forehead with two fingers. The pressure vanished instantly, leaving a sharp sting across his mind and a burning shame in his chest.
"That was less than a second," Sora muttered.
Lucy didn't blink. "And you still failed."
Sora clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath.Again.
He focused harder, teeth grinding, as he pulled the mantra upward slowly, deliberately. The energy scraped through him like molten iron being dragged through veins too narrow to contain it. Each heartbeat thundered painfully in his chest. His fingers twitched, his vision blurred behind closed eyes.
"Breathe," Lucy commanded, voice even, unyielding. "Inhale. Let it stir. Do not command it."
Sora inhaled. The mantra answered with a jagged pulse. Each surge felt like molten fire racing through a maze of fragile glass, threatening to shatter him from the inside.
"Exhale. Now guide it."
Guide it. The words echoed through his skull, mingling with the distant drip of water and the rough, unyielding stone beneath his palms.
He tried. The mantra scraped and clawed, resisted, throbbed against his every attempt. His back arched, teeth clenching against a scream. His body wanted to reject it—to explode—but he forced himself to flow with it. To guide it like blood. Like breath.
Pain sharpened to white-hot clarity. Then… it eased.
The mantra was contained. Controlled. For the first time, it responded to him rather than dominating him.
Lucy removed her hand. Sora collapsed forward, coughing, palms digging into the cold stone.
"…I did it," he whispered.
Lucy nodded once. "Barely."
Rin exhaled, leaning against the cave wall. "That looked… horrible."
"It was," Sora muttered. "I think I aged ten years."
Outside, the wind swept past the cave entrance, carrying the faint scent of pine and the distant chatter of birds. But inside, the cave seemed alive—echoing with pain, effort, and a faint, stubborn pulse of energy that only Sora could feel.
"Day four," Lucy said, finally settling onto a flat slab of stone. Her hair swayed behind her, shadows dancing across her face. "You have learned to circulate and control your mantra. Not perfectly. But enough to survive."
Sora sagged against the stone, sweat dripping down his brow, legs trembling. He let out a shaky laugh.
Lucy's lips twitched. "Impressive… and impossible," she murmured, staring at him with a faint smile.
Meanwhile on a far away land there was silence.
The land screamed.
The earth had been carved open—deep trenches burned into stone, trees split and blackened as though lightning had kissed them and hollowed them from within. The air itself felt wounded, thick with lingering heat that made every breath feel like punishment rather than relief.
At the center of the devastation stood a single man.
He wore white military attire, pristine despite the destruction around him. A long coat rested neatly over his shoulders, its edges barely stirring in the heated wind. Red hair brushed against his shoulders, partially hidden beneath a tilted officer's hat.
He looked… bored.
"Saints are more foolish than I thought," a demon sneered, its massive frame looming amid the ruins. Its skin was etched with glowing runes, muscles swollen with unnatural strength. Behind it, dozens more gathered—claws digging into scorched ground, magic simmering beneath their skin.
"Instead of an army, they sent one man against me… and my forces."
The Saint adjusted his hat, brushing dust from its brim.
"…Huh."
He reached into his pocket, pulled out a lollipop, and slipped it between his lips before burying both hands back into his coat pockets.
"I am the army," he said casually.
The demon's pride twisted into rage.
"Now, now," the Saint continued, already turning away. "Don't waste my time. I haven't eaten all day, so let me wrap this up and report back."
"How cocky!" the demon roared.
It charged.
The ground shattered under its weight as it swung with enough force to pulverize steel. But the Saint moved with lazy precision, stepping aside as if avoiding rain. Each swing missed by inches, claws slicing nothing but air.
Red light flickered faintly in the Saint's eyes—thin trails following his movements like afterimages burned into reality itself.
"You done?" he asked lightly, bouncing once on his heels.
"You inferior creature!" the demon screamed, rearing back as magic condensed in its throat.
A death beam erupted—wide, blinding, powerful enough to flatten a mountain.
The Saint didn't move.
He raised one leg and kicked.
The beam split upward with a deafening crack, torn cleanly in half as it carved the heavens apart. Clouds scattered. The sky screamed.
The demon froze.
Fear crawled up its spine.
"F–Fall back!" it shrieked, turning. "Kill him! Kill him now!"
The demon fled.
The Saint tilted his head, watching it run.
"Hm… if I'm not mistaken," he said calmly, eyes drifting toward the remaining figures, "There should be about forty of you."
He smiled.
"But I can't stay long."
Heat shimmered around him.
"So let's get this over with."
He vanished.
The first demon didn't even realize it was dead. Its head slid from its shoulders a heartbeat later, body collapsing in silence.
The second saw him.
Red eyes. A flash of heat.
Its chest caved inward as if struck by an invisible hammer, ribs exploding outward as the body was hurled across the battlefield.
The others attacked together.
Magic flooded the land—corrupted flames, crushing gravity, warped space. Raw power slammed down from every direction, turning the ground into molten ruin.
The Saint walked through it.
"I think you guys forgot mantra is a counter to your energy ."
Every spell missed—arriving a moment too late, striking where he had been. Heat distorted the air around him, bending vision, delaying reactions. Demons swung wildly, roaring in confusion as their senses betrayed them.
He stepped past one and gently tapped its spine.It folded.
Another leapt from above—he caught it midair, spun once, and threw it through three others, bodies breaking like brittle glass.
Still, his hands remained in his pockets.
"You rely too much on force," he muttered, ducking under a claw and driving his shoulder forward.
The demon exploded into the ground.
The battlefield became a blur of screams and collapsing bodies. Each movement was precise. Efficient. Cruel in its calmness.
One demon fell to its knees, trembling.
"M–monster…"
The Saint stopped.
He pulled the lollipop from his mouth and sighed.
"Monster?" he echoed softly.
Heat surged.
The demon's vision warped, balance failing as the world bent around the Saint's presence. Before it could scream, its body collapsed—bones crushed inward as if the air itself had turned hostile.
Silence returned.
The Saint looked around at the ruined land, then checked his watch.
"…Late again."
He adjusted his hat, turned, and walked away—heat still rippling faintly behind him, as though the world itself remembered his steps.
The Saint's gaze locked onto the fleeing demon.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to hesitate.
Then he vanished.
The air screamed as he reappeared above the demon, descending like judgment itself. His heel crashed down—
BOOM.
The earth buckled. Stone shattered. The demon was driven into the ground so hard the impact swallowed its scream.
"P–Please…" the demon croaked, dragging its broken body forward, claws scraping uselessly against the dirt. "Please… let me live…" No answer.Footsteps followed.
Slow. Unhurried.
Each one pressed into the ground with quiet finality.
Mist curled around the Saint's legs as he approached, his presence thick enough to suffocate. His eyes burned brighter now—red light bleeding into the fog, staining it like spilled blood.
"Now, now," he said softly, almost kindly.
"And for your death."
He smiled.
The demon didn't even have time to scream.
The Saint seized its leg and ripped.
Flesh tore. Bone snapped. The sound was wet. Final.
The demon shrieked, voice cracking as terror fully took hold. "W–Who… who are you?!"
The Saint crouched beside it, bringing himself eye-level with the creature. His grin widened—not cruel, not angry.
Detached.
He leaned in and whispered, each word deliberate, absolute.
"I.Am.Ryn Ainsworth."
The demon's eyes went empty before its body did.
"Commander, I am done".