As the conversation ended, Merlin reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial.
He poured its contents over Asmodeus's crushed arm. The flesh knit itself together instantly, bone and muscle restoring as if time itself had reversed.
Merlin spoke calmly.
"Before I go, Azrael… I will erase from this world the creature that took the arm of our one and only heir."
Azrael replied coldly,
"In that case, no one leaves this place alive."
Merlin laughed.
The Minotaur had entered their field of vision.
Merlin raised his hand toward the sky.
"THE END OF THE WORLD."
A colossal sword descended from above, tearing through the space itself and cleaving the Minotaur cleanly in two. The ground trembled. Shadows recoiled and vanished.
Yet even Merlin was not certain he could defeat everyone there alone. The underlings were no real concern, but Azrael… Azrael was a power not to be underestimated.
Sensing the tension, Asmodeus stepped in to calm the situation.
"First, I need time to prepare. You deal with the academy's dean. I'll handle the rest."
Asmodeus had also asked for funds, but due to the Church's pressure, the Sabbah organization was not in good financial shape. Still, Asmodeus already knew where he would obtain the money.
Second, the fairies needed to retrieve two branches from the sacred tree Yggdrasil. According to the map, Asmodeus could take one additional person with him—but the path to Yggdrasil required both the tree's permission and his own sacrifice.
The plan was clear: first, the academy tournament. Then, a journey to the land of the elves.
Asmodeus continued,
"You'll handle the academy matter… for Aeris as well."
Azrael nodded in agreement.
A week had already passed.
Merlin teleported back to the academy.
And the academy tournaments were about to begin—under the watchful eyes of the Church.
Especially the eyes of the Dark faction.
The Divided Church
During this period, the Church had split into two factions.
The Light and the Dark.
On the surface, the Light faction—led by the Pope—still appeared to be the sole holy authority. The sermons continued. The prayers remained the same. But behind the curtain, faith had already fractured.
They all prayed to the same God.
They just no longer believed in the same truth.
The Light Faction
The Light faction was led by the Pope—the face the public saw, the voice echoing through cathedrals, preaching "mercy" and "order."
According to them, God's will was absolute:
The world must remain orderly.
Miracles must be controlled.
Dangerous powers must be erased.
Purple eyes.
Dark techniques.
Ancient bloodlines.
All of these were heresy in the Pope's eyes.
The Light faction controlled the Church's armies, the consecrated knights, and the official Inquisition. Lancelot's execution was one of their "exemplary" judgments—presented as justice to the people, but in truth, a warning.
"Defy the Church, and no legend will save you."
The Dark Faction
But within the Church existed another side—one the Pope never mentioned in his prayers.
The Dark faction.
They did not believe in God.
They believed in results.
Faith was merely a tool. Power was the goal.
They interpreted the sacred texts differently. To them, God had not promised order—He had promised superiority. The strong were meant to rule. If dark techniques worked, why should they be forbidden?
Secret deals with the Sabbah organization.
Forbidden magic.
Living weapons.
All products of the Dark faction.
Azrael was one of its most powerful figures. Officially, he served the Pope. In reality, he was the mind rotting the Church from within.
One God, Two Churches
This was the most dangerous part:
The public knew nothing.
The same hymns were sung. The same prayers were spoken. But the "light" from one priest's lips could become massacre in another's hands.
Merlin knew this.
Arthur knew this.
And now, Asmodeus knew it too.
Asmodeus's Place
Asmodeus was not the savior the Light faction wanted.
Nor was he a weapon the Dark faction could control.
To both sides, he was a threat.
His purple eyes were not merely the mark of a cursed family—they were proof of a truth the Church had tried to bury for centuries.
Power did not come from God.
It came from sacrifice.
When Merlin finally told him the truth one night, his voice was calm—but his words were heavy.
"The Pope wants you dead. Azrael wants to use you. Decide which is more dangerous."
Asmodeus gave no answer.
Because he had already realized something else.
This war was not between Light and Dark.
It was against the Church itself.
And when that war began, neither the Pope's prayers nor Azrael's shadows would be enough.
Because Asmodeus walked the path not of those who obeyed—
but of those who survived.
If both sides knew Asmodeus's true identity, they would both seek to erase him.
The dean summoned Asmodeus.
"This tournament is under the Church's surveillance. Do not use dark techniques, cursed child. And whatever you do—never use Excalibur."
The dean drew a sword from his side. It was forged of black metal.
He slowly extended it toward Asmodeus.
The blade was black—not absorbing light, but suffocating it. Its surface reflected nothing, as if it were not metal at all, but solidified shadow. Ancient seals were engraved on the hilt—seals belonging not to the Church, but to the academy.
"This," the dean said calmly,
"is a sword forged under the Obsidian Oath. It suppresses mana traces. It absorbs dark fluctuations. The audience will not feel your power."
Asmodeus looked at the sword.
Then at the dean.
"Is this meant to hide me," he asked,
"or to chain me?"
For a moment, darkness flickered in the dean's eyes.
"Both," he answered honestly.
"If you make a mistake in this tournament, even I won't be able to protect you."
Asmodeus took the sword. Its weight was unfamiliar, but not uncomfortable. He felt Excalibur's silence on his back—displeased… but patient.
"Don't worry," Asmodeus said.
"I'll win this tournament by the rules."
The dean nodded, but his doubt remained.
Tournament Day
The sky over Avalon was overcast. The clouds hung low, as if they did not wish to witness what was to come.
The stands were full—academy students, nobles, envoys… and the Church's silent observers.
Aeris sat in the stands, her hands clenched, eyes fixed on the arena.
Azrael watched from a private box, wearing his usual calm smile.
"Let's see," he whispered,
"how far Arthur's legacy goes."
When Asmodeus stepped into the arena, a low murmur spread through the crowd. No one knew why, but an instinctive unease took hold. His purple eyes were concealed, his hair sealed by wards—but still… something felt wrong.
His first opponent fell quickly.
So did the second.
Asmodeus used no dark techniques—only mastery. Timing. Angles. Breath. His opponents were strong, but not on his level. With every victory, the Church's gaze grew sharper.
The third match was different.
His opponent bore the Church's seal.
Blessed armor.
A sword engraved with holy runes.
The moment the duel began, the arena trembled. Blades clashed. Suppressed darkness met sanctified power for the first time.
Asmodeus did not retreat—but something stirred within him.
Excalibur.
It was waking.
"Not now," Asmodeus muttered through clenched teeth.
The knight's assault was relentless. Strike after strike. Asmodeus countered with the obsidian blade, but the holy energy strained its limits. Whispers spread through the stands.
Azrael's eyes gleamed.
Asmodeus could not use dark energy. He was cornered—but he was not unarmed. No ordinary knight could defeat him.
Asmodeus shifted his stance into a reverse guard. He tossed a piece of candy from his pocket into the air.
The knight's focus faltered.
In that instant, Asmodeus struck.
His first attack was sealed by a massive aura—not dark, but overwhelming. The blade seemed to extend, its presence expanding.
With his final strike, the knight's sword was sent flying.
The tournament's system was unusual: the first round required fighting three opponents. With this victory, Asmodeus advanced to the semifinals, awaiting the remaining matches.
The next day.
Aeris was nowhere to be seen.
Where is Aeris…? he wondered.
Then, a silhouette appeared in the arena.
Violet eyes glowed.
Silver hair shone like pure light.
Asmodeus froze.
"AERIS!?"
She had never told him.
Asmodeus tensed. Even if they faced each other in the tournament…
He could not believe he would be able to strike her.