Reinhard could barely stand, feeling his body grow heavier with each passing second. Blood continued to seep from his wounds, flowing in hot streams down his sides, leaving dark stains on the stone floor of the arena. The pain had faded, replaced by a strange numbness. He lifted his gaze and met Silivan's eyes.
The assassin-knight had changed. His figure, once merely a shadow hinting at hidden menace, now radiated genuine terror. A dark aura, thick as mist, coiled around him, slithering over his armor, dripping from his fingertips, and enveloping his sword. His eyes—no longer human—had turned completely black, with crimson veins webbing the whites, transforming his face into a mask of madness. Even the air around him seemed denser, heavier, saturated with the scent of death.
— "The Twelve Movements in the Night… Fourth Movement."
His voice was like a whisper from the abyss, filled with chilling resolve. Slowly, he raised his sword, and the darkness that had gathered around him flowed into the blade, absorbing into the metal like oil into cloth. In an instant, the weapon devoured all surrounding light, turning into a black haze. Then, bursting forth in a wave of raw terror and primordial darkness, it surged toward Reinhard.
— "Crescent Blade on the Dark Sky."
Everything turned black.
The dark slash tore through space, carrying more than just the force of a strike—it annihilated everything in its path: the floor, the stands, the weapon racks, ripping apart air, stone, and even the faintest glimmers of light. The people in the arena scattered in an instant, even hardened knights overcome by panic. One of the younger warriors cried out, leaping back, while an officer, pale-faced, gripped the hilt of his sword, realizing that no mortal should stand in the path of this attack.
But Reinhard did not move. Because it was simple…
If he did nothing, he would never open his eyes again.
Reinhard… forced his body to stand, though it was already at its limit.
— "I hope this body can withstand the attack…"
NO, it must endure this—there was no other option.
— "And yet… I never thought I'd have to use this at a moment like this…"
He exhaled.
And the world froze.
The mana flowing through his body surged upward, but not as a storm, not as a raging flame, but as a steady, unyielding river, covering him in a quiet radiance. At the same moment, a calm yet chaotic stream of dark fire began to envelop his form. The blade of his sword ignited with a faint, dark-white flame, one that did not flicker or dance in the air, but poured like the slow, deliberate current of a river, winding smoothly around the steel. He raised his weapon slowly, and his hair began to turn white, transforming into pure silver, like frozen moonlight in motion. His entire body shimmered with a soft silver glow.
Everything stilled, dissolving into the void… The only thing he saw was his burning sword—and the enemy's blade, inching toward him, slow and inevitable. Reinhard lifted his weapon… The raging current of power surged skyward, winding around his sword, his arms, his very being…
And at that moment, Reinhard spoke…