"Mate, you look majestic!" I couldn't help but blurt as our blades clashed again with a metallic shriek that echoed under the veil. His spear moved with frightening elegance—slick, seamless, balanced—twirling between his fingers, fingers that were noticeably less reinforced than the rest of his earth-armoured form. Elongated, almost claw-like digits gripped the weapon with ease, dancing with eerie grace as if the spear was an extension of his limb rather than something he held.
Ronith, of course, didn't respond. He never did during a duel. Not with words.
Knights like him believed in letting their weapons speak. A philosophy, a code—whatever it was, they held it sacred. When blades talked, mouths shut. That was the law of combat for those raised in the lunar order.
"You really are a knight through and through!" I called again, even as the battlefield around me twisted into something far more sinister.
The earth cracked, rose, and spun in a circular sweep around us. Pillars of soil and stone bent unnaturally, forming root-like tentacles that lashed out to entangle me. From behind, Ronith surged forward, cutting off my escape routes with surgical precision, never once giving me the distance I needed to reset. Every dodge I attempted, every step I took, he was there—already blocking the path or laying a trap underfoot.
This wasn't just sparring anymore.
And yet, this wasn't about defeating Ronith. It never was. That wasn't Ninia's aim, nor mine. This was preparation. Adaptation. Readiness. She wanted to ensure I wouldn't flinch when facing chaos up close, not again. Because there were battles coming. And I had no option but to walk right into them.
Even after losing an eye.
Even after everything.
I couldn't back out of Forza's mission. I couldn't abandon the children. I couldn't escape my role or the weight placed on my shoulders. And if this relentless, earth-bound storm of a knight was what I had to face to be prepared, so be it.
I pushed back. Hard. But every time I did, something stopped me.
My mana reserves were full. My instincts were sharp. My body, while still healing, was capable. I had the tools—the experience, the knowledge, the power. And yet… I held back.
Why?
Why did I always hold back?
Why did I suppress the truth of what I was?
I barely dodged a whip-like earth tendril that grazed my ankle, rolling out of the way just in time. My hands moved on their own, countering Ronith's spear swing with Snowhite in a desperate parry. The impact rattled my bones.
And still, I wondered—why did I always surround myself with veils, secrets, rules of restraint?
Telekinesis was my strongest gift.
The only one, if we discounted Absolute Zero—a glitch in mana's grand design. A fluke.
Shouldn't I be using it more? Not just to survive—but to grow?
The only thing hiding it did was limiting its evolution. The less I used it, the less I understood its depths. Just now, in the heat of this fight, I'd uncovered a new aspect: I could manipulate the attraction of ambient mana particles around me, subtly enhancing mana absorption, without even making my telekinesis visible.
That… That changed things.
That meant I could last longer on the battlefield. It meant I could recover faster, sustain more, and be more. A long-lasting mage against a swarm of enemies. A warlock without a leash.
Why was I afraid of becoming what I already was?
Every time I had pushed myself with telekinesis—truly pushed—I had gained more control, more sensitivity to the invisible currents of the world. It wasn't just power. It was alignment. The natural forces bent to me the more I embraced them.
So what was I waiting for?
The only thing that happened when I hid my strength… was regret.
I thought of all the battles I'd fought in the past decade. All the duels I'd lost. The missions I'd barely survived. The people I failed. Not once had I gone all out with my telekinesis. Not even against that bastard yesterday. Not even when the stakes were life and death.
Except for the Valgura hunt.
And what happened there?
I changed everything.
My grip tightened around Snowhite. The air around me shimmered. Vibrated.
I wasn't afraid anymore.
From this day forward, no more holding back.
The mana around me, in the air, reacted. It pulsed—sharp, violent, alive, as if it too had been waiting for this moment. My resolve tightened around my chest like a band of steel.
And my core? It spun like it had a will of its own, screaming, roaring at me—
"Now!"
"Go all out!"
"For once!"
Against someone worthy... These were the words I heard in whispers, from mana itself...
BOOM!
As the tentacles coiled inward, inches from binding me in a crushing grip, Ronith spun his spear—his other hand primed to slash with brutal efficiency. But then it happened.
The mana around us cracked.
No—burst.
It wasn't mine.
It wasn't his.
It was raw, untamed, and non-elemental—a violent pulse, a blinding wave of primal energy that surged outward like a detonation. Not an attack from man, but one from nature itself. The kind of suicidal burst you'd only see in mana beasts cornered with no escape, when they sacrificed their bodies to take down as many foes as possible. Not out of desperation... but dignity.
Better to die with defiance than be caged and slaughtered like swine.
The boom that followed was thunder incarnate.
The tentacles around me shattered into dust, disintegrating like brittle rock struck by a god's warhammer. The blast howled across the battlefield, levelling everything in every direction.
Except for him.
Ronith had already moved.
He'd read the flow. Predicted the explosion and the shockwave.
He sidestepped mid-movement, slipping through the explosion's edge like wind through broken glass, retreating by a few meters. As expected of him.
Through the helm that covered his head, still layered with stone, I caught a glimpse of his face. One of his curved horns—the set that pointed forward along his jawline—cracked. It fell with a soft thud onto the ground. His gaze followed it down, lingering just a moment before turning back to me.
Unshaken.
Still standing.
Still calm.
"…Thank you, Vice-Captain," I said quietly, bowing in place despite the tremors still coursing through the earth. "I've looked up to you ever since I was a kid. Back then… and now."
I wasn't just being polite. I meant it.
For the past few hours, he had trained me relentlessly. Pushed me. Forced me to confront the combat style I tried to avoid. And he had done all of it while holding back at least seventy per cent of his true strength.
I knew it. He knew it. Ninia knew it.
And now… it was time to stop.
"As a thank you," I continued, raising my head, "I won't hold myself back anymore. And I suggest you don't either."
He didn't speak.
He never did much.
But he smiled... As his eyes glowed faintly.
A slight, restrained curl at the corner of his mouth. One of approval. One of acceptance. One of delight.
The mana around him shuddered in response.
Not just the ground beneath him, but the very air.
It flickered, then tightened, then compressed like it was being sucked into a forge of divine proportions. His armour responded to the call. The stone began refining itself—toning, slimming, darkening. The jagged edges smoothed into aerodynamic curves. The colour deepened from sandy bronze to obsidian brown, layered over and over until the plates shimmered like volcanic glass. It was no longer just armour.
It was him.
A living shell sculpted by pressure and discipline.
The concentration of mana was on another level. I felt it from where I stood—thick, charged, unyielding. But the show wasn't over yet.
The earth rumbled again.
Veins of mana erupted from the soil, streaming upward, swirling like a rising vortex. Then it molded, compressed, solidified—not into weapons, but into defense.
A massive shield-like cape, a hardened yet free-flowing cloak, began forming behind Ronith's back.
Black and deep brown. Wider than Mercy's, heavier than stone, by its display, yet free, enjoying the cold, light winds. Simultaneously, there was another manifestation as well. Its surface curved like a half-moon carved from a mountainside. And in its centre, etched with absolute clarity, was the crest of the Lunar Knights—interwoven with the eternal emblem of the Empire.
It wasn't just armour anymore.
It was a statement.
Meanwhile, the mana around me stirred.
Finally.
Finally, it stopped waiting. Stopped asking for permission. It rose around my frame with silent reverence, forming sleek layers like liquid glass—transparent at first, but quickly intensifying. It wrapped around me, Snowhite, and the arcs I had conjured—three in total, one hovering overhead, two flanking each side like silent sentinels.
They floated patiently, charged to the brim, waiting to strike, to pierce, to obliterate on command. No hesitation. No resistance.
Only obedience to my will.
Snowhite hummed. Not softly. Not gently.
It roared with restrained hunger, vibrating with the mana this battlefield was gifting us. Its blade shone with an icy sheen—ice-white, an elemental opposite to the grounded might of Ronith's arsenal. Cold, cutting, absolute.
He was Earth.
Mine was entropy.
And somewhere on the edge of the arena, Ninia sat watching.
Eyes unblinking.
Body still, but poised like a coiled apex predator. Every breath she took, every blink, every twitch of her fingers—she tracked everything. Us. The arcs. The veil, which was further expanded effortlessly, as if it were as natural as breathing.
The moment.
Despite being seated, her presence loomed.
"You really are something… Maybe an ancient powerhouse in retirement..." I mused, eyes flicking to her just once.
She didn't blink. She wanted to see this.
She wanted to see me, without restraint. Maybe this would be the only time. Maybe this would be the last time.
Fine.
You want a show?
I'll give you one.
My thoughts vanished.
There was no more hesitation.
I charged.
The arcs followed behind, in perfect sync. A trinity of destruction honed by will and memory. Ronith braced—not in fear, but in welcome. His feet anchored, his shield lifted, spear pulled back in preparation to absorb the blow.
Two knights.
One storm.
And two hours to have the time of our lives.
Something we would both remember…
Forever.
***
"Time's up!"
The voice cut cleanly through the battlefield.
Ninia's voice—sharp, authoritative, and final—rang out just as the shimmering veil surrounding our clash dispersed into thin air. The containment barrier she had cast collapsed with a soundless ripple, releasing the pressure that had been held within like a sealed tempest.
"I lost," I admitted, raising my hand in quiet surrender.
Ronith stood before me, his spear mid-swing—its tip frozen mere millimetres from slicing into my left arm. Reinforced as my skin was, that strike would've left a mark, even if it didn't break through. But he halted, as if his muscles obeyed instinct over command. His eyes met mine. He nodded.
No smugness. No gloating. Just a wordless acknowledgment.
He stepped back.
One step. Then another. And with each, the earthen armour encasing him began to retreat, crumbling, folding back into the ground like it had never existed. By the fifth step, his standard Lunar Knight uniform was fully visible again, unmarred except for the dust and bloodless scuffs. His shield dissolved into the earth. Stardust—his signature spear—vanished in a soft flicker, slipping back into his storage ring.
The remnants of his headgear still clung to him—a fractured crown of stone, cracked at one side. One horn was entirely gone. It probably wouldn't come off without a proper bath. Maybe not even then.
Ninia approached us, calm and composed, her long strides filled with purpose as she re-entered the now-neutral zone.
Ronith, ever the gentleman despite looking like a soldier fresh from a siege, conjured seats from the terrain with a mere thought. Chairs sculpted from compressed earth rose beneath us. Surprisingly ergonomic. Solid, but with a natural curvature that eased the tension from my spine and gave my aching legs some much-needed relief.
I exhaled.
Then the briefing began.
It wasn't overly formal. More of a discussion, really. Casual but insightful. The kind of debrief where truths slipped out between half-smiles and exhaustion.
Naturally, the topic turned to telekinesis.
Ronith brought it up first, but Ninia followed, both of them wanting to understand it, not in full, but enough to make sense of what they'd seen. I didn't mind sharing the basics. The deeper layers? Those stayed sealed.
It wasn't fear. Just instinct. I wasn't ready to bare that part of me yet.
They understood, though. Both of them were experienced enough to read the boundaries without pushing.
We talked for a few minutes, analysing tactics, reconstructing sequences. The main takeaway was obvious—I relied too heavily on my left side. Left-dominant. A known trait of mine. When wielding Snowhite, it's always been that way. The blade fits me like a second limb. But with Crimson Ultima, I need both arms. It's balance demands it.
Ninia mostly stayed quiet.
Which said a lot.
Her silence wasn't indifference. It was caution. Her insights were always precise and surgical. If she wasn't speaking, it meant she didn't trust the room to handle what she wanted to say—or didn't trust one of us.
Maybe Ronith.
Maybe me.
Or maybe she believed some truths should be earned.
'She could have used a mental link,' I thought. She's capable of it—she's done it before. But this time, she hadn't inserted a single whisper into my mind.
So either it wasn't that important…
Or it was something else entirely.
I let the thought go. For now.
"Roni," I asked, breaking the quiet that had crept into the space between us. "How close are you to Saint Rank?"
It was a fair question. Sensitive, sure. But we were past those boundaries now, weren't we? And besides, I already had a guess.
He tilted his head, considering.
"Not that close," he said with a modest shrug. "But I'm on the right path. Two or three more years, maybe? If things go to plan."
He hesitated.
Then added, almost offhandedly: "Could be sooner if I get selected."
Selected?
For what?
My eye shifted sideways toward Ninia.
Her response was instant.
She shot him a glare. Not sharp. Not deadly. Just... maternal. The kind a mother gives her son when he's about to say something stupid at a formal dinner.
Ronith saw it. He smiled faintly, then leaned back in his chair.
"I believe in something called: 'Not revealing until it happens.' That way, if it does, good for me. If it doesn't, then it's just as well no one knew. You get that, right? After all... You shared something important with me today, too."
He met my gaze, then added, softer, "You'll be the second person I tell. If it happens."
I nodded. Fair enough.
Ninia didn't nod.
She didn't even look.
Her eyes were fixed elsewhere, staring off at the walls of Ronith's house in the distance. Like she'd just noticed something was off with the bricks. Or maybe she was remembering something.
'What's with her?' I thought. 'Why's she acting cold all of a sudden? Did Ronith say something? Did I?'
I didn't know the current dynamic between them, but something had clearly shifted. And if Ronith was going to tell anyone first, it would obviously be her.
Me being second? That was already more than I expected.
With Edward and Mercy both nearing Saint Rank, and now Ronith on the same path—if I could get Ronith to understand what's coming, to see what I see—then maybe, just maybe, I could secure his allegiance.
A shield.
A deterrent.
Something to hold back Goodman.
In my mind, Ninia shook her head slowly, disapproving, maybe even disappointed.
'What? It's not like you're going to come out of your little retirement to help against Goodman anyway.'
She heard that.
Of course she did.
Her eyebrow rose.
A silent reply.
'You're goddamn right.'
I sighed inwardly.
Whatever tension existed between them, it wasn't mine to solve. If they needed to work something out, they would. Or they wouldn't. Either way, I was done.
Ninia flicked her storage ring toward me.
I caught it mid-air.
Transferred my armour and Crimson Ultima into my own ring. With a nod and a handshake, I bid them farewell.
I had ninety minutes left.
And there was someone I needed to speak with.
Alone.
In private.
'Once you return… We'll talk again. And I assure you, you'll understand everything. About you… and those around you.'
Ninia's voice echoed softly inside my head. Not spoken. Not linked. Just... there.
Her words slipped through one ear and out the other.
But something about them stuck.
I turned back one last time and smiled.
"Alright. I'll look forward to our next meeting."
And I meant it.
Because I knew, somehow, that whatever she meant to reveal—
Would change everything.