"Senior, you're being too kind," Azrael replied with a respectful smile, waving away the praise with characteristic humility. "It was only thanks to your restraining technique that I was able to land that decisive strike."
The gold-level Lore Cardian Master who had descended to join them bore himself with the quiet dignity of someone accustomed to command. "My name is Garrette," he introduced himself with a measured nod. "Young man, there's no need for false modesty. Even with my assistance in binding that creature, why couldn't any of the other silver-level practitioners achieve what you just did?"
Azrael chose not to respond to this pointed observation. After all, no matter how he phrased his answer, he risked offending the other silver-level Lore Cardians within earshot. Better to remain diplomatically silent than create unnecessary enemies.
Garrette's curiosity, however, remained unsatisfied. "Speaking of which, what exactly is that card of yours?"
The question carried genuine professional interest rather than mere nosiness. Although he'd heard the petite figure shout something before unleashing that devastating attack, the distance and chaos of battle had rendered her words indistinct. When Garrette compared what he'd witnessed against his extensive mental catalog of known cards, nothing matched the combination of abilities he'd observed.
Since the inquiry focused only on the card's identity rather than tactical specifics, Azrael felt comfortable answering. "Captain Yang, it's King Arthur."
A visible question mark seemed to materialize above Garrette's head as confusion swept across his weathered features. "Could you repeat that?"
"King Arthur," Azrael confirmed with patient clarity, meeting the older man's incredulous stare.
Garrette's gaze shifted to Artoria, who stood beside Azrael with characteristic poise, then back to the young Lore Cardian Master. His voice carried genuine bewilderment. "Why is your King Arthur so completely different from the ones I remember encountering?"
Azrael chuckled softly but offered no explanation, understanding the delicate nature of such discussions.
Recognition of his overreach quickly dawned on Garrette's face, and he shook his head ruefully. "Pretend I didn't ask that."
Inquiring too deeply into another practitioner's card information violated fundamental professional etiquette. Garrette possessed enough wisdom and experience to recognize when he was crossing boundaries, especially with someone who'd just demonstrated such exceptional capabilities.
More importantly, he had no intention of pressuring a teenager over card secrets, particularly one whose performance suggested tremendous future potential. While the abilities he'd witnessed seemed almost absurdly different from traditional King Arthur representations, Garrette didn't believe the young man was deceiving him.
After all, in Garrette's extensive experience, the King Arthur cards from established mythological databases bore only superficial resemblance to what he'd just witnessed. Previous incarnations had never demonstrated anything approaching that level of devastating ranged assault capability.
"By the way, what's your name?" Garrette asked, redirecting the conversation to safer territory.
"Captain Yang, I'm Azrael," came the immediate reply. "You can just call me Azrael."
Garrette's expression underwent a dramatic transformation upon hearing that name, recognition dawning with uncomfortable clarity. "Are you Master Lucian's disciple?"
Cold sweat began beading on Garrette's forehead as he mentally reviewed his recent behavior. Thank the ancestors I maintained proper decorum, he thought with genuine relief. Had he actually pressed for detailed information about the King Arthur card, he suspected Alice would arrive to settle matters personally the following day.
When facing Diamond-level practitioners, even gold-level Lore Cardians could find themselves thoroughly outmatched. The power differential was simply too vast to bridge through conventional means.
Azrael felt no surprise at Garrette's recognition of his status. Gold-level practitioners occupied important positions within the Association, Imperial Court, and even organizations like the Crimson Oath Society. Information about Master Lucian's recently accepted disciple would naturally circulate among such circles.
"Yes," Azrael confirmed with a simple nod.
Garrette studied him with newfound appreciation, his smile carrying genuine warmth. "As expected from such a distinguished teacher, a true master produces exceptional students."
He paused thoughtfully before continuing. "I'll file a comprehensive report about your contribution here today. The reward allocation will depend on the Association's evaluation process, but don't worry, it should be quite substantial."
Garrette spoke with absolute confidence regarding this prediction. The Association maintained a clear and fair system of merit-based compensation. Even if Azrael weren't Master Lucian's disciple, his decisive intervention would earn significant recognition.
Since Lioren had risen from humble origins to his current position, the Association understood the value of generously rewarding grassroots talent. This approach contrasted sharply with certain other organizations that extracted maximum effort while providing minimal compensation in return.
Relief washed over Azrael upon hearing this assurance. He'd harbored concerns that credit for his contribution might be appropriated by others, but such fears now seemed unfounded. After all, anyone with basic survival instincts would avoid risking Master Lucian's displeasure for such minimal gain.
Garrette placed a reassuring hand on Azrael's shoulder. "With the primary threat eliminated, this wave of attacks should be concluded. Take some time to rest and recover."
With those words, he vanished from sight, likely returning to coordinate cleanup operations with other senior personnel.
Nearby, Keith remained frozen in stunned contemplation, his mind still processing what he'd witnessed. Anyone observing such an incredible display would need time to fully absorb its implications.
Hisham appeared less affected, having experienced Artoria's power during their previous university competition. Being a former victim of such techniques provided valuable psychological preparation for witnessing them again.
"Hiss"
The delayed sound of sharp inhalation reached Azrael's ears as Keith finally found his voice.
Turning toward his teammate, Azrael observed the man's distinctly contorted expression with growing concern. "Brother Keith, what's wrong? Were you injured during the battle?"
Keith's facial distortion stemmed not from physical pain but from the cognitive dissonance between Azrael's revealed identity and the innocuous-appearing girl beside him. "I'm such an idiot," he muttered with self-recrimination. "I thought she was just another close-combat card like mine. How was I supposed to know that 'close-combat' could include that kind of technique?"
His memory drifted back to Azrael's earlier introduction before entering the secret realm: 'As for me, I'm better at long-range support, and I also have some medical capabilities.'
"Oh, I see," Keith said with bitter sarcasm. "This is your idea of 'long-range support,' is it? Kill all the enemies from a distance, and technically you've supported your melee teammates successfully?"
However, after considering Azrael's status as a master practitioner's disciple, Keith's frustration transformed into resigned acceptance. "I suppose the gap between people really can be greater than the gap between people and animals."
Azrael regarded his teammate's cryptic muttering with polite confusion, uncertain how to respond to such philosophical observations.
Meanwhile, Hisham had learned of Azrael's true identity and status, though this revelation affected him less than another shocking detail. His attention remained fixed on Artoria, or more specifically, on the revelation that she represented King Arthur.
Unlike Keith's unconventional background, Hisham had received proper academic training at Southeast University. His education included comprehensive study of mythological systems from various cultures across Earth, making Azrael's casual identification particularly jarring.
Who could have anticipated that the petite, elegantly beautiful girl standing before them was actually the legendary King Arthur? Without Azrael's explicit confirmation, Hisham would have assumed she was an original creation rather than a figure from established mythology.
Shouldn't King Arthur be depicted as a towering warrior of imposing physical presence and overwhelming masculine strength? The contrast between expectation and reality left Hisham questioning everything he thought he knew about legendary figures.
If Azrael had been aware of Hisham's internal struggle, he might have offered sage advice about the dangers of stereotypical thinking. Preconceived notions often proved more hindrance than help when dealing with complex realities.
As the demon forces completed their withdrawal from the battlefield, Azrael turned to Keith with a practical question. "Brother Keith, what's our next step?"
This marked his first participation in such large-scale operations, leaving him uncertain about standard procedures and protocols.
Keith ceased his mumbled commentary and unceremoniously collapsed onto the ground, exhaustion finally catching up with him. "Now we wait for the handover signal," he explained with weary resignation. "Nothing fancy, just patience until the next shift arrives."
Hisham followed suit, settling cross-legged on the dusty earth without concern for his appearance. The day's events had pushed both mental and physical endurance beyond normal limits, leaving him grateful for any opportunity to rest.
Unlike his two companions, Azrael possessed superior alternatives for battlefield comfort.
Under Keith and Hisham's amazed observation, an ornate chair emerged from the shadows behind Azrael with supernatural smoothness. As he settled into the elegant seat, his Shadowkhan servants efficiently established a small fire and began preparing tea with practiced precision.
"Anyone interested in tea?" Azrael asked his companions with casual hospitality, as if offering refreshments in a peaceful garden rather than a war-torn battlefield.
The surreal contrast between their grim surroundings and Azrael's refined comfort arrangements left both men speechless. Here was someone who had transformed a battlefield into a social gathering through sheer audacity and supernatural convenience.
Keith stared at the steaming teapot with undisguised envy, while Hisham could only shake his head in wonder at the disparity between their respective circumstances. The gap between ordinary practitioners and true prodigies had never been more apparent than in this moment of jarring juxtaposition.
As steam rose from the delicate porcelain cups and the aroma of quality tea began to spread, both men realized they were witnessing something beyond mere battlefield prowess. Azrael's casual display of luxury amid chaos spoke to resources and capabilities that transcended normal understanding.
Perhaps accepting his offer of tea would provide more than simple refreshment, it might offer a glimpse into a world where even warfare could be conducted with style and grace.
The battlefield had fallen silent except for the gentle crackling of the fire and the soft whisper of wind through the devastated landscape. In this strange interlude between violence and victory, three unlikely companions shared a moment of peaceful respite, their differences temporarily bridged by exhaustion and the simple human ritual of sharing a warm drink.