Chapter 52 - Power

Sorry guys, lol. I accidentally uploaded the latest Patreon chapter here. 💀

I've fixed it and uploaded the correct chapter now, so you can read it properly, so go ahead and reread the previous chapter. I'll make sure this doesn't happen again.

I'm really, really sorry to anyone who got spoiled by reading the whole thing.

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The Grand Arena of Valkyries was a place created by Lucian in the hopes of crafting a dynamic battleground that offered Valkyries the exhilaration of open battle with a view of the outside while still maintaining the impregnable safety of the base. Though the open vistas of the arena might have appeared vulnerable, it was not a place that could be easily infiltrated or attacked.

Situated at the uppermost level of the Castle of Valhalla, the colossal circular arena spanned over 300 meters in diameter and stood 70 meters tall—not including the two colossal winged gates that framed its entrance. These gates were shaped like the outstretched wings of a divine Valkyrie. The towering structures reached 130 meters in height, their gilded spires nearly touching the amethyst dome that encased the entire arena. Positioned directly beneath the World Item and one of the guild weapon, the [Neutron Aether Ever-Star], the arena served as a proving ground. The gates themselves symbolized that only the powerful dared to enter.

The seating areas gleamed in pristine white, their porcelain-like surfaces resembling polished marble—yet they were crafted from far superior materials, radiating an otherworldly glow. Towering over the arena were twelve-meter-tall statues of Valkyries, each holding the banner of Vice Requiem with outstretched hands. Their body's shimmered with an amethyst glow, mirroring the luminous crystals embedded along the arena's perimeter—spaced precisely one meter apart—that pulsed with the same radiant energy.

Adjacent to the stadium, suspended in midair as though defying gravity, was a Noble Lounge.

This floating annex appeared as a detached, even more opulent structure, its grandeur surpassed that of the arena itself. At its center stood a scaled-down replica of the Grand Throne Room's regal throne, a deliberate symbol of authority overlooking the battles below.

Only those personally created by Lucian—or those granted explicit permission—were permitted to enter the Noble Lounge. While most Valkyries observed battles from the spectator seats below.

Lucian entered through the main entrance, passing through the massive golden gateway. Its pristine surface displayed depictions of the most celebrated past battles, shifting like a living slideshow across the gilded panels.

"Hmmm... So these are working as well..." he muttered to himself as he strode forward into the arena.

What greeted him next was something he never expected.

A chorus of cheers filled Lucian's ears as he entered the arena - waves of admiration, whispers of awe, and declarations of love all blending into a ringing cacophony. He narrowed his eyes slightly at the sight before him: rows of Valkyries knelt in perfect alignment, as though awaiting their monarch's arrival to sanctify the arena with his mere presence.

Lucian didn't sigh. Instead, he continued forward with nonchalant steps while the Valkyries' fervent cries from the spectator seats reverberated throughout the colossal space.

Every eye remained fixed on their ruler's singular presence. Their thoughts, their hearts, every fiber of their being thrummed with ecstatic joy at his arrival - their king, their lord, their master... and their beloved.

"Welcome to the Grand Arena, Lucian-sama," the kneeling Valkyries greeted in perfect unison.

Each Valkyrie was unique—from their hair to their armor to their faces. Only their white porcelain wings bore any resemblance. Even their weapons varied, each adorned with intricate carvings that told silent stories of their owners.

Lucian recalled these Valkyries had once been under the command of Melina, this area's guardian. Yet today, she was absent.

"Enough."

Lucian's hand flicked upward—a casual gesture that instantly silenced the roaring crowd of Valkyries. The arena fell deathly quiet, so still one could hear a pin drop.

"You may rise."

The Valkyries obeyed without hesitation, springing to their feet with disciplined grace. They took flanking positions along the path, faces alight with pride as their beloved lord passed between them.

Lucian paced slowly down the formation, his piercing gaze appraising each warrior in turn. "Hmm..." The low hum of contemplation was the only sound left in the now silent arena.

The Valkyries displayed a spectrum of hair colors—crimson, silver, ebony—and their reactions varied as well. Some cheeks burned with barely restrained admiration and adoration while others wore expressions that radiated pure submission, their lowered eyes telling everything.

"Sigh~ I'm a sinful man..."

The murmured words escaped Lucian as he noticed a golden-haired Valkyrie particularly affected by his presence. She ducked her face behind her hands, the tips of her ears flushing scarlet. Whether it was reverence or something deeper that set her pulse racing was painfully evident in every trembling gesture...

In fact, Lucian was absolutely certain that every single Valkyrie harbored romantic feelings for him. This was as it should be—after all, the ruler of the castle naturally commanded the hearts of its inhabitants as well.

The arena was enormous, capable of accommodating over 20,000 spectators at once. Currently, nearly half of its seats were filled with row upon row of winged Valkyries. Their eyes remained fixed on Lucian, never wavering from him since he first appeared. As he approached the center of the arena, their collective gaze followed his every move.

"Lucian-sama is so beautiful!" A blonde Valkyrie in the spectator seats couldn't help but murmur the words, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Lucian-sama is the Sin of Lust itself, you fool! Of course he's the most beautiful!" A vine-haired Valkyrie chopped the blonde's head with her hand, clicking her tongue in disapproval.

"Freydisa-san! Please don't—! You're level 56 and I'm only 43! That strength is too much!" The blonde clutched her now-throbbing head, tiny tears glistening at the corners of her eyes. The reddening bump proved just how effective the strike had been—after all, ten levels' difference was no joke.

"Thyrea, do you wish to serve Lucian-sama or not? If so, you'll need unbreakable pain tolerance—to the point where you can endure any strike without a single word of protest."

"Of course I do! I'll withstand any blow for Lucian-sama!" The girl replied with an enthusiastic nod, her fist clenched and her fighting spirit flaring. She would do anything for her lord—even face eternal death without hesitation, if he commanded it.

The older Valkyrie smirked, satisfied by the answer.

"Listen, everyone."

Lucian's voice resonated through the arena, shattering the silence like a celestial decree. To the Valkyries, it was the very voice that haunted their dreams—now made manifest.

Every Valkyrie fixed their gaze upon him, their devotion so absolute they would gladly lay down their lives at but a word. For them, his utterances were divine edicts, to be obeyed until the stars themselves burned out.

"Leave the arena and return to your quarters. I want this space emptied in five minutes."

His authoritative tone sent tremors down each Valkyrie's spine. Though spoken softly, the command carried with perfect clarity to all 10,000 spectators bearing witness to their master's will.

"""Yes!""""

The unified reply echoed through the arena. Without hesitation, the Valkyries began their exit—some taking flight, others streaming through the side gates, while a particularly bold group clustered near the main entrance, hoping for one last glimpse of their master. Their desperate jostling created an impromptu crowd around Lucian himself.

"Sigh~ Really... Being too popular is troublesome sometimes."

A faint smile played on Lucian's lips. Far from displeased, he found their antics endlessly amusing.

After all, they were his creations. He had spent countless hours customizing some of these Valkyrie, and now seeing them come to life - acting like shy maidens yearning for their crush's approval, praise, and attention - he couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement.

Moreover, he felt something new: possessiveness. Though unfamiliar, he found himself willingly embracing this feeling. But his sense of ownership didn't stop at the Valkyries; it extended to all of Great Luxuria - the entire base and its countless female inhabitants.

After exactly five minutes, the arena stood completely empty—save for thirty Valkyries who remained lined up before Lucian, still offering their greetings.

"Why are you still here?" Lucian kicked off lightly, propelling himself into the air.

"[Fly]."

A green glow enveloped his body as the spell took effect, lifting him effortlessly. Though unnecessary—his own different wings could carry him as naturally as walking—he had cast the spell deliberately. This was an experiment.

"We cannot abandon our assigned posts without Lucian-sama's direct orders," the frontmost Valkyrie replied.

She had blonde hair—a trait shared by fourteen percent of her sisters—and navy blue eyes that remained fixed downward as she spoke, her gaze both determined and reverent.

Behind her, twenty-nine fellow Valkyries knelt in perfect formation, awaiting their master's approval. They remained prostrate, knowing their superior had been appointed precisely for this purpose: to serve as their collective voice before their lord.

"Is that so?"

In a blink, Lucian stood before the Valkyrie—her hand now clasped in his. None had seen him move; his motion defied perception, instantaneous yet devoid of teleportation magic. One moment he was distant, the next he had appeared, as if reality itself had bent to his will.

The Valkyrie's face flushed crimson, her rosy cheeks and dazed expression betraying her racing heart.

"Y-yes! If Lucian-sama wishes, I can immediately withdraw my legion from the arena," she managed, voice trembling with equal parts awe and exhilaration. To touch her creator—this was no mere gesture, but a sacred reward she longed to savor eternally.

Behind them, the remaining twenty-nine Valkyries ground their teeth in barely contained envy—the sound so palpable even Lucian noted it, though he chose to disregard their simmering jealousy.

"Go and standby," Lucian murmured, his fingers lingering as he gently stroked the Valkyrie's hand.

Her face burned tomato-red, overwhelmed by the rare privilege of her master's touch. Before she could even request dismissal, Lucian added:

"But do not re-enter the arena. Otherwise… I cannot guarantee your safety."

With that, he withdrew his hand and strode forward—so swiftly the Valkyries barely registered his movement until he'd already shifted positions.

"Immediately disperse! Standby!" The blonde Valkyrie barked, her command slicing through the air like a blade.

Like a silver tempest, the Valkyries surged after their leader, streaking toward the standby area at lightning speed. Not a single Valkyrie would squander this chance to witness their lord's majesty. They snapped into perfect formation, eyes locked on Lucian as he drifted lazily across the arena.

"Shuuuuu..."

Lucian's playful whistle echoed as he glided at a deliberate, middling pace - neither the slowest crawl nor the spell's full velocity. The Valkyries watched, enraptured, as their master tested the boundaries of the 3rd tier spell [Fly] with almost childlike curiosity.

His golden robe fluttered in the wind along with his silver hair, creating an enchanting spectacle for the watching Valkyries. They would undoubtedly cherish and recount this moment for all eternity.

"This is quite good," Lucian murmured as he descended gracefully to the ground. The green glow surrounding him faded as the [Fly] spell ended.

While the spell had a limited duration by default, continuous mana infusion allowed indefinite flight - until one's reserves were exhausted. For Lucian, this posed no concern; his vast mana pool and rapid regeneration were so extraordinary they could make any normal mage players physically ill with envy.

"Let's see my natural flying now."

A golden glow enveloped Lucian's entire body, forming a radiant circle around him as if heralding something extraordinary.

Gasps echoed through the arena as the Valkyries held their collective breath, mesmerized by their master's divine radiance.

Twin beams of golden light burst from his back—initially appearing as simple shafts before transforming into magnificent and beautiful golden wings.

The wings resembled angelic plumage in their grandeur, yet differed crucially: each wingtip ended in a sharp, curved claw. Despite these predatory features, the wings maintained their majestic beauty, every feather glowing with vibrant energy and independent vitality as though alive.

"Now this is more like it." A satisfied smile curved Lucian's lips as he gave an experimental flap of his magnificent wings.

Golden shockwaves rippled outward in jagged arcs, splitting the air with thunderous cracks as they danced along the arena's edges. With a powerful motion, Lucian stretched his wings to their full, glorious span - then disappeared completely with a single, earth-shaking flap.

For one breathless moment, perfect stillness gripped the arena... until the delayed thunderclap shattered the silence like a god's hammerstroke.

A chorus of gasps erupted from the Valkyries as they strained their eyes across the empty arena. Lucian's visage had vanished without a trace.

"Where did Lucian-sama go?!" the legion leader cried, clutching her head in dismay. She had hoped to bask in her master's presence longer—only for him to disappear, shattering her fleeting dream.

"Perhaps… he left because we were watching him," another Valkyrie murmured, sighing. A wave of regret washed over her. Her wings drooping in disappointment. Had they angered him? Yet Lucian-sama was not one for petty grudges. He had permitted them to standby—unless… he meant elsewhere?

As the others puzzled over their lord's disappearance, one Valkyrie remained fixated on the arena, she was a ranger, her gaze piercing the empty space with lethal focus. Where her sisters saw nothing, she trusted her elite instincts to catch what others could not.

The ranger Valkyries sudden shout sliced through the murmurs.

"Look there!" Her outstretched arm commanded the others' attention.

"What is it?" the leader demanded, wings tensing.

"Why are you—" others began, before following her pointed finger. Then they saw it—

A streak of golden lightning arcing across the arena. Blindingly fast. There one instant, gone the next. Only the sharpest eyes could track it, and only disciplined focus could confirm: this wasn't mere lightning.

"It's him," the Ranger Valkyrie breathed. The Valkyries' hearts swelled as the golden trail's mere presence washed over them—that unmistakable, soul-deep tranquility only their lord could inspire.

"To think Lucian-sama can move at such speeds! Truly, he is our Supreme Master!" The Valkyrie leader's voice rang out, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained awe. Her fervor spread instantly through the ranks as the other Valkyries erupted in cheers, their collective pride swelling at witnessing their lord's lightning-fast flight across the arena.

Just as their excitement peaked, a colossal bolt of golden lightning struck the arena's center with thunderous force. From the blinding impact, Lucian's form materialized once more, his majestic wings sending arcs of golden energy crackling through the air.

"This seems like my maximum speed... with limiters still in place," he mused, clenching his fist as residual lightning danced across his knuckles. A single powerful wingbeat sent fresh shockwaves rippling outward, the very air trembling under his restrained power.

A satisfied smile played across Lucian's lips as his golden wings beat steadily through the air. The sheer speed he'd achieved had genuinely surprised him.

When he first pushed his wings to their limits, the world had blurred momentarily—yet within that single instant, he'd mastered their mechanics completely. The wings responded to his every thought as though they'd always been part of him, moving with such instinctive precision they might as well have been additional limbs under his absolute control.

With one final, powerful flap, Lucian willed the wings to dissipate. They vanished in a brilliant burst of golden particles that shimmered through the air like golden confetti, their fading glow serving as the only evidence they'd ever existed.

"Now, I should test some spells." A smile graced Lucian's lips as he raised his right hand. Though his expression appeared pure and enchanting, his thoughts were anything but innocent.

"[Fire Ball]."

A third-tier spell - one commonly used by low-level players in the game. This basic spell was widely available and had been acquired by most mages. Found in nearly every spellcaster's arsenal, its versatility allowed it to deal minor damage when combined with enhance magic.

But for Lucian, none of these standard methods were necessary.

The moment the spell's name left his lips, an intricate crimson magic circle materialized before his hand—its glowing patterns shifting autonomously in the air. Yet despite its activation, the spell itself remained dormant.

This was the effect of his unique ability, [Delay Charge], which allowed him to simultaneously postpone and amplify his spells—perfect for deceiving opponents. While invaluable during his sealed-stat battles against player groups, Lucian now studied the hovering circle with analytical curiosity.

"Runes and letters I don't recognize..."

Though he could cast spells through mere thought, the underlying principles escaped him. No incantations or gestures were required; magic responded to his will as naturally as breathing.

Unlike in the game where he had to rely on his console and press hotkeys to activate spells, this world - as real as his old one, if not more - required only thought. No, it went beyond thought. His body instinctively knew how to cast any spell he had in his repertoire, executing them instantly at his mental command.

Strangely, Lucian found he could recall every single spell from the game - all 5,000+ he had ever learned. This perplexed him, as he'd forgotten half of them during his gaming days, relying on hotkey icons to cast them. Yet now, they were all perfectly accessible, as if his body had always known them.

"Hah... Let's see if this works."

A devilish smirk played across Lucian's lips as a second magic circle flared to life above his upturned palm. A fireball materialized—but this one didn't hover idly. Instead, it began to rotate, slowly at first, then gaining terrifying momentum with each passing second.

By the ten-second mark, the flames whirled with such ferocity that they formed a miniature tornado of fire, its heat distorting the air around it. Lucian grinned openly—an uncharacteristic display that bared his teeth—as he admired his handiwork. The Valkyries observing him would forever sear this rare moment into their memories: their lord, reveling in his own destructive creativity.

"The game never allowed spell modifications... but this..." Lucian murmured to himself, his grin widening as he focused on the whirling fireball. With a mere thought, he unleashed it—the flames rocketed across the arena at impossible speeds, far surpassing anything the game's mechanics had permitted.

This defied all logic. In the game, altering a spell's animation or effects required Enhancement . Yet here, through his sheer will and creativity alone, Lucian could reshape a spell's very essence—its velocity, its power, its fundamental nature.

"It seems Master is enjoying himself a lot... Heh..."

Scáthach's voice carried from the far end of the arena, her gleeful smile mirroring his. She'd been observing for some time, but Lucian's uncharacteristic display of joy had momentarily stolen her composure, delaying her greeting.

"Oh, Scáthach."

Lucian's reaction to her presence was coolly indifferent—a subtle sting Scáthach felt deeply in her heart. Yet not a flicker of pain crossed her features; her practiced, smug smile remained flawless as ever.

"Had Master wished to train his magic, you needed only ask Elaina or myself." She closed the distance, stopping precisely two meters away before kneeling in the customary Servant's obeisance. "As your Grand Servants, we consider even bearing your spells an honor... not a burden, but a blessing."

"You may rise."

Lucian stepped back as Scáthach straightened, the space between them charged.

"You're right—I should've asked for someone else... Well, now that you're here, let's..." Lucian said, pausing as his gaze swept over Scathach. From head to toe, he sized her up, his eyes lingering on every part of her—especially the sensitive areas she was acutely aware of: her breasts, her crotch, her lips.

Scathach tightened her legs. Though Lucian's appraisal had lasted only a second, it sent a rush of euphoria through her—indescribable, intoxicating, something she knew she'd never get enough of. For a fleeting moment, she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into his embrace and indulge in unholy desires. But she forced the thought away. Now wasn't the time.

"Let's play..." Lucian said, his smirk widening—a look that now made Scáthach's lips curl in response.

She could sense it. The spirit of battle, raw and intoxicating, pulsed from her Master. It thrummed in the air like live electricity, seeping into her veins, igniting a fire that had lain dormant too long. Her lips curled, slow and deliberate, into a smile so vicious it sent a ripple of unease through the watching Valkyries. Their breath hitched; their grips tightening on their weapons.

"It is my utmost pleasure!" With a slight bow, she vanished—only to reappear directly above Lucian, her crimson spear thrusting straight toward his face.

Yet it was futile.

The spear was blocked—but not by a blade or any weapon.

Instead, it was a nail.

A single red nail, grown to three inches in an instant, halted Scáthach's strike mid-air. Yet her face showed no disappointment—only wild exhilaration as she disappeared again. This time, she materialized beside Lucian, striking low, only for his nail to intercept her once more.

Still, she didn't falter. Leaping back, she raised her spear, preparing to unleash a skill—

"[Meteor Thrust]!"

With a shout, Scáthach launched herself high into the air. Her spear became encased in jagged rock, and her descent accelerated—so fast that when she struck the ground, the entire arena trembled. The earth shattered beneath her, carving out a massive crater.

Yet at its center, the same scene played out once more.

Lucian stood unfazed, her Skill halted by nothing more than his outstretched nail. But this time, his expression had changed—no longer blank, but split by a sharp, exhilarated grin.

"Now it's my turn."

His smirk was the last thing she registered before the world blurred. A force like a collapsing star hurled her backward, sending her skidding to the very edge of the arena. It happened in an instant—so fast that even the Level 100 Valkyries, eyes trained for battle, saw nothing.

Only Scáthach perceived it.

And even then, just barely—a fleeting shadow, a streak of motion.

'Master is fast,' she thought, scanning the arena—but Lucian was nowhere to be seen.

The only one who could strike that swiftly was perhaps Sylphy, the Queen Wind Spirit, whose speed surpassed even the strongest in the guild… except for her Master.

"I planned to use magic," Lucian's voice suddenly boomed, reverberating through the entire arena. "But since you chose physical attacks, I played along. Now, I'll try to stick to magic."

Scáthach's eyes darted, searching for the source, yet his voice seemed to come from everywhere—the walls, the air itself. It had to be a spell, or some skill that defied perception.

Scáthach barely twisted aside as a fireball—spinning at near-supersonic speeds—blazed past where her head had been. Before the heat could even singe her, she lunged forward, spear thrusting at empty air.

"Tch!"

She knew Lucian wasn't there.

But she also knew what was—an [Invisible Mine].

The moment her spear tip grazed the unseen trap, the world erupted. A deafening inferno swallowed the space behind her, flames lashing outward in a ravenous sphere. By then, she was already clear, having calculated the blast radius to the inch.

No hesitation. No wasted movement.

"I'm limiting myself to 5th-tier spells. Do you really believe you can touch me at this level?"

The whisper slithered against Scáthach's ear—a voice so close it turned her spine to ice. Equal parts fear and despair coiled in her gut as Lucian's divine visage shimmered into view before her, his form materializing like a phantom made flesh.

"Enough spell testing. We go physical now."

Lucian raised his hand. A pulse of golden light erupted from his fingertips as he uttered:

"[Holy Benediction: Curación]."

Scáthach's body ignited in blinding radiance. The light spiraled upward in a helix before dissolving—revealing her fully restored: wounds sealed, stamina replenished, every trace of battle erased as if it had never been.

"Thank you very much... Master~"

Scáthach's voice dripped with intoxicated reverence the moment Lucian finished his final test spell. His breath hitched as her pupils dilated unnaturally—swallowing the light until only abyssal black remained, dotted with swirling pink hearts. Her lavender hair lifted as if caught in an unseen current, while a viscous darkness seeped from her body, devouring all light within a two-meter radius. Her expression was pure ecstasy, lips parted in a shuddering sigh as though drunk on some unspeakable euphoria.

Lucian's eyes widened involuntarily. He hadn't expected even his smallest actions to affect NPCs this dramatically. The realization finally dawned on him - he might have just created a group of crazed yanderes.

This thought was interrupted as he instinctively jumped back, a crimson spear tore through the air where his heart had been—a killing blow that would have obliterated even a level-100 player. Lucian effortlessly twisted aside, feeling the spears edge graze his robes as Scáthach's giggle echoed through the void-dark aura.

"Is she a traitor?!" Lucian thought as he effortlessly dodged her relentless thrusts and slashes.

NPCs couldn't betray him—that's how the system worked for everyone else. Was Scáthach different?

"Ahaha~! Master, you're so fast! But—" Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Let me love you closer this time…"

Then it hit him.

"So she's so loyal and obsessed that she's going all out…" he murmured aloud, finally understanding.

Scáthach had unleashed her full power precisely because she trusted her Master—trusted he could withstand even her deadliest attacks without a scratch.

'Well, she's probably right,' Lucian mused. 'It'd take a miracle for her to deal even +1 damage.'

But he couldn't be certain. Unlike in the game, there were no visible damage indicators, no HP or MP bars floating in the air. Just instinct, adrenaline, and the razor's edge between control and chaos.

"Take this!"

Lucian stopped dodging. He was certain now—his speed was beyond normal. No, beyond comprehension.

He was fast.

Extremely fast.

So fast, he could see Scáthach's attacks before her muscles even tensed. The realization sent a thrill through him—this ethereal, overwhelming power. Just days ago, he'd been an ordinary man trapped inside his own home like a prisoner. Now?

He felt invincible.

And perhaps he was.

His fist shot out—a careless jab, untrained and misaimed, passing harmlessly beside Scáthach's slim waist. Yet before she could counter, an invisible force slammed into her. The impact launched her backward at blinding speed, her stomach lurching as the world became a nauseating blur of pain and momentum.

Though Lucian's jab had missed, the sheer shockwave of the attack sent Scáthach hurtling backward.

"Hahaha! Crazy!! That's insane, Master! You're insane!!!" she shrieked, her laughter bordering on manic. Her eyes burned bloody crimson, wounds sealing shut as an eerie glow pulsed around her.

"Hoh… Did her stats just increase?" Lucian muttered, sensing the shift in her aura. Her strength had undeniably surged.

Scáthach lunged again—faster this time—yet Lucian still evaded with ease.

"Agility +19," he noted coolly, weaving between her spear strikes. As she wound up for another thrust, he deflected it with a single palm.

"Physical Attack +24."

The numbers flashed in his mind as clearly as if they were still part of the game's interface, quantifying her escalating power with cold precision.

"Gáe Bolg!"

Scáthach hurled her divine-class spear skyward. The weapon blazed crimson—then the world turned scarlet. A streak of blood-red light screamed downward, hammering into Lucian with cataclysmic force. The impact shattered the arena floor, carving out a crater vast enough to swallow buildings, dust and debris exploding outward in a shockwave.

"No way!!" A Valkyrie screamed, clutching her helmet. "Did Scáthach-sama just use one of her ultimate skills?! She'll obliterate everything!"

"The arena repairs take five minutes," another Valkyrie remarked calmly, though her eyes remained locked on the devastation.

None questioned whether Lucian had survived. They were his creations, after all—each one intimately aware of their Master's boundless power.

The arena remained shrouded in thick crimson fog—until a voice, sweet yet unnervingly calm, cut through the haze.

"Special +23."

Lucian raised his free left hand.

"[Wind Cease]."

A viridian glow erupted from his palm, spiraling into a roaring vortex that tore through the battlefield. The gale-force winds scoured away every trace of the blood-red mist, revealing the devastation wrought by Scáthach's ultimate attack.

"You know…" Lucian sighed, his right hand clamped around this purple-haired calamity's throat, lifting her effortlessly. "I never told you to use an ultimate move."

Yet her eyes showed no pain—only rapture. Even as he applied pressure, all he found in her gaze was exhilaration and worship. It was unsettlingly familiar.

'Just like my Meimei.'

"I apologize, Master. But whenever I'm in your presence... I simply cant contain my excitement."

Scáthach's hands clasped around Lucian's wrist, her grip tightening—pulling his fingers deeper into her throat. The more he squeezed, the wider her delirious smile grew.

Lucian's eyes narrowed. "Tell me... are you a masochist?" He couldn't recall programming this trait into her. Yet the way her body trembled—not in fear, but ecstasy—suggested otherwise.

"Any pain from you is a blessing."

Her reply came with such reverent sincerity that Lucian recoiled, releasing her instantly. Scáthach dropped to her knees before him, the picture of devotion, her crimson eyes shining with fanatical adoration.

"Is that so..." Lucian murmured, bending down to grasp Scáthach's chin. He tilted her face upward, forcing her to meet his gaze—those piercing crimson, regal eyes locking onto her own crimson ones, which shimmered with unrestrained excitement at his every touch.

"Do you believe you could endure death by my hand?" he asked, his voice low and measured.

Rather than answer, Scáthach seized his wrist and guided it back to her throat, tightening his grip herself.

"If my life brings you joy," she whispered, her smile radiant, almost beatific, "then it is yours to take."

The sheer devotion in her expression sent an unexpected warmth creeping into Lucian's cheeks.

"Tch!" He jerked his hand away and spun around, turning his back to her before she could see the flush deepen.

"You should go rest now. Drink some potions and recover your strength. Work will increase soon, so I don't want anyone slacking off." As he spoke, Lucian felt embarrassed. After all, she had literally just declared she would die for him. Though he already knew this, Scáthach's expression and willingness had genuinely touched him.

"As you wi—" Scáthach had just begun to comply with his order when she stopped mid-sentence. A new presence had arrived on the scene—one she sensed instantly. Her gaze snapped forward, and there, standing before her, was White.

The spider lady stood motionless in her pristine white dress, eyelids serenely closed. Yet Scáthach knew better than anyone—those unseen eyes were fixed directly on her.

"Ah, Shiraori. Good timing." Lucian turned to the white-clad woman. "Teleport Scáthach to the infirmary."

Shiraori nodded silently in response. With a graceful wave of her hand, her long white sleeve fluttered through the air as Scáthach vanished instantly. It seemed Scáthach had been about to say something, but she disappeared before the words could leave her lips.

As Lucian began walking toward the center of the arena, he asked, "So, why are you here?"

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