The debris of the arena crunched under the boots of the ten commanders. They moved with a grim, limping efficiency, their armor dented and faces streaked with soot. These were the elite, yet Noelle's sudden, chaotic assault had left them humbled.
Harold stood at their head, his hand already gripped around the hilt of his blade, ready to launch into the horizon.
"Wait."
The voice was cool, precise, and carried a weight that halted the Supreme Captain in his tracks. From the shadows of a leaning archway stepped Neith. She didn't look like a soldier; she looked like a librarian of the cosmos, her eyes sharp with an analytical light that earned her the title of the Goddess of Knowledge.
"Harold," she said, her arms crossed. "What is your plan? You're heading for the clouds, but where exactly do you intend to land?"
Harold opened his mouth, but the words died in his throat. His jaw tightened. "I will find him. I'll scour every rogue province in Tellus if I have to. Noelle cannot hide a mana signature that loud forever."
"So, your plan is to wander blindly and hope the enemy waits for you?" Neith's tone wasn't mocking; it was dangerously practical. "You're reacting with your heart, Captain. That is how Noelle wins. He thrives in the chaos of your emotions."
"We don't have time for a lecture, Neith!" one of the commanders snapped, clutching a bandaged shoulder.
"You have even less time to waste on a failed search," Neith countered. She gestured toward the horizon. "Rely on the Intel Unit. I didn't spend the last hour tending to wounds; I spent it in the archives of the mana-grid."
She stepped closer to Harold, her voice dropping. "One of my specialists has been tracking Kael's specific mana frequency since the incident in Ledya. We flagged his signature the moment it spiked during his eruption. He isn't just a boy to us; he's a beacon."
Harold's eyes widened. "You have a lock on him?"
"We have pinpointed the pulse," Neith confirmed. "It's coming from the rogue nation of Osoroshi. Specifically, a fortified residence that predates the Dark Saints' rise. It is Noelle's original home."
Harold didn't wait for another word. He looked at his commanders, his resolve finally channeled into a single point. "Destination set. Osoroshi. We end this at the root."
Back in the suffocating damp of the Dark Saints' hideout, the air was screaming.
The violet fluid in the cylinder was boiling, large bubbles rising as the cracks in the glass webbed outward. Noelle stumbled back, his face pale, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Even weakened, even maimed, the instinct of a tyrant remained.
"Surround it!" Noelle bellowed, his voice cracking with a mixture of agony and panic. "Now! All of you!"
From the shadows of the laboratory, dozens of cloaked minions emerged, their hands glowing with dark incantations. They formed a tight, trembling circle around the glass, weapons drawn, eyes fixed on the boy suspended in the center.
The sound was like a thunderclap in a small room.
SHATTER.
The glass didn't just break; it exploded outward in a spray of violet shards and pressurized liquid. The minions shielded their eyes, several being thrown back by the sheer force of the release.
As the mist cleared, a figure was revealed through the steam. Kael had landed heavily on the stone floor. He was in a crouched, predatory stance—one knee pressed firmly into the earth, the other leg braced to balance his weight. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white, and when he lifted his head, the gold had receded into something deeper.
His eyes sparkled a fierce, grounded brown, burning with a clarity that made the air in the room feel heavy. The "whelp" was gone. Something else was waking up.