"You are skilled… But it's time to get more serious now."
The words hadn't been shouted. They didn't roar like a challenge or sting like an insult.
They just were—quiet and absolute.
And the moment they were spoken, the world changed.
Reynald—no, Seran—felt it.
First, the flame.
Not the kind that scorches flesh or licks at the edges of robes.
No… this flame breathed.
It pulsed, coiled like a living force around that man's frame—cold and hot all at once. Black fire woven with starlight and shadow. It didn't burn the way flame should. It unraveled. It devoured. Not with hunger, but with indifference.
'What is that flame…?'
Reynald's grip tightened around his longsword, his breath catching in his throat.
His mana.
It recoiled.
