Half a year slipped by.
"Unfortunate. You lost."
A blade hovered a hair's breadth from the tip of Orson's nose. He forced a thin smile, nodded, patted the dust from his clothes, and dragged his battered body back toward the little temple.
"Leave this heaven."
Bellara's brows knit as she snapped the order. Yet the steel in her voice had softened over time; a hint of teasing lingered at the corners of her mouth, as if she were suppressing a satisfied smile.
"Next time. For sure."
Orson said it with his back to her, the words carrying more than a little defeat.
Earth's undefeated Archmage of Infinite Dimensions had challenged Bellara six times in six months, and six times he had been beaten. He could not use skills; she refused to use skills against him as well.
She wanted him to see the truth with clear eyes.
No matter how strong a mortal becomes, he does not stand beside a god.
