The sword was screaming toward his neck too fast, too close.
Razeal's body, as it stood now, was neither strong enough nor fast enough to evade such a strike. The sheer pressure behind it carved a line through the air, threatening to separate flesh from bone. Two inches. That was all that remained between life and death.
And then click.
The sharp ring of metal colliding with metal echoed like a thunderclap across the silent grounds.
Razeal's smile widened.
The force of the impact kicked up a surge of wind, strong and sharp. His royal purple hair snapped back, caught in the gale, and he instinctively took one calm step back not in fear, but in rhythm, as if he'd already rehearsed this moment in his mind.
A towering figure now stood before him, blocking the golden knight's strike with a single hand gripping a massive greatsword. The man wore a long black cape draped over one shoulder, and his posture was almost lazy one hand held the blade like it weighed nothing, while the other remained calmly behind his back.
Sparks scattered like fireflies as the two blades pressed against each other.
"Killing on the grounds of Arkanveil Academy is prohibited," the man said, his tone composed, but carrying a pressure that felt heavier than the golden knight's blow itself. "Sir Radiant Knight… surely you haven't forgotten the rules."
The golden-armored knight didn't speak immediately. His blade remained locked in place, but his glowing eyes behind the helm narrowed.
The man before Razeal didn't look back at him. He didn't need to.
He knew exactly who he was protecting and why.
He knew exactly who he was protecting and why.
And Razeal?
He just stood there. Smiling.
Tch Dorn Varkharn, the man in the black cape, narrowed his eyes.
This brat… he knew I'd intervene, didn't he?
Dorn Varkharn's eyes narrowed. He didn't turn around. He didn't need to. He had already seen it that Arrogant smile. It had started forming before any of this had even begun. A smirk full of quiet certainty, almost like a well placed trap that had just sprung shut.
And now, the boy stood there behind him. Calm. Composed and arrogantly confident. As if Dorn was his personal bodyguard, assigned to jump in at the right moment and shield him from divine judgment.
The audacity.
Dorn's fingers twitched on the hilt of his greatsword. Not out of fear but restraint.
He'd been played. And he knows it but Even tho feeling disgusted about it he can't step back.
A sharp scrape of metal drew his attention forward.
The knight in golden armor radiating power like a miniature sun slowly withdrew his blade, its edge gleaming as it lowered to the ground. The tip kissed the stone arena floor with a metallic clink, and both his gauntleted hands rested on the hilt like the weight of his purpose needed steady grounding.
He stared Dorn in the eyes, voice echoing with thunderous clarity.
"Dorn Varkharn. Step aside. That sinner tried to defile the Saintess."
The arena, previously holding its breath, exhaled in confusion and finally alarm. Nobles and commoners alike began to murmur, heads snapping toward the commotion, eyes widening as they finally caught up to what was unfolding.
Gasps spread like wildfire.
The Saintess? Attempted defile? Who dares?
No one needed a detailed explanation. The tension bleeding off that corner of the arena was heavy enough to smother the air itself. No one needed to be told to move instinct did the work for them. People shuffled back in unison, a circle forming around the three figures locked in silent hostility.
Then Swish. Swish. Swish.
Seven no, eight knights in immaculate silver armor descended from various positions in the stands. They landed with synchronized precision, boots striking the marble floor as their formation closed around Dorn and Razeal like a silvery net.
Each knight drew their weapon, blades whispering from their scabbards in practiced rhythm. They aligned beside the golden knight, their armor shining like stars caught in daylight.
The proud Order of the Church of Light. The Silver Knights.
Their presence wasn't ceremonial. It was a warning.
Then, as if gently dusting off a mask, he took a single step backward. The smirk vanished. In its place bloomed a wide-eyed expression so pure, so bewildered, it could have been mistaken for an angel's. A breathless innocence clung to his face
"Me?" his face seemed to say. "What did I do?"
The golden knight's eyes burned behind his helmet.
"Blasphemy."
A single word laced with thunder shattered the air.
His divine aura erupted, golden radiance flooding the space like a second sun had been born in the arena. The ground quivered beneath his armored feet. That pressure it wasn't mana. It was weight. The weight of judgment, fury, and sanctity combined.
Razeal felt it all crash into him like a divine hammer.
For a moment just a moment his knees buckled. His lungs seized, and his heartbeat stopped.
This is what death feels like. Just from aura alone.
But before the weight could reach its crescendo
Whoosh.
A wind blew through the arena, soft but commanding, scattering the crushing force like ash in a storm. The divine pressure dissolved as if it had never existed.
Razeal gasped for breath.
Alive.
And smiling again... I Won he thought
Dorn Varkharnb still between them lifted a single finger, swinging it lazily through the air as if brushing off dust. His expression was unmoved, but a deep sigh escaped his lips.
"Sir Radiant Knight, please" he said flatly, "killing on the grounds of Arkanveil Academy is prohibited. You know this."
The golden knight stepped forward, his grip tightening on his sword. His voice, like a herald's trumpet, rang out again:
"Are you standing against justice, Warden Dorn?" he asked, voice ringing with righteous steel. "Justice for the Church of Light against one who once dared raise his hand to the Saintess? If so, then I may..."
The arena tensed. Swords hummed. The very air seemed to still.
But then
Click. Click. Click.
The sharp rhythm of heels striking the stone floor echoed through the arena like a drumbeat.
All eyes turned.
Emerging from the crowd came a woman draped in violet and silver, her hair tied in a regal cascade behind her. Her every step demanded space commanded silence.
Her voice followed, brisk and unwavering.
"Do not twist his words, Knight."
She stopped just before the circle of confrontation, eyes sharp enough to cut through steel. "This is Arkanveil Academy. And you stand in the presence of a royal princess of the Empire. Are you so eager to violate order and tear down your own name in front of both crown and congregation?"
The crowd parted around her like water around a blade.
"Vice Headmistress…" nobles whispered, breath caught in their throats.
"Lady Selvara." The Radiant Knight whispered hesitating, his muscles locked in tension. Her gaze bored into him.
"Please," she added softly, but with an edge that carried more weight than his blade. "Understand The Word's. Killing on the grounds of Arkanveil Academy is prohibited." her gaze locking with his. Her tone was even, but behind her measured words, was a hidden Meaning as trying to say not In Academy Ground Only.
The guard's jaw tensed. He understood. Oh, he understood all too well the meaning behind her words. But how could he simply stand down?
This man this filth had dared to raise his hand against the Saintess. A vile act. A sin against divinity itself. Could he, a sworn knight, simply let it pass? Could he abandon his sacred duty?
But logic harsh and cold told him One move here, and he would definitely die.
He knew deep down, with brutal clarity that one move, one swing, and death would meet him without delay. Before him stood not only the Warden of Arkanveil, but the Vice Headmistress herself. He would not survive. He knows that pretty clearly even before he could touch that filth his head might get cut off.
But to do nothing that would be disgraceful to the dignity of sainteess.
To stand idle would be betrayal.
To watch in silence would be sin.
His jaw clenched shoulders stiffened.
He lowered his stance, sword tilting, breath pausing.
His heart raced not out of fear but devotion.
A sacred flame that demanded action, even if it burned him alive.
He closed his eyes for just a moment.
And in that moment, peace washed over his expression.
A soft, reverent smile crept onto his lips as if he was standing not at death's door, but at the altar of martyrdom. A willing sacrifice for the dignity of the Saintess. For the sanctity of Sacrade.
He was ready.
But before his foot could move, before his blade could rise...
A voice fell upon the air.
Soft.
Gentle.
Like a breeze that carried divinity.
"My beloved knights, step back."
It wasn't a command, like a blessing of prayer in sound. As if the world itself hushed to listen.
The tension vanished in an instant. The thick, heavy atmosphere that had gripped the courtyard dissipated, replaced by a soothing calm, as though the wind itself bowed to the speaker.
A holy presence.
Divine.
"Your Holy Saintess…"
The knights responded as one.
Without hesitation. Without fear of retaliation from even Dorn or the Vice Headmistress.
They knelt.
All of them.
Three knees to the ground, a sacred bow reserved only for the Saintess Herself. Swords lowered, edges flat against the stone. Heads bowing.
Reverence filled the courtyard.
Their gaze every last one lifted toward the upper chamber.
There, above them, two flags danced softly in the breeze.
One bore the shining sigil of the Church of Light.
The other, the royal crest of the Luminus Family.
From within, veiled by divine radiance, the Saintess stood.
She had spoken once.
And that was all it took.
No arguments followed or resistance.
The knights vanished from the courtyard like mist under sunlight.
Gone
as if divine judgment had passed and they were dismissed by Heaven itself.
As the last shimmer of light faded knights vanishing like whispers swallowed by the void Razeal tilted his head slightly, the corner of his lips raised in arrogant smirk.
He touched the bridge of his nose with index finger and thumb. A gesture so casual, it almost mocked the sacred air still lingering.
Then, without moving his lips
"Victory," he whispered in the silence of his mind.
Villey's voice burst into his mind like an overexcited narrator who had just witnessed the climax of a tragedy.
[I mean, I knew you understood the laws and temperaments of these people sure but trusting your life on it? That's not brave. That's borderline insane. You were literally surrounded by a Grandmaster and eight Swordmasters ready to chop your head clean off! I almost short-circuited just watching!]
Razeal didn't answer immediately. He just let the silence stretch as he gazed at the grand stone floor beneath his feet the place where his blood could've painted history.
"I trust my plans, Villey."
His tone was quiet, only for him and the system to hear.
"And if you can't bet your life on your own plans, then they were never worth calling 'plans' in the first place."
Arrogant but Grounded. There was no trace of doubt only certainty wrapped in steel.
And with that, he smiled. Not a grin, not an expression of relief.
No.
It was the smile of a man who knew he'd won before the game had even started.
Arrogance wrapped in certainty.
In his obsidian eyes, a flicker of defiance shimmered. A glint so confident, it bordered on blasphemy.
[Yes, yes…Whatever] Villey muttered dramatically. [But I must say, Host… you really do have the talent of a villain. It's like watching a crow walk into a cathedral and make the priests pray to it.]
Razeal's eyes narrowed slightly, amused. But his tone turned just a degree sharper.
"Just stay true to your words at that time, Villey. Or I'll rewrite your voice to sound like a squirrel on helium even after my death permanently so even if you had future hosts you be fucked." Razeal murmured, his hand finally falling from his nose. His fingers curled into a loose fist, black-gloved and still.
[NO NO NO! All good, all good! Just your ever-loyal, entirely harmless system here supporting your darkest ambitions one sinister quip at a time!]
[As I already told you, your system's main function will fully unlock the moment you pass through the Gates of Worth. That's the condition. May I choke on my own manhood if I'm lying may two inches be severed off, and three lines of tragic poetry written about the loss.]
There was a pause.
Razeal blinked slowly.
"You only have two inches."
[EXACTLY. That's why I'd never lie! WHO risks everything like that?! WAIT WHAT THE FUCK MOTHERFUCKER ITS NOT]
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