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Nolan stood there, mouth hanging open like a fish, watching his two warriors wave their hands through empty air. Except it wasn't empty—the weapons were still there, solid as ever. Scarface swung his invisible mace experimentally, and the whoosh of displaced air was unmistakable. Mahoraga hissed in what might have been amusement, his serpent head weaving as he thrust his unseen trident forward.
"You'd better let them get familiar with it again," Russell advised, watching the awkward movements with barely concealed amusement.
"Don't worry," Nolan grinned, his shock transforming into something like excitement. "My cards are all weapon masters. A change like this? They'll adapt in seconds."
And they did. Russell watched with genuine appreciation as the two warriors adjusted their grips, their stances, compensating for the visual disconnect with pure muscle memory and instinct. Within moments, they were moving as smoothly as if the weapons were visible. Better, even—there was something unsettling about watching a massive scar-faced warrior perform precise combat forms with apparently empty hands.
What Nolan didn't mention—what he kept carefully to himself—was the other thing he'd noticed. The moment Russell's cards had appeared, his own had gotten stronger. Not dramatically, but enough to notice. A little faster, a little sharper, like someone had cranked their settings up by five percent. He'd assumed Russell's "support" meant throwing fireballs or healing magic, not this passive enhancement that just... happened.
"Russell," Nolan said, trying to keep his voice casual, "how many people can your card's enhancement ability cover?"
Russell blinked, caught off-guard by the question. Then he realized—Nolan had noticed Artoria's [Charisma] effect. "Enough to cover our squad," he said honestly.
If she was emerald-tier, we could probably buff half the battlefield, he thought but didn't say. No point in dwelling on what-ifs.
Nolan made a sound that was half appreciation, half disappointment. "Would've been nice to juice up the whole army, but I'll take what I can get."
He turned his attention to Luke, who was standing off to the side with an expression like he'd just witnessed a magic trick and was still trying to figure out where the rabbit went. The kid looked pale, overwhelmed. Not surprising—it hadn't been that long since their universities had faced off, and back then Russell had been strong but not this strong. Now he was casually pulling out abilities that most gold-tier cardmakers would kill for.
"Luke, what about yours?" Nolan's voice cut through whatever spiral Luke was heading down.
Luke jerked like someone had poked him with a cattle prod. "What?"
Nolan's expression went flat, all business now. "I need to know what you can do. We're about to charge into hell, and I'd rather not find out your abilities when a demon's trying to eat my face."
Luke's face went red, the flush creeping up from his collar to his hairline. "Right. Sorry. I—sorry."
He raised his hand, and his knight stepped forward. The tower shield in its grip began to glow, and suddenly a massive phantom version appeared, translucent but solid-looking, planted firmly in the ground. It was easily fifteen feet tall and just as wide, a wall of magical energy that hummed with defensive power.
"Impressive," Russell said, and meant it. Then a thought occurred to him. "By the way, Luke, you can pay more attention to protecting Nolan and yourself later. I should be fine."
As he spoke, he let Arrogance flow over him. The transformation was instant and disturbing—his human form dissolved into writhing shadows that reformed into something else. Three meters tall, covered in shifting patterns of black and red that never quite settled into a fixed shape, with a "face" that was more suggestion than feature.
"Another card I haven't seen before?!" Luke's voice cracked slightly.
"I should still have some ability to protect myself," Russell said, his voice now a low rasp that seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.
Luke just stared. Nolan was staring too, though he was better at hiding it. The strength Russell was displaying wasn't just beyond normal for a silver-tier cardmaker—it was approaching absurd.
Whose spoiled young master is this? Nolan wondered. What kind of family produces someone this strong this young?
But he shook his head when Russell suggested Luke focus protection elsewhere. "No. Luke, just follow what we agreed on. Treat everyone equally."
His tone brooked no argument. This wasn't about playing favorites or optimizing resources. In legion combat, the moment you started making exceptions was the moment your formation fell apart. Everyone protected everyone, or everyone died. Simple as that.
Russell nodded, respecting the decision. But his mind was already working on another angle. He'd seen what Fubuki could do with perception, how she could bend light and twist senses. And in a massive battlefield where friendly fire was as dangerous as enemy attacks...
"When a large army fights," Russell said suddenly, the words coming out as he formulated the plan, "saving lives is the first priority."
He turned to Fubuki, who was examining her nails with an expression of supreme boredom. "Fubuki, can you use the Wind King's Barrier on us?"
She looked up, one perfectly sculpted eyebrow rising. "The Wind King's Barrier? That's not even my technique. That's—"
"I know whose it is," Russell interrupted. "Can you replicate the effect with your telekinesis?"
Fubuki's eyes narrowed, but there was interest there now. She raised her hands, fingers dancing through the air like she was playing an invisible piano. The air around them shimmered, twisted, and suddenly—
They vanished.
The cardmakers around them gasped, stepped back, some reaching for weapons. Where Russell's team had been standing was now empty air. But those with strong enough perception could still sense them—their magical signatures were still there, just wrapped in something that convinced the eyes they didn't exist.
"Where the fuck did we go?!" Nolan's voice came from the empty space, pitched somewhere between awe and panic.
Russell's disembodied laughter filled the air. "Nolan, look at yourself."
"What do you mean, look at—" Nolan's voice cut off. There was a moment of silence, then: "Holy shit. I can't see my own fucking hands. I can't see me."
"Can the ability you just used have a direct effect on our bodies!?" The excitement in his voice was palpable.
"Yes," Russell's voice explained from nowhere, "but it's actually not as useful as you might think. Area attacks don't care if they can see you. And anyone with decent magical perception will still know exactly where we are."
"That's not the point." Nolan's voice had gone serious now, grateful. "Any edge is an edge worth having. In a clusterfuck like we're about to walk into, being invisible for even a few seconds could be the difference between living and dying."
Russell understood. Nolan had mentioned surviving multiple legion battles, but Russell could hear what he wasn't saying—that each time had been a dice roll, luck as much as skill. The man wasn't confident he'd survive this time. He was just good at hiding his fear.
The higher the tier, the smaller the gap between cardmaker and demon, Russell mused. It was something they'd covered in advanced theory class. By palace-tier, a demon and a cardmaker were essentially equals in raw power. Only technique and cards made the difference then.
Even so, he thought, watching his invisible teammates move around, the cardmaker system is ridiculously powerful. We're basically walking WMDs with multiple personalities helping us fight.
CLANG!
The sound of a massive bell cut through all conversation, all thought. It echoed across the gathered army, deep and mournful, like the world's largest funeral gong. The very air seemed to vibrate with it.
"Get ready," Nolan said, his voice now grim. "The war is about to begin."
(End of this chapter)
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