Almost in an instant, the outfit on Cid's body—woven from slime—began to collapse.
There was no mystery here. The slime was equipment controlled by mana, and everything Shadow wore—clothes, weapon, the whole set—was made of slime.
If mana was sealed, the set unraveling was only natural.
It wasn't that Cid's control was sloppy. His mana manipulation was already at a ridiculous, near-mythic level; opponents couldn't detect the fluctuations at all. The problem was simpler:
Last time, when he fought Chaldo, his slime blade had changed shape mid-battle.
This time, against Alfia, the slime sword had appeared out of nowhere.
If Alfia had been thinking carefully at all, she would inevitably realize the truth: Shadow's "gear" was a mana-driven tool.
Losing the slime equipment wouldn't reduce Cid's combat power. At worst, he'd lose a well-balanced blade.
But if he didn't want the connection between "Shadow" and "Cid" to exist, then nobody was allowed to force it.
"This is an interesting spell."
Cid raised a hand to cover his face, buying himself a heartbeat.
Alfia frowned, watching closely—only to see the broken, mottled slime suit re-form and stabilize. In the blink of an eye, the Shadow she recognized was back: black, featureless, unreadable.
With a plain outfit like that, she couldn't make out who he really was.
And it was equally obvious—Shadow had already escaped the anti-magic field.
How?
There was no need to ask. Alfia had eyes.
In Shadow's palm, an absurdly dense mana mass had been compressed until it nearly took on physical substance, flashing with a painfully bright glare.
It was mana that had been refined, condensed, and elevated to a quality that made no sense.
Just facing it made Alfia's heart tighten.
As the strongest mage of the Hera Familia, she understood exactly how impossible that was.
"In darkness, you're bound to face difficulties," Cid said calmly. "I naturally considered the situation where I couldn't use mana. The answer is simple: refine mana until it becomes rigid enough that the sealing effect can't interfere."
He lowered his hand. The mask still hid his face.
Alfia's expression stayed severe, but her mouth was merciless.
"So you're ugly, then? That face is too embarrassing to show anyone?"
She had never seen compression like that before. For all her hostility, she couldn't deny the shock of it.
"My face is ordinary. Nothing special. But this face can be shown to allies who walk in the same shadow—never to enemies. If you want to see it…" Cid's voice sharpened slightly. "…then defeat me first."
Then he extended a hand, gathering a mana signature Alfia found uncomfortably familiar.
"Thanks for teaching me this one."
Because it wasn't a spell carved into his Blessing, he couldn't reproduce it at full power.
But if you understood the essence of magic and rebuilt it with the same logic, you could simulate the effect—at a lower grade, but still functional.
As if amused by his own imitation, he even put on a performance and recited a "chant."
"Soul's Stillness."
Alfia's pupils tightened.
The anti-magic effect snapped shut around her.
While the duel continued, the larger war did not pause.
Before the final clash, Orario had requested outside support.
As the center of the world, Orario's strength was unmatched—yet when facing opponents of the same tier, when the crisis was truly life-or-death, even Orario would swallow its pride and ask for help.
The dark faction had anticipated that.
Even the strongest potential reinforcements—like the Academy District—couldn't arrive in time.
The dark faction had stirred trouble across the world, pinning down major powers and preventing intervention.
In the end, only one relief force managed to reach Orario—and it arrived only when the fighting was at its hottest.
"We finally made it," Lettsa groaned, rubbing her legs. "Five days and five nights on the road… I thought I was going to collapse."
This wasn't soreness anymore. It was numbness.
Could she even fight in this condition?
She honestly wasn't sure.
"I'm sorry," Artemis said softly, lowering her head in apology—then casually loosed an arrow that killed a dark faction officer in the distance. "I know I'm asking the impossible. But if Orario falls, humanity has nowhere left to retreat."
She was a goddess, yet also one of the rare deities who led her Familia and fought on the front lines even with her divinity sealed.
"Please don't apologize to me, Lady Artemis," Lettsa could only smile bitterly. "That shortens my lifespan."
The goddess had marched for five days and five nights as well. If a goddess didn't complain, what right did she have to?
Still, Lettsa clicked her tongue as she stared at a vast trench carved through the land, and she reflexively shot down another enemy.
"That blast mark… was that magic? It's huge—wide, deep—ridiculous."
She was certain: if she'd been hit by that, she'd have been ash.
Orario really was Orario.
Even this kind of magic existed here.
Elsewhere—
Finn's crimson eyes faded back to normal as he was forced out of his berserk state.
In the previous exchange, he had triggered a frenzy spell. It had crushed the enemy—but also tore at his injuries and made them worse.
"Still," Finn said with a tight, pained smile, "you look pretty badly hurt too, Valetta."
Once again, he had found his "fated opponent"—the commander of the dark faction, the one the enemy insisted was his soulmate, the one and only true Level 5 left on their side.
"…Cough—cough—damn it," Valetta spat blood, her vision blurring.
Last battle, Finn had found her and beaten her.
This battle, she'd been grazed by that catastrophic magic—and then Finn found her again.
Now she was losing again.
Worse than before, she had no home-field advantage, and even her strongest barrier magic was hard to use. She'd been chased until she could barely breathe.
"Finn—Finn!"
She had never hated someone so much in her life.
She wanted to tear him apart.
But the memory of those crimson eyes made her flinch.
She'd survived just barely—crawling, rolling, clinging to life.
If Finn weren't injured too, she wouldn't be alive.
"Help me!"
Valetta called for reinforcements.
And soon, someone brought four Level 5 fairy-soldiers under control, placing them between Finn and Valetta.
Relief washed over Valetta—then her expression darkened.
If four could be spared, then Baslerum's side was probably collapsing.
That useless trash—twelve Level 5s at his disposal, and he still couldn't finish off four Level 4s?
Were the Flame-Gold Four really that strong?
Even if she'd expected trouble, she still wanted to curse.
A team of idiots—no brains, no results.
And Valetta, of course, didn't recognize that she herself was the biggest disaster on the board.
"I'd love to stop you," Finn muttered, wincing as pain tore through him, "but it looks like my last strength will have to be spent on you."
His injuries forced a bitter smile.
If he had even a single panacea right now, he could kill Valetta outright.
Letting the "Slaughter Empress" escape would be future poison.
As long as she lived, the dark faction would never fully collapse.
But this wasn't the moment to dwell on later.
"Once this is over," Finn exhaled, "I should be able to complete a feat too."
He forced out the last of his power and charged into the four Level 5s.
At the central battlefield, Chaldo's sword carved into Mia, leaving a lethal wound.
That single strike ended her ability to fight.
She had truly fought like a madwoman to buy Otar time.
Around her, the Black and White Elf Kings, the goddess's war chariot, and the Elephant God's staff had already fallen one after another.
Those forces had finished dealing with the outer enemies and returned to the central square—only to throw themselves in front of Otar, one by one.
The fact that they could return meant most of the other fights were nearly decided.
Orario was winning.
But against Chaldo, they were still fragile.
Now, among Orario's top fighters, only Otar remained standing.
"Otar," Freya said softly, "come back alive."
She updated his Blessing.
The "Fierce One" became Orario's only Level 7.
"For my goddess," Otar declared, standing once more before Chaldo, his presence utterly changed, "and for this city… I will defeat you!"
Chaldo's smile was pleased—almost approving.
"Now your eyes finally look right."
But his sword showed no mercy.
"This blade was meant for him," Chaldo said. "I'll test it on you first."
Across Orario, the war still hadn't finished.
Yet at the battlefield most capable of deciding the war's direction, Cid showed true surprise for the first time.
Moments earlier, under his assault, Alfia had been forced to retreat again and again.
The anti-magic effect he had copied worked brutally well. She could only dodge, barely stabilizing herself.
Until she gathered a mana sphere Cid recognized instantly.
"That's my mana compression…?"
Alfia had learned Cid's technique.
She could use magic again.
After being suffocated for so long, the monster of talent finally threw his own words back at him—coldly, cleanly, and with a hint of satisfaction.
"Thanks for teaching me this move."
....
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