The demonic spikes shot out with terrifying force.
A demon, too slow to dodge, was impaled mid-scream—but Calyx didn't let up. He launched barrage after barrage, saturating the air with razor-sharp magical projectiles.
"Pathetic effort."
Dale clicked his tongue with disdain, not even attempting to evade.
Instead, he stepped forward into the path of the incoming spikes and stomped hard on the ground.
Berald's Martial ArtsForm: Earth Tremor.
RUMBLE—!
The entire hideout quaked violently, as if the earth itself recoiled from Dale's presence. Rotten wooden planks and thick clumps of dirt exploded upward, forming a makeshift barrier.
The spikes slammed into it with wet thuds.
Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring vision.
"Grr!" Calyx scowled, shielding his eyes.
Slash!
A sharp white light cleaved through the dust cloud.
Swoosh!
A razor line of heat grazed Calyx's wand arm. Flesh tore. Blood erupted.
"Ugh—!"
Calyx staggered, clutching his half-severed arm, his entire body spasming with pain.
But there was no time to collapse.
Gritting his teeth, he switched the wand to his uninjured hand, glaring daggers at Dale.
This isn't a battle of strength anymore.
Even with magic, he couldn't overpower him. Not with brute force. Not with direct attacks. No, this wasn't a battle of might anymore—it was a test of who could break the other's mind first.
Calyx took a deep breath, fingers trembling as he gripped the mana stone embedded in his wand.
BZZZZT—!
Dark energy surged. The stone glowed ominously, then cracked—fractured—and shattered into dust.
"Come forth—Power of the Illusion."
The dark spell erupted, sacrificing the stone to cast one of the High Priest Astaroth's forbidden techniques.
A deep, heavy aura of despair coiled around Dale.
"Ghhha...!" Calyx coughed blood. His body couldn't withstand the backlash, but he didn't stop.
This was his last chance.
"Perish—within the Illusion!"
The black aura engulfed Dale.
And then... he froze.
His rampage stopped mid-stride. His eyes dulled. His breathing slowed.
"Heh... see?" Calyx panted, a cruel grin stretching across his bloodied face. "No matter how powerful your body is, you're still nothing if your mind is broken."
He turned to the demons behind him, voice hoarse.
"Kill him—now—while he's trapped!"
But before they could move—
Shlk.
A cold flash of pain stabbed through Calyx's gut.
"Urk—"
His breath caught. His body stiffened.
He looked down.
A sword. Dale's sword. Buried in his abdomen.
Standing directly in front of him—was Dale.
Unharmed. Smirking.
"H-How...?"
"How?" Dale echoed. "Looks like that kind of magic doesn't work on me."
He twisted the blade.
"Ugh—urk!" Calyx crumpled to his knees, clutching at the steel buried in his flesh.
BZZZZZ.
The black aura that had surrounded Dale began to recede... and flow back into Calyx.
As the magic snapped, the backflow triggered an effect dreaded by all practitioners of mental magic.
Mental resonance.
For a brief moment, Calyx's consciousness was tethered to Dale's.
He saw it.
He felt it.
"...Ah."
His vision blurred. His thoughts splintered. His body spasmed uncontrollably.
Everything was burning.
The entire world—his world—was engulfed in fire.
The flames weren't physical. They were existential. A fire that devoured illusion and delusion alike. Crimson tongues licked at his soul. Screaming memories curled into ash.
'What... is this…?'
And then—he saw it.
Amid the blazing inferno, a shadow curled within the fire. Motionless. Watching.
As if responding to his gaze, the black figure stirred—and raised its head.
A pair of green eyes glared out from the center of the inferno.
Eyes that saw through everything.
"...Ah."
Calyx reeled back in raw terror. His heart seized.
Those were not the eyes of a human.
They were not even the eyes of a beast.
They were the eyes of something primordial.
With a scream, Calyx fell backward, tearing the blade from his own body as he clawed toward the exit.
"Ah—ahhhh! AAAAAAH!"
Dale watched silently as the demon priest scrambled on all fours like a wounded animal, blood pooling beneath him.
The thought of High Priest Astaroth, of the Demon Church, of punishment or failure—all gone.
There was only fear.
"Run… R-Run… Please—!"
Calyx's voice cracked as he crawled, babbling incoherently, trying to escape the hideout.
Dale raised an eyebrow.
"…What the hell is wrong with you?"
He stepped forward, calm as ever, and pressed a foot down on Calyx's throat.
"Urk...!"
The priest choked, writhing.
Dale glanced down with a sigh. "Well, considering you're bound by magical restrictions, I doubt I could get anything useful out of you."
He pressed harder.
"Just die."
CRACK.
Calyx's neck twisted with a sickening crunch.
"P-Priest Calyx...?"
"No way…!"
The remaining demons stared in horror.
Their commander—dead.
Without even putting up a proper fight.
Dale didn't spare them a glance. He flicked the blood off his sword and checked the glowing numbers on his Hero Watch.
"One minute left."
A faint grin tugged at his lips as he turned to the terrified demons.
"That's enough."
He stepped forward.
And once again—
A brilliant white light engulfed the hideout.
The Demon Cult's hideout.
Amid the thirty-nine corpses scattered across the blood-soaked floor, I staggered to my feet.
"Ugh… it hurts like hell."
The backlash from the Stigma Amplifier was kicking in now that its effect had worn off. It felt like my mana circuits were being torn apart from the inside—raw and burning.
They said the prototype ignored side effects entirely, and clearly, they weren't exaggerating. The distortion of my internal energy flow sent pain rippling through my limbs like fire licking at dry tinder.
Still, the results spoke for themselves.
This version only boosted my magic power by 30% of the theoretical maximum, and already it was this potent. My mind drifted to the Seven Star Herb I had stashed in my bag.
A wry, satisfied smile crept onto my face.
If just 30% can do this... what happens when I reach 100%?
I rolled my shoulders, letting the pain fade into the background, and muttered, "Alright… let's see what you left behind."
The side effects were fading enough for me to move properly again. Time to investigate the hideout.
Honestly, I'm not expecting much.
From what I'd seen, Calyx had gone to great lengths to prevent information leaks, even placing high-level restriction magic on low-ranking cultists.
Still, better to confirm than guess.
I weaved through twisted bodies and broken furniture, searching every blood-stained corner.
After what felt like an hour of meticulous searching, I stepped into a cramped room tucked behind a collapsed wooden wall. A storage area—its walls lined with rusting tools and chipped stoneware.
There, I found them.
A pile of black nails.
There were hundreds—more than enough to fill a large box.
"These are the same kind of cursed nails they used to blind Iris…"
Each nail held only a trace amount of the curse, but in this quantity? It was no minor threat.
Still…
This alone isn't enough to afflict an entire school.
Sophia once taught me about large-scale rituals. Success didn't depend only on the materials—it hinged on precision and location.
And most importantly…
Where the caster performs the ritual.
A spell of this scale, capable of draining Iris's 'Seven Eyes' for months, couldn't be managed remotely—not even by a High Priest of the Demon Church.
It would require proximity—constant adjustments, stability, calibration.
In short…
Astaroth is inside the academy.
He didn't just activate the ritual a few months ago—he's likely been here for years. Disguised. Embedded. Patient.
Which makes him infinitely more dangerous.
I have no idea who he's pretending to be.
There were nearly a thousand cadets at Reynald Hero Academy. Add in professors, researchers, and staff, and the number of suspects doubled.
It's practically impossible to comb through them all.
Even if I did try, it's doubtful I'd succeed—especially against someone like Astaroth, who's mastered the art of deception.
But in the end… it doesn't matter.
"I don't need to find him," I said aloud with a quiet smirk, surveying the carnage around me.
Because he'll come looking for me.
The moment he realizes the ritual's been dismantled—and the curse is gone—he'll know someone's tampered with his grand plan.
He'll be cautious. Maybe even paranoid.
But not enough to resist the need for control.
He won't let this slide.
And I?
I won't leave behind any evidence to tip him off.
No signs. No flags. No lingering energy traces.
Let him remain unaware… until it's too late.
I plucked one of the cursed nails from the pile and flicked it between my fingers as I stepped outside.
The night air was sharp. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the ruined landscape.
I looked up at the stars.
I still don't know your face. I don't know why you targeted Iris or what you planned to do with her power.
In my last life, you died before I ever saw you—with your throat pierced by the Sword of the Holy Nation.
But this time?
This time…
I'll meet you first.
"Astaroth," I whispered to the wind.
"You'll find me before you ever see the Sword of the Holy Nation."
* * *
On my way back to the academy dormitory, the streets were already cloaked in night.
The glowstones had dimmed. The city slept.
I groaned quietly.
"Just a little fighting and I'm already this tired…"
My body had healed, thanks to the Blessing of Revival, but the fatigue remained. The kind that seeps into your bones after you push past your limits.
Damn that amplifier... next time I'll need to prepare something better to balance the rebound.
I just needed to sleep—eight uninterrupted hours would be heaven.
But when I reached the dormitory, my steps slowed.
"…Huh?"
Someone was squatting outside my door, hood drawn low.
Pink hair peeked out from beneath the robe.
"…Iris?"