The sight of the Mana Beast made every muscle in Lucon’s body snap taut. He couldn’t dodge like he used to; he couldn’t see the Flow. If Ambrosia Lucon had been brilliant, he was now merely “Simple” Lucon by comparison.

  Before he could move or formulate a desperate plan, the forest exploded again—more Mana Beasts. This time, the air filled with shrieking cries and the rhythmic beat of wings. Three harpies dove from the canopy, claws extended, aiming straight for the mana wolf. Their bodies were those of women, but feathered, their arms forming wings and their feet ending in the talons of birds of prey.

  This might be a territorial dispute.

  “Back up, slowly,” Lucon murmured, signaling for a retreat. This was their chance to escape the crossfire.

  Hilda hugged his back close while Georgi seemed to want Lucon to fight—to show him the holy spells he had been so curious about.

  But as they began to edge away, a tattooed figure flew from the treeline.

  [Mana Beast Form]

  Skhav’s body was shrouded in a blue glow. Mana condensed around his hands into claws and around his teeth into bestial fangs. With a roar more animal than man, he didn’t attack the wolf. He launched himself at the harpies, fighting in tandem with the wolf—a brutal, synchronized display of primal force.

  It seemed Skhav had already tamed the mana wolf.

  However, harpies were not simple monsters. Beneath their human-like faces was a predatory intelligence. They knew how to fight people—how to flank, how to bait, how to strike where it hurt most. Stories said they slipped into villages under moonless skies, stealing children from their beds to feed their own young.

  They were said to be descendants of Valkyries—the Warfaring God’s most elite subordinates who rivaled the Celestari themselves.

  Their bloodline showed as much.

  One harpy screeched sharply, a signal. The others responded instantly, splitting, rotating positions mid-air with terrifying precision.

  Skhav noticed them then—noticed Lucon.

  “Young Lord Lucon!” he roared between blows. “Help!”

  Lucon watched, paralyzed. A single harpy would have been too much for him in his current state. Three harpies were on another level entirely.

  "Do you know that man?" Georgi asked, his voice calm amidst the chaos, though his eyes were wide.

  Lucon didn't answer. He saw Skhav take a brutal hit, talons slicing deep into his tattooed shoulder, spraying blood into the air. The barbarian roared in pain, his defense faltering.

  "I don't think he'll win, Master," Hilda whispered, her voice tight with fear. Then, with a swift motion, she pulled a glass vial from a pouch at her belt. It was neatly labeled: Ambrosia Lucon.

  The vial held alcohol he had told Hilda to prepare in case of an emergency.

  Lucon stared at the vial. There was alcohol within that held the promise of power, of clarity, of becoming the cold, capable puppeteer once more. He shook his head violently.

  No. I am the real Lucon. I won't rely on that.

  But on the battlefield, Skhav was being driven back, his wolf limping. A harpy screeched in triumph, diving for a killing blow.

  Lucon cursed, his body moving before his mind could argue further. He couldn't just watch a man die.

  [Merciful Fist]

  A burst of golden light shot from his fist, striking the diving harpy squarely in the chest. The force of the holy energy knocked it back in a flutter of disoriented feathers, saving Skhav from the pincer attack.

  “A pacifist technique won’t win the day,” Georgi noted. The spell was designed to neutralize, not harm. The harpy shook itself, enraged but unhurt.

  "Just protect Hilda!" Lucon shouted back, frustrated Georgi wouldn’t jump in as well.

  [Mercy's Refuge]

  A semi-transparent golden dome enveloped Georgi and Hilda, sealing them safely away from the fray.

  If only Georgi would fight, Lucon thought, with the strength that had once earned him the nickname "Tyrant,” before he turned away from his old life and found the path of peace.

  The harpy Lucon had struck fixed its cold, intelligent eyes on him. With a shriek, it shot toward him, talons extended like daggers.

  [Swift Missionary]

  Holy energy lent a burst of speed to his limbs. He twisted, feeling the wind of a talon's passage by his cheek. But he was too slow, too uncoordinated compared to his other self. The harpy adjusted mid-air, its other set of talons swinging in an arc.

  Time seemed to slow. Lucon saw the razor-sharp claws aiming straight for his throat. There was no Flow to help him read the attack’s trajectory and slip by it. There was only certain death waiting for him.

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  All went still.

  In that frozen second, a voice, cold and clear, spoke in his mind.

  Gather the holy power to the legs. Divert only what is needed to stabilize the body for the increased speed.

  [Golden Step]

  The harpy nearly stumbled out of the sky as its talons clawed at empty air. Below it, only golden footprints remained, glowing in the dirt before fading.

  Lucon stared some distance away as he skidded to a stop, flabbergasted. He could still use the Ambrosia Lucon’s techniques.

  Georgi was flushed as he watched the last of the golden footprints dissipate.

  “That’s it…!” he whispered in excitement.

  But Lucon could feel something else stirring within—something driving the holy power. It wasn’t the blessing itself; he was moving it with a second type of energy. Georgi had been right. Holy magic didn’t naturally behave the way Lucon forced it to. There was a different power guiding it, allowing him to even pull the puppet strings of a god’s own blessing.

  What did Ambrosia Lucon do…?

  Monk Georgi wouldn’t be smiling so wide if he knew how blasphemous Lucon’s power truly was.

  Lucon didn’t have time to think further.

  Another shriek tore through the air as a harpy slashed past him, talons flashing.

  He moved.

  [Golden Step]

  He became a burst of light. He reappeared several paces away, golden footprints flaring briefly. Sharp talons clawed where his neck had been a heartbeat earlier.

  Don’t get close, he told himself. Distract them. Buy time. Let Skhav finish it.

  He darted in and out, flashes of gold snatching the harpies’ attention away from Skhav and the mana wolf. Each feint drew a scream, each sudden displacement forced them to break formation.

  But he had joined the fight too late.

  Skhav was bleeding heavily now, one arm hanging limp. His wolf’s movements had grown sluggish, breath ragged. Their eyes met across the battlefield.

  Finish it, Skhav’s look said plainly. I have nothing left.

  Lucon’s jaw clenched.

  He inwardly prayed, Merciful Goddess, you wouldn’t let me die here, right?

  He lunged again, trying to force an opening—but the harpies adapted. Their wings beat in tighter patterns, talons anticipating where he would be, not where he was.

  Pain blossomed across his side. Then his shoulder.

  He hissed, barely keeping his footing.

  “Damn it—!”

  He struck upward desperately.

  [Rising Twister]

  Holy power spiraled around his arm as he launched himself skyward in a glowing, twisting uppercut—

  —and hit nothing.

  The harpies flowed apart like veterans of a thousand aerial battles, their Valkyrie heritage shining brilliantly.

  One of them countered instantly.

  A flash of a single talon.

  Lucon felt heat, then cold.

  A neat, precise slice opened his throat.

  Skhav’s eyes widened. “Lucon—!”

  “MASTER!” Hilda screamed.

  Georgi went pale.

  Lucon fell.

  The sky spun above him as blood poured freely, warmth draining away with terrifying speed. His hands twitched uselessly against the wound. Breath came in wet, broken gasps.

  So this is it…

  The voice returned.

  Focus. Concentrate healing. Localize. Amplify. The spell’s effects will increase.

  Ambrosia Lucon’s voice pierced through the haze, cold and absolute.

  Lucon obeyed without thinking.

  [Mandate for Mercy]

  The foreign second-type of energy coalesced his merciful blessing around his neck. Flesh knit back together. Pain vanished. Air rushed back into his lungs.

  He gasped, alive.

  Too alive.

  The harpies were already above him again, shrieking, talons poised to tear him apart the instant he hit the ground.

  I can’t stop here.

  Claude’s face flashed through his mind. Ambrosia Lucon then told him to copy what he saw his brother do.

  Light gathered around one leg.

  [Heaven-bound Phoenix]

  About to hit the ground, Lucon kicked upward. A third-type of energy was found, beyond his holy magic and the second-type. But there was no time to dwell on it.

  He rose back into the air as golden fire flared, a phoenix-shaped apparition screaming skyward with him. His kick narrowly missed the harpies as they recoiled in surprise.

  But now he was in the sky—in their domain.

  They converged immediately, wings beating furiously, claws reaching.

  [Heaven-bound Phoenix]

  Another kick. Higher. Faster. His body strained in protest as he forced more power through it.

  Tree canopies rushed past beneath him. The air thinned.

  The harpies circled, furious, patient.

  Lucon angled his body downward.

  One chance.

  [Nimbus Ballista]

  He became a golden arrow.

  Lucon plummeted, leg extended, holy power compressing into a single devastating point. He struck the nearest harpy square in the chest—

  —and rode it down.

  They slammed into the earth in a shower of dirt and broken feathers. Lucon stayed on top of it, skidding through the soil as the harpy squawked helplessly beneath him, its chest crushed inward, wings twitching uselessly.

  It died with a final, gurgling screech.

  The forest rang with fury as the remaining harpies screamed seeing their kind slain.

  Lucon staggered upright, vision swimming. His body was strained beyond his pain tolerance. How Ambrosia Lucon could ignore such strain, he didn’t know.

  But what he did know was that he couldn’t dodge another attack.

  The feathered monster women dove.

  A massive shadow slammed down between him and death.

  Finally, Lucon thought.

  [Twin Boulder]

  Georgi’s fists shot out like twin battering rams, smashing into both harpies mid-dive. The impact sent them hurtling away in opposite directions. One struck a tree with a sickening crack, its wings snapping uselessly.

  A powerful, full-fledged monk with an abundance of merciful blessing—that was Georgi.

  Captain Mavor had no idea the pacifist could challenge him for the title of barony’s strongest.

  Skhav didn’t hesitate.

  He and his mana wolf pounced, tearing into the last grounded harpy in a blur of blood and fur.

  The last harpy struggled to rise, wings uncooperative, panic appearing in its feminine features.

  Golden light flared again.

  [Swift Missionary]

  Georgi shot forward, faster than any monk had a right to be. He leapt, wrapping the harpy in a powerful embrace, locking it in place.

  [Protect the Weak]

  His muscles swelled monstrously, veins standing out as he crushed.

  Bone snapped. Feathers burst free.

  Georgi released the corpse, and it fell limp to the ground.

  Silence followed.

  The burly monk then turned slowly toward Lucon, eyes blazing with fury.

  “Bastard!” he roared. “You made me break my vow of nonviolence!”

  Lucon grinned weakly. “At least your friend is still alive, right…?”

  Georgi glared at him. Despite the nickname “Tyrant,” Georgi wasn’t the type of man who would watch his childhood friend die and do nothing.

  But first Peytr, and now Georgi. He’d made both men break vows.

  Before Georgi could say more, Skhav’s fury needed a turn to be vented.

  “What was that?” Skhav barked in frustration. He brought a taming whistle to his lips and blew, causing the mana wolf to lie down and rest. “Why are you so weak now?”

  The barbarian couldn't seem to grasp why this version of Lucon was so much weaker than the Ambrosia Lucon he remembered.

  However, Lucon had much more pressing matters to address.

  “We have to talk about the Mana Crystal operation,” Lucon said.

  Time to call the whole thing off.

  Skhav shook his head. “It’s underway already—beyond what we planned.”

  Lucon was silent, not understanding.

  The barbarian looked at the dead harpies. “I joined Helto and the others much later. I didn’t know they had already begun growing Mana Crystals.” He looked back at Lucon. “There are far too many crystals for us to handle.”

  Lucon felt cold sweat dampen his brow.

  Skhav then said something surprising. “Banner Red.”