The elf chief did not strike.

  Instead, he turned from Akitsu and placed his palm against the throne behind him.

  Wood shifted.

  Ancient roots groaned like something waking from a deep sleep. The floor parted soundlessly, revealing a narrow stairway descending into darkness—its edges smooth, worn by centuries of passage.

  “Follow,” the chief said calmly.

  “This place does not belong to witnesses.”

  Akitsu Shouga did not hesitate.

  He stepped forward first, Rosary resting lightly in his hand, blade angled downward in a ready—but restrained—grip.

  Seraphine Orion hovered close to his shoulder, wings fluttering tensely.

  “I don’t like this,” she muttered.

  The small white-haired girl said nothing.

  But frost crept faintly along the stair’s edge as she descended, the temperature dipping subtly with each step she took.

  The passage twisted deep beneath the temple. The walls were carved with ancient elven scripture—symbols of protection, sacrifice, and memory—worn smooth by countless hands that had long since turned to bone.

  The chief spoke as they walked, his voice echoing softly.

  “You carry spirits,” he said.

  “Not tools. Not servants.”

  Akitsu’s voice was steady.

  “I know.”

  “That alone,” the chief replied, “makes you dangerous.”

  They emerged into open air.

  A vast clearing stretched before them—snow untouched, sky pale and endless. No trees. No structures. Only wind, white, and silence so complete it felt intentional.

  The chief stepped forward and turned.

  “This is where disputes are ended,” he said.

  “Draw your blade.”

  Akitsu raised Rosary.

  The moment steel left its sheath, the world changed.

  The air pressed down—not violently, but with authority. Akitsu’s breath hitched, not from fear, but from sheer weight. The land itself seemed to acknowledge Great Denta’s presence.

  Seraphine gasped.

  “W–what is this…?”

  The chief took a single step.

  The ground cracked beneath his foot.

  “You stand in a place that remembers my blood,” he said quietly.

  “Kneel.”

  Akitsu’s knees bent—unwillingly.

  Snow creaked beneath him.

  He snarled and forced himself upright, muscles screaming in protest.

  “I don’t kneel,” he said.

  “Not today.”

  The chief’s eyes sharpened.

  “So be it.”

  He moved.

  The first clash rang like thunder.

  Rosary screamed as it met Great Denta, sparks tearing through the pale air. Akitsu was thrown backward, boots carving deep trenches through the snow before he barely managed to stabilize himself.

  “Fast,” Akitsu muttered.

  The chief was already there.

  Steel descended.

  Akitsu barely raised Rosary in time—his arms screamed as the impact hurled him sideways, snow erupting beneath his boots.

  Seraphine thrust her hands forward.

  The earth answered.

  Roots burst from beneath the snow—thick, ancient, and violent—coiling toward the chief’s legs with crushing force.

  The white-haired girl lifted her hand.

  Absolute cold erupted outward.

  The ground flash-froze, air crystallizing into visible shards of frost. Even the wind stilled.

  Great Denta pulsed.

  A soft, golden-white light spread from the chief’s blade.

  The frost faltered.

  Not gone—but slowed, strained, forcibly pushed back.

  The roots cracked, splintered, but did not fully wither.

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  The chief stepped forward through it all, snow hissing beneath his feet.

  “Nature bends,” he said.

  “Cold obeys.”

  “And blood—”

  He slammed his sword into the ground.

  “—endures.”

  Akitsu felt it instantly.

  A constriction—tight and sudden—wrapped around his chest. His heartbeat staggered, vision blurring as pressure filled the space around them.

  Seraphine cried out, clutching her chest.

  “Akitsu—!”

  The white-haired girl staggered, frost surging uncontrollably from her feet as Great Denta’s suppression pressed harder against her power.

  Akitsu gritted his teeth and charged.

  Steel met steel again.

  This time, he didn’t fly back.

  But he still lost ground—boots sliding, arms shaking, every impact reverberating through his bones.

  The chief smiled faintly.

  “You endure,” he said.

  “Most do not.”

  Akitsu ducked a horizontal slash, rolled beneath it, and slashed upward.

  The chief parried effortlessly.

  Then struck Akitsu across the ribs with the flat of his blade.

  Akitsu crashed into the snow, breath ripped from his lungs in a sharp, painful gasp.

  “Stay down,” the chief said.

  “This is mercy.”

  Akitsu coughed.

  Then laughed.

  “Not interested.”

  He rolled aside as Great Denta struck where his head had been, snow exploding upward.

  Seraphine screamed, driving both hands into the ground.

  The land answered again.

  Roots—larger now, denser—erupted in a tangled storm, wrapping around the chief’s arm and torso.

  The white-haired girl raised both hands.

  The temperature plummeted.

  Everything froze.

  Snow. Air. Sound.

  The chief halted mid-motion.

  For half a second.

  Then Great Denta flared.

  The roots cracked but did not shatter completely.

  The frost screamed as it was forced back, Absolute Zero straining violently against the blade’s restriction.

  The chief tore free, breath steady.

  Seraphine recoiled, panting—but her eyes burned with fury, not fear.

  “So that’s it,” she hissed.

  “That sword.”

  The chief regarded her calmly.

  “Great Denta restricts what should not run free,” he said.

  “And heals what should have broken.”

  Indeed—cuts along his arm were already closing, flesh knitting beneath pale light.

  Akitsu staggered upright, blood dripping from his lip.

  “…Then let’s break it anyway.”

  He charged again.

  Steel rang again and again.

  Minutes stretched into something longer.

  Akitsu dodged, parried, rolled, leapt—never winning ground, never landing a decisive blow. His arms burned. His lungs screamed. Sweat froze against his skin.

  The chief never slowed.

  “You fight like someone who refuses to stay dead,” the chief remarked.

  Akitsu snarled.

  “Funny. I was thinking the same.”

  The chief struck.

  Akitsu barely avoided it—and countered—

  Rosary slid past Great Denta’s guard and finally cut flesh.

  A thin line of blood appeared on the chief’s shoulder.

  The chief looked down.

  Then smiled.

  The wound closed.

  Not instantly—but undeniably.

  “Again,” the chief said.

  Akitsu tightened his grip.

  Seraphine stepped forward beside him.

  The white-haired girl raised her hands, frost screaming outward once more.

  The snowstorm above howled louder.

  The duel was no longer one-sided.

  But it was far from over.