“Not… dead?”
Vis stared intently in the direction where the chaotic wailing had erupted once again.
With the Disaster Breath swirling in thick black fog, the flow of magical power in the air shifted and concentrated accordingly.
Considering that the Soul-Eating Dread Lord itself was a corpse-like aggregation of the undead, perhaps it was never truly alive from the start.
To be precise, it should be called
— a resurrection.
“From blessings, an unmatched overwhelming power, undying and unending cycles of revival…”
The Dread Knight reformed once more.
Like a joyful hymn of praise, yet sounding utterly like a chorus of various agonizing deaths intertwined—a chilling lament.
But before the sound could reach farther, a swift rush broke through, a sonic boom exploding in an instant that drowned out the unfinished words behind it.
The same dull rumble and golden flash as always.
By the time normal eyesight caught up, Lortissa had already thrown a punch, dispersing the fog.
However,
the Disaster Breath within the black mist only fractured; it did not vanish completely.
The problem was obvious.
“—No, don’t tell me it’s that cliché infinite resurrection ability?”
Vis remained on high alert, tracking the drifting black fog.
The shattered Disaster Breath no longer scattered aimlessly but condensed into wisps of wandering souls, drifting like the dark depths of a sea untouched by moonlight—“Dread Darkness” clustering densely like a school of sardines.
Even Lortissa hesitated now.
Whether a formal frontier army soldier captain or a lone mercenary, their shared instinct to face the enemy led the two to instinctively turn back-to-back, entrusting their rear to each other, vigilant against the swirling black fog.
“What, not throwing any more punches?”
The mixed wails sounded again, this time unmistakably clear.
Norsen’s unhidden confidence and contempt practically oozed from his voice.
“The kingdom’s strongest soldier captain—I admit, I once admired your power. Though I don’t know exactly what bloodline inheritance or rare blessed innate protection you have,
there’s no doubt that if this strength contributed to shaping the Moon Silver, the Higgliwell family could have reached even greater heights. But now—it’s no longer needed.
The so-called strongest soldier captain of the kingdom is just a bit of brute strength, really no different from a beast…”
The true form of the Dread Knight hovered in midair.
This time it was no longer a half-formed figure within the fog, but a complete body.
Formed from the “Dread Darkness” black mist into a pitch-black figure,
that pure darkness was so deep it could be mistaken for a hollow void.
Its body fully armored in Moon Silver-forged armor, so dazzlingly white it was blinding.
Faced with this blatant provocation, Lortissa remained cold as if she hadn’t heard a thing,
not even sparing a glance, utterly disdainful.
Vis, on the other hand, couldn’t stand it.
Etiquette was ultimately just a tool for social interactions.
It might be worth maintaining appearances with noble lords,
but there was no need for courtesy when dealing with a mortal enemy.
He raised his hand and pointed at Norsen’s nose, scolding:
“Acting all humble after getting the upper hand? Usually, this kind of person ends up in a miserable state every single time—I’ve seen plenty of them.”
“Is that so? Heh heh heh.”
Norsen shook his head and laughed softly.
“Maybe, but unfortunately, even if that day comes, you won’t live to see it… because you’re going to die right here, right now.”
As his words fell,
several knightly wraiths, formed from the Disaster Breath and clad in Moon Silver armor, dived straight toward Vis in the center of the fog.
Black trails tore through the air, suddenly splitting the ground with a dazzling white light.
With a normal person’s reflexes, Vis had no time to react.
His “Returning Journey Dust” might fend off the Disaster Breath’s corruption,
but the sharpness of Moon Silver was real steel; no mere cloak could block it.
Yet before that happened, golden light burst forth in his vision once more.
Lortissa descended from behind him, meeting the charging knightly wraiths head-on.
At the instant golden and silver clashed, a violent magical shockwave exploded.
The shockwave lifted a wave of earth, hurling Vis over ten meters away.
Painkillers blocked the pain, but the physical damage still impaired his movements.
Unlike healing magic, white-grade items were not so convenient.
Vis struggled to stand, repeating the effort several times.
His legs were numb, utterly devoid of sensation, and only by pushing up with his hands could he barely lift his upper body.
But he had no time to focus on himself, his eyes locked on the center of the impact.
“Tissa?!”
Before the dust and dense fog dispersed, her still-cold voice came through:
“I’m fine.”
A faint golden glow radiated slowly from the girl’s silhouette, then suddenly flared brightly.
Vis believed her when she said she was fine.
There was no trace of pretense in her presence.
Moreover, he could distinctly feel a fury suppressed to its utmost limit.
Yet the light armor covering her slender frame couldn’t withstand that power.
After withstanding the collision between “Dread Darkness” and “Moon Silver,”
even if she could hold on, it couldn’t contain the further blossoming of the girl’s golden form.
The enchanted protective parts of her light armor shattered piece by piece, finally dissolving in the brilliant light.
Is this what it means when she gets serious?
The previous punches, which had seemed sufficient to solve most problems—at least on the surface,
did she really not need magic to fight?
Then what level would she reach when she truly unleashed her magic?
Vis suddenly felt a glimmer of hope.
“Oh? So it’s more than just brute strength after all?”
Norsen’s eyes brightened too.
“So we can assume, Lady Lortissa, that from the past until now, no matter the opponent, you’ve never fought seriously, right?
It seems I’m the first person you’re taking seriously. This duel is quite a memorable occasion… though, unfortunately, it will be the last.”
Lortissa’s clear eyes were like still water, her voice cold and calm, without a trace of emotion.
“No, you’re wrong. I take every opponent seriously. Just not you.”
Her tone was composed, but the magical fluctuations erupting from her grew wilder,
forcing the surrounding space to emit unbearable grinding sounds as it gave way to the surging power.
These were not boastful words meant to belittle her opponent.
Rather, a fact she had never revealed to anyone, unknown to all.
The girl soldier captain no longer had to carefully maintain restraint—
letting this power’s true nature—just slightly—break free from its bodily prison.