“Welcome, my daughter.”

Leon Benning, standing with his hands behind his back, slightly turned his head as he spoke. The count’s attire was entirely out of place amidst the blood-soaked battlefield. He wore what seemed to be ceremonial robes, the kind reserved for formal occasions. Adjusting his collar, Leon Benning turned fully to face Maxime and Theodora. His face bore the same unchanging, indifferent smile it always had.

“You’ve grown a lot. To think you’d make it all the way here.”

Maxime glanced at Theodora. Her tightly pressed lips had turned pale. Her platinum bangs cast a shadow over her eyes, yet within the stormy clouds swirling there, no trace of fear could be seen.

“Even with the situation this dire, you remain composed.”

Theodora stepped forward, her presence creating a faint gust at her feet. It wasn’t the gentle breeze of late spring but the still wind that heralds an oncoming storm. Her grip tightened on the hilt of the Black Wolf Blade, ready to draw it at a moment’s notice. Maxime knew Theodora needed a bit more time. That’s why he neither interrupted Leon Benning’s words nor tried to stop Theodora as she confronted him.

“Do you still believe I won’t raise my sword against you?”

“No. Seeing my daughter overcome her greatest fear brings me immeasurable joy. Growth, after all, comes from such change.”

Theodora gritted her teeth and cut him off. Her graceful voice twisted with rage.

“You still view the world only through your selfish lens.”

At this, Leon Benning scoffed and shook his head.

“Is there anyone who doesn’t, daughter? No one is free from bias. Humans can only see the world through their own eyes. Isn’t that right, Maxime Apart?”

Leon’s gaze shifted from Theodora to Maxime. The swordsman’s expression had remained unchanged since entering the room. Leon’s eyes subtly demanded a response, but Maxime stayed silent. Giving the count time to talk was solely for Theodora’s benefit, not because he had any desire to engage in conversation.

Leon shrugged, his smile twisting into something dismissive.

“Well then, let me ask just one question, daughter. Why have you come here?”

Theodora’s demeanor grew icy. At the edge of her vision, Leon Benning’s face seemed strangely unfamiliar. Suddenly, Theodora realized she had never truly looked him in the eye her entire life. Fear and oppression had distorted even her memories and resolve. Now, as she raised her head to face him, all she saw was a wooden figure speaking human words.

“I’ve come to make you kneel.”

Theodora loosened her grip on the Black Wolf Blade, careful not to let her momentum overflow. Leon’s eyebrow twitched ever so slightly as he noticed the shift in her aura. Her breath carried a faint trace of mana, a radiant platinum light beginning to burn.

“To bring the traitor to the kingdom, Count Leon Benning, to his knees.”

Leon’s brief flash of unease vanished, replaced by his usual emotionless smile. He shrugged again, nonchalant.

“Then prove it, Theodora.”

Leon unsheathed his sword. The afternoon sun streaming through the throne room’s windows gleamed along its blade. Theodora glanced back at Maxime. Like a still lake, he steadied his resolve. They didn’t need words. As always, when fighting a common enemy, they moved as one.

Golden eyes met stormy ones, shining with a shared determination. They synchronized their breathing, matching even their heartbeats, muscle tension, and the flow of mana.

“To the fullest,” Theodora whispered.

Maxime nodded. The tingling sensation of mana coursing through his veins felt new, exhilarating. Their synchronized breaths sent a thrilling surge through him, like an electric current from the top of his head down to his feet. The moment the current reached the ground, both Theodora and Maxime sprang into action simultaneously.

“Yes, that’s more like it,” Leon murmured, raising his sword. His eyes gleamed with a pale light as he channeled mana, amplifying his power. The black aura surrounding him was as dark as night or polluted water. He swung his sword wide.

Clang!

Theodora’s blade intercepted Leon’s in midair. The Black Wolf Blade, now cloaked in platinum aura, howled sharply. Waves of power collided, creating a swirling vortex. Meanwhile, Maxime disappeared into the shadows of the wind.

Becoming one with the world, Maxime saw the paths through the equilibrium of power. Lightfoot techniques, honed by elven training, guided his movements. He leapt lightly from his spot, letting the winds carry him.

Gale Wind.

Maxime vanished, leaving only the faint cry of the White Fang Blade in his wake. Leon caught a glimpse of something pale at the edge of his vision and barely twisted his body in time to avoid Maxime’s strike. The attack nicked Leon’s robe, sending a fragment of fabric fluttering to the ground.

Leon smirked at Maxime’s stoic expression. For the first time, Maxime spoke.

“Unless you’re a Behemoth, you won’t last long.”

“Who knows? Shall we find out?”

Leon raised his sword high, black aura surging with overwhelming force. Maxime’s blade pressed through the torrent, unwavering. Despite the maelstrom threatening to shatter his weapon, Maxime’s resolve remained firm. Leon’s eyes widened in sudden realization.

“Impossible—”

Resistance rippled through the air as Maxime’s sword cut through Leon’s aura. Sliding beneath the opening he had created, Maxime crouched low, his blade poised for a follow-up strike. A flash of white light seared through the throne room.

Leon tried to block, but his reaction was a fraction too slow. Maxime’s blade struck upward, knocking Leon’s sword aside. As Maxime prepared to continue his assault, Leon closed the gap, throwing Maxime off balance.

“Urgh—!”

A black wall of aura surged, forcing Maxime to the ground. In close quarters, he lacked the strength to counter Leon’s brute force. Together, they crashed into the floor with a deafening thud.

The impact sent Maxime flying. Leon raised his sword, aiming to finish him off midair. Maxime deflected the strike, using the wind to regain his footing and launch another attack. Their blades clashed again and again in midair, each strike faster than the last.

A faint click echoed. Leon easily parried Maxime’s blow but realized too late it had been a diversion. Behind him, Theodora’s blade was already descending.

Caught between them, Leon poured every ounce of strength into his aura, enlarging it to monstrous proportions. His black aura swelled to unnatural levels, crushing everything around him.

Boom!

The clash sent both Theodora and Maxime flying. Between them, the throne room floor bore the scar of Leon’s devastating strike. Theodora steadied herself, raising her gaze to the count. Leon stood shrouded in black winds, his eyes devoid of any warmth.

“What…?” Theodora whispered in shock. Maxime, beside her, frowned, his trembling hands betraying the force of the previous blow.

“How can someone who can’t wield aura resist it?” Maxime muttered, clenching and unclenching his fists to shake off the lingering tremors.

Leon began to walk forward, his black aura carving deep footprints into the floor with every step.

“We can discuss that later,” he said. “For now, let’s finish this.”

Black aura descended from above once more. After exchanging a brief glance, Theodora and Maxime scattered, each preparing to strike. Leon Benning, exuding his overwhelming presence, aimed his first swing at Theodora as she advanced.

Boom!

Theodora’s eyes widened at the pressure bearing down on the Black Wolf Blade. Leon’s aura wasn’t just holding its own—it was beginning to overwhelm her. The black energy grazed along the blade’s surface, eliciting a sharp metallic wail.

“What in the—?!” Theodora gasped.

“If you’ve got black magicians at your disposal, they’re more useful than one might expect,” Leon remarked casually.

Useful.
Used.

Theodora’s expression froze. It dawned on her why they had encountered so few black magicians during their assault on the palace and why only one witch had stood guard at the hall’s entrance. Leon’s words implied something dreadful—something she didn’t want to confirm. But despite her wishes, Leon continued with cold nonchalance, watching her expression harden.

“The taste is worse than I expected. Human hearts. Especially when they’re tainted with corrupted mana.”

Clang!

Leon twisted his lips into a sinister smile.
“Yes, if I had to describe it, it’s like chewing on a leather pouch filled with filthy water. They weren’t particularly useful anymore, so this seemed the most efficient way to deal with them.”

“You’re insane,” Theodora spat.

“Without such measures, I wouldn’t have survived.”

The Black Wolf Blade clashed against Leon’s sword repeatedly. With each exchange, Theodora could feel the sinister energy creeping along the flow of her aura. Leon, towering over her with an air of detached amusement, tilted his head.

“I must admit, Theodora, I didn’t expect your aura to withstand this so well.”

Leon chuckled darkly as he spoke, acknowledging Theodora’s exceptional resilience.

“If only you had listened to me more obediently, imagine how different things might have been.”

His words lit a fire in Theodora’s eyes. She gritted her teeth and stopped his advancing blade in its tracks.

“…You.”

Memories flooded her mind. Fighting alongside Maxime, parting ways, hurting him unknowingly, and the countless people who had suffered under Leon’s ambition.

“If you hadn’t been consumed by that accursed greed, how many people would have survived? How many wouldn’t have had to suffer?”

Slowly, Theodora stood taller, her platinum aura lifting her as if pushing her upward. The oppressive space Leon had darkened began to crack under her power.

“And how many could have lived without bearing scars?”

She fully rose against Leon’s blade. His twisted smile deepened as he watched her aura unfold, spreading platinum wings around her.

“You’re mistaken, Theodora. It’s not greed.”

Leon shook his head.
“It’s simply action. Greed is the desire to grasp what one cannot hold. But I? I’ve never desired anything. I simply do what I can.”

Leon sneered, his words dripping with disdain. Theodora’s face twisted in fury.

“Even if you can’t understand that, it doesn’t matter. You couldn’t understand me anyway.”

“Enough of your sophistry—!”

“Just as I have no intention of understanding you, you needn’t try to understand me, Theodora. Isn’t human understanding just as shallow as this conversation?”

Crash!

Leon swung his sword again. The power he’d absorbed from the black magicians seemed inexhaustible. Theodora countered with a powerful strike of her own, their blades clashing with deafening force, scattering remnants of aura in every direction.

“And this destruction—this chaos—it’s the result of your twisted obsession. Your meaningless actions have ruined so many lives—”

“Does that matter?” Leon interrupted with a dry laugh.

Before Theodora could reply, a sudden, sharp gust of wind whipped through the room. Without warning, the White Fang Blade sliced through the air, aiming directly for Leon’s neck.

“Then let me make it matter.”

Boom!

Leon frowned at the force behind the blow, his body reacting to the unexpected weight of Maxime’s strike.

“You—”

Maxime’s eyes burned with focus. His heart thudded as mana surged through his veins, energizing his muscles. His vision sharpened as his aura flared. The grotesque mixture of smells in the air filled his senses, but he ignored them, fully awakening to the battle. The White Fang hummed with mana, vibrating with excitement as if resonating with his breathing. Maxime dove straight into the swirling darkness surrounding Leon.

Blooming.

Crash!

For a moment, the black aura encasing Leon scattered. Maxime’s blade, glowing with a pure white light, shot forward. Leon swung his sword wide to block, deflecting the attack with immense effort. Yet something had shifted—the weight of the fight no longer felt the same.

“What is this—?”

“Willow,” Maxime murmured.

Leon’s vision blurred. Maxime vanished from sight, his movements swift and fluid. Leon’s wild strike shattered part of the hall’s wall but hit nothing. The momentary miss was critical. A chilling sensation crept along Leon’s side, forcing him to twist his body in a desperate attempt to evade.

“!”

Maxime reappeared within Leon’s field of view, his strikes relentless. The White Fang’s rapid flurry forced Leon to focus entirely on defense, his surroundings flashing white with each blow.

“Your face is consumed by hatred,” Leon commented. “It’s not a bad look.”

“Do you even know what hatred is?”

Maxime’s voice was cold as he pressed his attack. Despite his enhanced strength and mana, Leon’s technique lagged behind Maxime’s. Small cuts began to accumulate across the count’s body. Victory seemed within reach; the blade was inching closer to Leon’s throat.

Yet, Leon didn’t seem fazed.

“If I wanted you dead, Maxime Apart, do you think I couldn’t have done it? Back in the academy infirmary, did you ever believe I couldn’t kill you?”

Maxime locked eyes with Leon. For the first time, some semblance of emotion flickered in the count’s gaze—a chilling, twisted amusement.

“I’m not a rational man, Maxime Apart. I simply do what I wish. And bringing you to your knees is still worth my time.”

Something felt off. A dull ache Maxime had long ignored in his chest began to resurface. Faster, he had to end this faster.

Leon’s lips curled into a smirk as he repelled Maxime’s strikes, forcing him backward. From his coat, Leon pulled out a grotesque, pulsating object.

“Do you know what this is?” Leon asked.

In his hand was a blackened, fleshy mass, writhing as if alive. Its shape was unmistakable—a human heart.

“The heart of the witch likely fighting your magician outside—the Life Vessel.”

Maxime charged, but Leon unleashed a burst of aura, repelling him with ease.

“Your curse is controlled between two anchors—Lillia and me. That’s why your curse remains somewhat restrained. But what do you think will happen if I destroy this heart and consolidate the curse’s power within myself?”

Leon waved the heart mockingly.

The black heart floated into the air as Leon tossed it upward. Reaching out, his hand closed around it—

Thud.

—and the blade plunged into the heart.