The square held its breath.
Every mber of the clergy leaned forward—so hopeful, so fearful, so calculating—as the Pope’s calm gaze swept over the chaos below. Divine guards clashed with academy fighters. Mana flared. Steel rang. Blood stained white stone.
The Pope spoke again, voice carrying effortlessly across the plaza.
"If I were to take action..."
A pause. Long enough to sting.
"...I am certain there would be soone to counter it."
A ripple went through the clergy.
Brows furrowed. Lips parted. Silent questions exchanged.
The Pope’s eyes returned to the battlefield, unhurried, observant—like a man watching waves crash against rocks he knew would endure.
"Let them play for a while."
Confusion spread instantly.
So bishops stiffened. Others exchanged uneasy glances. A few priests swallowed hard, sensing the danger hidden in that single sentence.
At the edge of the dais, the bishop’s hands clenched into fists so tightly his knuckles whitened beneath his sleeves. His jaw ground audibly as he turned back toward the battlefield.
"Useless!" he snarled. "Do you call yourselves Divine Guards? Press them down! Overwhelm them! You outnumber them—show it!"
His voice cracked with fury as he lashed out at the commanders, veins standing out on his neck.
"Move! Surround them! Don’t give them room to breathe!"
And the guards obeyed.
—
Steel t steel.
Luca twisted sideways as a halberd swept past where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. He stepped inside the guard’s reach and slamd the poml of his saber into the man’s breastplate, knocking the air from his lungs before following with a flat strike to the temple. The guard crumpled, unconscious, skidding across stone.
To Luca’s left, Kyle ducked under a spear thrust, rolled, and ca up swinging—his blade striking the shaft, redirecting it just enough for Aurelia to spear the guard through the shoulder with a clean, controlled thrust that pinned him to the ground.
"Non-lethal!" she barked, yanking her weapon free and pivoting instantly into the next clash.
Sylthara moved like a shadow between bodies—daggers flashing, not cutting deep, but precise. Tendons. Wrists. Pressure points. Divine guards dropped in stunned heaps, armor clattering as she vanished and reappeared elsewhere.
Above them, Selena guided the Ice Phoenix in tight arcs, sending freezing gusts downward to disrupt formations. Spears iced over mid-thrust. Shields beca brittle, shattering under the next impact.
And then—
A surge of water mana swept through the battlefield.
A divine guard lunged for Luca’s blind spot—
—and was slamd sideways by a spiraling ribbon of compressed water that knocked him clean off his feet.
Seraphina stepped in beside Luca, blue hair pulled tight into a bun, her expression focused and unyielding. Water hovered around her arms like coiled serpents, reacting instantly to her intent.
"Eyes up," she said calmly, deflecting a sword strike with a hardened wave that flowed like steel.
Luca exhaled sharply, forcing himself back into rhythm as he parried another attack.
"I didn’t think you—or anyone from the academy—would co," he said between breaths, ducking under a sweeping blade and countering with a sharp kick to the knee.
Seraphina spun, her water lashing outward to bind two guards together mid-charge. "Why did you think that?" she asked coolly.
Luca forced back another opponent, sabers humming as they deflected a coordinated strike. "Didn’t you and the dean try to convince not to involve myself in this?"
She snorted softly, redirecting a spear with a flick of her wrist. "Didn’t you do it anyway?"
Their movents stayed perfectly in sync—one covering the other without needing to look.
Luca grimaced as exhaustion crept into his limbs. Sweat slid down his spine beneath the armor. His breath grew heavier, timing tighter.
Seraphina noticed.
Her voice lowered, steady even as she shattered a guard’s footing with a downward surge of water. "We never said we wouldn’t act. We said you shouldn’t act alone."
Another guard charged. Luca barely caught the blow in ti, the impact rattling his arms.
"You have potential," Seraphina continued, stepping in and forcing the attacker back with a crushing wave. "The dean didn’t want you burning yourself alive for a cause that would swallow you whole."
Luca nodded once, jaw tight, as he disard another guard and sent him sprawling.
Now that the academy has stepped in...
His thoughts raced even as he fought.
Things are already changing from what I planned.
The pressure intensified.
Divine guards closed ranks, formations tightening, movents sharper. These weren’t the recruits anymore—these were trained units responding to direct orders.
Luca’s group was still standing.
Still fighting.
But the strain was beginning to show.
Steel rang louder.
Mana flared brighter.
And above it all, the bishop’s furious commands echoed—driving the battlefield toward sothing far more dangerous.
The clash continued.
The battle ground on.
Not with the explosive dominance it had begun with—but with the grinding, brutal rhythm of attrition.
Luca’s breath ca heavier now.
A spear scraped across his side as he twisted too late, the tip biting through armor and skin. He hissed, pivoting on instinct alone, his saber flashing upward to knock the weapon aside before driving a knee into the guard’s chest. The man stumbled back, armor dented—but Luca didn’t have the luxury to finish it cleanly.
Another guard was already there.
Steel rang violently as Luca parried, arms trembling from accumulated strain. His movents were still precise—trained, efficient—but the sharpness had dulled. Each block reverberated through his bones.
Nearby, Kyle skidded across the stone after taking a shield bash head-on.
"Tch—!" he spat, rolling just in ti to avoid a downward strike. Blood trickled from his temple, streaking through his red hair. He forced himself up with a crooked grin. "Man... these guys really don’t know when to stay down, huh?"
Aurelia was breathing hard now too.
Her spear moved in disciplined arcs, but her shoulders had begun to sag. A slash had torn across her upper arm; blood darkened her sleeve. Still, she stepped forward without hesitation, interposing herself between a lunging guard and Luca—her spear cracking against the man’s weapon with a sharp clang.
"Hold the line!" she called, voice tight but unbroken.
Sylthara landed lightly beside her, daggers flashing.
One blade buried itself into a joint in a guard’s armor; the other slamd poml-first into a throat. She twisted away, but not before a backhanded strike clipped her ribs. The impact knocked the air from her lungs, forcing a sharp grunt from her throat as she stumbled—only to catch herself and keep moving.
Above them, Selena’s Ice Phoenix screeched again—but weaker this ti.
Frost spread unevenly across the ground as Selena strained, her face pale, lips pressed thin. She guided the phoenix defensively now rather than offensively, freezing incoming weapons mid-flight, disrupting charges—but each maneuver cost her visibly. She swayed once in the saddle, gripping tightly to keep herself upright.
Divine guards were falling too.
Armor cracked. Helms dented. n lay groaning or unconscious across the plaza. But for every one that fell, two more stepped forward—disciplined, relentless, fueled by divine authority and orders barked from above.
The pressure mounted.
Vincent’s blade carved a clean arc through the air, forcing back three guards at once—but even he bore wounds now, blood seeping from beneath his sleeve, his breathing deeper than before.
"This is dragging on," he muttered, eyes sharp as he repositioned. "They’re rotating units."
Luca noticed it too.
Fresh guards. Tighter formations. Coordinated pushes designed to exhaust rather than overwhelm.
They’re trying to grind us down.
His vision swam for a heartbeat.
He steadied himself just in ti to block another strike—but the force knocked him back a step. His heel slid through blood-slick stone.
Aurelia caught his shoulder briefly. "You good?"
"For now," Luca replied, though the words tasted thinner than he liked.
The Saintess watched from behind them.
Chains rattled softly as she leaned forward, horror and helplessness etched into every line of her face. Tears streaked freely now, falling without restraint as she watched them bleed—watched him bleed.
"No... stop..." she whispered, though no one could hear her over the clash of steel.
And above it all—
The Pope watched.
Calm.
Still.
His fingers rested lightly on the arm of his throne, eyes tracking the battle not with alarm, but with asured interest. Like a man observing a storm he had already predicted.
The divine guards surged again, pushing the academy fighters back half a step.
Then another.
Luca’s knee hit the stone briefly before he forced himself upright, sabers raised once more.
Blood dripped from more than one of them now.
Silence fell suddenly from the dais.
The Pope stood.
The movent alone sent a ripple through the clergy.
His voice, when it ca, was soft.
Almost conversational.
"Isn’t it enough?"
The words carried—cutting cleanly through the chaos.
The fighting did not stop, but it slowed. Heads turned instinctively toward the source.
The Pope’s gaze rested on the battlefield.
On the wounded students.
On the bleeding guards.
On the trembling Saintess.
He tilted his head slightly.
"Or," he continued, eyes narrowing just a fraction,
"are you still not going to take any action?"
The square seed to hold its breath.
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