I Fight Kal'tsit? Seriously?

Chains appeared out of thin air around her, just as they had that morning, and shot toward the young Banshees in the distance.

Amid their cries of "Again?!", they were lifted one by one and placed before the black tower, packed together in neat rows.

Nastya was naturally among them. At the instant the chains bound her, she had actually been only a kilometer away from the tower. She only needed to look ahead to see the two figures talking beneath it.

So she was deeply confused, because what Lamaline was doing now conflicted somewhat with her original judgment... Or perhaps every one of them had failed her test?

And the ruler of the Royal Courts saw that confusion in their eyes.

"Remember everything that happened today. Fix every detail, every movement firmly in your minds, young Banshees."

That gentle voice no longer carried the love and warmth it had that morning. Instead, it was like the ice that formed only amid Wither upon the Sami Tundra—ice that would never melt.

The ruler of the Royal Courts spoke slowly, carrying those words to the Banshees, whose minds had previously been filled with different thoughts.

Their movements quickly stiffened and stopped beneath those bone-chilling words. Even the thought of moving their bodies seemed to have frozen solid.

This should have been River Valley, their homeland.

Was this... was this truly River Valley?

Or was it that battlefield in distant Kazdel, the one they could only recall in their dreams?

Pushing open the doors of the Wordcraft Tower, the ruler of the Royal Courts walked at the front of the group. The silver Pegasus stood at her side, while the Banshees silently formed an orderly line behind them.

They climbed the tower along its spiraling staircase. The steps shifted beneath their feet with Wordcraft, and some of the younger Banshees nearly slipped through empty space and fell, only to be gently caught by a gust of wind.

The ruler of the Royal Courts did not stop. She did not pause for even a moment.

When they stepped onto the final stair, the grand doors before them, carved with exquisite reliefs, slowly opened. The older Banshees had received Lamaline's message earlier and had been waiting here for a long time.

"Banshees welcome your arrival, friend of the Sarkaz, the unrecorded—"

The leading Banshee offered her boundless greeting, but when she raised her head and looked ahead, every Banshee's words caught in her throat. It was as though they had forgotten even how to speak.

Confusion passed among the Banshees. Their gazes quickly fell to the floor, and for a time, aside from the leading Banshee, not one of them dared meet the eyes of the ruler of the Royal Courts walking before them.

After a long wait, the leading Banshee finally asked in a trembling voice:

"Lamaline, our sister, why have you become like this? River Valley's defenses were not triggered. Has an enemy invaded our homeland?"

The ruler of the Royal Courts looked at the Banshee bowing her head before her, then closed her eyes.

"There are no enemies in River Valley. Our homeland remains as it was."

"But I have found my future—the future the Cyclops could not foresee, the future that will allow the Banshees to endure and prosper."

"Now, my sisters, please open the doors to the upper level."

"Protect the young Banshees. Shelter them from the pain of Incantations. Protect this ancient tower. Shelter it from the suffering of Storms."

Just as expected, no Banshee questioned her words, nor did any hesitate.

Beyond the doors leading upward lay the Trial Grounds.

It was an enormous circular arena, ringed by towering walls of dark gray stone. Complex patterns and Incantations were carved across their surfaces. At the center was an open expanse, its rock veined with mottled marks—some were cracks left by battle, while others looked like scorch marks burned into the stone by waves of heat.

Raised platforms encircled the arena, rising in layers against the steep walls like enormous steps. Though empty now, the wind still seemed to carry the echoes of past cries.

Above the arena stretched an open sky. This was the highest level of the Wordcraft Tower, the place where young Banshees first had the chance to touch the heavens.

What marked a Banshee's passage from youth into adulthood was not age, but the knowledge, skill, and wisdom she possessed.

So before setting out on their separate paths, the elders gathered the still-immature children together to witness the birth of a mature soul.

Today, the Trial Grounds would not witness the immaturity it had seen in the past.

The silver Pegasus walked toward one corner of the arena.

The ruler of the Royal Courts walked to face him.

The older Banshees led the group of still-young souls toward the surrounding platforms.

"I have seen corpses piled into mountains. I have seen blood gather into rivers."

The ruler of the Royal Courts spoke softly.

"I found a place of peace. I found a River Valley."

"I hoped for war to end. I hoped peace would endure forever."

Her voice gradually spread from a whisper across the entire arena, carried by the wind blowing down from the open sky and soaring into the heavens.

"Here, I see that the future has arrived."

She gripped the Bone Pen tightly in her hand. Countless Incantations coiled around her body, flooding the entire arena in an instant.

"My name is Lamalien Ducanfalis, ruler of the Death Knell Court, one of the Six Heroes of the Sarkaz."

"Here, I challenge my friend, my hope, my future."

"Call me Gerald."

The silver Pegasus spoke softly.

He drew his sword from its sheath. The ring on his hand and the cloth over his shoulder both flowed with some obscure force, while the wind above lifted his body into the air.

The silver gleam of his blade halted the Incantations before him, leaving them unable to advance even an inch.

"My enemy. My friend."

Grasping the Wings of the Wind

"Pierce."

The Incantation vanished into the air around them, passing without obstruction through the compressed ball of wind shielding Gerald. At the very last instant, the Pegasus evaded it with his speed.

On the battlefield, once she uttered the final syllable, the spear formed from the Incantation would arrive beside her enemy and pierce through their skull.

But the opponent before her was no longer an ordinary soldier who had challenged her with artillery and Arts amid a massed army.

The silver Pegasus was faster, stronger, and more fearless than they were.

His shoulder-length silver hair scattered beneath the onrushing Incantation, and in the next moment, those strands fluttering through the air appeared directly beside Lamaline, along with the sword in his hand, slashing toward the Banshee's head.

"Guard."

The endlessly spreading Incantations on the ground birthed a pitch-black shield. Flowing words coiled together, only to be cut in half the instant they collided with the sword.

The force behind the blade was checked slightly, but the split shield reshaped itself in midair and lunged greedily toward the sword.

He stopped, turned, and used his sword to flick aside the two separated halves of the shield—at close range, the armed side was always the greatest threat, while exposing one's unguarded side to an opponent was the gravest taboo.

But Lamaline was not the Feline general.

She could use words to construct anything she could imagine using. Every word she had personally written stroke by stroke since birth would become her power and carve a path forward for her.

But it was never fast enough. The Incantations gathering like a tidal sea could only gradually erode the wind wrapped around Gerald. They could only surge madly after their target like a tail, then be blocked to one side by the raging wind Gerald had spared to stop them.

Only when his strength ran dry and his Originium Arts could no longer continue would his death come.

Until then, he would control everything.

The one hundred and nine duels with the Feline general had transformed Gerald completely.

The sensation of a monster's sharp claws piercing his body still lingered in his soul, refusing to fade.

Just like those claws, Incantations could not be cut apart, but they were still part of Originium Arts. They were things the wind could block.

If ordinary clashes of Originium Arts resulted in annihilation, then his wind and Lamaline's Incantations now blended like water and oil.

Distinct layer upon distinct layer, yet utterly different.

Naturally, Lamaline caught that weakness. Her Bone Pen traced lightly through the air, pointing toward the Pegasus, while her lips clearly formed the next Incantation.

"Wither."

To evade this instantly cast, lethal Incantation from such close range, Gerald had no choice but to twist his body into an inhuman shape and take another step toward Lamaline, pressing his close-combat advantage to its utmost—

"Sever."

The Banshee murmured softly.

People often misunderstood.

They believed that Banshees who carried nothing but Bone Pens onto the battlefield had no ability to resist once someone closed in on them.

Once their long-range Incantations were evaded, all it took was one more step. Blades would cut through their bodies, and they would no longer be able to sing any Elegies.

But had they ever considered why Banshees used Incantations?

Just as thunder splitting the sky in two was said to be the spear cast by a god, and raindrops falling from the clouds were seen as tears shed by immortals.

Thus, all things were bound to thought and language, forming everything in this world.

Incantations gave concepts life and soul, recreating them in reality.

The Banshee Queen who mastered Incantations could reconstruct the laws within her Courtyard, making countless things submit to her decree and bringing eternal wails and suffering upon enemies who trespassed within.

And Lamaline had long predicted the only space Gerald would leave after evading her attack—the inescapable blind spot.

Rip.

It was the sound of skin and flesh being sliced open.

The slash tore through Gerald's body from his shoulder to one side of his chest. Had it not struck something hard when it reached his right arm, his entire arm would likely have been cut off as well.

Blood gushed endlessly from the wound, spilling over the arena like a waterfall. The Thorns around the platforms seemed to sense the pain within it, and their ink-black color deepened.

—That was Gerald's blood, and Lamaline's blood.

The smile on the Pegasus's face left Lamaline dazed for a moment.

By the time Lamaline realized that the source of her dizziness was not a mental effect, but her own body, her shoulder had already been pierced through by a sword.

But the sword that should have been on the other side, flicking apart the two shields and dissolving them into Incantations, had clearly fallen to the ground with her previous slash.

Lamaline was not the Feline general.

That rigid yet perfected swordsmanship gave Gerald few chances to make mistakes. When they had first met, even exerting all his strength, he had only managed to shift his body enough to trap the sword thrust into him.

But Lamaline was different.

His compatibility with her was indeed terrible. The Banshee Queen's Incantations were nearly inexhaustible, while his Originium Arts were always limited. He could not possibly drag things out until her stamina was depleted. The Incantations constantly pursuing him from behind would tear apart his body and cast him down into hell.

But no matter how many souls the Banshee had buried within her Courtyard, her methods—invincible on the battlefield—still fell somewhat short of that Feline general's in a duel.

The countdown to the end was still turning, but now Lamaline had at least been wounded and bled, just like him.

His right hand was broken. It did not matter.

His sword was gone. It did not matter.

He still had his left hand. The wind would become a sword again and fall into his palm to fight alongside him.

He still had his limbs. He still had his entire body.

As long as the wind did not stop, he would not fall.

The distance between him and Lamaline widened. Following the wind's guidance, he stepped into the sky. The unspoken Incantations now seemed to have become his wings, circling around him, yet unable to advance even an inch through the wind's barrier.

Only Incantations personally sung by the Banshee Queen had the right to touch him.

On the platforms, the older Banshees had already closed their eyes. They could not bear to watch what came next.

In their memories, Lamaline had rarely been wounded.

The lord of the Carrion Eaters could turn the dead into his own life, the Lich could hide away its Life Knot, while Banshees could only heal themselves with Incantations after battle. Thus, they had to remain vigilant of every change on the field.

Even knowing that the Pegasus had likely reached his limit, Lamaline would surely stop at the end—they still feared what was about to happen.

They feared that in these peaceful days, someone they cared for would lose their life because of this.