The clock tower—the proud symbol of the Royal Capital.
From its summit, the gray flames were a vivid sight. They rose from various points across the city, spreading like a web that threatened to shroud everything in their path.
The long-haired man gazed down upon the spectacle, his trembling fingers stroking the cover of the thick tome he held.
"It has begun," he murmured.
The magic circle encircling the capital, the sacrifices offered to fuel it, and the guidance of the Original Tome—this was the moment everything finally connected.
"Behold!" the man commanded the Apostles standing behind him. "Our flames! The flames of the Ash Necros!"
The gray fire surged with enough momentum to swallow the very horizon. It looked as though the sky itself was being incinerated.
"At long last..."
"Is it truly a success?"
"The capital, the world... it will all burn!"
The Apostles’ voices were thick with fanatic joy. The long-haired man narrowed his eyes as he looked down upon the Royal Capital.
"This is the end," he said. "For this entire country."
In that instant, a single point of light pierced the heart of the dark, burning flames. It originated from somewhere within the city—from the direction of the Academy.
"What?" the man hissed, his eyes narrowing further.
A white radiance streaked through the gray inferno. An instant later, a sharp, sizzling sound echoed.
The flames simply vanished.
"What...?"
The gray fire rising from the Academy was snuffed out as if crushed by the sheer weight of the light. Then, one after another, more sizzles followed. The light that had erupted from the Academy raced through the Royal Capital like a lightning bolt, triggering the same phenomenon across the city.
The gray flames—the sacred proof of the Original Tome and their master’s favor—were being systematically erased.
"The flames..." one of the Apostles stammered, his voice failing him.
the long-haired man’s face contorted. It was impossible. The fire of the Original Tome was no mere sorcery. Even if it was only a mimicry of the Original Tome of Flame, it was undeniably the Flame of Ruin.
"Someone is... extinguishing them?"
At that moment, a powerful pillar of light surged from the Academy toward the heavens. The man’s expression shifted the second he saw it. He understood now. He grit his teeth so hard they threatened to shatter.
"I see," he said, his voice trembling with a mixture of realization and fury. "So that’s how it is... I see now!"
The man let out a guttural scream, his grip tightening on the Original Tome until his knuckles turned white.
"It’s you!" he shrieked, his face twisting into a mask of pure rage. "The Hero Candidates! Those bastards from the Holy Theocracy!"
His roar of hatred echoed from the top of the clock tower, lost in the wind.
The heat was stifling. Or at least, it had been a moment ago.
The second the gray flames had swallowed my vision, I’d been certain I was dead. I’d accepted it.
But...
"Huh?"
I didn't feel any pain. Through my closed eyelids, a brilliance far more blinding than the heat of any fire pierced my vision. It wasn't the scorching burn of the gray flames, but a soothing, reassuring warmth.
I timidly opened my eyes. The gray fire that had blanketed the plaza was gone, eclipsed by a single streak of light before being extinguished entirely.
"What..."
The surrounding Apostles were just as bewildered as I was.
"The flames are gone..."
"What happened?"
Still kneeling at the center of the magic circle, I looked toward the source of the radiance. A youth stood before the captive nobles in the plaza. He wore a long coat draped over his school uniform, and in his hand, he gripped an ornate dagger pointed directly at us.
The silky black hair, the familiar face—it was Leonis.
The very air around him felt different.
The man in the gray robe glared at him. "...You."
"You’ve certainly gone and done something quite unnecessary," Leonis replied calmly.
He gave the dagger a casual twirl. Light danced in its wake, making the air itself vibrate.
"Could it be... the Monster of the Holy Theocracy?" the man muttered.
Leonis took a step forward into the plaza, leveling his weapon. The blade glowed with a faint, steady light.
"Calling me a monster is a bit uncalled for. My name is Leonis Alseid." He spoke quietly, his voice carrying clearly through the silence. "For now, Ash Necros, your ritual ends here. Don't worry. This will be over in a flash."
The moment those words left his lips, Leonis blurred out of existence.
"Where did—?" someone started to ask.
Then, a sharp, metallic ring echoed across the plaza.
Deep within the Academy halls.
The sounds of combat filtered through the walls—muffled explosions, heavy impacts, and the occasional, distant scream. Inside one of the classrooms, a dozen students were huddled together behind an improvised barricade of desks and chairs.
"More are coming," Elphiria whispered.
Her brow was furrowed as she stared at the door, her senses honed in on the shifting flows of magical power.
"Three... no, four."
The air in the classroom grew stiflingly tense. One of the students asked in a voice thin with terror, "Still? They’re still coming?"
No one answered. Instead, all eyes turned to the girl standing in the center of the room.
It was Lene.
Her uniform sleeves were soaked a deep, dark red. It was blood. At her feet lay several corpses clad in black robes, each bearing the crest of the gray flames—the Apostles who had tried to breach the room moments before.
"It’s all right," Lene said softly to the trembling students. "I won't let a single one of them past me."
Her voice was small, but it carried an absolute, terrifying lack of hesitation.
Elphiria exhaled a sharp breath. "Lene-san."
"I know."
Both girls fixed their gaze on the door. A heartbeat later, the wood shattered as the door was kicked off its hinges.
"Found them!" a man in a black robe bellowed. "The students are—"
In a split second—a window of time so small a normal person wouldn't have even registered the movement—Lene was already a blur. She lunged, her feet barely touching the floor as she closed the distance.
"Wha—"
Before the man could finish his thought, her blade flashed. His head spun through the air, and blood painted the wall in a gruesome spray. The atmosphere in the room turned ice-cold.
Lene didn't stop. She didn't even look back as she dove toward the next intruder.
The second man raised a dagger, but his arm was severed before he could even begin his swing. He didn't even have time to scream before Lene’s sword pierced his chest.
The third Apostle scrambled to unleash a spell, gray magical power swelling in his palm. "Die!"
But the magic never came. Lene’s blade tore through his throat, and he collapsed as blood erupted from the wound.
The final man stumbled back, staring in horror at the small girl before him. She was just a student, smaller than almost everyone else in the room. Yet, in a matter of seconds, three of his comrades had been slaughtered.
Lene gave her sword a sharp flick, shaking the blood from the steel.
Drip. Drip.
The red droplets fell to the floor as she looked at him with empty eyes.
"What will you do?" she asked.
The man couldn't answer. He didn't have the chance. The sword flashed once more, and silence reclaimed the room.
Lene exhaled slowly and lowered her weapon.
"Is it over?" Elphiria asked softly.
"No." Lene turned her palm toward the floor, sensing the mana outside. "More are on the way."
She looked past the shattered door. In the distance, a brilliant light streaked across the sky, and for a fleeting moment, the oppressive weight of the gray magic wavered.
"What was...?" Elphiria looked out the window. "Did you see—"
She stopped. The sound of more footsteps was echoing from the depths of the hallway.
Lene tightened her grip on her sword.
"It's okay," she said, though it sounded as if she were speaking to herself. "I have to hurry... Lord Luka is waiting."