With nothing but the sound of rustling cloth, along with the sound of steel being mangled, the two automatons dropped to the ground in worthless piles of scrap metal. Their weapons whirred and powered down as they landed, cleaved in two and now useless.
The Guard, who had blurred for a split second, had his image come back into focus, revealing the mace that had appeared in his hand.
"Attacking a member of the Empress' Guard in the line of duty is another doubling of your sentence," the Guard explained calmly.
"I'm not going anywhere," Helga smiled motherly. "For getting between a mother and her son, I sentence you to death."
Mana spilled forth from the noblewoman, blanketing the surroundings within the range of her fully extended aura of fifteen hundred feet. The Guard's condescending smile froze on his face as he found that he couldn't move.
The Mage Reach grip on Fate relinquished its hold, only to be replaced by this new domain as he not only didn't get his movement back, but also could no longer breathe.
His lungs kicked into overdrive, trying their best to suck in the air, but it was as if the oxygen in the air was being forcefully held back.
The Guard, being a Master, didn't have to worry about oxygen flowing into his brain, but he still couldn't move. His eyes flashed with rage as Helga strutted toward him with all the confidence of a god.
Within the range of her Skill, anyone at her below her Stage could only bow to her whims. The light was hers to command, the earth could only obey her demands, and even the wind itself went only where she deemed fit.
But as Helga closed the distance, she forgot one essential fact.
The Guard had higher comprehension than her.
It wasn't by much, barely a fraction of a percent, but it was enough. When Helga was in range, the Guard's frozen smile once more reached his eyes as he rallied his own Mana.
The two conflicting Skills canceled each other out, and the Guard could move normally once again. He instantly seized this advantage, swinging his mace at Helga's raising arm.
Helga knew that Skill wasn't everything, however, and had trained herself quite thoroughly. A small shield and a thin sword appeared in her hands, and she threw the former up to block the strike.
As the mace glanced off of her shield, earning a grunt of exertion as the shield dug into her shoulder, she utilized that opening to pierce forward at his throat.
His first instinct was to block with his Mage Reach, but the Space Mana around him prevented it from even moving once he manifested some of his Mana. He could only frown and use the second, less pretty option.
He grabbed the sword by its tip with his free hand, blood splashing to the ground as the edge cut his palm open. But he accomplished his task, the sword stopping only a few inches from his throat.
Bringing his mace back down, he hit the thin sword with his full power, Imprints flashing in the dark from both weapons as they warred against each other.
For a split second, it was like a miniature sun had appeared where their weapons once were, and then the sword gave.
It didn't snap in half, instead splintering into dozens of metal shards as the mace continued its trajectory and smashed into Helga's knee.
A sword, especially one as thin as Helga's could never hope to match a Mace in sheer brutality, even if both weapons were of the same Sapling Grade.
Helga's knee burst into a flower of flesh and blood as she frowned. She had felt worse pain, but the blow to her pride was a separate matter.
With her Master's Body, the body improvement every Master underwent upon reaching this Stage, stopping her bleeding, her frown became a smug grin as she seized the shards of her destroyed sword with her Skill.
The Guard's eyes widened as he realized his blunder, the dozens of sharp metal shards flying toward him like the flak from a grenade. He could only hurriedly cover his face as the projectiles whistled through the air.
They buried themselves into the flesh of his arms, torso, and legs, burying themselves so far in that fishing them out would be difficult.
He coughed up a mouthful of blood as he felt one of his lungs and a few of his other organs get pierced, dropping his hands with a cold look in his eyes.
"You're only making it worse," he said through bloodied teeth. "If you keep this up, the Arch-Mages will come for you. And I promise they won't bother to keep you in one piece."
"Then they'll have to go through my husband. Now be a dear and drop dead."
Helga thrust a hand forward, a wall of Mana colliding with the Guard and sending him flying. Her outstretched hand clamped into a fist, and he froze in the air, much like Fate.
Helga narrowed her eyes as her domain pushed down, squeezing the helpless Guard with the intent to squish him like a grape. His face turned blue as his eyes popped from his face like a human stress ball.
Just then, a sigh echoed through the night.
Helga's Mana was swept up and severed from her, forming into a volatile ball of roiling nothingness, like the air above a fire.
Fate and the Guard fell gasping to the ground as air filled their lungs once more. The Guard leaped to his feet soon after, levying his mace against the newcomer.
A man appeared in front of Helga. If she resembled the older sister of Kathrin, then this man was Venden's older doppelganger, the neatly trimmed beard and close-cropped hair giving him a scholarly air that distinguished him from his son.
This was the head of the Grendevens, Arch-Mage Terry Grendeven.
He looked from his son to his wife and back again, his expression unreadable.