While Arthur battled Vaelor with everything he had, the other students faced their own trials, locked in desperate combat against vampires and members of the Red Chalice Cult.
Lucifer's sword blazed with a resonating aura that shimmered like a living rainbow, forged from the six elements under his command. Each swing forced his opponent—a grim-faced Integration-rank vampire—back step by step. The vampire's own blade, sharp and deadly though it was, could do nothing against the overwhelming force of Lucifer's strikes. It was as if the air itself conspired with him, bending to the will of his sword.
But for all his mastery, only one thought rang clearly in Lucifer's mind: how far his sword still fell short of Arthur's.
With a sharp inhale, Lucifer steadied himself. His blade, Valediction—a gleaming Ancient-grade artifact—vibrated with contained energy as he layered six concentric auras over its surface, one for each element he controlled. The edges of his resolve hardened, and the third movement of Myth of Northern Peak, Frozen Zenith, began to take shape.
The enhanced aura swirled and compressed, transforming into a radiant halo that wrapped around the blade. The energy refracted like light through a prism, casting fragmented rainbows across the cavernous space. Valediction, as if alive, seemed to hum with approval, the weapon honing the power further.
The vampire facing him faltered, their confidence waning. They snarled and raised their sword, blood-red lances materializing around them in a desperate bid to counter. The lances streaked through the air like deadly arrows, aiming to impale Lucifer from all sides.
But it was useless.
Lucifer's strike cleaved through the air, slicing apart the lances as though they were no more than cobwebs. The blade descended with terrifying precision, carving through the vampire's defenses like they were paper. The creature staggered, their weapon knocked aside, as Valediction's edge gleamed under the flickering torchlight.
And yet, in that fleeting moment, hesitation flickered in Lucifer's eyes.
He paused, just for a breath, as his sword hovered over the vampire's chest. This wasn't a beast he was about to slay; it wasn't a mindless creature or a faceless enemy. It was a being that had thoughts, memories, and fears.
A being, despite its monstrosity, that had lived.
The vampire hissed and lunged forward, fangs bared in desperation. That single moment of hesitation could have cost Lucifer dearly, but instinct took over. With a sharp thrust, he drove Valediction through the vampire's heart.
The creature let out a strangled cry, its body convulsing as the energy of six combined elements ripped through it. Then, the vampire crumpled to the ground, lifeless.
Lucifer stood motionless for a moment, his sword still raised. He looked down at the still form before him, his breath steady but his heart weighed down.
This wasn't victory. It didn't feel like triumph.
With a flick of his wrist, he dispelled the lingering aura around Valediction and sheathed the blade. He turned, his gaze hardening as he sought his next opponent. If this fight was going to weigh on his soul, then he would make every strike count. There was no room for mercy. Not here.
While Lucifer engaged one of the strongest foes, Seol-ah and Ren dealt with their adversaries, each carving their own path through the chaos with formidable skill.
Lucifer's verdant eyes flicked toward Seol-ah. Her sword, encased in a resonance of wind and water enhanced aura, seemed almost alive as it danced through the air. Her strikes were swift and precise, cutting through the vampire's defenses with a mastery that made Lucifer pause.
Something was different.
Her movements carried a new weight, a sharpened purpose that wasn't there before. His eyes widened as she seamlessly transitioned into the first movement of her art. Space mana shimmered around her blade, bending reality itself as it erased the distance between her and her foe. The vampire's blood magic, once an impenetrable force, was rendered useless as her blade sliced through it effortlessly. With one fluid strike, she ended him.
Lucifer's breath hitched for a moment, his mind racing.
She had done it.
"She's elevated her art," he muttered under his breath, barely audible over the din of the battlefield.
Lucifer, born with unparalleled talent in the sword and trained in a Grade 6 art since childhood, recognized the monumental leap she had taken. His own experience, combined with the insights granted by his God's Eyes, made it abundantly clear—Seol-ah had developed her Grade 5 art to the next level.
A Grade 6 art.
The realization stirred something in him, a mix of awe and quiet acknowledgment. It was a rare feat, one that would undoubtedly change the landscape of her family.
'The Moyong family,' he thought, his gaze lingering on her as she lowered her blade, the wind carrying the last remnants of her aura. 'They'll rise to new heights under her.'
But there was no time for further reflection. Lucifer turned his focus to Ren.
If Seol-ah's mastery was sharp like a blade, Ren's approach was raw, a force of nature unto itself. His God's Eyes, sharper and more intuitive in their application than Lucifer's, swept the battlefield with unnerving precision. He moved with the unrelenting rhythm of a storm, his fists resonating with enhanced aura as they smashed through the cult members who dared to stand against him.
One cultist attempted to launch a spell, only for Ren's fist to collide with the attack mid-air, the force of his blow dispelling the magic like smoke. Another lunged at him with a blade infused with blood magic, but Ren's movements were too fluid, his counterattack too swift. His punch landed squarely in the attacker's chest, the sound of shattering ribs echoing as the cultist crumpled to the ground.
Lucifer's eyes narrowed as he observed Ren's efficiency. His fists weren't just weapons—they were an extension of his very being, honed to perfection. Each strike carried the weight of his enhanced aura, the discipline of his training, and the precision of his God's Eyes. It was a display of overwhelming dominance, yet not without control.
Not just Seol-ah and Ren—everyone had grown stronger.
The students, despite their relative inexperience, were holding their ground against the vampires and cult members. The battlefield was a cacophony of clashing steel, the hum of spells, and the determined cries of those refusing to yield. Injuries were unavoidable, but every time a student faltered, Rachel's light magic swept over them, mending wounds and rekindling their resolve.
Lucifer shook off his lingering thoughts, the weight of what lay ahead pressing down on him like an iron hand. His sword gleamed with resonating enhanced aura as he dashed forward, carving through weaker cult members and vampires with ruthless efficiency. His blade moved like a conductor's baton, orchestrating a deadly symphony that cleared the path for his companions.
When the last of the immediate enemies fell, the students gathered, their breaths heavy but determined. Cuts and bruises marked their armor and robes, but their eyes shone with unrelenting resolve. The battle had taken its toll, yet none voiced a single complaint.
"Let's move forward," Lucifer declared, his tone brooking no argument. Exhaustion hung over the group like a dense fog, but they all knew the unspoken truth: retreat was not an option. They nodded silently, their collective resolve pushing them onward.
Ren stepped to the front, his expression unreadable but his movements purposeful. With a heave, he pushed open the heavy doors that blocked their path.
What lay beyond made Lucifer's eyes widen—not in fear, but in shock and admiration.
The sight before them was like something out of legend. The cavernous room was bathed in flickering light from spells and energy flares that hung in the air like frozen fireflies. At its center stood Arthur Nightingale, his dark blade gleaming with pseudo-astral energy, layers of it resonating in a manner that seemed almost alive. He moved with an otherworldly grace, his every strike flowing into the next with such precision and power that it seemed as though the air itself bent to his will.
Across from him was Vaelor, the Vampire Elder, his spear pulsing with blood and night astral energy. His pale features were contorted with frustration and—though faintly visible—fear.