Alastor exhaled heavily as the Arthur-like being disappeared, leaving behind an unsettling silence. His sharp gaze lingered on the space it had occupied, his mind racing. That mana signature—the oppressive, overwhelming aura—it was unmistakable now. It matched the faint, lingering traces of the entity that had placed the barrier within Arthur's mind.
Divine-rank. Not merely someone who had stepped into the lofty realm of transcendence or brushed the edge of divinity. No, this being had gone further, ascended higher. Beyond even the rarest Radiant-rankers, it was a power Alastor had only read about in fragmented texts and forgotten myths.
And it was tied to Arthur Nightingale.
Alastor's hands clenched at his sides, the frustration in his chest simmering like a low fire. Despite the impossibility of the situation, his practical mind forced him to focus on the present. At least the boy's fine, he thought, though the words felt thin against the gravity of the moment.
Radiant-rankers like himself had undergone the soul metamorphosis, a process that refined their essence to an almost indestructible degree. It granted them the ability to heal their own souls, to repair damage that would cripple others. But even with that power, healing someone else's soul was an unattainable feat.
Arthur's soul was beyond his reach. Beyond Mo's. Beyond anyone in the room.
Helpless. The word hit him harder than any physical blow. It was a feeling Alastor hadn't experienced since facing Magnus Draykar in a duel long ago, when raw strength and sheer mastery had left him humbled. But this—this was something entirely different. He wasn't facing a rival. He was staring at the limits of what humanity itself could achieve.
Alastor turned to Rachel, his eyes narrowing as his gaze sharpened, scrutinising her with a precision that only a Radiant-ranker could manage. Then his expression froze, his pupils contracting in shock.
"W-wait, Rachel," he stammered, his usually steady voice breaking. "How... how are you already this close to scaling the Wall?"
Rachel tilted her head, confused. "What do you mean?"
"You're only days away from reaching Ascendant-rank!" Alastor's voice was nearly a shout now, the disbelief palpable. "Do you realise what that means?"
Rachel blinked, her sapphire eyes wide with surprise, but before she could reply, Alastor's gaze swept over Seraphina and Cecilia. His shock deepened.
It wasn't just Rachel.
The other two girls weren't far behind.
Their auras, their mana signatures—they all radiated power that hadn't been there before. Strength that should've taken months to cultivate had blossomed in mere weeks. He turned back to Arthur's still form, sprawled on the bed, his breathing steady but faint, and then to Mo.
Their eyes met, and the same realisation struck them both like a lightning bolt.
"You three," Alastor said, his voice tight with restrained urgency, "Arthur did something, didn't he? Something to make you stronger?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and unavoidable. Rachel's lips parted, but no words came. Seraphina crossed her arms tightly, her silver hair falling over her face, obscuring her expression. Cecilia was the first to look away, her usual confidence cracking under the weight of Alastor's gaze.
The silence was answer enough.
"Do you even understand what you've done?" Alastor's voice dropped, colder now, though the anger in it wasn't directed at them but at the situation itself. "You've gained strength, yes, but at what cost? Do you know what kind of burden—"
"Arthur didn't hesitate," Rachel cut in, her voice trembling but firm. "He knew the risks, and he chose to do it anyway. For us."
"That's not—" Alastor started, but she interrupted him again.
"He's not like us," Rachel continued, her sapphire eyes blazing. "He's not just fighting for himself, or for glory. He's fighting for all of us. And if he thought this was worth the risk, then I won't stand here and regret it."
Seraphina raised her head, her ice-blue eyes meeting Alastor's with quiet determination. "We didn't ask him to do it, but we won't let his effort go to waste."
Cecilia nodded, her voice softer but no less resolute. "We'll carry whatever burden comes with this."
Mo sighed, his usually stoic expression softening. "Alastor, we can't undo what's already been done. And they're right—Arthur doesn't act without reason."
Alastor pinched the bridge of his nose, forcing himself to calm down. "Reason or not, this... this is insanity. You've all grown stronger, yes. But whatever Arthur did, he's carrying a price none of you seem to understand yet."
The three girls exchanged a glance, their expressions a mixture of resolve and guilt. Alastor's words hung heavily in the room, but none of them flinched. They had made their choice, and they wouldn't turn back now.
"I hope you're ready," Alastor said finally, his tone grim. "Because if this is the path you're taking, there's no going back."
"Strength doesn't come without a cost," Mo added, his tone heavy with the weight of experience. "You've all gained power at an accelerated pace, but that means Arthur is bearing the brunt of the cost for the three of you."
Rachel's fists clenched at her sides, guilt warring with resolve. Seraphina's ice-blue eyes flickered with concern, while Cecilia crossed her arms, her jaw tightening. None of them spoke, but the atmosphere in the room grew heavier, each of them grappling with the weight of Mo's words.
Alastor, however, had retreated into his own thoughts. His mind turned over the implications, the pieces falling into place with chilling clarity. A method to accelerate growth like this—if such a thing truly existed, the implications were staggering. Families like his own, the Creighton family, would stop at nothing to obtain it. Nations, guilds, sects—they would all clamor for a chance to wield such a dangerous and transformative tool.
'Is this how Arthur grew so strong after his isolation training?' Alastor wondered. The young man's meteoric rise, his ability to take on a war-hardened Vampire Elder at mid Ascendant-rank while still at high Integration-rank—it all began to make more sense. It wasn't just his battle sense or the refinement of his abilities. It was something far deeper, more intrinsic.
Alastor exhaled slowly, his Radiant-rank mana pulsing faintly within him. The clarity of his Gift, Sage's Eyes, sharpened his perception as he activated it. The world seemed to shift, the boundaries of the physical realm blurring as he peered into the intangible. He was stepping into the domain of souls.
His gaze fell on Arthur, his prone form still drenched in sweat. Alastor shuddered as he glimpsed the immense, incomprehensible presence residing within the boy's soul. It was like staring into a sun—blinding, overwhelming, and utterly alien. He quickly averted his focus, choosing instead to examine Arthur's own soul, distinct and mortal despite the divine shadow it shared space with.
Then he turned his attention to the three girls.
Threads.
Faint but unmistakable, threads of ethereal energy extended from Rachel, Seraphina, and Cecilia, weaving through the fabric of existence and converging on Arthur. The threads pulsed faintly, a testament to the living bond they represented.
"So that's what he did," Alastor murmured, more to himself than anyone else. His words carried a mixture of admiration and unease. He didn't fully comprehend the intricacies of what he was seeing, but he understood enough to grasp the gravity of it.
"What do you mean, Father?" Rachel asked, her voice steady but laced with tension.
Alastor glanced at her, his Sage's Eyes flickering faintly as he spoke. "Simply put, Arthur has tied your souls to his own. That's why his soul has taken so much trauma. He's made himself your anchor."
"Anchor?" Seraphina asked, frowning.
Alastor nodded, his expression grave. "The threads I see—they represent the connection he's created. It's not just a symbolic bond; it's real. Whatever damage your souls might endure will be transferred to his instead. But it's one-way. His soul protects yours, but no such protection extends to him."
The room fell silent.
Rachel's hands trembled slightly as she stared at Arthur, her mind reeling. "Why would he…?"
"Because he loves you," Mo said quietly, his gaze softening as it rested on the unconscious boy. "It's simple, really. He's willing to endure anything for your sake."
"But what if it's too much?" Cecilia asked, her crimson eyes narrowing. "What happens if his soul can't handle it?"
"That's the danger," Alastor said, his tone grim. "He's taking on an unprecedented burden. Anchoring one soul would already be an immense strain, but three? It's unheard of. He's gambling everything on the hope that his strength will be enough to bear it."
"And if he fails?" Seraphina asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Alastor didn't answer immediately. His eyes lingered on the faint glow of the threads before closing. "Then he shatters. And you lose him forever."
The words hung in the air like a blade poised to fall. Rachel's knees buckled slightly as the weight of it all pressed down on her. Seraphina's hands clenched into fists, her composed demeanor cracking at the edges. Even Cecilia, who rarely showed vulnerability, looked shaken.
"But he hasn't failed yet," Mo said, his voice cutting through the tension like a steady anchor. "He's survived this long. That should tell you something."
"It tells me he's reckless," Alastor muttered, though there was no anger in his voice—only a grudging respect. "But it also tells me he's stronger than I gave him credit for."
He stepped back, his Sage's Eyes dimming as he let the threads fade from view. "You all need to decide what you're going to do with the strength he's given you. Because whether you like it or not, he's put everything on the line for you."
The three girls exchanged a glance, unspoken determination passing between them. They didn't need to speak to understand what they felt. They owed Arthur more than words could ever express. And now, they would have to prove themselves worthy of the trust he had placed in them.
"I won't let him carry this alone," Rachel said finally, her voice firm. "No matter what it takes, I'll match him."
"Good," Alastor said, his voice softening slightly. "Because for his sake, you'll have to."