Patri's POV
Patri's hands trembled as he gripped the magic stone tightly, where he had hidden himself.
He could still feel the aftermath of that spel no— divine spell that had razed everything it touched with merciless precision.
His body, though intact, bore the weight of exhaustion and fear, not from battle, but from narrowly escaping annihilation.
The spell's sheer magnitude was beyond anything he had ever seen.
Even with his unparalleled power as an elf , it seemed like an impossible task to evade it.
His escape felt less like a triumph and more like a stroke of fortune—a terrifying reminder of his mortality.
Patri leaned against a tree, his breathing uneven, the events of the day replaying in his mind.
That man… Nero.
He had barely glanced their way, yet in a single moment, their plans had almost unraveled.
The immense spell had cleansed the kingdom, but it had also come dangerously close to wiping out the Eye of the Midnight Sun entirely.
If he had chosen to pursue us… Patri swallowed hard, the thought sending a chill through his very core.
It wouldn't have been a battle. It would have been a massacre.
The image of those divine pillars of light piercing the heavens and striking down all within their reach haunted him.
Nero's magic was not something human; it was the will of a god descending upon them.
But for some reason, Nero had shown no interest in chasing them despite being aware of their escape.
That alone was the sole reason Patri was alive to clutch the magic stone now.
The narrowness of his escape stung at his pride, but deep down, he knew the truth: he wasn't ready to face an opponent of that caliber.
They were foolish to assume they could subdue him.
Yet, not all was lost.
Despite the overwhelming setback, they had achieved a critical victory.
Fuegoleon Vermillion had been dealt with, and his magic stone was now in their possession.
This is just a delay, Patri told himself, his jaw tightening.
The rage in his heart flared, igniting his resolve.
'Revenge against the humans for what they've done to our people cannot be stopped by one man, no matter how powerful he is.'
But even as he clung to that resolve, a shadow of doubt lingered at the edge of his mind.
He knew that should Nero decide to turn his attention toward them in the future, there would be no hiding.
No escape.
For now, though, Patri would take the reprieve as a chance to regroup and press forward.
Fuegoleon's stone would bring them one step closer to their goal, and if they played their cards right, perhaps they could find a way to neutralize that man before he became a permanent obstacle in their revenge.
But until then, Patri knew better than to underestimate Nero again.
One false move, and revenge—or survival—would no longer be an option.
---
Nero stepped into the infirmary, with a rush of healing mages running around healing all that they could.
Rows of cots stretched out around him, but his attention was drawn to one figure in particular: Fuegoleon Vermillion.
The captain lay motionless, his armless form pale against the pristine sheets, his breathing steady but shallow.
Nero stood at the foot of the bed, his eyes fixed on the unconscious man.
There was no pity in his gaze, only a sharp, calculating coldness.
So, this is the future host of the Salamander, he thoight to himself, his tone devoid of emotion. 'A man who couldn't even defend his own arm... destined to wield the greatest of the elemental spirits? What a waste.'
He moved closer, the soft rustle of his cloak the only sound in the quiet room.
Fuegoleon's face, despite his injuries, retained its stoic dignity—a mask Nero found almost laughable under the circumstances.
'The Salamander deserves more than a glorified battlefield janitor of elemental power,' Nero murmured, his fingers tracing idle patterns in the air as if weighing his options. It could serve a far greater purpose in the hands of someone capable.
Someone who doesn't collapse under the weight of their own hype.
For a brief moment, Nero considered it—a swift end to Fuegoleon's life.
It would be so easy to extinguish him here and now, to let the Salamander find a more fitting vessel, one that wouldn't squander its potential.
His hand twitched slightly, a faint spark of mana dancing at his fingertips before he clenched it into a fist.
'Not yet' he decided, his voice firm, breaking the silence. 'Let him survive, for now. Even frauds have their uses.'
Turning away, Nero left the infirmary without another glance, not before taking a botrle of blood from Fuegoleon though, his mind already turning to the possibilities ahead.
Fuegoleon's fate was no longer in his own hands—it rested entirely on whether Nero saw value in allowing him to live.
---
Two days later...
Asta sat cross-legged on the wooden floor of his room, the faint glow of the runic circle surrounding him casting soft blue light against the walls.
He had meticulously drawn the symbols with the magic chalk, exactly as Nero had instructed.
The ritual allowed Liebe to manifest outside the grimoire, a skill Asta had worked hard to master. It wasn't just a convenience; it was a way to strengthen their bond, their synchronization, and their understanding of one another.
Opposite him sat Liebe, his small demonic form mirroring Asta's posture, though his arms were crossed, and his tail flicked with faint impatience.
The room was silent, save for the faint hum of magic radiating from the circle.
"Alright," Asta said, breaking the quiet, "let's focus. Father said this ritual would help us train more effectively if we commit to it fully."
Liebe grumbled, "Yeah, but you're still terrible at sitting still. Are you sure this isn't just going to end with you falling over again?"
"Hey! I've gotten better!" Asta shot back, puffing out his chest indignantly. "Just you watch!"
Liebe sighed but couldn't suppress a smirk. "Fine. Let's see if you can do it for once."
The two closed their eyes, the glow of the circle intensifying as their minds connected.
The space around them shifted, pulling them into the shared mental plane where their powers could interact freely.
Here, they weren't constrained by physical limitations.
Destruction from Asta's core coiled and danced like red lightning, while Liebe's essence of Anti-magic burned with a dark all encompassing form.
The two energies spiraled around each other, flickering and clashing as if testing their compatibility.
They had done this countless times, but Nero's cryptic words about finding a more "intertwined state" hung in the air between them like a challenge they couldn't ignore.
"I don't get it," Asta said after a while, his voice echoing in the ethereal space. "What does he mean by more 'intertwined'? We're already working together!"
Liebe snorted. "Father always talks in riddles. But if there's a way to make our power even stronger, then we need to figure it out. It's not just about us—there's too much at stake to hold back."
Asta nodded solemnly. "Yeah, you're right. Let's push harder this time."
They dove deeper, their energies clashing with greater intensity.
Anti-Magic surged like a black tide, meeting the fiery waves of destruction head-on.
The struggle between their powers felt almost familiar like always, each trying to dominate while still maintaining balance.
Then, it happened —a spark.
A brilliant blue light ignited at the point where their energies collided, expanding like a ripple across the mental plane.
Both Asta and Liebe opened their eyes in shock, watching as the spark pulsed once, then vanished just as quickly. The silence that followed was deafening.
"What in the fuck was that?" Liebe asked, his voice sharp with a mix of curiosity and alarm.
"I... I don't know," Asta admitted, his brow furrowed. "But it felt... strong. Like, really strong."
"Do you think it has something to do with what Father said?"
Liebe's gaze hardened. "Probably. But it's not something we can force. That spark wasn't Destruction energy or Anti-magic —whatever it was—happened because we pushed ourselves. We'll have to keep doing that if we want to understand it."
Asta grinned, his usual enthusiasm returning despite the shock. "Then let's do it! We'll keep training until we figure it out. No matter how long it takes!"
Liebe smirked. "You're an idiot, but you're not wrong. Let's go again."
As they settled back into their meditative state, Asta couldn't help but feel a flicker of excitement.
Whatever that spark was, it felt like the beginning of something incredible.
---
In the depths of his lab, Nero worked with calm precision.
The air was thick with the smell of arcane chemicals, and the steady hum of magical equipment working overtime filled the room.
Before him, a large, alchemical melting pot bubbled, its surface alive with swirling, translucent colors—blue, red, green, and gold—intertwining and flickering like a storm contained within glass.
The energies were wild, unstable, yet full of potential, the result of years of meticulous research.
A vial of blood sat beside him. Fuegoleon's blood.
The blood was carefully poured into the pot, the liquid swirling into the mix with a hiss and a faint puff of smoke.
The pieces were in motion, and the bloodline he'd taken would be essential for what was to come.
With practiced motions, Nero added several more vials of blood—each more significant than the last. Ancient bloodlines, hidden from the world. Royal blood, mage blood, powerful warrior blood. Nero had gone to extraordinary lengths to gather them all—some willingly, others... not so much. He had even ventured into graveyards, pulling the essence of long-dead bloodlines to complete the mixture. It didn't matter.
If blood was needed, he would take it.
This was a sort of nase of understanding he was making to add to Hogyoku to begin its evolution from.
As the concoction began to bubble more fervently, Nero turned his attention to a nearby table, where a complex and ornate magic item lay.
Inside the item, suspended in a sphere of crystal, floated a flickering soul—the soul of Acier Silva.
The soul flickered weakly, barely tethered to the material world.
He had gathered it for his experiments on understanding soul, knowing it held the potential for something greater.
Acier, the mother of the Silva siblings, had died far too young, and her soul had been caught in a strange, residual curse that even now, could still be felt.
Nero considered releasing the soul. Acier's essence was frail, fragmented, but still full of arcane power.
He had analyzed the curse that had been placed upon her, he could likely manipulate it for his own benefit. It could be a tool—perhaps even a weapon—but he resisted. For now. The soul might serve another, more critical purpose.
■■■■■fication.
The thought lingered in his mind, as it often did when he gazed at the soul within the crystal.
There was a need for such power. A need for warriors, for individuals of strength who could be bent to his will when time came.
And Acier's soul, in particular, might offer more than just insights into curses and magic.
Perhaps, one day, she could be resurrected.
She could become something entirely different—, a tool in his arsenal.
For now, though, Nero would leave the soul locked away, its potential simmering like the concoction before him.
He didn't need it now. There were more important things to consider.
The Hogyoku base was forming, and once it was complete, it wouldn't take much longer to make the thing itself.
The blood and magic continued to twist in the melting pot, the energies now approaching a critical mass.
Nero's eyes gleamed with anticipation as the mixture began to form a new, singular aura—a new essence.
The Hogyoku base, would soon be realized.
The future was within reach. And it would be his to mold.
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