Strax’s patience was never easy to measure.

It wasn’t ordinary patience, the kind worn down by small daily irritations, nor something that could be tested by shallow provocations or trivial conflicts. His was built in layers, like an ancient fortress, erected over experiences that few would even survive to tell the tale. He didn’t react quickly. He didn’t explode on impulse. On the contrary—he endured.

He endured discomfort.

He endured the mistakes of others.

He even endured chaos, as long as there was some meaning in it.

But there were limits.

And those limits weren’t about him.

They never were.

Strax could be hurt, provoked, challenged, even betrayed—and still maintain enough control to analyze, to ponder, to decide clearly. His mind was too sharp to yield to pure impulse. His strength, too great to need proving anything at any moment.

But there was a line.

A very clear line.

And that line... that was it.

Touching the one he loved wasn’t just crossing a boundary—it was destroying any containment structure he had maintained by choice. It wasn’t a gradual break. It wasn’t a slow emotional escalation.

It was a collapse.

Silent.

Controlled.

And absolute.

The moment the blade’s impact struck Scarlett and her body was thrown downward, something inside Strax didn’t break... it simply changed state. Like a blade being drawn from its sheath after being forgotten for too long.

Cold.

Direct.

Lethal.

The white scales that still partially covered his body began to recede, dissolving like mist in the wind as he stabilized his position in the air. The transformation wasn’t explosive, nor dramatic—it was precise. In seconds, his humanoid form was there again, suspended in the sky, his hair slightly ruffled by the wind, his eyes fixed ahead with an intensity that didn’t need a raised voice to be felt.

He didn’t seem furious.

And that was the most dangerous thing.

His arm moved slowly to the side, as if summoning something that didn’t need words.

And then—

She answered.

The sword appeared in her hand as if it had always belonged to that space, materializing with a slight distortion of the surrounding air, as if reality itself recognized its presence even before it fully formed.

It was a long, elegant blade, with a sheen that wasn’t merely metallic. There was something deeper there, something that didn’t scream power, but condensed it. Unlike anything Strax normally used.

Because, in truth—

He almost never used it.

Swords, for him, were always... redundant.

When you have enough strength to crush mountains with your bare hands, speed capable of breaking sound with your own body, magic that can bend entire elements at will... what would be the purpose of a blade?

Control?

Precision?

Perhaps.

But never necessity. Strax struggled with what he was.

And what he was... made weapons unnecessary.

Except—

When the enemy demanded something different.

His fingers tightened around the hilt.

And, the instant that happened—

Something responded.

Not in the physical world.

But beyond it.

Zani awoke.

The presence within the sword was neither new nor unstable. It was ancient. Ancient enough to carry memory, instinct, purpose. A spirit forged alongside the blade, molded for a single objective that spanned ages.

To slay dragons.

And the moment she awoke—

She trembled.

Not from fear.

But from recognition.

The vibration coursed subtly through the blade, almost imperceptible to anyone but Strax, but enough for him to understand immediately.

She felt.

Something.

Or rather—

Someone. Strax’s eyes didn’t leave the woman before him, but his mind registered it with absolute clarity. The sword in her hand... it wasn’t ordinary.

And Zani knew it.

The presence emanating from that blade... was similar.

Not identical.

But close enough to trigger something primal.

Another dragon slayer.

The woman twirled her sword slightly in the air, as if testing its weight, its balance, completely comfortable with something that should be difficult even for anyone else to lift. The smile was still there, but now there was something more to it.

A heightened curiosity.

A more focused interest.

"Ah... so you use one of those too."

Her voice carried lightness, but her eyes weren’t distracted. They were attentive. Measuring. Comparing.

Strax tilted his head slightly, not as a gesture of doubt, but as someone accepting the situation as it was.

"Normally not," he replied, his voice low, steady, carrying a weight that didn’t need to be raised to be felt. "But today... it seems appropriate."

The pressure around them shifted.

It wasn’t explosive.

There wasn’t a wave of expanding energy.

But the air became... denser.

Heavier.

As if the space between them was being compressed by something invisible.

Below, Scarlett had already fully regained control of her flight, but she hadn’t returned to her original position. She kept her distance, protecting Ouroboros and Tiamat as she watched, her eyes now fixed on the woman with much sharper attention.

Ouroboros didn’t look away.

There was something different about her now.

It wasn’t just alertness.

It was... deep analysis.

And, on some level she didn’t yet fully understand—

Recognition.

Tiamat perceived this immediately, her body already prepared to react to any movement, but her attention divided between the enemy and Ouroboros. That feeling... wasn’t good.

In the sky above—

The silence between Strax and the woman wasn’t empty.

It was charged.

She leaned slightly forward, the tip of her sword now pointing directly at him, as if aligning not just an attack... but an intention.

"You reacted quickly," she commented, almost as a casual compliment. "Most hesitate when I start like this."

Strax didn’t respond immediately.

His eyes drifted down for a moment to her blade.

Then back again.

"You’re not here by chance," he said.

It wasn’t a question.

She smiled a little more.

"Of course not."

The wind passed between them, but it didn’t seem to affect either of them in the same way. It was as if they were both... anchored to something beyond their surroundings.

Zani vibrated again.

Stronger.

Clearer.

Now it wasn’t just recognition.

It was... anticipation.

The woman realized it.

Her eyes quickly slid to Strax’s sword, and for a brief second, her smile changed.

It didn’t disappear.

But it deepened.

"She feels it too, doesn’t she?"

Strax didn’t answer with words this time.

But his hand gripped the hilt lightly.

And that was enough.

The sky seemed to have shrunk around them, reduced to a single point of convergence where two presences faced each other without need for further context.

There was no more doubt.

This was not a random encounter.

Nor a simple test.

It was something planned.

And worse—

Something intentional.

The woman adjusted her posture, her body now slightly inclined, ready, no longer casual. The sword in her hands seemed more alive, as if responding to the growing tension.

"Let’s see then..."

Her voice was lower this time.

More focused.

"Which of us was made better."

Strax didn’t smile.

He didn’t respond provocatively.

He showed nothing but—

Decision.

His body moved a single centimeter forward.

And the world—

He held his breath.

The next instant no longer belonged to ordinary time.

There was no warning, no visible preparation, no gradual change in posture that could be interpreted as the beginning of an attack. Strax simply... ceased to be where he was. The air that occupied his place was still reorganizing itself when his presence had already traversed the distance between them, not as a continuous movement, but as a brute leap between two points, too fast to be followed by the eyes—something closer to displacement than speed.

When the woman realized—

He was already there.

The sword descended.

Not with an elegant arc, nor with displayed technique.

But with an absurd, condensed, direct force.

The impact came like a collapse.

She reacted instinctively, raising her own blade to intercept, metal meeting metal in a clash that didn’t sound like steel against steel, but like something heavier, denser, almost as if two wills collided in the same space. The pressure generated by the blow didn’t stop at the defense—it passed through.

Her body was thrown back into the air, her arms absorbing a force that shouldn’t exist at that level of proximity. The shock reverberated through her muscles, her bones, the center of her chest—

And then came the metallic taste.

Blood.

She spat it out before she even fully realized she had been hit by more than just the physical impact. Her eyes widened for a brief second, not from pain, but from genuine surprise—the first crack in that constant smile.

"...!"

The thought hadn’t fully formed, but the conclusion was already there.

That... wasn’t what she expected.

Strax didn’t wait.

The second blow came before the first had even finished dissipating. His body spun slightly, the blade being pulled back with brutal control and immediately redirected, now with even more weight, more intent, as if the first attack had been merely a gauging move.

This—

It was execution.

The sword cut through the air again, this time with even more concentrated pressure, compressing the space ahead of the blade. The sound that accompanied the movement was lower, heavier, like something being torn from the inside out. The woman reacted faster this time.

Not by choice.

But because she understood.

She dodged sideways, her body tilting at the last possible second, allowing the blade to pass close enough for the displacement of air to cut part of her face, a thin line of blood immediately appearing where there had been nothing before. The blow didn’t hit her directly—but its force still propelled her several meters into the air.

She didn’t waste time.

If the confrontation was at that level—

Then hesitation meant losing.

Her body spun in the same evasive motion, using her own inertia to convert defense into attack. Her blade moved in an upward arc, aimed directly at Strax’s head, fast, precise, charged with a different kind of energy—not just physical strength, but something deeper, something that vibrated along with the metal itself.

A dragon slayer.

And she was aiming exactly where she should.

But Strax didn’t retreat.

He didn’t dodge. He took a tiny step forward in the air, enough to shorten the distance between them even further—

And raised his hand.

Not the sword.

His hand.

His fingers closed around her blade at the exact instant it would strike its target.

The impact happened.

But not as it should have.

The sound was dry, compressed, as if something extremely sharp had been stopped by an impossible barrier. The energy of her sword vibrated, tried to advance, tried to fulfill its purpose—

But it couldn’t.

Because what held it back... wasn’t just flesh.

It was absolute force.

The air around them trembled.

Not from the collision.

But from the tension.

The woman froze.

Not because she couldn’t move.

But because, for an instant, her body simply didn’t respond.

Her eyes slowly rose.

And met his.

They were no longer human eyes.

His irises had contracted, assuming that deep, golden, vertical, draconic shape, reflecting something far older than any ordinary expression. There was heat there—but not the heat of life.

It was the heat of contained destruction.

A thin smoke escaped between Strax’s lips with each breath, dissipating into the cold air in small dark streaks. It wasn’t exaggerated, it wasn’t theatrical—it was natural. As if his body were releasing too much energy to remain completely still.

And around him—

The aura.

It wasn’t directly visible.

But it was felt.

Heavy.

Oppressive.

Wrong.

Not in the sense of simple evil.

But in the sense of something that shouldn’t coexist with the rest of the world so... comfortably.

Something that crushed the presence around it simply by existing.

The woman felt it.

And this time—

There was no curiosity.

There was no amusement.

There was understanding.

Complete.

Instantaneous.

"..."

The thought came clearly.

Directly.

Without room for interpretation.

’What the hell did I do.’ Her smile didn’t completely disappear.