Even for an exolaw wielder with regenerative immortality, the heart and brain remained fatal weak points. The soul resided within the brain, while the heart was the source of vitality. Destroy either one, and the body would lose more than half its regenerative function.

However, in Nekator’s case, it was a lot worse than Leon expected.

“Wait, you...!” Leon’s eyes widened.

He wasn’t regenerating. Nine Hell Bishops of the Evil Order shouldn’t fall easily, but Nekator’s body was rapidly decaying the moment his heart was pierced, and it was for a simple reason.

“You never accepted immortality...?” Leon asked, clearly taken aback.

“Nope,” Nekator answered simply.

“Why not?”

Nekator spat a glob of blood onto the ground and replied with a crooked grin.

“Because it’s boring. In a fight, there are winners and losers. The loser dies or is stripped of everything—that’s the only rule there is. If you don’t intend to follow even that, what’s the point of fighting in the first place?”

“You’re insane.”

Leon’s response drew a chuckle from Nekator.

“Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

He was right, of course. Rational thought and words didn’t make him human. Nekator only lived in the heart of battle, where blood was shed and bodies fell. That was his truth—his essence. So, even with his killer standing before him, he simply accepted the end, as if it were the natural outcome for a loser.

“I’d have liked to keep going a little longer, but I guess this is as far as I get. You win. You don’t have to finish me off since I’ll die pretty soon anyway, but if you want to cut my head off, or something, be my guest.”

His tone was so at ease it was hard to tell who had actually won. Perhaps this ending was what he’d wanted all along.

Then, when the battle was seemingly over, a chill ran down Leon’s spine. The tension that had briefly loosened returned tenfold.

In the next instant, Leon alone reacted, instinctively raising his sword. A deafening blast struck him. The impact sent him flying tens of meters before he crashed to the ground, skidding back with both heels buried deep enough to carve twin trenches in the dirt.

That blow hadn’t come from a dying man. Leon turned toward the source and saw Nekator glaring in disgust at his own right arm, the Asura arm, that was blackened like ink.

Nekator muttered, “Hold on. I’m not dead yet. Isn’t this a breach of contract?”

Because he’d pledged his afterlife to the outer being in exchange for power, the Asura’s will had detected his impending demise and moved to seize his body.

The hole through his chest sealed shut. Darkness gathered where his heart had been, forming a pulsating mass that connected with his veins, flooding his body with black ichor until his skin turned as dark as shadow. His flesh twisted, rebuilt into something no longer human.

The Asura Tribe—one of the highest races among the transcendent beings of the exodimensions—was being born anew.

“Dammit! What shameful thing are you trying to do with my body?” Nekator shouted in shock, then turned to Leon. “Hey, you! Do me a favor and kill me fast! Otherwise, we’ll end up fighting some damned revival match!”

Even Nekator tried to fight it, but the Asura arm had already consumed his heart, taking full control.

Half-hearted attacks were useless; the body itself was reacting autonomously, blocking and dodging every move. On top of that, Leon had yet to recover the strength he’d spent.

El-Cid! Any ideas?! He screamed internally.

—I’ve got nothing. You and your group are completely spent. Even if you squeeze out what little you have left, it won’t change anything.

Then, El-Cid’s voice softened slightly. —You should thank the lady.

What?

A moment later, a divine column of light struck from the heavens.

Even Nekator couldn’t dodge it. He was engulfed by the radiance, his transforming body erupting into white fire.

“Divine Judgement.”

A sacred spell that summoned the Goddess’s light to banish beings of the other dimension shone upon the enemy.

“Elahan?!”

Responding to Leon’s shout, Elahan landed hard upon the earth. The ground trembled beneath her impact. Her armor was torn and battered, sweat dripping down her face. Even with her immense Holy Power and resilience, she was gasping for air.

Yet she did not falter. Though her hands trembled, she continued to pour her divine might into the light that pinned Nekator in place.

“Hear me, Nekator, Bishop of Evil!” Elahan shouted.

The power of Divine Judgement was immense. The Asura arm’s control began to falter under its light, its connection to the mortal plane unraveling as it was dragged back toward the realm of the Asura.

Nekator’s soul, however, could not remain free, having been pledged after death. If the Asura were fully banished, his soul would be pulled down into that realm as well.

And so, Elahan offered him one final chance.

“End your own life! If you take it yourself now, your soul can be saved!”

Even Nekator looked stunned at first. Then, he burst into laughter and shook his head.

“No, don’t. Someone like me doesn’t deserve saving. Even if you did, there’s no way I could repay you. Your buddy was right—I should never have been born human.”

It was the plain truth. From birth to death, Nekator had lived in constant dissonance.

To revere one’s parents, to cherish one’s friends, to trust one’s comrades, to love one’s partner—things so simple, so natural for anyone else—meant nothing to him. He could never understand them, never feel them.

Power alone gave him meaning, and he only felt alive when he was breaking others apart. Could such a creature be called human?

“For someone like me, the other side is better. If you really want to save me, just let me go.”

At last, the light tore open a rift in space, and the Asura arm was dragged back to where it belonged. Nekator’s body was pulled along with it.

He raised his only remaining hand and waved lightly, saying, “Well, you handle the rest. I’m off.”

They were hardly words befitting a man being exiled to another realm, but he left with a strangely peaceful smile all the same. When the light of divine punishment faded, nothing remained, and that was the end of Nekator, the second bishop of the Evil Order.

No one spoke. The silence broke only when Dominic collapsed, his Sacris Moenia finally dissolving.

“Cardinal!”

The others rushed to him. As Anna extended her hands to heal him, her expression clouded.

“He’ll live, thank the Goddess... but he won’t be able to fight on the front lines again. The price of Sacrifice was too great.”

“No...”

To have survived blocking Nekator’s Six Realms Annihilation was a miracle in itself. Because of him, Anna’s spell held, and Karen had been able to use the Pitch-Black Dance to open Leon’s path. Leon had delivered the finishing blow, but Dominic’s role was no less heroic.

While Anna tended to him, Leon turned to Elahan and said, “Thanks for saving us. What happened at the main gate?”

“Well...” Elahan began to explain.

***

The great battle atop Calelum’s walls ended, at last, in the victory of the five. In truth, it was the only outcome possible.

Garibaldi the Crusher had been decapitated, and Grainger of Twin Blades lay on the ground, her upper body the only part of her that remained recognizable.

Only Robin still drew breath, but with his right arm gone, his movements were sluggish, and he was barely clinging to life. At that point, he was effectively neutralized.

“There’s no point resisting any longer. Surrender, Robin.”

Valter pressed his sword to the archer’s neck. Blood dripped freely from his palm, running down the hilt; he had fought on even after losing several fingers.

Though it had been five against three, the fight had been anything but easy. The Masters who had lost themselves had pushed beyond all limits, fighting in a frenzy that ignored pain and reason. They charged without fear of death, as if seeking mutual destruction.

Not even Valter escaped unscathed. Everyone, save for Elahan—protected by her Holy Barrier—was battered and bleeding.

“I can’t surrender,” Robin said calmly. “My body’s bound by a contract. If you want me contained, you’d better shackle me while you can.”

“So you weren’t fighting of your own will.”

“Neither were they.”

Robin’s eyes flicked toward the corpses of Garibaldi and Grainger. The bitterness there was hard to miss. It was a pitiful fate, betrayed by the Imperial House they had sworn to serve, reduced to puppets of the Evil Order. They had kept only Robin’s mind intact to use him as a commander. Staying aware was also a massive boost as an archer.

Valter frowned. “Then how did they bind you all? Even the Nine Hells have no means of subjugating Masters. If they did, the Evil Order would have attacked us long ago.”

“Half right,” Robin replied, expression dull. “They didn’t have means, but they had methods.”

He paused, then said quietly, “They took hostages—family, lovers, students. Whatever would hurt most.”

A lone wolf like Cedric might have been beyond such reach, but the Masters of the Empire’s noble families all had something to protect. Even Grania had shown that he was no exception.

They hadn’t attacked the Masters themselves. They’d gone after the people around them, pressuring, threatening, and manipulating until submission was the only option. Even the Imperial House had taken part in it. Faced with such coercion, no Master could truly resist.

“Enough circling around,” Adela cut in. “Tell us what kind of bait they made you tell us. We don’t have time for theatrics.”

Valter and Cedric looked puzzled, not following her tone, but Robin only gave a small nod of resignation. The Evil Order had known this would happen. They had counted on it—that the group would seize the only sane survivor and demand information.

“This is what they told me to say,” Robin said flatly. “The hostages are being held in one of the northern palace annexes of Calelum. I assume you saw all this coming?”

Adela’s face hardened as she spat bloody phlegm on the ground. “We’re dealing with the son of a bitch Morse. Of course, I did.”

Behind her, Valter spoke carefully, “It’s a trap. Revealing the hostages’ location now... it can only be bait. You mustn’t go.”

“I know. There’s a ninety-percent chance it’s a trap,” Adela said, having already made up her mind. “But we’re going anyway. We have to. Morse knows we’ll have no choice—that’s exactly why he’s doing this. If there really are hostages there and they die while we hesitate, both the Church and the Goddess’s name will be disgraced.”

“Foolishness! You would walk into a trap knowingly?!” Valter shouted.

“Yes,” Irexana said, his voice soft yet unwavering. “For the greater good, we sacrifice the lesser—that is what even the Holy Church teaches. But the only ‘lesser’ life one may offer is one’s own. No true believer would ever let others die and call it sacrifice.”

There was no room for persuading the Cardinals. Realizing this, Valter exhaled slowly and stopped arguing. He turned away, leading the captured Robin toward the Ferma army’s camp.

Cedric followed suit, apparently uninterested in throwing himself into another fire. He headed back toward the walls, where the chaos still raged. Perhaps he was intent on cutting down the warped soldiers who were seemingly invincible.

And so, only three remained.

“Saintess,” Irexana said.

“Yes?” Elahan responded.

“Go on ahead. Join the Hero and lend him your strength.”

“W-what? I can’t just leave the two of you behind—”

“Oh my, look at you,” Adela interrupted, chuckling as she cut Elahan off. “Our little one’s all grown up, worrying about us now?” 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

Her teasing tone said it plainly that Elahan didn’t need to stay, and that she had her own task. Elahan’s lips quivered for a moment, but then she straightened, her eyes shining with resolve.

“I understand. I’ll go to aid the Hero. May the Goddess’s blessing be upon your path.”

“Thank you. Take good care of him,” Irexana said gently.

“Come back safe, all right?” Adela added. “We’ll share a drink when this is over.”

After a brief exchange of farewells, Elahan shot forward like a cannon shell, leaping toward the inner fortress. Adela and Irexana watched her go, proud smiles on their faces—then turned toward the northern district, to the place Robin had named.

Toward the trap laid by Morse, Bishop of Chaos.