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  As the colossal monster heaved forward with earth-shaking steps, Sarusos had already vanished from his position—his singular goal crystalline in its simplicity: eliminate the angel and focus on the actual threat. Variables would only complicate the tactical situation further if not immediately stopped.

  With a swift [Flash], he materialized directly behind the boy, [Energy] manifesting as a paper-thin crimson veil that clung to the dagger’s razor edge like liquid malice—the blade swept forward in a perfect killing arc, aimed with surgical precision at the vulnerable space between the angel’s neck and shoulder.

  “Too weak,” Milo’s voice carried the dismissive tone of someone accustomed to effortless superiority. While he might not have been a combatant, his [First Conjecture] status created a power gap that was insurmountable for any opponent of the foxkin’s apparent caliber. “Take a nap, lad.”

  Before the gleaming blade could even graze the angel’s caramel-colored skin, a crushing wave of divine [Aura] erupted from Milo’s small frame like an invisible dome of absolute authority—raw divinity slammed into Sarusos with the force of a collapsing mountain, and the foxkin crumpled to the chamber floor with a gentle plop, rendered unconscious overwhelming divine pressure.

  As a gentle dust cloud rose from his opponent’s fall, Milo rubbed the space between his eyebrows, cherubic features shadowed by a deepening frown. “What an absolute mess,” he muttered, wings rustling with agitation while his gaze swept the chaotic scene.

  All Milo wanted was to complete the assigned reconnaissance mission—observe, document, report back to the superiors, and return to the peaceful obscurity of his family’s affairs. Instead, the recent Hero had become deranged, summoning divine beasts and launching a direct assault on what any rational being would recognize as a suicide target: the heartland of Moorgrel itself.

  Milo’s gaze shifted to the young nobles, who were positioning themselves around the monstrous creature with the kind of tactical precision that spoke of extensive combat training. The sight sent a chill of genuine dread down his spine, making his wings tremble involuntarily. ‘I have to intervene and take them hostage… alive,’ he thought with growing desperation, his frown carving even deeper lines across his youthful face. ‘Or else it will end… badly.’

  Moorgrel represented what experienced strategists often called a sleeping dragon—a territory of pure, concentrated insanity forged by absurd geography and toxic miasma that had seeped into every aspect of the land and its people. Generations of exposure had created unhinged survivors whose entire existence revolved around a single, obsessive purpose: protecting their families at any cost.

  Milo couldn’t pinpoint the exact historical moment when everything had gone wrong, but he knew the basic outline from family stories. Moorgrel had been pushed into an impossible situation from the very beginning—attacked by neighboring territories while receiving no internal aid whatsoever. The result hadn’t been the expected collapse, but rather something far more terrifying: unstoppable bloodshed that flowed not from their enemies, but from Moorgrel itself. The Guard Households had responded to aggression with relentless, merciless retaliation, hunting down and slaughtering anyone who dared threaten their domain.

  ‘Damn granny… I really don’t want to go through the same.’ Milo shuddered, remembering the hushed tales whispered by his ancient ancestor—how she had been forced to hide beneath corpses and rubble, not to avoid capture, but to escape the systematic extermination that followed any conflict with Moorgrel. No prisoners were taken, no mercy was shown—only death, swift and absolute. ‘And now the idiotic Hero wants deliberately to provoke an actual monster? Wonderful.’ Milo’s wings made of hardened stone slowly transformed into metal as resolve coursed through his small frame. ‘No way will I let it escalate.’

  Of all the individuals he had observed during his surveillance mission, Alexander had been the one who actively sought alternatives to the traditional doctrine of iron and blood that defined Moorgrel’s reputation. The ‘Puppy Archmage’ represented a genuine hope for peaceful coexistence, but that could all change in an instant if any of these nobles perished today or, worse, Narsiz. A genius focused on progress and cooperation could easily transform into a commander comparable to the legendary monsters that roamed Orbis, leading what could only be described as organized hell itself.

  With a sigh, Milo took a step, determination spreading through his expression. ‘Just making sure they are alive… that’s the plan—’

  Milo’s thoughts shattered as he suddenly pivoted to face an approaching threat, his wings instinctively snapping into a defensive position. For a fleeting moment, he caught sight of Sarusos—very much conscious and radiating an [Aura] of such pure, concentrated killing intent that it seemed to warp the surrounding air, as if the foxkin’s sole purpose for existing was murder.

  ‘What is happening?!’ Panic crept into Milo’s thoughts as his tactical understanding crumbled.

  The blade slithered through [Aura] and [Energy], dispersing any and all protection, grazing the metallic feathers of his wings—a sudden screeching sound echoed, sparks resulting from their confrontation.

  Without hesitation, Milo unleashed his [Divine Skills] with desperate urgency—crushing radiance erupted from his form as his [Aura] intensified beyond the previous display, strong enough divine pressure to crack the stone beneath their feet. ‘How can even someone so low-leveled, resist me?!’ But even as the overwhelming force spread outward, the foxkin simply vanished again, moving with brutal speed, multiple blades appearing at impossible angles—all having one goal—to kill.

  One [Flash] after another, blades scythed through the air around Milo with terrifying precision, each strike eroding his defenses piece by piece. There was no grace in Sarusos’s movements, no elegant flourishes—only raw, unrelenting efficiency. It wasn’t a fight so much as a slaughter made art, a living embodiment of murder itself pressing in from all directions.

  As Milo’s wings barely managed to intercept the relentless strikes, he felt a shift—each movement from the foxkin grew sharper, faster, as if this had only been a warmup. An icy dread coiled in his stomach, one bitter thought flashing across his strained mind. ‘I hate beastkin!’

  Everyone knew the unspoken rule when facing beastkin: never let them get close. Their physical strength rivaled giants, and their stamina bordered on the absurd, allowing them to flood their bodies with [Energy] in quantities that would kill most races. Worse, their instincts, and reflexes turned combat into a primal dance of death. But their supposed weakness—their mind and soul—offered no opening here. Not against this one.

  “Fine!” Milo’s face twisted with fury as the foxkin’s blade sliced through the leather strap of his goggles, sending them clattering to the ground. There was no way to stay passive under such a relentless assault. “Don’t complain when I crush you!”

  His [Aura] detonated, a storm of dark brown and metallic silver flooding the chamber. The air thickened into a crushing dome, dragging everything down with suffocating weight. Massive chunks of earth wrenched free from the ground, rising to hover above his head before lancing outward—stone spikes fired from every direction with a single, brutal purpose: to crush and obliterate the foxkin.

  An Angel’s [Divine Skills] operated through the manipulation of their [Aura] and vice versa—their focused thoughts and emotions could manifest reality-altering phenomena. Milo’s particular gift allowed him to move earth, stone, and metal with heavenly precision, provided he maintained the proper mindset and emotional state. More fundamentally, all angels possessed a natural ability to pacify hostile entities through divine influence.

  Massive stone spikes erupted from the ground as boulders rained down with surgical precision. Milo’s [Aura] swelled with each passing second, doubling, tripling, until it crushed the air itself. Every foe caught within its reach staggered under an unbearable force—five times their own weight pressing down, bones creaking as the ground threatened to swallow them whole.

  ‘How is this possible?!’ Milo’s thoughts churned as his domain collapsed around him. Every crushing strike, every stone spike, every precise assault landed on nothing but empty air. The foxkin danced through the onslaught, his afterimages flickering like phantoms. Even thrown knives whirled from impossible angles, forcing Milo to deflect with desperate precision as sparks rained between them.

  The divine subjugation he unleashed—the weight meant to grind all resistance into dust—simply dispersed like morning mist. Instead of faltering, the foxkin seemed to grow more ferocious, as though Milo’s domain only fueled his bloodlust. ‘This is absurd,’ Milo realized, fury and disbelief twisting in his chest. ‘A Tier 4 beastkin shouldn’t be able to do this. No one should.’

  They had reached a stalemate—or so Milo thought. As he began to piece together a new strategy, the foxkin’s behavior shifted. He stopped attacking.

  Sarusos began to circle him with predatory grace, each step deliberate, precise, keeping Milo within striking distance like a hunter toying with cornered prey. Steam-like wisps of [Aura] curled off his body, coiling upward and twisting the air around him as if the foxkin were a sealed pot on the verge of boiling over. The shimmering heat carried a palpable violence, and Milo felt the temperature spike with every measured footfall.

  “Humiliating,” Milo muttered under his breath, watching the foxkin’s lips curl into a singsong mockery. Yet, he admitted grimly, words were still better than facing the relentless savagery from before.

  “I hold no personal grudge against you for being dragged into this unfortunate mess,” Sarusos continued, his head tilting slightly to one side in a gesture that might have appeared innocent in any other context. “But you know what, my celestial friend?”

  Milo forced a strained smile as he let the pacification [Aura] melt away. The gentle pressure that once soothed hostility dissolved like a thin veil torn apart, replaced by something far more primal. This had become a true life-or-death struggle. “What’s that, my dear foxkin?”

  Then his power surged. Milo’s [Aura] erupted outward in a colossal wave, the chamber quaking as gravitational pressure spiked to crushing levels. The weight multiplied tenfold, turning the very air into liquid lead. The ground splintered and heaved, massive boulders ripping free from the walls and hovering like executioner’s blades, each one large enough to flatten entire battalions. “That you’ll graciously allow me to leave… and save those youngsters from this madness?”

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  Through his enhanced senses, Milo felt the truth sink into his bones, cold and heavy. [Tier 4]—but this foxkin’s strength far exceeded such neat classifications. [Divine Blessings] from the Circle of Nature, relentless training, and other unknown augmentations had forged a monster on par with a [First Conjecture] combatant. A lunatic, utterly intent on taking his head.

  Still, there was one card left to play—the endangered youths. If anything could force a pause, it was them.

  Sarusos chuckled with genuine amusement, raising one hand to cover his mouth in a gesture of mock modesty. “Helping them?” His gaze drifted past the angel toward the ongoing battle behind them. “There will be absolutely no need for your intervention, since we actually have those adorable triplets~”

  “What do you—”

  Before Milo could complete his question, a massive explosion erupted behind him with volcanic intensity, waves of super-heated air washing over the chamber as if a genuine eruption had occurred within the underground space. He spun around for just a moment, witnessing an inferno of scarlet, azure, and emerald flames, only to sense Sarusos’s presence again—far too close.

  “I’m right here, little Milo~” the foxkin’s voice purred directly into his ear, sending a jolt of terror down his spine. Before he could react, a dagger slashed toward his back, bypassing layers of [Aura] and [Energy] as though they were paper. A desperate stone barrier bloomed between them—too late. The blade sheared clean through his defenses and bit into flesh, severing his left arm in a spray of molten pain.

  Milo staggered, vision flashing white as agony consumed him. His left arm was gone, torn away in a single devastating strike. Only raw instinct kept him alive—his wings snapped open, propelling him upward in a desperate bid to escape before Sarusos could finish the job.

  But the foxkin was already there. Mid-flight, Sarusos materialized behind him, his crazed [Aura] crashing over Milo like a tidal wave. Another blade flashed, forcing the angel to snap his head back at the last possible moment, the edge grazing close enough to slice a few strands of hair.

  “Oh my,” Sarusos’s eyes widened with exaggerated surprise and theatrical concern, though the manic gleam never dimmed. “There’s absolutely no need to be embarrassed~” He vanished again using [Air Walk], pushing off the empty air itself before employing [Flash] to appear directly in front of Milo. “We’re all friends here, after all~”

  Before the angel could react, Sarusos vanished again, slipping past a massive stalagmite that obliterated the space where he’d been moments before. In the same instant, he reappeared high above Milo, his form a blur of motion. With a savage twist, the foxkin drove his heel down in a crushing kick.

  CRACK

  The blow slammed into Milo like a meteor strike, sending him hurtling earthward. The air howled as his body tore through it, and then—

  BOOM!

  He hit the ground with cataclysmic force, stone shattering and dust erupting in a massive shockwave. The earth cratered under the impact, jagged fissures spiderwebbing outward as debris rained from the chamber ceiling.

  Sarusos landed gracefully beside the impact crater, his movements as fluid as a dancer’s despite the violence of his actions. “How fascinating~”

  Sarusos stood at the edge of the crater, peering down at the swirling smoke that marked Milo’s impact site. His smile widened, sharp and almost childlike in its delight. This had been nothing but a warm-up—a little game to probe the angel’s true capabilities.

  ‘The youngsters are holding their ground well enough,’ he mused, flicking an ear as distant flashes of scarlet, azure, and emerald light flared behind him. There was no need to intervene—not yet.

  “I think I can go all out~,” Sarusos murmured with a soft chuckle, stepping back to give his opponent space. His tail swished lazily behind him as if this were a sparring match, not a deadly duel. “What a great day~”

  There was a fundamental misunderstanding regarding Sarusos’s [Divinity Line] among those who had witnessed him in action. Most assumed it involved simple madness or uncontrolled rage, perhaps some variant of [Wild Demonic Energy] or another exotic power. The reality was far more disturbing: [Emotional Disaster], a [Divinity Line] that brought purely negative consequences upon its wielder. Emotional turmoil, vivid hallucinations, recurring nightmares, and countless other psychological torments—all designed to turn his existence into outer circle. Yet these same afflictions had also granted him something ridiculously powerful: a way to make everyone else submit to his will.

  [Shared Torment]—Haunted by a traumatic past that refused to release its grip, Sarusos could share his accumulated pain with others while receiving their emotional burdens in return. Every one of his victims would experience his suffering—the crushing sadness, the bottomless depression, the absolute hopelessness—while he absorbed their life’s worth of emotions, processed them through his fractured psyche, and became a vessel capable of containing infinitely more.

  [Beautiful Pain]—a twisted perspective that allowed him to perceive pain and desperation as something transcendent, something magnificent beyond normal comprehension. This skill enabled him to receive and process every emotion with the kind of intricate understanding he had first experienced with his master—someone whose life had been equally traumatic, if not worse. When Mr. Alexander had offered him genuine understanding, it had created the first truly beautiful shared experience of this skill, more profound than any love he had ever encountered.

  [Unlimited Aura]—a [Mystic Skill] acquired upon reaching [Tier 2], and the primary reason everyone assumed he was completely insane. Like a shattered vessel that was somehow filled with infinite water, he continuously released overwhelming [Aura] without any conscious control, making most people instinctively avoid his presence.

  [Weapons of Torment]—a bleak but practical [Tier 3] [Mystic Skill] that dramatically increased his proficiency with every conceivable weapon while ensuring that each successful strike inflicted exponentially more pain and psychological damage than would normally be possible.

  [Mana Repurpose]—a [Tier 4] [Mystic Skill] that had emerged after young Alexander had blessed him with mana manipulation techniques. As if Orbis itself found this disgusting, she had rejected his attempts at traditional spell-casting, causing his mana veins and core to simply vanish overnight. In their place, his [Energy] reserves had doubled, allowing him to create spell-like effects through raw [Energy] manipulation rather than structured mana techniques. The process was far less efficient and considerably more volatile, but Sarusos couldn’t complain as someone who learned the traditional Leonandra techniques in [Energy] control.

  “Are you finished~?” Sarusos’s voice floated through the dust-choked air, light and sing-song, as if he were asking a child to put down a toy.

  The chamber trembled violently as an enormous golem erupted from the cracked stone floor—a towering construct of metal plates and compressed earth. It radiated a crushing [Aura], every movement weighted with Milo’s raw intent. “Fine!” Milo’s voice cracked, tight with strain and desperation, choking on tears. Already he could feel the foxkin’s influence gnawing at his mind like poisoned thorns, threading doubt and agitation into his thoughts. Angels were always vulnerable to psychic intrusion in moments of distress, but this… this was different. This felt like needles driving directly into his soul. “You left me no choice!”

  But Sarusos only smiled, calm and unblinking, as if watching a favorite game unfold. The rising [Aura] around him seemed to pulse with restrained delight. Slowly, deliberately, he let his own power unfurl—calling upon the most primal of his [Mystic Skills]. The ability that had made even Lords and Ladies wary. The same one that had nearly killed his master in a moment of misjudged training. The skill that had earned him the right to stand as the young master’s personal protector and trainer.

  “How wonderful~” he murmured as a sudden surge of what could only be described as beautiful grey [Aura] erupted from his form. The [Energy] was completely devoid of any recognizable emotional states, resembling a cacophony of all the dead he had accepted into himself, all the accumulated torment of countless victims—Sarusos had become both everything and nothing simultaneously. [Realized Torment].

  His body achieved an almost supernatural tranquility as the transformation began. ‘What will it be this time?’ he wondered with clinical detachment as his clothes tore apart under the pressure of his changing form.

  Sarusos’s frame stretched and warped into a grotesque monstrosity of grey flesh and elongated limbs. His legs and arms extended far beyond normal proportions, while his eyes became empty black voids that wept constant tears of liquid shadow. Where his mouth should have been, there was only smooth skin—he had become the living embodiment of wordless torment.

  “And so shall we convene?” His voice echoed from nowhere and everywhere at once, a dissonant whisper that seemed to crawl into the mind.

  To Sarusos, the world moved in slow motion. His steps were unhurried, almost casual—but to the massive golem, there was no chance to react. In an instant, his elongated arm shot forward, blurring like liquid shadow before materializing deep inside the construct’s chest. The blow struck with such cataclysmic force that spiderweb cracks erupted across the golem’s entire frame, [Energy] and [Aura] surging violently as the colossal body detonated in a storm of shrapnel and flying debris.

  His clawed hand tightened, and Milo’s throat was already in his grasp.

  This [Mystic Skill] drew on every shred of Sarusos’s accumulated emotion, forging them into a perfect physical manifestation. By compressing his vast [Aura] and condensing it directly into usable [Energy], he became a living conduit of destructive power.

  When Sarusos first discussed mana manipulation with Alexander, his instinct had been simple: bind the raw force to his existing [Energy] reserves. But Alexander—ever the meticulous genius—had taken the time to dissect every nuance of Sarusos’s unique physiology.

  The breakthrough came in binding mana to his pheromonal glands—the biological engines that produced [Aura] in beastkin. This allowed mana to convert seamlessly into [Energy] while simultaneously amplifying [Aura], creating a closed loop of power generation. Each cycle fed the next, the system growing exponentially stronger with every breath. It was a terrifyingly elegant solution that had turned Sarusos into something far beyond his peers. No longer just beastkin—he had become a self-sustaining storm, a monster worthy of standing beside other rulers.

  As the golem crumbled in on itself, Sarusos’s elongated arm snapped back like a whip, dragging Milo free. The angel dangled limply in his grip, his hair disheveled, silver feathers scorched and tattered. A dense layer of [Energy] cocooned the stump where his arm had been, sealing the wound with an unsteady glow to staunch the bleeding.

  Tears streaked Milo’s cheeks unbidden, his breath hitching as waves of alien agony and despair bled into his mind. Sarusos’s presence pressed down on him like a thousand screaming voices—all his worst memories clawing to the surface at once. Yet even through the torrent of pain, he forced a crooked smile, his voice hoarse but defiant.

  “Listen, you maniacal fox!” Milo rasped, meeting Sarusos’s abyssal gaze with watery but unbroken eyes. “I’m not here to kill anyone! I promise, god damn it!” The words cracked with strain yet carried a raw, undeniable sincerity—enough for even Sarusos’s fractured senses to register as truth.

  For reasons he couldn’t quite name, Sarusos paused. Then, with unsettling gentleness, he lowered Milo to the ground. His unnaturally long limbs shifted with liquid grace as he turned away, moving toward the divine beast. “Stay. Here.”

  The whispered command struck like a hammer, his [Aura] rippling out in a suffocating wave. Milo flinched as though struck, his knees buckling slightly, yet the dense [Energy] around him thickened, forming a fragile cocoon as he stayed rooted to the spot.

  “Now then,” Sarusos murmured, his voice low and rich with anticipatory satisfaction. His black void eyes locked on the chaos ahead, watching as the other nobles fought tooth and nail for their lives. “Let’s assist the little pups.”

  But beneath his calm, cracks were beginning to form. The sheer torrent of [Energy] coursing through his body felt heavier with each passing second, his transformation straining against the limits of even his altered physiology. Muscles twitched involuntarily, and a faint tremor ran along his elongated limbs. He could feel it—if he didn’t release this state soon, his vessel would begin to rupture under its own impossible power.

  Still, his bony tail swished lazily behind him as if nothing were amiss, his movements maintaining that eerie, predatory grace. Sarusos tilted his head slightly, as though savoring the moment. ‘A little more,’ he thought.

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