episode_0015

An underground city whose origins were impossible to trace. The half-ruined landscape and dilapidated state of its facilities were the only clues suggesting its considerable age.

The city was vast—so much so that its end was nowhere in sight—and densely packed with buildings, offering no shortage of places to hide. Arina took refuge in an old, weathered ruin left untended.

Though the space was littered with dust and devoid of even a single intact piece of furniture, making it far from inviting, that very fact lent it an oddly comforting stillness.

With not a soul in sight—not even the sound of wind rustling through grass—the profound silence allowed Arina to rest undisturbed.

Just as she was beginning to savor the rare tranquility, the sound of approaching footsteps made her peel her back from the wall.

Her wariness proved unnecessary as the figure that appeared was none other than Marin.

“Hey.”

“You look fine. No injuries?”

“What you see is what you get. Fit as a fiddle!”

As if to flaunt her vitality, Marin flexed her arms, emphasizing her muscles. Arina sighed in response, relaxing her posture and leaning back against the wall.

Had Marin been injured, they would’ve been stuck with the worst possible duo: a magician out of mana and a wounded brawler.

In that case, escaping this underground city would’ve been outright impossible.

Not that their current situation was much better.

“How about you, Arina?”

“Not great. I’ve recovered some mana while resting, but it’s only enough for two low-tier spells. Unless that succubus bitch shows up, taking on Dullahan is out of the question.”

“So, should we wait here until your mana recovers?”

“Think we can last a week in this wasteland? We’d die of dehydration or exhaustion before then. There are two options.”

Arina rose to her feet with a huff, then folded one of her two outstretched fingers.

“One: we quietly find an exit and slip out without Dullahan noticing.”

Of course, she didn’t forget to add that this would require praying the enemy wasn’t guarding the exit. Even Marin could tell the odds of that were slim.

No fool would leave an escape route unguarded while hunting down their prey. Which meant Arina’s real suggestion was the second option.

“What’s the other way?”

A natural question, given she’d said there were two, but Arina hesitated.

The alternative wasn’t exactly ideal, either.

Still, she couldn’t leave Marin staring at her expectantly forever, so she finally spoke.

“Ultimately, we can’t avoid fighting Dullahan to get out. And to fight him, I need to recover my mana. Since you’re from the Eastern Continent, you’d know more about meditation than I do, right?”

“Of course!”

Originating from the far eastern lands—where it was called Yunqi Zushi—meditation was a mana recovery method developed by martial artists.

It was considered one of the most effective mana restoration techniques in existence.

Given the times, most people rejected foreign practices, but Arina, who prioritized efficiency, saw no reason to refuse.

The fatal flaw of meditation, however, was that while it offered unparalleled mana recovery, it left the user completely defenseless during the process.

“If I start absorbing mana in earnest, Dullahan will sense the flow and pinpoint our location. You’ll have to buy me time.”

“So that’s the only way we can win?”

Arina gave a small nod in response.

“Got it. I’ll hold him off.”

“Sorry. Since I couldn’t take Dullahan down, the burden falls on you.”

“Huh?”

Marin’s eyes widened at Arina’s apology. For her, the idea of Arina apologizing was unimaginable.

“Arina, are you hurt? Did you hit your head?”

“…What the hell do you take me for?”

Truthfully, since becoming Arina, she hadn’t teamed up with others often, but apologizing to comrades wasn’t entirely out of character for her.

As strong as her abilities were, so too was her sense of responsibility. She was always strict with herself and willingly shouldered more than her share.

This time, she had deemed defeating Dullahan her role and had genuinely intended to win.

Having failed, it was only natural she felt accountable.

Unaware of these thoughts, Marin teased her half-jokingly, earning a glare from Arina.

“Sorry, sorry.”

Though Marin quickly apologized, Arina only turned her head away with a huff.

“Seriously, though—you can rely on me more, you know?”

“Whatever.”

And so, their plan began.

The best place for mana recovery was an open area with good airflow.

Of the mana permeating nature, the mana carried by air was the easiest to absorb, followed by water, then earth.

But in this stagnant underground cavern where not a breeze stirred, that logic didn’t apply.

Thus, Arina chose the second-best option: water—the lake she had created earlier.

Though she couldn’t reclaim all the mana already converted into water, the absorption rate was still better than ordinary water, given it was a condensed mass of magical energy.

Arina waded to the center of the lake, closed her eyes, and sat cross-legged.

Mana wasn’t seen with the eyes—it was felt. She attuned herself to its flow.

Sensing the vast reserves around her, she began drawing it in—the lake’s mana below, the sparse traces dissolved in the air above.

Having artificially manipulated mana once already, there was no hiding it now. All Arina could do was trust Marin and focus entirely on recovery.

Blocking out all external stimuli, she devoted every nerve to absorption.

Thud.

Before long, the sound of pitch-black greaves shaking the ground announced Dullahan’s arrival. Marin stepped forward, blocking his path to Arina.

“You’re here.”

“……”

“Guess talking’s off the table.”

Now it was her turn. As Dullahan steadied his stance, Marin mirrored him. The next instant, their fists collided.

“Ghh—!”

Screech!

Marin blocked the fist aimed at her face with her arm, skidding back as dust kicked up around her.

A sharp pain shot through her arm. Thanks to the mana wrapped around it, the damage wasn’t severe, but the real issue was her dwindling reserves.

The black mist enveloping Dullahan’s body—every second of contact with it devoured her mana as she fought to keep it at bay.

“Haah!”

Bang!

She detonated the mana gathered in her palm, blasting it outward—a stalling tactic, a technique from the neighboring continent known as Zhangfa.

Though Marin had never seen the Eastern Continent, blood ran deep, and she’d instinctively developed and wielded the new technique.

But her efforts seemed futile as Dullahan closed the distance in an instant.

“Does your ability have no limits?!”

Frustration twisted Marin’s face as her opponent relentlessly expended the black mist.

Not that complaining would suddenly exhaust him, so she kept swinging.

Thud! Thud! Crack!

She deflected strikes aimed at her arms, knees, and shoulders, minimizing the impact.

‘Huh?’

A prickling sensation made her glance back—just in time to see Lilit approaching Arina.

With tiny wings fluttering, she brandished a thorned whip, poised to strike from behind.

“You bitch! Can’t resist attacking when she’s defenseless, huh?!”

Marin clenched her fist, mana flaring around it. Bam!

A crisp sound split the air as her punch broke the sound barrier, a trail of magical force following its path—

Smack!

—before slamming into Lilit’s forehead.

“Guh—?!”

A brawler’s fist, capable of shattering bone and rupturing organs. Even for a demon, an indirect hit to the head was enough to knock her out cold.

Splash.

Lilit’s limp body sank into the lake.

But Marin’s distraction cost her. Wham!

Dullahan’s fist connected squarely with her face, sending her rolling three times across the ground.

Wiping dirt from her face, she seethed.

“Damn it! If only the Saint were here, you’d be nothing! Why won’t you just drop dead already?!”

No matter how much she vented, there was no response. Only another silent fist.

Marin met it with her own mana-clad punch.

Another clash, another exchange where their mana would cancel out—just like the hundreds before.

She almost sighed in frustration, but this time, the result was different.

Crack!

The black mist was repelled, and her fist buried itself in Dullahan’s face.

“Huh?”

Stunned, Marin looked at her hand—now enveloped in a golden aura that spread up her entire arm.

Unlike the warm, sunlight-like divine power of other priests, this was rough, crackling like lightning.

Undeniably the same energy Arina had used.

Marin turned. Behind her stood Arina, her meditation complete.

“Arina? You’re early!”

Her voice was half-relieved, half-pleading—barely half the time Arina had asked for had passed.

“I had a good idea while meditating.”

Wait, so you weren’t focusing? Marin felt a strange unease, but Arina didn’t give her time to dwell.

Clasping her hands together, she conjured a phenomenon—a golden sun rising between Dullahan and Marin.

“Oh-ho. So you’re the famous Riel Frost. I knew it the moment I saw you.”

Dullahan’s voice. Arina frowned at the nonsensical remark.

“What are you talking about? Think pretending to have amnesia will make me go easy on you?”

“Don’t misunderstand. I am not Dullahan.”

“Now you’re just spouting nonsense. Did Marin punch your brains out?”

The figure ignored her. Instead, it placed a hand on its stomach and bowed slowly—not the gesture of a brutish warrior, but that of a refined, noble aristocrat.

“We’ve heard much of each other, but this is our first meeting in person. Though this isn’t my true form, it’s a pleasure. I am the Demon King—Naiad.”