SECOND-CLASS SAINT

Rematch (I)

"This technically counts as trespassing, you know? Our guild is currently the only one with a permit for this dungeon." Marcel explained in a cautious tone, for some reason, seeing Cyril in that state had put him on his guard.

A nameless feeling wracked his chest, each glance driving the thorns deeper into his heart.

Although Cyril kept his head low as he approached Marcel, his eyes still glowed with a sublime radiance. Yet the expression that framed them didn't suit the gentle beauty reflected in his irises—it was far too cold for that.

Carissa's body was the sole focus of his gaze, everything else neatly blended into the backdrop, no longer able to draw Cyril's attention.

Even Marcel himself—who towered over her body—was little more than an afterthought in Cyril's mind. Realizing that made him scowl disdainfully at Cyril as he came within range, and yet, even with his anger surging to its apogee, he never acted on it.

Marcel couldn't bring himself to make the first move, the nameless feeling from before always prevented him from doing so at the last second.

Cyril stopped a few feet away from Carissa's body, he surveyed the room and slowly turned towards Marcel, staring at him with a glare cold enough to make even a beast shudder.

"Did you do this?" He asked in a low, measured voice. The simple question lacked all traces of his usual personality. Marcel was unnerved by the dark emotions lurking in Cyril's tone, it seemed unclear at first, but it was a mix of two emotions he knew all too well.

Rage and Despair.

Marcel settled his eyes on Carissa's body and allowed a crude smirk to play on his lips. The gesture was clearly forced, but he decided to follow through with it anyway.

"Yes, it was a good partnership while it lasted, but she's become nothing more than a hindrance now. I meant to dispose of her for good, but then you arrived." Marcel said, allowing his words to hang in the air. He knew full well that such a bold statement would only serve to heighten the rooms' gloomy atmosphere. "This is a matter between members of the Phoenix guild—surely you don't intend to interfere, do you?"

"...."

He was well aware of how absurd that statement was, guilds didn't hold any claim to the lives of their members, and despite knowing that full well, he'd said it regardless. His focus completely shifted away from Carissa the moment Cyril arrived—but not because he'd lost all interest in her, the current opportunity was one he simply couldn't resist.

They were hidden away from prying eyes in a dungeon that had recently gained notoriety after the Phantom Room incident—the kind of place where casualties were considered inevitable.

It was the perfect setup—a chance to kill two birds with one stone. If everything went according to plan, the months he'd spent toiling behind the scenes would finally pay off.

Depending on which way Marcel spun the narrative, it was even possible for him to emerge as the hero under these conditions so long as he played the part right—one of the survivors of a deadly raid that cost the lives of many before it was finally cleared.

Those were the kind of stories media outlets yearned for.

This could work, Marcel pondered cynically, a snide grin tugging at his lips.

All he had to do was dispose of Cyril and Carissa, and there would be no one left to critique his claims. He could see it clearly, this raid had the potential to put his clan back on the path to prominence, but only if things went smoothly, and the first step towards that was getting Cyril to attack first.

"So, what will it be Cyril? Are you going to interfe—bckkkgh!"

Marcel's face twisted in agony from the sudden impact. In the time it took him to blink twice, Cyril crossed the distance between them without a sound. After that, all Marcel saw was a blur— by the time he registered Cyril's presence, a backhanded fist had already connected squarely with his jaw. Unable to withstand the strike's overwhelming force, his body was hurled away as if struck by a cannonball.

Launched like a rocket, Marcel's body spun out of control before crashing into the ground with enough force to shatter several layers of concrete. The final impact echoed from the far end of the hundred-meter room, shaking the space with a thunderous boom.

Cyril paid no heed to the thunderous quakes; he hardly even registered them. After sending Marcel flying, he crouched to check on Carissa. His heart rate quite literally went up by a factor of threefold for a few seconds, but the faint wheezing of her chest helped to calm his racing mind.

She was still alive.

"Haah...Haah..."

Cyril drew a long, ragged breath, nearly collapsing on the spot. The cruel suspense of not knowing whether Carissa was alive had finally released its grip on him. That unbearable tension of being so close yet still without answers began to fade, though in the heat of it all he had even forgotten how to breathe.

It felt as if his own mind had abandoned him.

Taking Carissa in his arms, he walked back toward the rooms entrance and laid her body upright by one of the giant pillars.

[Alert. Cyril, it appears the individual 'Carissa' was attempting to seal her wounds; however her spell was left incomplete before she lost consciousness. She does not possess the strength to use magic in any decent capacity. Her blood has begun to clot, but her life is still very much at risk.]

Aria, do you have an idea of how long her spell will hold?

[Answer. Her spell will remain active for roughly five more minutes. Due to her high Cognitive Affinity Index, her brain is still somewhat able to keep the spell active even after she lost consciousness.]

Damn it...only five minutes? That's not enough time to get her back to an enchanter. Cyril burled his fists and grit his teeth, countless scenarios began spawning within his mind, but none led to his desired outcome.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

He struck the ground hard enough to crack it. Even if he took her body and left the gate now, he still wouldn't make it.

[Alert. Cyril, I have devised a solution.]

Aria's words rang live a divine revelation.

Really? You know a way to save Carissa?

[Yes, there is one method available, but it will require your total concentration. The individual 'Marcel Phoenix' must be suppressed before you can begin the procedure. Dispatch him within the specified time limit.]

Alright, I won't be long.

Though the words resounded only in his mind, Cyril's response carried unshakable conviction. No power, no plea, no explanation could deter him from seeing this through.

An explosion sounded from the farthest end of the room—back where he'd flung Marcel a little while earlier. The flame magician emerged from beyond the cloud of smoke and dust, his expression fierce, and his grimoire already primed for action.

It seems the deadly blow he received had completely knocked away all traces of his usual bravado. "I've waited a long time for this day. Let's finish what we started a year ago."

Regaining his composure, Cyril adjusted his stance and balled his fists. "You've gone too far, Marcel. This time, you'll regret it—I'm done with your games."

"Hah." Marcel scoffed, "Then by all means… try. Let's see if you can even scratch me."

The grimoire in his hand snapped open of its own accord, riffling through its pages on behalf of its master. When the desired spell surfaced, its parameters streamed into Marcel's Index and imposed themselves upon the surrounding space. A blazing curtain of blue fire roared to life, its heat spilling out in waves so intense they warped the air and bent visibility.

[Warning: Severe thermal fluctuations detected. Source: Etheric flame manipulation. Current temperature at 3,000 °C and rising.]

[Alert. The unique skill [Niflheim] has been activated at maximum output.]

[Target has initiated combat. Subject: Marcel Phoenix. Threat designation confirmed. Affinity: Etheric Flame Magician. Threat vector estimate: 20.23%. Action: Terminate.]

[Status check: Green. Clearance: Granted. Eliminate the target within the mission parameters.]

[4:55:]

The white flames surrounding Cyril's body spared him from the waves of propagating heat, but it was slowly taking its toll on the environment. The stone pillars melted, and the ground sintered like a bed of hot coals. If Marcel kept it up for too long there was a very real chance he could reduce the entire room to nothing more than a giant pile of ash.

With a casual flick of his wrist, Marcel willed the blue flames to take shape—heeding his command, the flames assumed the image of a massive serpent. Rearing its head, the mass of flames slowly climbed high into the air as it poised itself for a charge.

Cyril's focus was squarely locked on Marcel. Even now, as the blue serpent prepared to lunge at him, he made no effort to adjust his focus. Unable to escape Cyril's glare, Marcel felt the resurgence of the nameless emotion from before.

Perhaps it was the adrenaline, but he could feel Cyril's bloodlust locking onto him with visceral clarity. Marcel swallowed hard and drew a long breath, channeling every ounce of strength into his resolve.

"Don't you dare mock me!" Marcel roared as he unleashed the flaming serpent. Its body crackled with his fury before suddenly lunging at Cyril like a blazing spear.

Despite its fearsome charge, the serpent's advance was cut short by a torrent of white fire. Now that the skill was being pushed to its limit, the flames of [Niflheim] had no restraints. They surged forth, overwhelming the blue blaze and latching onto Marcel's spell like frost devouring embers.

Seconds later, the flaming monster began to lose shape—consumed by the strange white embers.
"What!?" Marcel gasped reflexively, watching his spell twist and bend out of shape was simply too much of a massive shock for him to ignore. His creation swelled and cracked before ultimately exploding into a giant fireball.

As the flash consumed his vision, Marcel felt the earth quiver beneath him. Alarmed, he frantically leapt back to gain distance, only to see a giant slab of earth the size of a small truck hurtling toward him.

"Tchrrrraaaaaggghhhhh!!"

He used a burst of flames to divert his trajectory, flinging himself out of reach and crashing into the ground. Springing to his feet, Marcel scanned the battlefield wary of what to expect next, but after seeing Cyril casually walking toward him, his jaw nearly dropped.

He was once again beholden to the cold—lifeless glare that unnerved him to his core. It was a predatory gaze, the kind of look given to defenseless prey in the moments leading up to their demise.

Marcel felt his chest tighten, constricted by the same nameless emotion from before.

That...can't be right. It's impossible. Not from someone like him.

He roared again, trying to dispel the uncertainty clouding his mind. This time, his flames surged outward like a wave—but Cyril responded in kind, neutralizing the blue inferno with his own white fire. The second their flames clashed, Marcel realized that winning through brute force was impossible.

It wasn't even a competition, the hotter his flames burned, the more Cyril's flames grew, siphoning the heat to fuel its expansion. Their clash didn't last very long, and in no time at all, Marcel's vision was obscured by the ivory inferno.

"Damn it all!"

Several dense fireballs materialized above him, merging into one before compressing down to the size of a pebble. Now condensed, the 3000°C sphere was perilously close to functioning as a full-fledged laser.

Marcel repeated the process a few more times, arming himself with several of the pebble-sized infernos. Again, he unleashed the barrage, firing a ruthless salvo into the sea of flames.

Since he had no visual lock on his opponent, responding out of pure desperation was pretty much the only thing he could do, and yet, even that wasn't enough. A shadow flickered through the rising plumes of dust, breaching the gap between them with impeccable ease.

Cyril leveraged his speed as opposed to finesse—instead of dodging the flaming death rays, he met them head on. Using his [Niflheim] skill, he conjured flames to cover the areas Marcel targeted, deflecting the beams at the last second and shielding himself from harm.

With a tearing shout, Cyril slammed his fist into the ground like a hammer, amplifying the recoil behind the blow. The force dispersed evenly—leaving their footing intact—but the impact rippled outward like a shockwave, hurling everything not anchored to the earth skyward.

Marcel's vision suddenly flipped, as if the world had turned on its side. He tumbled through the air with no sense of balance whatsoever, barely able to distinguish left from right. Naturally, he couldn't use magic in such a perilous situation—that demanded focus and clarity, two things the present moment simply wouldn't allow.

Through his upturned gaze, he caught sight of something that filled him with raw terror. Cyril had just launched himself off the ceiling like a missile, diving for Marcel's body with tremendous force.

Merely witnessing the force behind Cyril's lunge physically drained the strength from Marcel's limbs. Even he himself couldn't believe it, but in the brief gap before disaster struck, Marcel had tried to concede.

"Wai-"

A stifled gasp was all he could manage, even if he had time to properly form the words, they were already beyond the point of no return. The time for surrender had long passed.

Cyril could no longer be swayed.

His velocity augmented, Cyril slammed into Marcel's body like a comet, driving his foot deep into Marcel's chest and hurling him to the ground. The impact rattled the room, splitting the ground and even making the massive stone pillars tremble as though they weren't anchored at all.