Chapter 56: The Sun, And The Wrath.
The battlefield no longer howled with chaos.
Instead, it waited.
The scorched earth still smoked with the remains of the hundred soldiers obliterated by Phoebus Catastrophe.
Silence had returned, like a held breath before the next scream.
A solemn, sacred pause.
Riya stood at the heart of it, his coat tattered, his chest heaving.
Blood dotted his skin—some of it his, most of it not.
His eyes were tired but burning with purpose.
Fergus's body lay behind him.
Leonidas was already ash.
But there was no time for mourning.
Another wave was coming.
Two hundred remained.
A second storm of altered soldiers and shambling might, sweeping forward like the tail of a dragon.
A thousand boots thundered against the charred earth.
Eyes blank.
Swords ready.
Riya's fingers twitched.
The grief hadn't faded—but it had taken new shape.
It hardened into will.
Into wrath.
And beneath it all, his connection to Suzuka Gozen stirred.
He called to her.
And she—like all the women he'd conquered—answered.
Gold light swirled up his arm, heat coiling around his heart like a serpent of divine fire.
He could feel the rhythm of Suzuka's heartbeat within him.
Fast.
Vibrant.
Alive.
And with that pulse, came power.
"Time to give them a show, princess," he muttered, his voice hoarse but steady.
From the air, something shimmered.
A golden blade.
Daitouren.
It hovered, spinning gently, catching the dying sunlight like a mirror of flame.
Then came the second item—small, delicate, ornate: Suzuka's hairpin.
The tassels danced like spirits as it floated beside the blade.
Riya lifted his hand.
The chant began—her chant, through him:
"O stories, begin weaving thy tale…"
The soldiers kept approaching.
Closer.
But the sky was changing.
"This is the famous Daitouren…"
Above, the clouds rippled like fabric pulled tight.
"Blanket the sky in tiles of color…"
The wind picked up, stirring his hair.
"Skewer the swarm of evil in heavenly rain…"
The hairpin touched the sword.
A hum.
A ripple of divine power.
Then—
Monjuchiken Daishintou.
Love blast.
Demonic Sun-Shower.
The golden blade burst.
Not in sound, but in light.
One became five.
Five became fifty.
Fifty multiplied—until two hundred and fifty blades hovered in the air above him like the wings of some radiant god, all poised to fall.
And fall they did.
A storm of swords rained down.
Each one was fast.
Precise.
Merciless.
They pierced armor, bone, and magic alike.
Soldiers barely raised shields before they were shredded, their enhanced bodies turned to meat and mist.
Cries rose—then ended.
Metal tore.
Flesh broke.
The smell of ozone and blood coated the air like syrup.
Riya didn't speak.
He didn't smirk.
He just watched, expression blank.
This wasn't victory.
This was cleansing.
By the time the last blade struck the ground, only seven enemies remained—and they weren't ordinary.
The Seven Remaining Shadow Servants.
They stepped forward from the smoke like devils who'd survived a divine purge.
Twisted reflections of heroes.
One still clutched a broken lance.
Another dragged a sword along the ground, its edge melted from Suzuka's rain.
They didn't hesitate.
They didn't grieve.
They only attacked.
And Riya was ready.
But this time, the fire in his veins wasn't gold.
It was red.
Destructive energy surged into him, pounding through his chest, his arms, his legs.
Hatred.
Betrayal.
Wrath.
The fury of Mordred herself roared in his ears.
He didn't call her name.
He didn't need to.
The sword appeared—Clarent, once beautiful, now monstrous.
Its blade pulsed with bloodlight, the radiance dark, violent, hungry.
It vibrated in his hands, eager to kill.
He stepped forward, slowly.
Every bone ached.
But rage moved him.
"You bastards…" he whispered.
"I'll obliterate every last one of you until there's nothing left but ash and regret."
The first Shadow lunged.
He cut it down in a single stroke.
Clarent didn't sing.
It screamed.
The crimson lightning roared from its tip in a blinding arc.
The second and third Shadows evaporated.
The ground cracked.
The sky flinched.
He didn't stop.
Fourth.
Fifth.
Sixth.
Each tried a different tactic—speed, strength, stealth—but they all fell the same.
Clarent tore through their bodies and swallowed their remains.
Riya was panting now, eyes burning red, sweat and blood mixing on his brow.
His grip on the hilt was tight enough to make his knuckles crack.
One left.
The final Shadow Servant.
A man with no face and too many swords.
He rushed at him.
But Riya didn't back away.
"Clarent…"
He raised the blade, which vibrated violently with bloodlust.
"Blood—"
The red light devoured the battlefield.
"Arthur!!"
It hit like an explosion.
Not a bomb, but a scream—raw, emotional, full of pain and fury.
The Shadow didn't just die.
It ceased to exist.
Riya fell to one knee.
He couldn't even tell if his breathing was still working.
Clarent faded from his hands.
The earth around him was broken.
Silent again.
High above, Rin stood frozen.
Her eyes hadn't left Riya since Fergus died.
He looked so small from up here.
So far away.
But she knew every part of him.
Every inch of his spirit.
And now, watching him, a pang twisted in her heart.
A pain no magecraft could numb.
She wiped a tear from her cheek and sucked in a trembling breath.
"…you pulled through, baka."
Cú Chulainn remained behind her, silent.
He knew this wasn't his moment.
Rin stepped forward to the very edge of the cliff.
The wind whipped at her hair, but she didn't care.
Her heart hurt.
She remembered Leonidas's grim smile.
She remembered Fergus's sacrifice.
All for that reckless, sarcastic, unbelievably stupid man below.
She placed a hand over her chest.
The silence that followed was heavy—but not in grief.
In awe.
Cú stepped beside her without needing to be asked.
"You going to just stand there and admire him all day?" he said lightly, though even he sounded impressed.
Rin didn't answer immediately.
Her eyes stayed fixed on Riya, standing at the heart of the ruined coliseum—tired, battered, but alive.
Her voice finally came, quiet but certain.
"No."
"Get me down there."
With a grin and no hesitation, Cú crouched.
"Your wish is my command, princess."
She gave him a glare, but it was weak.
She was too busy brushing the last tears from her cheeks.
A moment later, the wind kicked up as Cú leapt from the cliff's edge, Rin held carefully in his arms.
The broken coliseum rushed up to meet them in flashes of stone and smoke.
Riya stood alone, breathing heavy in the silence.
The blood-slick marble beneath his feet was stained by shadow and ash, the last remnants of the enemy gone.
Cú landed with a soft impact, setting Rin down gently at the edge of the shattered arena floor.
She didn't hesitate—her boots crunched softly as she stepped toward Riya, the wide open battlefield yawning around them.
She stopped a few steps away, arms crossed.
"You look like hell," she said flatly.
Riya raised an eyebrow, wiped a smear of blood from his chin, and gave her a crooked smile.
"Takes one to know one."
Rin scoffed, but it didn't carry the usual bite.
She stepped closer.
"…Don't do that again."
"What, win?"
"Be an idiot."
Cú chuckled from behind them.
"Pretty sure that's in his nature."
"Shut up," Rin snapped, but her heart wasn't in it.
She walked the last few steps and stood right in front of Riya now.
He looked exhausted, but his eyes were alive, burning with something unshakable.
She searched his face quietly.
"I saw everything," she murmured.
"Fergus… Leonidas…"
Riya's smile faltered.
"…I know," he said.
Rin reached out, brushing her fingers across the edge of his coat.
Then lower—finding his hand, worn and trembling.
Her fingers hesitated, curling around his.
The battlefield faded away.
The smell of smoke, the blood on his skin, even the presence of Cú behind them—it all disappeared in the gravity between their eyes.
Without a word, she stepped in closer.
Close enough for her breath to mingle with his.
She reached up slowly, cupping his jaw, and drew him into a kiss.
It wasn't gentle.
It was fierce.
Needy.
Messy with exhaustion and heat and everything they'd been holding back.
Her lips crushed against his like she was trying to steal his strength, or give him hers.
His arms moved instinctively around her, holding her like she might vanish.
When she finally pulled back, they were both breathless, foreheads resting together, chests rising and falling in sync.
"Idiot…" she whispered.
But her voice was thick with emotion.
Still holding his hand, she guided it behind her back.
And then—slowly, deliberately—she shifted her hips just so, pressing his palm against the thick, full curve of her ass.
Her skirt stretched tight over it, and she didn't look away.
Her lips curled into a smirk.
Her cheeks flushed, but her eyes gleamed.
"Feel that?" she murmured.
"That's your reward."
She arched her back slightly, letting him take in every inch of contact.
"Next time, you'll be getting a lot more—if you survive."
Riya let out a tired chuckle, lips quirking despite the ache in his body.
"Great. Something to look forward to between the trauma and the stab wounds."
She turned her head away with a little huff, cheeks blazing.
"…Not that I care or anything. Baka."
Rin scoffed, but the corner of her mouth twitched—fighting back a smile.
She turned her head just enough to hide the blush creeping up her cheeks, though her grip on his hand didn't loosen.
"Hmph."
"Still running that mouth, even half-dead."
Then, quieter—almost tender:
"Baka."
The battlefield lay silent now—scarred stone, ash, and spent magic all that remained of the chaos.
Rin stood beside him, still holding his hand behind her back, still flush with the ghost of their kiss.
Riya's chest rose and fell steadily, exhaustion heavy on his limbs, but his eyes were fixed forward.
Together, they turned—facing the far edge of the ruined coliseum.
Through the cracked arches, the light had begun to dim.
Shadows thickened at the horizon, and beyond them… a figure stood.
Watching.
Waiting.
Lyle.
Riya's fingers curled tighter around Rin's.
No more armies.
No more diversions.
The final trial of the floor awaited.
Rin spoke, her voice quiet but steady beside him.
"Ready?"
Riya smirked, though his body ached and his magic was running dry.
"Nope."
"But let's go anyway."
The wind stirred the dust around their feet as the path ahead began to clear—
and the last gate slowly creaked open.