Vikara got closer to Amon, but just then an arrow made of wind dashed toward him from behind.

Vikara took another step closer to Amon. Just then.

Whoosh!

An arrow made of wind shot toward him from behind.

Vikara's eyes widened slightly. He twisted his body at the last moment, the arrow grazing past his shoulder and tearing through the air before dispersing.

He clicked his tongue in irritation.

"…Annoying."

Behind him, a battered human staggered forward.

It was the man Vikara had beaten earlier.

His silver armor was cracked and bent. Blood ran down his face and arms. One of his eyes was swollen shut, and his breathing was uneven. Yet he was still standing.

He lowered his bow and let out a rough breath.

"So… you're not done yet," Vikara said coldly.

The man didn't answer. He dropped the bow to the ground and reached for another weapon.

A sword.

His hand trembled as he gripped it, but his stance steadied. He placed himself between Vikara and Amon.

Vikara glanced past him at Amon lying on the ground, then back at the human.

"Tch. You should've stayed down."

The man tightened his grip and took a step forward, determination burning in his remaining eye.

Vikara's patience snapped.

In an instant, he vanished.

The air cracked as Vikara reappeared in front of the man, his expression twisted with annoyance. His strike came fast, too fast.

The man barely raised his sword in time.

Clang!

The impact sent shockwaves through his arms, nearly knocking the weapon from his grasp. He was pushed back several steps, boots digging into the ruined earth.

Vikara pressed in immediately.

Slash.

Strike.

Kick.

His movements were ruthless and efficient, carrying overwhelming pressure. Each blow was meant to end the fight.

The man struggled to keep up, blocking with difficulty, his body screaming in pain. Blood splattered with every exchange, but he didn't retreat.

Steel clashed again and again, ringing through the devastated forest.

Vikara scowled.

"Why do you keep standing up?" he growled. He was annoyed at seeing the man struggle.

The man gritted his teeth and swung back, his blade cutting through the air with everything he had left.

Their fight continued, sparks flying as sword met blade, while behind them Amon lay motionless. His fate hanging by a thread.

After fighting for a while, the result was decided.

Vikara held the man by his throat in midair. His body was now limp.

Vikara sneered and threw his body aside like a ragdoll.

The body rolled on the ground multiple times before stopping.

Vikara rubbed his neck with his palm.

He surveyed his surroundings. There was no need to stay here any longer. He needed to go back now, since everything was clear. These people would die as time went on. The same went for Amon.

But just when he was about to run away, he felt an immense pressure coming in his direction.

A shiver ran down his spine. His eyes filled with terror at the overwhelming force. Vikara stiffened in place.

Swissss!

He tried to move, but before he could, something slammed into his stomach with full force.

He was sent flying through the air and collided against the trees. The trunks shattered as his body crashed through them.

He then rolled along the ground, coughing blood. His eyes were bloodshot, his lungs screaming for air.

"Wh–who?" His red eyes looked toward the person who had struck him.

There stood a tall man with broad shoulders. His black hair was combed neatly back. A chiseled jawline. Clear, cold blue eyes stared at him with indifference, as if looking down on a small insect.

In his right hand was a massive greatsword. He wasn't using any mana, yet an unknown pressure bore down upon Vikara. He knew instantly that the man before him was far stronger than him.

He also knew the identity of the being currently stationed at the human base. The one leading them.

Galahad Valliant.

But he never thought he would personally come here so early. He had truly underestimated him.

Galahad stared at the demon lying there, barely alive from just one strike.

Then he surveyed the surroundings.

A short distance away lay four human bodies, two dead, two alive. Near him was another one. He was also alive.

And lastly… there was a young man lying there, still breathing.

His condition was terrible. Battered. Torn uniform. Bloodied wounds all over his body. Black, messy hair covered in dirt.

The academy uniform caught Galahad's attention.

"That boy… Amon."

Galahad's eyes widened slightly. He never thought he would find this boy like this. To think he survived this place alone. It was a miracle.

He was alive.

Galahad's gaze then returned to the fallen Vikara.

He took a single step forward.

Then another.

Each step felt heavy, as if the air itself bent around him.

Vikara tried to move. His fingers twitched. His legs refused to respond. That terrifying pressure crushed down on his body, pinning him to the ground like an insect under a boot.

Galahad stopped in front of him.

He looked down. His blue eyes cold. Calm. Indifferent.

Vikara felt it clearly now.

This man was on a completely different level.

Galahad bent down and grabbed Vikara by the collar with one hand. With almost no effort, he lifted the demon off the ground. Vikara's feet dangled uselessly in the air.

Galahad's greatsword rested against his shoulder, untouched.

Galahad's voice was low and flat.

"Your subordinates," he said. "How many demons are deployed here?"

Vikara coughed, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. His red eyes glared up at Galahad, hatred and bitterness mixing together.

"Ha… ha…"

Galahad's grip tightened slightly.

"Where is your base?" he continued. "Who is commanding this operation?"

Vikara's breathing was ragged. His chest burned. He could feel his life slipping away already. He knew running was impossible. Let alone escaping. He wouldn't survive.

Death was the only option left.

And he was prepared for it.

He laughed. A dry, broken laugh escaped his throat.

"You really think…" Vikara wheezed, "…I'd tell you anything?"

He had no intention of telling him anything.

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