At that moment, one of the paladins groaned. One of the defenders stationed at a corner of the Holy Field had been struck by a reflected Holy Cannon. The attack had ricocheted off Shion's massive oodachi, which had absorbed and redirected the holy energy in a flash — a feat impossible for mere humans.
Lenard's eyes widened. The sword had received the holy attribute, wrapped in divine energy, and then deflected it back at them. It was an advanced technique executed in an instant, far beyond what any paladin could manage. Heart pounding, he quickly ordered the paladins to halt their attacks. Fortunately, the struck paladin was only rattled, not seriously injured, yet the shock of seeing their own attack turned back on them left no one calm.
The other paladins were equally astonished. No one had expected a holy attack to be reflected back from within the Holy Field. Lenard swallowed his amazement, suppressing the instinctive urge to curse or click his tongue as he frantically considered the next step.
Shion, meanwhile, was growing increasingly annoyed. She could not control the deflected attack as she intended. The barrier prevented any strikes except those imbued with holy energy from passing through. Her secret attempt at a "Spatial Transfer" had also been blocked. Every passing second increased her frustration, pushing her closer to losing control. Her patience had been tested, and the threshold was nearly reached.
"Oi… Oi, you guys. While I can still speak kindly, please surrender, all right? I can leave you alone without killing anyone, and I could even let you eat some of my home cooking as a treat, you know? What do you think? It's a wonderful suggestion, right? This is your last warning, you know? What will you do?" Shion asked, forcing a smile over her irritation. Her voice was calm but carried the weight of her restrained fury. Despite her condescending tone, there was a peculiar earnestness in her plea.
Naturally, the paladins were unmoved.
"You idiot! Don't be so haughty when you can't do anything while trapped within the barrier!" a paladin barked back, his voice steady and resolute.
It was true. A monster confined in a Holy Field was weakened by design. The barrier cleansed and removed the magic essence inside, leaving the creature unable to use most of its abilities. Powers that relied on manipulating magical laws, aura techniques, or supernatural phenomena were nullified. Even if they could attempt an attack, it would be blocked. Within the Holy Field, their control over magic and energy was drastically limited.
The paladins felt confident in their advantage. The monster might be strong outside the barrier, but here, its abilities were drastically reduced. Yet, even with these limitations, Shion's presence and skill radiated a quiet menace that reminded them all: this was no ordinary foe. She was powerful, cunning, and relentless — and even in a restricted state, she was far from defeated.
The stage was set. The paladins were ready, the monster was restrained, and yet, the tension crackled like a storm ready to break.
The barrier that blocked magic essence still allowed raw physical force to pass. Lenard and the others knew that too well. Magic might be sealed, but a blast, shrapnel, or a thrown boulder would smash straight through if they didn't guard against it. That was why their defenses weren't just one thing—holy purification, spirit armaments, and a separate barrier to blunt physical impacts were all layered together. Identify the attack, set the countermeasure. That was the paladin way.
Still, even all that preparation didn't calm the knot in Lenard's gut. He watched Shion with a tightened jaw as she stooped and picked up a fist‑sized rock. The movement was casual, almost bored, but the way she straightened made the plan obvious. Lenard's mind raced through possibilities and settled on the worst one.
"Everyone—brace! Front ranks, hold steady!" he snapped, voice low but urgent.
The paladins shifted instantly, tightening formation and reinforcing their anti‑physical barrier. Those on the edges braced their shields; those maintaining the Holy Field doubled the output for a heartbeat. They were ready—just barely.
Shion hurled the stone with a single, clean motion. The projectile slammed into the anti‑physical screen with a boom that vibrated up through the soles of their boots. It didn't simply strike— it detonated on contact, exploding outward in a spray of gravel and pressure that hammered the barrier like a battering ram.
Lenard felt the impact through his arms. The stone had hit with tremendous force—even weakened and sealed inside the Holy Field, she had put everything she had into that throw. He realized, cold, what might have happened if they'd been a second slower: the explosion would have punched through their outer defenses and shredded the formation before they could react.
The ground trembled where Shion planted her feet, cracks spidering out from the impact. Though soft‑spoken and composed at a glance, her power was brutal; the contrast between her elegant appearance and the force she wielded made Lenard's skin crawl.
"Those holding the barrier—do not fall!" he barked. "Those free, align with my spirit power. Converge on the center from four directions. We'll cast Disintegration. Seal her in place. We cannot let her live!"
He didn't shout because he wanted theatrics—he shouted because timing was everything. "Disintegration" was the kind of ritual that could annihilate a sealed target if executed perfectly: destructive in a direct strike, and implacable if focused and synchronized. But it was also brutal to set up over a wide area; the spell's raw power disperses unless four nodes trigger it in unison. Not every paladin could invoke it alone. Their job in this moment was twofold—serve as the spell's anchor points and funnelers, and make the barrier unbreakable long enough for the ritual to reach full power.
Hands moved with grim efficiency. Two paladins at each corner closed their ranks; those assigned to physical defense redoubled their wards. Support magic hummed through the air—simple things amplified into something surgical: speed of thought, clarity, stamina. Lenard poured his spirit into the center like a conductor setting tempo, and the others matched him.
Shion watched, expression unreadable, the oodachi resting lightly across her shoulder. She stamped once in frustration, the sound cracking the dust. "You plan to play with that trick?" she said, voice flat. "Fine. I was hoping for a little more entertainment."
The paladins tightened their grip. No one relaxed. Beneath the routine of formation and command, every man and woman felt the same cold truth:
the barrier gave them an edge, but that edge could be paper thin beneath Shion's force. A single mis-timed trigger, a single gap, and the Disintegration would misfire—perhaps destroying their own formation instead of the enemy.
Lenard's teeth were set. "Hold your lines. Time it to my signal," he ordered. "If she breaks free, fall back in disciplined waves. Do not rout—do not panic. We bind her, we finish this."
Around them, the field hummed with concentrated will: holy light, spirit threads, physical wards and the low, steady chant of men and women threading their power together. Four points of focus began to glow, faint then brighter, each one a candle feeding a single, terrible furnace. The air tightened, the world narrowed to the click of Lenard's breath and the measured steps of those keeping the perimeter.
Shion's purple eyes narrowed. She shifted her grip, and the giant sword answered like muscle. The moment was a razor between two outcomes: perfection of the paladins' ritual, or its collapse beneath the force of a servant of Atem.