Mikail stood in the crater, holding the unconscious girl, and finally allowed himself to actually look at her.
She was young. Around his age, maybe eighteen or nineteen. Her hair was long and auburn, flowing past her waist in waves that were now matted with dirt and blood. Even unconscious and covered in grime, she had a natural beauty to her. Fair skin, delicate features, a face that would have been lovely under better circumstances.
Her body was curvaceous and ripe with youth, the kind of figure that would draw eyes in any setting. But right now, all Mikail could focus on were the injuries.
Cuts covered her exposed skin. Deep gashes on her arms and legs. Burns on her shoulders. Bruises blooming purple and black across her ribs. Her clothes were torn, revealing more damage beneath. She had been through hell, and the fact that she was still breathing was either luck or sheer stubborn will to survive.
Before she had passed out, he had seen her eyes. Brown. Wide with terror and exhaustion.
'She mentioned a village,' Mikail thought, replaying that final word she had gasped. 'Whatever happened to her, it involved more than just her and her companion.'
He could heal her. He had skills for that, multiple ones in fact. It would be trivial.
Mikail shifted his grip on the girl, cradling her more securely, and focused inward. The skill came to him easily, as natural as breathing. Golden light materialized around his hands, warm and gentle, spreading across the girl's body like water.
The effect was immediate. Cuts sealed themselves, skin knitting together without leaving scars. Burns faded to healthy pink flesh. Bruises disappeared as though they had never existed. Within seconds, she looked completely unharmed, as if the injuries had been an illusion.
Her breathing evened out, becoming deeper and more regular. The tension in her face relaxed slightly.
Mikail walked to a nearby tree that had somehow survived the explosions and carefully set the girl down at its base, propping her against the trunk. She would be safe there while he dealt with whatever had caused this mess.
Because he could still feel it. That pressure. The source of the explosions that had killed her companion and nearly killed her.
It was close. Very close. And it was not trying to hide itself.
He turned to the dragon, who had been watching silently from a short distance away. "Watch her. Make sure nothing happens while I am gone."
'Yes, Master. But please be careful. Whatever created those explosions is dangerous.'
"I know."
Mikail began walking toward the pressure, his steps slow and deliberate. His Cosmic Awareness painted a clear picture of what lay ahead. A presence. Strong. Hostile. Waiting.
He had barely taken ten steps when he felt it again.
That surge of power. The same force that had tried to kill the girl.
It was aimed at him now.
'Enough of this,' Mikail thought, irritation flaring. He was tired of being attacked by invisible forces.
He activated his Dimensional Arsenal skill, and reality rippled around his right hand. A tear opened in space, and from within that tear, he drew a sword.
Beelzebub.
The blade was long and thin, tapering to a wicked point. It glowed with a dark crimson and black hue, pulsing with restrained power. The coloration shifted subtly along its length, blood red veins running through shadowy black steel as though energy flowed within the metal itself. A soft white outline highlighted its edges, emphasizing how sharp it truly was.
The guard was the most intricate part. Metallic tendrils twisted around each other like living vines, merging organic and mechanical aesthetics into something that looked almost alive. At the center of this coiling structure sat a glowing red gem, radiating light like a heart pumping power through the weapon.
The handle extended seamlessly from the guard, wrapped in dark material that maintained the sword's crimson and black color scheme. It felt perfect in his grip, balanced and eager.
This was his favorite sword from the Demon Series. He had others, dozens of legendary weapons stored in his arsenal. But Beelzebub had always been special. Its skills far surpassed any other blade he owned.
The invisible force closed in, seconds from impact.
Mikail did not move. Did not dodge. Did not raise the sword to block.
He simply stood there, and when the force hit him, it dispersed harmlessly against his body like water against stone. His Dragon God Physique nullified it completely.
'Confirmed,' he thought. 'Air pressure from a blade. Someone is attacking from a distance with sword techniques.'
He resumed walking, Beelzebub held loosely at his side. The blade hummed softly, as if happy to finally be drawn.
After about twenty feet, he stopped.
There, standing across from him in a small clearing between damaged trees, was a man.
He was middle aged, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties. Short black hair, cut in a practical military style. He wore what could only be described as militaristic attire: reinforced leather armor over dark clothing, boots built for combat, a belt with various pouches. His build was solid, muscular in the way of someone who had spent a lifetime training.
A sword rested in his right hand. Not as ornate as Beelzebub, but well maintained and clearly lethal. The blade was simple steel, but the way the man held it suggested he knew exactly how to use it.
His face was hard, weathered by years of combat and harsh weather. A neatly trimmed beard covered his jaw, though the grooming was practical rather than stylish. And across his left eye was an eyepatch, the kind worn by someone who had lost the eye in battle rather than for fashion.
But what caught Mikail's attention was not the man's appearance.
It was his aura.
Power radiated from the man like heat from a forge. It was controlled, restrained, but unmistakably there. This was not some random bandit or low level threat. This was someone strong. Genuinely strong.
Mikail needed to confirm something.
In Infinity, titles were everything. They determined how strong you were, your current state, your place in the world's hierarchy. Not everyone could gain titles. The world itself granted them only to those who reached certain levels and met specific requirements.
The weakest of these world recognized titles was Sentinel. Above that came Oracle, which Aelia held. Then Exemplar. Then Cardinal, which Mikail himself possessed. And beyond Cardinal, there were three more, though he would think about those later.
The man standing before him had the energy signature of an Exemplar.
Exemplars were as strong as Cardinals in terms of skill and technique, but they lacked the raw overwhelming power that defined Cardinals. They were masters of their craft, individuals who had pushed themselves to the absolute peak of what training and discipline could achieve.
This man was dangerous. Not dangerous enough to threaten Mikail, but dangerous enough that most beings in this world would run from him.
'An Exemplar attacking random travelers,' Mikail thought, his eyes narrowing. 'What is going on here?'
He was currently using a concealment skill to hide his true power level. To anyone observing him, he would appear to be just a well equipped fighter, nothing special. His Cardinal title and godlike stats were completely masked.
The two of them stood there, separated by perhaps thirty feet of damaged ground. Neither moved. The air between them felt heavy with tension.
Then the man spoke. His voice was rough, commanding, the tone of someone used to giving orders and having them obeyed.
"Leave."
One word. Simple. Direct. An order, not a request.
Mikail looked at the man with a completely neutral expression. His face revealed nothing. No fear, no anger, no acknowledgment of the command.
Just a blank, poker faced stare.
The man's single visible eye narrowed slightly, as if he had expected immediate compliance and was surprised by the lack of response.
They continued to stare at each other, the silence stretching between them like a drawn blade.