However, unlike the three figures before her, the last woman standing behind them radiated a far more oppressive presence.
Her beauty was nearly unmatched—though, in Gabriel's personal opinion, it still did not surpass Morgan's charm.
Long black hair flowed neatly down her back, framing a calm, composed face, while a pair of violet-purple eyes regarded the world as if there were nothing left it could show her.
She wore a black dress tinted with deep violet, adorned with subtle golden accents.
Draped over it was a long-sleeved black mantle that extended to her wrists, decorated with elegant gold patterns across the back like an emblem of nobility.
A pair of black high heels completed her appearance.
That figure was Aurora—the Witch of Calamity, and the true identity of the demon Diablo.
Aurora gave a faint smile, gazing at Gabriel without a single word.
At the same time, however, her eyebrow twitched ever so slightly—a minute reaction that was almost impossible to notice.
Gabriel's thoughts spun at incredible speed. The sound of the crowd's breathing stretched thin, as if time itself had slowed.
He recognized all four of them.
"What is this supposed to be…?" Gabriel muttered inwardly. "Why did the number of opponents suddenly stop making sense?!"
"And more importantly…" he continued, "if I remember correctly, Cid-kun only fought Aurora. So why am I dealing with four at once?"
He let out a sigh—more mental than physical.
At that moment, he finally understood something. This was why the mission had been ranked B.
From the information he possessed, worlds categorized as medium difficulty were, paradoxically, rare anomalies. When they did appear, their danger often exceeded expectations—even in cases where a Herald was not technically required to clear them.
In other words, this mission could be abandoned at any time—so long as one understood the mechanism behind it.
Yet as Gabriel looked at the four figures standing in the arena, he realized something else.
Canceling it… might actually be the least interesting choice.
Time resumed its normal flow.
Aurora slowly turned, spreading both arms. Instantly, dark crimson blood surged from the air around her, spiraling about her body like a living vortex.
In the next second—blood-forged swords materialized in the hands of each Hero.
Without a single command spoken, the three Heroes moved at once—their formation tight, seamless, almost flawless.
In less than a blink, Olivier stood directly before Gabriel.
Their eyes met.
The output of Gigan spiked sharply.
The world fractured into frames—movement broken into measurable sequences, every shift in muscle and mana laid bare before him.
SLASH—!!
The blood blade carved through the air in a flawless arc, aimed straight for Gabriel's neck without the slightest hesitation.
Gabriel stepped back once.
The lethal edge cut through nothing but empty space.
At the same time, Freya gripped her blood-forged sword with both hands. With a single motion—clean, restrained, perfectly controlled—she swept the blade horizontally.
Gabriel raised an arm coated in Slime Weapon and intercepted it.
SHWOOOSH—!!
The collision birthed a shockwave that tore across the arena like a sudden storm wind.
At the same moment, Lili appeared behind Gabriel—her movement nearly soundless, the tip of her blade aligned for a fatal thrust.
Gabriel had read the intent before the motion had even fully formed.
Mana output surged—twenty units released at once—while Ki reinforced his body in an instant.
He pivoted and drove a crushing kick into Lili's torso.
BOOM—!!
A harsh cough tore from her as her body was launched backward, slamming into the barrier at the arena's edge. Dust and fragments of energy burst outward, clouding the field for a heartbeat.
The next instant, blood spears erupted from the ground—exactly where Gabriel had been standing—piercing upward at lethal angles and spacing.
But once again, before their shapes fully manifested, Gabriel's Ki detection had already grasped the killing intent behind them.
He stepped, turned, and shifted—each thrust missing by mere inches, striking empty air and leaving spiderweb fractures across the arena floor.
The assault stopped in an instant.
And in that opening—Freya moved.
She shot forward, her blood-forged blade flashing, body leaning into the strike with cold, perfectly controlled killing intent.
At the same time, part of the Slime Weapon coating Gabriel's body shifted form.
The pale material flowed, compressed, and solidified—becoming a simple, white shovel, yet one carrying overwhelming existential pressure.
Before the clash could even occur, Olivier and Lili—already back on their feet—closed in from two different angles.
Three directions.
One target.
Their formation was nearly perfect.
Almost simultaneously, outside the arena, the bishop's face drained of color.
"W-What… is this…?" he choked out. "What exactly is happening…!?"
His grip tightened around his holy staff, cold sweat running down his temple.
"This isn't the mechanism of the Goddess' Trial…! This exceeds the limits of Spirit Warriors!"
The nobles in the VIP stands rose from their seats. Some personal guards drew their weapons, while others stood frozen—breath caught under the weight of an unseen pressure pressing down upon the entire arena.
"He's fighting three Ancient Warriors alone…?"
"No—four… there's still one more…"
The cheers collapsed into a strained silence.
No one dared raise their voice, as if even breathing too loudly might trigger something worse.
Back in the arena—
Gabriel remained surrounded by the four women. Their movements were flawlessly coordinated, without gaps, like veteran players hunting a Secret Boss to unlock a hidden Alternate Route.
Yet under pressure that should have been lethal, Gabriel's gaze stayed calm, his mind turning.
In the original path, they were enemies, he murmured inwardly. Diablo… and the Three Heroes.
A paradox.
And yet… they can cooperate.
He inhaled slowly.
"Troublesome. Not much room to move," he thought flatly. "And come to think of it… were all the Sanctuaries connected from the very beginning?"
At that moment, his eyes caught something unseen by others.
Red chains.
They coiled around all four of them, pulsing in rhythm with blood mana—seals that did not merely restrict power, but shackled will and the freedom of their souls.
A thought took shape in Gabriel's mind.
Someday—after he truly grasped Haki, Senjutsu, and the essence of the soul—he would bring them back… and free them from those chains.
"…Alright," he murmured, his voice nearly lost amid clashing blades and surging mana.
A faint smile touched his lips—not from arrogance toward his opponents, but from having chosen the path he would walk.
"Let's end this phase."
One word followed, simple—yet heavy with dominion.
"Mana Zone."
At once, pale white mana flowed out from his body—seeping into the air, then steadily forcing the surrounding energy into submission.
The space itself seemed to answer his will.
His left hand rose halfway, palm facing the sky.
The Grimoire's pages—visible only as unseen digital overlays—flipped rapidly before halting on a single entry.
[- Dark Matter Creation Magic: Zadkiel — Urteilsspeer des Leerenlichts -]
The next instant, pale-white spears erupted from the ground.
They burst forth without any discernible pattern, forcing the heroes to defend or evade the relentless, unpredictable onslaught.
In mere moments, the arena was overrun by spears of hollow light, and the spectators—without realizing it—held their breath, transfixed by the power of the mysterious figure.
Of course, no one understood one simple truth.
This was not Gabriel's full strength.
He was still holding back.
If he truly let everything loose, the arena itself would not remain intact.
At the same time, the Grimoire's pages turned again—then stopped once more.
"Blood manipulation, huh?" Gabriel murmured, his left hand now extended straight ahead. "I can do that too."
A spell activated.
[- Dark Matter Magic: Spell Constructions — Blood Manipulation -]
He flicked his finger.
In that instant, tendrils of blood formed directly in front of the three heroes' hearts—no warning, no delay.
Within a single fleeting moment, their existence halted.
Their bodies collapsed, shattered, then dissolved into fading particles of magical energy that dispersed into the empty air.
With the three heroes gone, only Aurora remained.
She stood alone in the arena, surrounded by countless pale-white spears embedded in the ground.
Gabriel leveled his shovel toward her, his gaze flat—free of hatred, free of hesitation.
"Any last words?" he asked evenly, his voice almost cold. "O fragment of the Witch of Calamity's soul."
At that, Aurora's brows lifted slightly. She was surprised—not by the threat, but because Gabriel had noticed the difference between her awareness and that of the other heroes.
A complete consciousness, even if only a fragment.
A slow smile formed on her nearly flawless face.
A moment later, the blood swirling around her body fused together, forming a massive dark-red scythe.
Aurora grasped the handle with her right hand.
Then she stepped forward.
Before Gabriel, time seemed to slow.
Each of Aurora's footsteps split into frame after frame; the whisper of air stretched thin, pulled taut with the pulse of existence itself.
"I see," Gabriel murmured. "So… those are your last words?"
In his hand, the shovel shifted—elongating, compressing—until it became a blade.
In the very next instant, Gabriel was already behind Aurora.
No flash.
No sound.
Only a spray of blood scattering into the air.
Aurora had been cut down by a strike faster than a blink.
Her body faltered, lost its form, then collapsed—shattering into crimson mana particles that slowly faded and vanished into the air.