Night pressed down on the forest like a held verdict.
Moonlight filtered through the canopy in fractured lines, pale silver breaking against bark and leaf, painting the ground in shifting patterns. The air was cool, unmoving. No wind stirred the branches. No insects sang. Even the forest seemed to understand that noise would be a mistake.
Seth stood still.
The dim blue lines of his bodysuit pulsed faintly, slow and steady, like a restrained heartbeat. The glow was muted enough not to betray him at distance, yet deliberate an unhidden declaration that concealment was unnecessary. His blindfold lay smooth against his face, untouched by the night. His hands hung loose at his sides, fingers relaxed, empty.
Across from him, Agatha did not move.
Her presence distorted the darkness in subtler ways. Where Seth's suit drew the eye, her magic bent it shadows deepened around her silhouette, violet threads of mana threading the air like veins barely visible beneath skin. The forest did not reject her. It leaned away.
They had been standing like this since the last words of Chapter Five fell silent.
Neither had spoken since.
Distance separated them far enough that a rushed strike would fail, close enough that neither could turn their back without dying for it. Between them lay nothing but leaves, roots, and the quiet agreement that the first mistake would be final.
Agatha's eyes never left him.
Blindfolded.
Unarmed.
Still.
Her magic remained coiled, not flaring, not dormant balanced at a threshold only seasoned witches ever reached. No wasted mana. No ambient leakage. Everything she was, she kept under control.
Dangerous.
"You don't shift your weight," she said at last, her voice low, carrying easily through the trees. "Not even unconsciously."
Seth did not answer.
The forest filled the space instead the soft creak of bark settling, the distant snap of a twig far away. He breathed evenly, chest rising and falling beneath the bodysuit in a rhythm too calm to be natural.
Agatha's lips curved slightly.
"So it's not an act," she said. "You're really like this."
"I never said it was an act," Seth replied.
His voice was even. No echo of strain. No tremor. It came from exactly where she expected—and nowhere else.
Her eyes narrowed.
Blind men did not project like that.
She took a single step forward.
Leaves crunched beneath her boot.
Seth's posture did not change.
The blue lines on his suit brightened by a fraction not a flare, not a threat. A calibration.
Agatha felt it.
Her magic reacted instinctively, tightening inward, sigils collapsing into denser layers as if bracing against an unseen pressure. Whatever he was wearing was not passive. It was listening.
"You're measuring me," she said softly.
"Yes."
"Without sight."
"Yes."
Another step.
This time, the distance felt shorter than it should have.
Agatha stopped again, studying him with open interest now rather than suspicion. His utility belt was visible in the moonlight compact, orderly, built for access rather than display. Not the equipment of a noble. Not the tools of a wandering adventurer.
Something engineered.
"are you one with the church?," she said casually, "or did they contract you?"
Seth tilted his head slightly not toward her voice, but toward the forest itself.
"Wrong," he said.
"Oh?"
"They lived long enough to talk."
A thin thread of killing intent slipped through the air.
Not unleashed.
Tested.
Agatha released it deliberately, watching for reaction.
The forest responded first.
Leaves closest to Seth's feet shifted, flattening subtly, as if pressed down by weight that wasn't there. His suit hummed not audibly, but with a vibration she felt in her bones. The intent met something solid.
It did not pass through.
Agatha exhaled, slow and pleased.
"That's troublesome," she murmured. "Very troublesome."
Seth's hands flexed once, then stilled.
"You are being hunted," he said.
Her expression sharpened.
"By the Church," he continued. "Three execution units. The next one will carry a saint-bound relic. You're running because you don't want collateral."
She said nothing.
The silence confirmed it.
"I don't care who hunts you," Seth went on. "Or why. You crossed my path because you thought I was isolated."
Agatha smiled thinly. "Weren't you?"
"No."
Her magic shifted again this time not defensive, but surgical. Threads extended outward, brushing the air, the ground, the space around Seth without touching him directly. Spatial probing. Mana mapping.
She frowned.
"You don't anchor yourself," she said. "No signature. No flow. No spiritual pressure."
"And yet," Seth replied, "you're still standing where I allow you to stand."
The forest creaked.
Not from wind.
From tension.
Agatha's smile faded, replaced by something sharper. Respect, perhaps. Or the thrill of danger finally confirmed.
"You're not a mage," she said.
"No."
"Not a warrior."
"No."
"Not a monster."
Seth's head lifted fully now, chin rising just enough that the moonlight brushed the edge of his blindfold.
"That depends," he said calmly, "on who survives."
The line was drawn not on the ground, but in intent.
Agatha's magic condensed violently, sigils snapping into a lethal lattice around her form. Violet light bled through the shadows, staining bark and leaf alike. This was not a spell cast.
This was readiness.
Seth's bodysuit responded in kind.
The dim blue glow intensified, lines along his arms and torso sharpening, stabilizing, feeding into one another. His stance changed—not wider, not lower but correct. Every muscle aligned for motion that had not yet begun.
Agatha took one final step forward.
"This is your last chance to walk away," she said.
Seth did not move.
"I already decided," he replied.
The forest held its breath.
And Agatha raised her hand.
The forest detonated.
Violet light tore open the ground beneath where Seth had stood, a magic circle blooming instantly perfectly etched, violently alive. It did not expand outward.
It bit downward.
Both of them moved.
Seth vanished backward in a blur, boots shredding soil as he hurled himself away with inhuman precision. At the exact point he had occupied, the earth ruptured. Black, sharpened roots exploded upward like spears, twisting and clawing through air that no longer contained flesh.
Agatha did not watch the spell complete.
She was already attacking.
A magic construct formed in her palm compressed darkness shaped into a lance, edges screaming with destructive intent. She thrust her arm forward.
"Dark Lance."
The projectile screamed through the forest.
Seth twisted aside, the lance shaving past his shoulder close enough to scorch the bark of a tree behind him. He didn't stop. He ran, boots striking bark as he rebounded off a trunk, changing direction mid-motion.
Another lance formed.
Another shot.
Seth weaved between trees, letting trunks shatter behind him as Agatha kept firing, her aim relentless, precise, predictive. She wasn't chasing him she was herding him, cutting angles, denying straight paths.
He closed the distance anyway.
Not directly.
He curved.
Branches cracked as he vaulted, rolled, flipped using elevation, blind angles, terrain she wasn't denying fast enough. His movements weren't desperate. They were studied, every dodge measured to steal ground.
Agatha clicked her tongue.
A dark wall erupted around her, a circular barrier that surged upward like a rising tower, layered, reinforced, humming with dense magic. Seth leapt too late. The wall extended, denying his angle, forcing him to flip back mid-air.
Agatha didn't let him land.
Three magic circles ignited beside her.
"Ghoul construct."
Skulls tore themselves out of the circles—half-formed, screaming things wreathed in black mana. They didn't fly straight.
They hunted.
Seth hit the ground running, sharp turn after sharp turn, but the ghouls curved impossibly, tracking him with predatory accuracy. One snapped at his shoulder, tearing fabric and sparks from his bodysuit.
"Tch."
He drew back sharply, trying to break line of sight.
Didn't matter.
The ghouls accelerated.
Seth reached behind him, steel flashing into his hand a karambit, curved blade catching moonlight for an instant before he spun.
The first ghoul lunged.
He cut.
Mana shrieked as the blade tore through the construct's core, the skull detonating into black vapor. The second followed immediately he ducked under it, reversed grip, stabbed upward.
It dissolved.
The third came in low.
Seth vaulted over it, twisted mid-air, and drove the blade down. It shattered against the forest floor.
No pause.
A dark lance ripped past his ribs.
Agatha was already firing again.
She kept distance, relentless pressure pouring from her hands. Seth dodged, rolled, rebounded—never tanking, never blocking, never giving her the satisfaction of a clean hit.
That irritated her.
Every time he tried to close in, she punished him.
Lightning fell.
Blue-white bolts tore down from the canopy as she cast, turning the forest into a kill zone. Seth flipped, kicked off a tree trunk, threaded between strikes with pinpoint timing. One bolt grazed his leg—his suit screamed, systems compensating as he hit the ground hard and rolled.
He surged forward anyway.
Mid-air, he twisted, leg snapping out in a side kick aimed squarely at Agatha's head.
A barrier flared.
His kick struck invisible force and rebounded violently, throwing him backward. He landed in a crouch, boots skidding.
Agatha didn't pursue.
She stood perfectly still inside her defenses, eyes burning violet.
"You're fast," she said coolly. "But you're learning too slowly."
Seth didn't answer.
He watched.
He listened.
He counted.
Dark lances.
Lightning intervals.
Barrier refresh cadence.
Mana pulse rhythm.
Patterns.
From his utility belt, his fingers closed around a small object.
A necklace.
Metal etched with deliberate imperfection, its surface asymmetrical by design. A device he had crafted without magic—for magic.
The Pendant of Disturbance.
He slipped it free.
Agatha fired again.
Seth moved less evasive this time. Riskier. He closed the distance deliberately, forcing her to increase output, to compress her spells tighter, faster.
Her frustration surfaced.
"You won't last," she snapped, unleashing a barrage lance after lance screaming through the trees.
Seth leapt forward.
The pendant wrapped around his fist.
He didn't dodge the last shot.
He slipped inside it.
Agatha's eyes widened as her barrier flickered.
Just for a heartbeat.
The pendant hummed violently, distorting the flow of mana like a stone dropped into a still pond. Her defenses screamed in protest.
Seth punched.
His fist broke through the barrier and drove cleanly into her ribs.
Impact.
Agatha staggered sideways, breath tearing from her lungs as she crashed through brush and bark. She twisted, boots digging in, stopping herself before she fell.
For the first time
She bled.
Not much. But enough.
Her eyes burned.
She straightened, arm snapping forward as multiple magic circles flared into existence.
Seth leapt.
She reacted instantly.
"Ainz vork ront!"
The words slammed into reality.
Seth froze mid-air.
His muscles locked. His momentum died.
Chains of lightning erupted from the magic circles, slamming into him, binding him in crackling arcs of power. Pain tore through his nervous system as the spell flung him upward violently.
He roared not in fear, but effort.
Agatha didn't move.
She layered spells.
Red lightning formed, vicious and unstable, lancing upward toward his suspended form.
Seth moved anyway.
A wire snapped taut.
Hidden lines he had anchored earlier yanked him sideways, ripping him free of the worst of the strike as red lightning tore past, scorching his suit, burning circuits, smoke trailing from his limbs.
He slammed into the ground hard, rolling, skidding through dirt and leaves.
His bodysuit smoked.
Systems screamed warnings.
Agatha was already preparing the next spell.
Seth rose anyway.
Damaged. Burnt. Breathing hard.
Still standing.
The forest around them was ruined trees shattered, earth scorched, mana lingering like poison in the air.
Agatha smiled.
Now she was certain.
The real fight had begun.
Agatha spread her hands.
The forest screamed.
Magic circles ignited in the air before her palms vast, intricate, layered with symbols that pulsed faster and faster as energy flooded them. The violet glow deepened, thickened, then collapsed downward, engraving itself violently into the ground.
The earth accepted the script.
Lines burned across soil and root alike, carving a vast magical lattice that spread outward in every direction—an invisible domain of death, overlapping traps encrypted beneath leaf and loam.
Seth stepped forward.
The ground ignited.
A pillar of molten light erupted beneath his foot as the trap triggered, the forest floor liquefying into searing magma. Heat punched upward, devouring air, consuming space.
Seth reacted instantly.
He hurled himself backward, boots skidding as molten fire licked past where his leg had been a heartbeat earlier. The ground behind him exploded, sending embers and molten fragments spraying through the trees.
Agatha didn't relent.
She moved her hands again, fingers crossing.
A dark magic circle flared wide, rotational, oppressive. The ignition pulse surged outward, slamming into the surrounding forest.
Trees moved.
Roots tore free from the earth with thunderous force as trunks twisted, bark splitting, branches snapping into crude limbs. The forest rose against him.
Treants awakened.
One.
Five.
Ten.
They lumbered forward, towering shapes of wood and fury, eyes glowing with corrupted magic as they roared soundlessly into the night.
Seth ran.
Not away through.
Wires snapped free from his belt, firing outward, anchoring into bark and stone alike. He leapt, flipped, rebounded using treant limbs as footholds, vaulting from one to another as massive arms swung to crush him.
A fist slammed where he'd been mid-air.
He twisted, landed on its forearm, sprinted up the bark, leapt again as another treant swiped upward, splintering the one beneath him.
Agatha watched calmly.
A rock tore free from the ground Seth's wire snapping tight as he wrapped it mid-motion. He spun, slingshotting the boulder forward with brutal force.
Agatha's barrier flared.
The rock shattered into fragments against it, useless.
More treants rose.
More roots tore free.
Seth was surrounded.
He launched himself again, wires snapping, slinging himself toward Agatha but every trajectory met the same invisible wall. No matter the angle. No matter the speed.
Her defense held.
Agatha crossed her arms.
The sky answered.
Hundreds of magic circles formed overhead layered, interlocked, rotating at different speeds. Lightning bolts screamed downward. Fire arrows rained like meteors. Dark lances tore through the forest, erasing paths through wood and soil alike.
The battlefield became chaos.
Seth ran.
Dodged.
Flipped.
Rolled.
Every movement was calculation. Every breath controlled. He threaded through destruction by fractions bark exploding inches from his head, lightning splitting ground beside his feet, treant fists missing him by hairbreadths.
The assault did not stop.
Minutes passed.
Then more.
The forest burned.
Treants fell only to rise again as new ones tore free from the earth. Seth's movements slowed not visibly, not enough to betray weakness, but subtly. His breath grew heavier. His landings less forgiving.
Agatha felt it.
So did her body.
Her mana reservoir thinned. Her pulse quickened. Sweat traced down her spine beneath her robes. But she did not falter.
Neither did he.
An hour passed in violence.
Then
Agatha shifted strategy.
She extended her magic outward, subtle this time, weaving a wide-range trap closer to Seth's position layered, concealed, overlapping.
Seth moved.
And stepped wrong.
The trap triggered instantly.
Paralysis surged through his body like liquid ice. Shadow chains erupted from the ground, coiling around his limbs, locking him in place. A third layer followed slumber magic, thick and suffocating, crushing down on his consciousness.
Seth froze.
His breath stuttered.
His vision blurred.
Agatha exhaled sharply.
She gathered everything.
All remaining spells collapsed inward, compressing into a single massive magic circle. Energy screamed as it reached critical density.
"Die."
The explosion tore the forest apart.
Light engulfed everything trees vaporized, earth cratered, shockwaves ripping outward in all directions. The blast lit the night sky so brightly that travelers miles away saw the flash and felt the tremor beneath their feet.
Silence followed.
Then smoke.
Dust rolled outward, thick and choking, blotting out the moon.
When it cleared
Seth still stood.
Barely.
His body was ruined.
His bodysuit shredded and burnt, reduced to torn fragments clinging to his form only the lower section remained, charred and tight like scorched cloth. His blindfold was gone.
His scar was visible.
Angry.
Raw.
He swayed, blood dripping down his chest, karambit clenched in one hand, the pendant in the other. His eyes fluttered, threatening to close.
Agatha stared.
Shock flickered just once.
Seth raised the blade.
And cut himself.
Fresh pain ripped through him, sharp and immediate. Blood spilled. The slumber magic shattered, torn apart by sensation.
Agatha didn't hesitate.
Mana low, but body reinforced, she surged forward magic amplifying muscle and bone alike. She swung her left arm, magic circle revolving violently around it.
A killing blow.
Seth moved.
He redirected the strike not blocking, but turning it aside and punched.
The pendant shattered her barrier.
His fist slammed into her face.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
She tried to retreat.
He caught her.
Slammed her into the ground.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
The earth cracked beneath her.
She struck back desperately earth magic binding his foot, an imp summoned mid-motion to buy distance.
Seth tore free.
With his last strength, he moved faster than she could react.
He blocked her escape.
Uppercut.
She flew.
He grabbed her foot mid-air.
Slammed her down.
Pinned her.
One final strike.
Agatha went limp.
Seth stood there, swaying, breathing hard, staring down at the unconscious witch lying broken in the dirt.
The forest burned around them.
And the night finally exhaled.