The Outcome of a Battle Between Siblings.

As the dust settled, the result of their clash became clear.

With a trembling hand, she held Caine’s fist — his strength already beginning to falter. In her

other hand, she gripped the blade of Vellatrice’s scythe, which pierced through her palm

from side to side, blood dripping down and staining the floor.

She faced them with a relaxed smile, a glint of challenge in her eyes — as if, to her, the fun

was only just beginning.

“Hoo... don’t worry about me, but at this rate, I’ll start thinking you’re actually trying to kill

me,” she said, her voice calm, laced with mockery.

“Damn... that really hurts...” she thought, clenching her teeth but keeping that same smile.

Her gaze shifted between them, and even as her body screamed in pain, she forced a

casual expression — a crooked, almost teasing grin.

Her posture exuded confidence… yet her chest subtly heaved. She felt the tingling, the

throbbing in her hand, the strength in her wrist fading. But of course, she’d never let them

see that.

With a swift downward motion and a twist of her hips, she tore the blade out of her flesh

without causing further damage. Blood splattered, hot and vivid — she didn’t even flinch.

Taking advantage of Vellatrice’s imbalance — her sister still gripping the scythe’s handle —

Lysielle drove a powerful mana-coated punch into her stomach.

The impact knocked the air out of her. Her knees gave way, collapsing to the ground, eyes

wide as her hands flew to her mouth, desperately trying to hold back the reflux, the

suffocating urge rising up her throat.

Vellatrice trembled; tears welled up uncontrollably, mixing with the cold sweat running down

her face. Every breath tore through her chest like glass.

The moment Vellatrice hit the floor, Lysielle’s eyes were already fixed on Caine. She

slammed her forehead into his face with such force that her own nose began to bleed.

Natural. Cold. Precise.

Her grip tightened on his hand, twisting the joint, forcing the tendons to their limit. Before

Caine even processed what was happening, her elbow shot upward — sharp as a blade.

Crack.

The sound was clean, brutal, undeniable.

Caine staggered — eyes wide, arm limp, words choking into a muffled gasp that never made

it out.

The instant that sound echoed through the field, a chill ran down Lysielle’s spine. Something

was coming… from behind.

Her body reacted before her mind did — she pivoted on her left heel, tilted her torso, and the

attack passed within inches of her neck.

A sharp slicing noise tore through the air. The wolf’s fangs.

On reflex, her free hand shot backward — and grabbed.

— The tail.

With that, she began spinning — herself and the wolf — in wide, deadly circles. Each swing

smashed into nearby summoned beasts and even her own siblings.

The wolf didn’t even have time to understand. One second it was about to tear her apart; the

next, it was trapped, spinning helplessly through the air like a flail on a chain.

— One. Two. Three full rotations.

Each swing howled through the air, Lysielle’s eyes sharp and unwavering. The beast’s body

had become her personal weapon — and even if she wasn’t the best with swords, this would

do.

Without hesitation, she discarded her improvised weapon — hurling the wolf like a projectile.

It flew uncontrollably through the air, and its destination was clear: Caine and Vellatrice, who

had barely managed to stand.

The impact was catastrophic. Caine’s special summon shattered on contact, and both

siblings were struck down violently. His mana was completely drained — summoning the

wolf again was impossible.

Lysielle steadied herself, feet firm against the ground as the last of her spin ended. She

spread her arms out, palms open — and this time, she didn’t hold back.

Her aura burst forth.

Energy built up, vibrating — and a shockwave of pure magical power erupted from her body.

Rings of energy tore through the surroundings.

FWOOM!

Waves of bluish mana exploded outward in every direction. The sheer pressure made the

entire arena quake.

The summoned beasts — dozens, hundreds — were annihilated instantly. Their forms

shattered into fragments of light, scattering like silver ashes in the wind.

Caine and Vellatrice couldn’t even react. They were hurled away like rag dolls, crashing

violently into the barrier’s edge.

BAM!

CRACK!

The magical structure groaned, its threads of light distorting, on the verge of collapse.

Even the floor beneath Lysielle gave in — cracks spread wide until the entire arena began to

crumble into a forming crater.

Stones flew. Dust rose.

And at the center of it all… stood Lysielle.

Her white hair whipped fiercely in the mana gusts, her golden eyes blazing like twin suns —

imposing, untouchable.

Her body, though… was heavy. Tired. Shoulders tense, breath faltering. She felt it — the

burn in her muscles, the throbbing in her arms, every step demanding more than her body

wanted to give.

But even in that battered state, her mana reserves remained almost untouched.

She walked slowly, advancing through the ashes, approaching her fallen siblings. The last

glowing remnants of their summoned beasts drifted upward, fading into a sky full of stars

that shouldn’t even exist within Vellatrice’s conjured dimension.

The field was a ruin.

Lysielle’s breathing was ragged now. Her wounded hand pulsed painfully, the ache so sharp

she could barely close her fist. Yet, she still tucked a strand of hair behind her ear,

straightened her back, and lifted her chin — as if all this had been nothing more than a light

warm-up.

“If… this is all you’ve got… you’ve really disappointed me,” she said, wiping the blood that

ran down her chin with her uninjured hand.

But deep inside… yeah, it hurt like hell.

That damn wound — it really hurt.

Lysielle frowned, watching the blood trail down her hand — hot, thick, and sticky. The pain

was constant, biting, and even moving was a strain.

Without hesitation, she reached down, grabbed one of her long stockings, and tore it off in

one swift, impatient pull. The fabric ripped easily, threads snapping as she wrapped the strip

around her injured hand.

The tight knot drew out a muffled groan, but she ignored it. She tied it again, firmer this

time… and kept going.

She was just finishing the improvised bandage when she felt it — too late.

The air’s mana flow changed.

“Tch…!” Her golden eyes widened — the ground was already splitting.

From every direction — the floor, the walls, the ceiling, even the air itself — dozens of black

and violet mana tendrils burst forth like living spears. They writhed and coiled, serpentine

and hungry.

In mere seconds, they wrapped around Lysielle’s body — her torso, arms, legs, neck —

immobilizing her completely.

“Damn it…!” She tried to break free, to ignite her mana — but the tendrils constricted all at

once, crushing her — and in the next heartbeat—

BOOOOM!!

A violent blast of mana, smoke, and sparks tore through half the arena. The flash burned

bright for a few seconds, followed by a thick curtain of dust and debris.

Silence. Heavy. Absolute.

As the smoke cleared, a staggering silhouette emerged from the center — Lysielle.

Her white hair was disheveled, the tips scorched. Her clothes were torn, her body marked

with deep scratches and bruises. Blood dripped from her mouth, her temple, her arms.

But her eyes… still burned gold.

She remained standing — trembling, breathing heavily, her shoulders rising and falling in

strained rhythm. Her jaw clenched tight, her expression hard. Not for a second did she show

weakness before her siblings.

Inside, though… it was another story.

“Tsk… careless… that damn witch almost had me…”

“I can’t… let that happen again.”

She spat the blood from her mouth, wiped her face roughly with her forearm, and raised her

guard again — ready for whatever came next.

The ground quaked. The very dimensional barrier Vellatrice had created was breaking apart,

weakening more with each passing moment.

Vellatrice clenched her teeth. Her golden pupils flickered with disbelief after witnessing her

sister’s true power — but slowly… she rose to her feet.

“Haa…” she exhaled, wiping the blood from her mouth with her arm.

Without taking her eyes off Lysielle, she grabbed the collar of her own shirt — and with one

swift motion, ripped it off.

SHHFF!!

The fabric flew aside, revealing her body wrapped only in a band across her chest. Her

defined shoulders trembled. Her skin was marked with old scars — the body of a warrior

forged in pain and survival, even if she’d relied on magic.

She rolled her shoulders, every joint cracking, bringing her fists up — shaking, not from fear,

but anticipation.

“No more tricks,” she growled, eyes narrowed. Her tone promised a fair fight.

Lysielle said nothing. She was searching for something — and when she found it…

She simply raised her right hand. Mana began to condense there, swirling in dense spirals,

compressed so tightly it distorted the air around it.

Vuuush…

Suddenly — SLAASH!!

She slashed horizontally through the air.

The strike, seemingly against nothing, tore open the very fabric of space — and in that

moment, she pulled something out from the dimensional fracture, as if ripping it from a box

that should’ve never been opened.

SHROOOOOORGHH!!

When her hand emerged, Lysielle was holding a small cosmic octopus — Vellatrice’s

dimensional summon, the avatar of the very core sustaining her realm.

But Lysielle didn’t look impressed.

“Hmph…” her eyes drifted down, studying the creature like it was an insect. Then, a cold,

slanted smile spread across her face — sharp as a blade.

“So… this is your summon?” her voice cut through the air, dripping with disdain. “A squid that

creates pocket dimensions?”

She tilted her head slightly, mockingly.

“Pathetic.”

Before the creature could even react—

CRACK!!

Lysielle clenched her fist.

The monster was crushed within the dimensional fold, its body disintegrating into violet

particles of light — and the next instant, the entire dimension began to collapse.

Walls of mana fell apart in cascades of shattered light. The very sky fractured like glass,

splintering until it dissolved into dust.

Vellatrice’s eyes widened — stunned, but not angry.

“You… you broke… my—!” Vellatrice’s fists tightened, her jaw trembling.

“YOU DAMN—!!”

But she caught herself, exhaled slowly, forcing her emotions back under control.

“Tch…” she muttered, folding her arms for a moment. “I knew you’d pull something like

that… though it’s no less irritating.” Her tone was calmer now — resigned, almost. “That’s

why I… prepared my body for this moment.”

She cracked her neck, muscles tightening.

Purple aura erupted from her, blazing like ethereal fire.

Lysielle, without even blinking, answered in kind. Her own blue aura — pure, condensed,

and violent — burst out like armor of light. The ground beneath her shattered from the

pressure.

For a few seconds, neither moved. Their auras clashed, warping the air, tearing tiny fissures

in reality itself.

Then, as Lysielle raised her guard — she felt it. The air split beside her—

SWOOSH!

A blade sliced within centimeters of her face.

Before she could fully react, Vellatrice was upon her — wielding both her scythe and sword,

each swing cleaving through space with the force to cut down a tree in one blow.

“IT’S NOT OVER YET!!” Vellatrice screamed, eyes wild, each strike fueled by raw madness.

The floor cracked under their feet. The sisters collided.

The world became a blur of flashes — sound, light, speed.

BAM! — CLANG! — FWOOSH!

Steel rang. Fists clashed. Their bodies vanished and reappeared across the field, every hit

echoing like thunder.

But… it wasn’t an even fight.

Lysielle read every movement — her golden eyes tracing every flicker, every twitch of mana.

And the instant she saw an opening—

She struck.

BAM!

A punch to the jaw — Vellatrice’s head snapped to the side. Without pause, Lysielle followed

with another blow to the stomach, a kick to the ribs, and kept the barrage going.

Vellatrice was exhausted — completely outmatched, unable to keep up with her older sister’s

rhythm.

TAP!

Lysielle grabbed her by the collar, yanked her forward, disarmed her — and in one brutal

motion, drove her knee into Vellatrice’s chin.

CRACK!

Her body flew back several meters, twisting midair before crashing to the ground.

THUD!

Dust rose. Vellatrice tried to stand — arms trembling, eyes watering, blood dripping from her

lips. But no matter how much she willed it — her body refused to move.

Lysielle still stood — but then suddenly—

BAM!

Her knees gave out. She collapsed forward, palms pressing against the cracked, dry floor.

“Haa… haa…” she gasped. Her chest heaved, her breathing ragged, coming in shallow

bursts.

Her heart pounded against her ribs, echoing like drums — not from weakness, but from the

brutal strain she’d just endured.

“Tch… that was… exhausting… Just… need a minute…” she muttered, gripping the ground,

teeth clenched, staring at her reflection in a dark pool beneath her.

For a brief moment… she allowed herself to acknowledge it — despite the pain, the

exhaustion, the aching in her joints… she was okay.

“In the end… I won.” A crooked smile formed.

But then—

Tap… tap… tap…

Footsteps.

Slow.

Elegant.

And then — clap… clap… clap…

Applause.

Rhythmic, steady… but casual.

As if the person behind it had just watched a spectacle far beyond their expectations.

Lysielle’s golden eyes snapped open.

She rose in a single, swift motion, ignoring the fatigue. Her senses — relaxed for just a

moment — sharpened again instantly.

“Who…” she began, turning toward the sound.

And then she saw it.

Out from the shadows cast by rubble and lingering mana mist, a silhouette emerged.

Steady steps.

Impeccable black shoes.

A graceful skirt swaying with each stride.

A delicate apron and a maid’s cap atop neatly arranged hair.

The figure stopped just a few steps away.

And when the light touched her face — Lysielle’s eyes widened slightly.

Her body tensed.

“It’s… you…” she whispered, almost in disbelief.

The woman before her kept a mysterious smile on her lips, tilting her head slightly — as if

greeting an old acquaintance.

The wind blew softly, carrying away the last floating fragments of mana.

And the silence that followed… was heavier than any battle.