The Light That Shields

Rachel pressed her hands together, the glow of light mana radiating from her fingers as she summoned its warmth to envelop her allies. The healing waves spread outward, soothing wounds and replenishing vitality, while tendrils of energy lashed out like delicate threads, unraveling the oppressive black mana of her enemies.

Yet, even as she worked, Rachel's sapphire eyes strayed repeatedly to Arthur's back.

Arthur.

She closed her eyes for a moment, steadying herself against the swell of emotion. He was at the forefront, fighting side by side with Sun Zenith. It seemed wrong, almost reckless, considering there were other Ascendant-rankers in their group. But Rachel knew better. Arthur wasn't like the others—he was stronger, more relentless, a force unto himself.

And still, the thought of him in danger made her heart ache.

She hated it. Hated the way her chest tightened every time his blade clashed with an enemy, hated the gnawing fear that something, someone, might strike him down. But Rachel also understood the man she loved. She knew that Arthur wouldn't have it any other way.

He had chosen this path. Despite being from the Slatemark Empire, despite having no obligation to fight in this war, Arthur had raised his sword as an honorary elder of Mount Hua. He had stepped into the fire willingly, shouldering dangers that even others with equal strength might have avoided.

Rachel exhaled slowly, her mana pulsing gently as she steadied her thoughts. All she could do was respect his choice, as much as it pained her. She would honor his resolve and his courage, not by holding him back but by supporting him in the only way she could—by standing here, keeping their allies strong, and making sure Arthur had a chance to keep moving forward.

Her gaze softened as it returned to his figure, unwavering in the chaos of battle. The man she loved wasn't just fighting for himself. He was fighting for all of them. And she would do the same for him.

Rachel's expression darkened as she felt the oppressive power radiating from the cultist Arthur now faced.

Immortal-ranker.

Her body tensed, a shiver running down her spine as her teeth sank into her lower lip.

Even the thought of facing someone who had broken through the Wall was an insurmountable notion for her current self. To challenge an Immortal-ranker—an existence far beyond her reach—was unimaginable.

And yet, Arthur stood before him.

Fear coiled in her chest, cold and sharp. Not for herself, but for him. For the man she loved, who was now locked in battle against a foe of overwhelming power.

Rachel clenched her fists, forcing herself to focus. Her instincts took over, and she directed her six-circle light magic toward Arthur. The golden radiance lanced out, colliding with the dark, roiling energy of the cultist's blood magic. The clash was palpable, the light struggling against the overwhelming tide of black mana.

It wasn't enough. She knew it wasn't nearly enough to nullify the cultist's power. But it was something. Her light burrowed into the shadows, fraying the edges of the bonds tying the cultist's Sword Domain together. It was a weakening, a disruption, a fragment of assistance that might make a difference.

Her hands trembled as she maintained the spell, her mana pouring out to sustain the light. She couldn't wield the sword like Arthur, couldn't stand on the frontlines as he did. But this—this was something she could do. A flicker of hope, a whisper of defiance against the darkness threatening to swallow him.

Rachel's sapphire eyes burned with determination as she watched him fight. No matter how powerful the cultist, she would do everything in her power to keep Arthur standing.

Rachel's gaze shifted to Seraphina, whose icy blue plum blossoms sliced effortlessly through the Integration-rank vampire she faced. Each strike was precise, her movements a testament to relentless practice and burgeoning skill.

Seraphina had grown immensely.

The blonde princess found herself quietly astonished. At this point, Seraphina's swordsmanship could even rival her own, a thought that Rachel hadn't anticipated. Of course, Rachel's focus had always been on support magic rather than direct combat, but it was still remarkable—especially since there was a time when Rachel could defeat her without breaking a sweat.

She noticed Seraphina's eyes flickering toward Arthur, a fleeting yet unmistakable worry etched into her expression.

'She loves him too,' Rachel realized, her chest tightening at the thought.

Love often carried the tendency to feel singular, overwhelming, and unmatched. Rachel wasn't immune to that belief—she had thought her feelings for Arthur were uniquely powerful. But spending more time with Seraphina, and with Cecilia as well, had led her to a bittersweet conclusion.

They loved Arthur just as much as she did.

There was no use denying it. In the shared moments of concern and affection, in the subtle ways their eyes sought him in the chaos of battle, Rachel could see it clearly. It wasn't a competition, but an unspoken understanding—a bond formed by their shared love for the same man, each expressing it in their own way.

Rachel exhaled softly, steadying herself.

As the primary support, she couldn't afford to focus all her mana on Arthur, no matter how much she wanted to. Her duty extended to everyone on the battlefield, even if her heart strained against that logic.

Her sapphire eyes scanned the chaos around her, seeking others in need of aid. Sun was still locked within his opponent's Domain, and her light magic wouldn't be able to penetrate the layers of black mana to reach him. At best, she could weaken the edges of the Domain, but it would hardly make a difference in a battle of that magnitude.

'He'll survive,' she thought with a flicker of irritation, a decidedly un-saintly sentiment for the Saintess. She pushed her thoughts of Sun aside and turned her focus elsewhere.

Streams of radiant light flowed from her hands, weaving through the battlefield to mend wounds and bolster the resolve of her allies. Her attention turned to Lucifer, who was locked in a vicious clash with a Vampire Elder. He was taking heavy hits, his movements growing more strained with every passing moment.

Rachel's brows knit in concern. She concentrated, sending a stream of her light mana toward him, only to feel it rejected. Her magic faltered, dissipating as though it had been forcibly pushed away.

"What?" she muttered, confusion flickering across her face. A moment later, Lucifer's voice crackled through her comms.

"Don't help me," he said, his tone as sharp and cold as a blade.

Rachel blinked, tilting her head in disbelief. 'What is he thinking?'

The reason hit her with a pang of exasperation. She sighed, muttering under her breath, "Idiot."

Lucifer's pride. It was always his pride.

Rachel understood it well enough. He didn't want her help, not against an Ascendant-rank enemy. His refusal wasn't about strategy or efficiency—it was about Arthur Nightingale.

Arthur had shattered precedent by defeating multiple Ascendant-rank opponents while still an Integration-ranker, and now, he was facing an Immortal-rank enemy on the battlefield as though it were a natural progression of his strength. Arthur's feats loomed over everyone, casting a shadow even over someone as formidable as Lucifer.

Lucifer wanted to step out of that shadow.

Rachel's brows furrowed as the pieces fell into place. He wants to be the second person in history to do this.

Lucifer, at high Integration-rank, was facing a low Ascendant-rank opponent. The Wall—the insurmountable divide between Integration and Ascendant—was supposed to be just that: an unbreachable gap, a natural limit etched into the very essence of mana ranks. No one had ever crossed it.

Well, no one except Arthur Nightingale.

And not just once. Arthur had defeated Ascendant-rank enemies three times while still at Integration-rank. One of them had even been mid Ascendant-rank—a level so far beyond the reach of Integration that the mere thought of it should have been laughable. But Arthur had done it, his relative strength so monstrously high that it seemed to defy all logic.

Lucifer, by comparison, wasn't aiming to achieve something quite so extraordinary, but it was still monumental. If he could defeat this low Ascendant-rank enemy on his own, without support, he would etch his name into history as the second person ever to cross the Wall.

'He wants to prove himself,' Rachel thought, her lips pressing into a thin line. She could respect his determination, but it frustrated her all the same. Lucifer's pride, his need to measure himself against Arthur, was blinding him to the reality of the battlefield. This wasn't a proving ground—it was a war. Pride could get you killed.

And yet, Rachel held back, redirecting her magic elsewhere. 'If you're going to be reckless, at least make it count,' she thought, casting one last glance toward him before focusing her efforts on keeping the others alive.