Chapter 158: Chapter 158: Scythe and Fang

The sound of his footsteps blurred. The world narrowed.

He wasn’t thinking.

Noel shot forward like a bolt of fire, Ignition Surge bursting beneath his boots as Revenant Fang erupted in flames, trailing a line of heat behind him.

Behind his eyes, something flickered.

[Mission complete: Discover what is happening in the Holy Capital. Time limit: 10 days]

[Reward unavailable]

[New mission: Defeat Arya, the Scytheborn]

He didn’t notice. He didn’t care.

Arya turned her head just in time to see a flaming blade screaming toward her.

The first clash was explosive. She barely brought her guillotine-like scythe up to block. Sparks and embers scattered across the ritual chamber as metal met metal in a shriek of friction. The force pushed her three steps back, boots grinding against the floor.

Noel didn’t slow.

“Fire Arc.”

He pivoted mid-step, flames licking up his arm, and swung again—Fire Arc bursting forth in a crescent that forced Arya to leap aside.

“You’re fast,” she muttered, narrowing her eyes.

He didn’t answer. His jaw was clenched. His entire body moved with violent, sharpened instinct.

Arya spun her scythe once, adjusting her footing with calm precision. Her stance was low, steady, her eyes scanning every twitch in his posture.

She could feel it.

This wasn’t just fury.

It was hatred.

Arya spun on the balls of her feet, her scythe carving wide arcs as she adjusted to the weight behind each of Noel’s strikes. The blade he wielded was ablaze, fast, and heavier than it looked—he wasn’t just attacking. He was trying to break her guard completely.

She shifted, narrowly avoiding a second slash as flames chased its edge.

Noel didn’t stop. His mouth moved faster than his blade.

“Fire Arc!”

A wave of flame burst out, fast and precise. Arya ducked low and slipped to the side, letting it scorch past her and vanish against the far wall. A breath later—

“Ice Spike!”

A sharp spear of frost rose beneath her. She jumped back, letting her heel slide as the icy spire tore through the ground where she had stood.

Her scythe moved with her—fluid, perfect, unenchanted.

But it didn’t need to be enchanted.

It cut magic.

She swatted the spike out of the air mid-descent and then pivoted into a smooth defensive stance as another fireball formed.

“Fireball.”

The orb roared toward her. She didn’t flinch. With a sharp twist of her wrists, the guadaña’s crescent blade cleaved it in two—the explosion diffused before it could detonate.

Her eyes narrowed.

A memory clawed at the edge of her mind.

“Don’t underestimate them,” someone in the Circle had warned. “Kaelith did—and paid for it. You’re weaker than him, Arya. But smarter. Use that.”

Her grip tightened.

Noel’s next words echoed like a promise.

“Frost Wall!”

Ice rose at her flank to box her in.

“Glacialis!”

He chained the spell perfectly, launching a concentrated burst of freezing mist straight at the now-limited opening.

Arya twisted mid-air, her scythe arcing wide to cut through the cold jet. The force blew her off-balance, but she landed cleanly with only a scrape along her arm.

“You’re not just some mindless berserker,” she muttered. “But right now you’re letting emotion control you and you look like one.”

Noel didn’t answer.

His eyes burned hotter than his flames.

“Fine,” Arya whispered, spinning her scythe once in her hand, lowering her stance. “Let’s see how long that fire burns.”

Arya tilted her head slightly, watching Noel reset his stance.

He was still fast. Still precise. But the rage hadn’t left him—and she could use that.

She extended one hand behind her without looking.

A sharp whistle escaped her lips.

Noel’s eyes narrowed.

“What are you—?”

Then he heard it.

The clatter of footsteps. The scrape of metal. The low, guttural growls of something that had once been human.

From the side tunnels, they emerged—five malformed figures, limping, dragging, charging. Children, or the remnants of them, bodies twisted by magic and fleshcraft. Some had limbs too long, others with glowing runes etched into their skin. One had no eyes, but moved as if it could still see him.

“Damn you,” Noel hissed. “Flare Trap!”

Flames burst beneath the first creature’s feet, exploding upward in a burst of light and heat. It flinched but didn’t fall—its muscles didn’t even twitch like a normal human’s would.

“Ice Spike!”

Three spears of ice tore across the floor, catching one in the leg and pinning it to the ground with a screech that was more animal than child.

Another lunged. Noel turned just in time, raising Revenant Fang to parry.

Arya watched from behind the approaching monsters, completely still.

She wasn’t casting spells. Wasn’t shouting orders.

Just watching.

Like a puppeteer admiring the tension in her strings.

Clara’s voice echoed faintly behind from the corridor:

“Noel! There are children in there!”

But right now, they were coming to kill him, and he wasn’t thinking clearly.

He moved through them like a flame, fire and frost lashing out in quick succession—short bursts, clean cuts. They were fast, but he was faster.

They were savage, but he was trained.

Still, they didn’t stop.

Every time one fell, another rose from the shadows.

And Erick, still restrained, still shaking on the altar, hadn’t moved.

His body was trembling, deforming—his face stuck between agony and silence.

Arya’s voice finally broke the noise.

“You’re getting tired, aren’t you?”

Noel flicked the blood from the edge of Revenant Fang.

There were still more down the hall—more twisted bodies, more broken children—but for now, there was space. Enough to think. Enough to end this.

He focused his breathing. Raised one hand, channeling the heat that smoldered in his core, merging with the frozen edge of his magic. The air bent around his palm, energy spiraling, unstable and dense.

“Dark Sun.”

The words left his mouth like a verdict.

A deep, pulsing orb began to form—dark as void, rimmed in fire and ice, collapsing in on itself with silent weight. The ground beneath his feet cracked. The surrounding mana twisted.

Arya’s gaze sharpened instantly.

She moved.

Noel saw it—just a blur—and instinct took over. He dropped the spell and twisted Revenant Fang upward just as Arya’s scythe came down.

The blades met.

Sparks erupted.

The blow sent a tremor through his arms, but he held his ground.

In that instant—

[Trait activated: Will of the Forgotten — When fighting alone or when protecting an ally, grants a surge of latent power, increasing speed and sharpness temporarily. There will be consequences later!]

He didn’t read it.

But he felt it.

His grip tightened. His body moved with sudden clarity, with urgency. He ducked under Arya’s next swing and countered with a heavy slash that forced her back, slicing clean through one of the support chains hanging from the ceiling.

His breathing steadied. His feet found the floor more surely.

He was faster.

Stronger.

Arya leapt back, landing with grace, and studied him for the first time.

“So it’s true,” she said. “You’re the one who killed Kaelith, a simple child.”

Noel said nothing.

She narrowed her eyes. “I don’t believe it. That bastard had his flaws, but he wasn’t weak. I don’t care what trick you used. I won’t make the same mistake.”

She lunged again, low and fast.

Noel caught her strike just in time, steel meeting steel once more. The impact cracked the stone beneath them.

Arya spun mid-strike, her scythe carving the air in a vicious arc meant to split him open.

Noel raised Revenant Fang and caught the blow, skidding back a few steps, boots grinding against stone.

She pressed harder, eyes gleaming with dark amusement.

The blade pushed closer. Noel gritted his teeth. The surge granted by the trait still burned in his limbs—but his grip was starting to tighten too much, his body moving faster than his thoughts.

Then, suddenly—

A wall of stone erupted from the ground, slamming between them with a deep crack, forcing Arya to leap back.

Noel’s eyes snapped to the side.

Marcus stood a few meters away, one hand still buried in the ground.

“Come to your senses, Noel.”

Noel blinked.

A second later, a thin stream of water struck him square in the face. Not painful—just cold enough to snap his focus.

He coughed once and looked up.

Clara, standing behind Marcus, still had her palm raised.

“…Thanks,” he muttered.

’Shit… I let my feelings take over. That’s not good.’

He exhaled slowly, the trait still lingering in his body like a warning bell.

Noel looked at Arya, then past her, to Erick, still trembling on the table. His small hands convulsed, the sound of bones shifting too audible in the silence.

His face twisted with pain.

And still… he hadn’t screamed.

Noel’s fingers clenched tighter around Revenant Fang.

’I’m sorry, Erick.’

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