Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory

Maelor let his warped face stay warped. He only cut his eyes sideways, staring coldly at the young man who kept interrupting him. There was no pain in that look—just irritation, like Ethan’s "manners" were the real offense.

Then he shifted the dragon-horn sword into his left hand.

One horizontal sweep.

The blade carved from left to right, and the wind power along its path bloomed into a broad arc. The inner edge of that slash aimed straight at Ethan’s waist—clearly trying to cut him clean in half. The outer spread of wind surged past Ethan and washed over every storm core nearby.

That swing wasn’t only meant to kill.

It was meant to harvest.

Just before the edge touched Ethan’s body, an energy sphere inside him detonated early. The force shoved him from the inside out, popping him off the blade’s line.

The next second, Ethan was back beside the others.

He’d dodged the cut.

The thousands—no, tens of thousands—of tiny storm cores around them weren’t so lucky.

The curved sword-wind scythed through the core swarm. The first row was split apart by the blade itself; the cores behind were ripped open by the spreading wind pressure. Threads of tiny power rose from the shattered cores, so dense they filled the air like dust.

Each scrap of power was weak.

But there were too many scraps.

A mosquito’s still meat when you’ve got enough of them.

Disgust still lingered in Maelor’s eyes, but his body was honest. He opened his arms and let the scattered power pour in from all sides, riding the airflow straight into him.

The twisted wounds on his face began to smooth out. The lingering damage in his abdomen sealed tighter.

After he’d absorbed what was nearby, Maelor kept his arms spread—just like when they first met—smiling at them as if he were still the host.

Seraphine descended from the air.

She landed beside Ethan, and warm Divine Power spread with her. The gold light didn’t surge at the enemy. It settled onto Ethan’s damaged body, seeping into his injuries bit by bit.

Ethan’s ragged breathing eased. The power he’d burned through was replenished again.

Not far away, Feylora was still forcing herself to maintain the energy feed.

She was so exhausted she could barely stand, yet she didn’t stop restoring Ataneya and the others. Pale green energy kept flowing out of her like a thread that refused to snap.

Maelor finally lost patience.

Everyone’s attention was still on his sword and the remaining storm cores—

—and his body had already melted into the wind.

No one caught his full path. The air beside Feylora twisted first, like space itself flinched.

Maelor stepped out of the wind.

The dragon-horn sword was already raised.

"I think killing you first is the smart move!"

He brought the blade down.

Sword pressure erupted from the edge and swept sideways across the platform. The stone nearest Feylora split first, then was peeled up by the gale. The others tried to rush in, but the expanding pressure pinned them back—forced them to lean forward into the wind, unable to close the distance in time.

Ethan snapped his hand up and condensed a wind sphere.

Compressed airflow formed in his palm, then detonated behind him, launching him toward Feylora. He skimmed past the edge of the slash and dropped behind her before the wave arrived, arms wrapping around her from both sides, pulling her tight to his chest.

Feylora had known she’d be Maelor’s priority.

She could continuously refill other people’s energy. As long as she stayed on the battlefield, the group’s strength wouldn’t truly run dry.

But she still hadn’t stopped.

Even if she died here, she didn’t regret it.

Because Auri was still alive.

"Master... let go."

Feylora gently held the hand Ethan had locked across her front.

She didn’t struggle. There was no fear in her voice. She simply felt the killing force and speed closing in from behind and wanted Ethan to escape the range alone.

Ethan didn’t let go.

He gritted his teeth and turned his body, putting his back directly into the oncoming sword pressure. Wind blades tore his clothes first, then cut into skin. The impact slammed through his back and into his whole body, forcing his boots to skid forward across the platform.

He still kept Feylora protected in his arms.

Only then did Ataneya and Seraphine finish turning.

They moved to save them at the same time.

Ataneya was closer. She didn’t care what it would do to her tails. Several fox tails stabbed straight into the slash zone. The outer fur was shredded the moment it touched the wind blades, and wounds opened across the tail surfaces.

She didn’t pull them back.

The tails pushed forward through the sword pressure, curled around Ethan and Feylora together, and then tightened. Her other tails braced against the platform and yanked hard.

Ethan and Feylora were finally dragged out of the center of the slash.

Ataneya withdrew the damaged tails. Their wounds still leaked energy. She stared at Maelor with the sword, her face ugly with anger.

"Since when did a peak Tier 35 become this hard to deal with?"

Maelor saw his target vanish, and the dragon-horn sword rotated smoothly.

The tip slid past Ataneya and pointed at Seraphine, who had already flown back into the air.

Seraphine stopped in front of the massive angel silhouette. A shield snapped into place around her. Deep-gold light covered her body first, then expanded outward into multiple overlapping defensive layers.

She was ready to take Maelor’s next strike head-on.

But she wasn’t giving up her counterattack.

Above her, the angel silhouette looked down at Maelor. The face that had been cold before was now filled with anger. It raised both hands, drawing on all its power. Streams of gold poured from its wings and chest into its palms, stretching longer and longer until they formed a golden spear.

The spear’s tip angled down.

Its killing edge locked onto Maelor’s position.

Maelor didn’t swing immediately.

He lowered his head and lightly traced the sword’s edge with his fingertip. Behind him, his dragon tail lifted high and swayed in excited arcs through the wind. He looked up at the enormous angel silhouette, hunger naked in his eyes.

It had been a long time since he’d seen power like that.

Strong. Bright. Worth owning.

In the past, he’d only felt something close on that crippled dragon in the ruins. Too bad. In the end, he’d still skinned it and pulled its tendons out.

That feeling...

It was incredible.

"Come on!"

Maelor lifted the dragon-horn sword, laughter blasting upward with the wind.

"Hahahaha!"

Seraphine stopped charging.

She looked at the excitement on his face, and the disgust in her own eyes sharpened. Her twin blades crossed in her hands, and the angel silhouette behind her tightened its grip on the golden spear.

"Spear!"

Seraphine’s voice echoed through the entire space.

"Flash-burst them. These demons who blaspheme angels—accept judgment!"

The angel silhouette didn’t hold back anymore.

It raised the golden spear high. Its arms pulled the massive light-made body forward, and the spear tip pierced the wind layer above, stabbing straight down toward Maelor.

Gold light spread around the spear, splitting the gray domain into stark bright and dark halves. Before the spear even truly landed, the wind under Maelor’s feet was already crushed outward, forced to scatter.

No one else stopped either.

Ataneya’s twenty-four tails spread around her. The damaged tails still leaked energy, while the rest pressed layer by layer toward her chest. She gathered the power she’d distributed through her body again, controlling the still-unreleased core of energy.

Ethan flipped up and landed back on the platform.

The first thing he saw was Feylora—crying so hard she looked like she might break.

Her face was soaked, her breathing choppy from overexertion. She knew there was no time to stop and rest, so she raised her hands and released everything she had left.

Pale green energy spread outward from her body like a tide.

Part of it flowed into Ethan, repairing the shredded wounds across his back.

The rest crossed the distance to Ataneya, feeding into her as she tried to keep that chest-core under control.

Feylora didn’t leave any strength for herself.

She poured it all into Ethan and Ataneya.