Chapter 320: Knight, Demon, Abyssal

Everyone except Mirius himself stared at Azriel in stunned silence. Quickly regaining her composure, Ranni’s voice dropped to a tense whisper.

"...Why would someone like him be in FreeWings? No—why is he even still alive? None of this makes sense... Just... just what is FreeWings?"

Azriel narrowed his eyes.

"A group, like I said before, Instructor. Only, that group isn’t interested in destruction or killing Asia. They’re focused on one thing."

Mirius smiled brightly as Azriel said it.

"Finding a mythical creature... called a Phoenix."

Ranni’s eyes widened.

"A Phoenix? What kind of mad fantasy is that? There’s no way something like that exists... Wait—does it?"

Azriel shrugged.

"I don’t know. But apparently, every member of FreeWings believes it does."

At that, Ranni glanced at Mirius, then at Azriel, and gave him an incredulous look.

"What game are you playing...?"

Azriel tilted his head slightly, crimson eyes flickering toward her.

"Game?"

His gaze shifted back to Mirius, lips curving darkly.

"The only game I’m playing is

kill the villain.

"

Mirius chuckled deeply, while Ranni regarded Azriel with suspicious, narrowed eyes.

"You know," Mirius rasped, a bloody smirk tugging at his lips, "Even injured, I doubt I’d lose to you alone. But you... you’re different. And with Master Ranni here—yes, together, the two of you...you have potential."

Ranni looked at Mirius as if he were mad—which, granted, he clearly was.

"Potential? Together? What are you babbling about?"

"I want to die."

Ranni flinched in surprise, while Azriel merely observed in calm silence.

’What is it with everyone and their death wish lately...?’

"But," Mirius continued softly, "it must be a death earned in true combat. A death granted after I’ve fought with every last ounce of my strength—a promise I swore long ago to fulfill. And I see now, you two might just be capable of giving me that."

Ranni sighed deeply, eyes filled with grim resolve.

"If dying is your wish, then I’ll gladly fulfill it."

Instantly, Azriel clapped slowly, applauding as Mirius gave an impressed whistle.

Ranni’s eye twitched slightly in irritation.

’That... was surprisingly cool.’

Suddenly, the chains restraining the three cadets snapped—shattering spontaneously into fragments and scattering harmlessly onto the ground. The cadets jumped in surprise, quickly ripping the tape from their mouths—all except Veronica, whose broken hands hung limply at her sides. She looked helplessly, eyes filled with tears, at Ella and Marco. Ella, expression sympathetic, quickly helped her remove the tape.

Marco’s glare seared toward Azriel, who very deliberately ignored it.

Ranni addressed them firmly:

"Run. Find somewhere safe."

Marco hesitated stubbornly.

"But we can hel—"

"No," Ranni cut him off sharply, her eyes turning hard.

"Under no circumstances are you allowed to remain here, nor even to sneak a peek at this battle. You will leave, cadets. Now."

Marco bit his lip helplessly, casting one last look at Azriel before blurting out impulsively,

"What about the prince...?"

Azriel’s brows lifted in surprise—but before Ranni could reply, Azriel scoffed coldly.

"Seriously? You three are intermediates who’ve already been thoroughly beaten. One of you can’t even use her hands. There’s no place for you here—not even the generous Master Corven Draumirius Zevrak wants you useless fodder around. So, do us all a favor and get the hell out."

Marco’s jaw tightened in anger. Ella muttered quietly yet accusingly under her breath, just loud enough for Ranni to hear:

"It’s your fault Princess Veronica’s hands are broken..."

Hearing this, Ranni glanced at Veronica, who lowered her head shamefully, refusing to meet anyone’s eyes. Then Ranni’s gaze turned sharply back to Azriel, filled with clear disapproval. Azriel stubbornly looked away, carefully avoiding eye contact.

It wasn’t like he was afraid of Ranni.

Definitely not.

...Really.

Azriel coughed awkwardly. Thankfully, the cadets took that as their cue and fled the scene.

When they had vanished into the darkness, Ranni’s voice softened, concern evident:

"Maybe you should leave as well. You’ve already accomplished something incredible, injuring him. I’m more than confident I can handle this from here."

Azriel shook his head lightly, offering her a small, bloodied smile.

"We both know there’s no way I’m stepping away from this fight. Especially not one I started. This battle—I must win at all costs."

Mirius chuckled softly, drawing their attention.

"Oh? You’re quite confident, aren’t you, Master Ranni?"

Ranni’s posture tensed further as Mirius regarded her with dark amusement.

"Perhaps you even have a reason for that confidence. You children from the Third Void Generation have had it easy. You chose to enter hell, and when you did, you emerged alive. Naturally, you’d grow bold, courageous—even arrogant."

Suddenly, Mirius stepped forward, voice dropping dangerously low, his blindfolded gaze piercing straight through them.

"But you see..." he growled darkly, menace dripping from every word, "we, the First Void Generation, never had the luxury of choice. Hell itself came knocking at our doors—and we drove it back. We created the world that allowed you spoiled children to choose your fates. So don’t insult me by thinking you can compare me to the insignificant demons you’ve faced before."

Both of them felt it—

that crawling, icy shiver snaking beneath their skin.

Ranni’s voice cut through it like a blade.

"Dodge!"

Azriel leapt to the side before his mind even caught up to his body.

An explosion of dust tore through the street, swallowing him and Ranni whole. The shockwave ripped tiles from rooftops, splintered walls, and sent pieces of houses tearing into the air like dry leaves. The air itself seemed to shudder, growing heavier with every passing second.

Azriel’s instincts howled.

No hesitation—Nocturne Covenant wrapped around him in a swirl of black fabric, Void Eater solidifying in his right hand. Above his left shoulder, the infuriating annoying feather materialized.

A few meters away, Ranni stood with her spear—a sleek, flawless white weapon, the same one she had nearly driven through Azriel’s skull once before. Oddly, she wore only a single-piece white tunic dress.

’That’s her soul armor’

He tore his gaze away and looked forward—only to meet the gazes of the nightmares waiting for them.

Plural.

The first stood directly ahead: a three-meter-tall monstrosity with the bleached skull of a horse fused to its head, enormous curved horns curling back like scythes. Its humanoid body was an ugly marriage of power and decay—muscular, reptilian skin in a grayish-black tone, scales running jagged across its frame. It stood on digitigrade legs, clawed feet scraping against the earth, each hand gripping a massive cleaver caked in dried, blackened blood.

Imposing? Absolutely.

Terrifying? Without question.

Azriel’s mouth went dry.

’A soul echo... a grade 3 abyssal.’

Strong—so strong he doubted he could take it head-on, even with his knack for punching above his weight. The odds here were already bad. And they were about to get worse.

Flanking it to the right was a hulking, two-and-a-half-meter demon—a beast with an ape’s snarling face and bottomless, black eyes. Two thick, ram-like horns curved from its head, its skull encased in a crown of bone plating. Its proportions were grotesquely ape-like: a hunched torso, impossibly broad shoulders, arms that dragged low and ended in fists the size of small boulders. Coarse black fur matted its bulk, and in its grip was a crude club—little more than a massive tree branch wrapped with what looked disturbingly like corpses, their flesh rotting in place.

It crouched low, murder in its gaze. And of course, it was staring only at him.

’A Grade 1 demon’,

Azriel thought.

’Weaker... but still a real threat. I might be able to take it... maybe.’

And then there was the left flank—almost disappointingly normal at first glance.

A knight.

He stood in ceremonial charcoal armor, the metal smooth, mask-like, and faceless save for two glowing brown orbs in the visor slit. Above his head floated a jagged iron crown, cracked and broken. Both gauntleted hands gripped a greatblade that radiated quiet, suffocating malice.

Unfortunately, "normal" ended there—because the oppressive weight crushing the air didn’t come from the abyssal or the demon.

It came from him.

’...A monarch.’

A grade 3 monarch-ranked soul echo.

’Well that was never in the book...’

They were screwed. Absolutely, irrevocably screwed.

’What the hell...? Did he acquire a monarch-ranked soul echo in this damn scenario?! How?! Why?! I get stuck with a floating feather and he gets a fucking knight?!’

Azriel wanted to throw his hands up and walk straight out of this scenario in protest.

"Though you two might have potential together," Mirius’s voice drawled from behind the three monsters, "that does not mean you are worthy. Challenging me was a great mistake."

Azriel and Ranni’s expressions darkened—and then worsened, because Mirius wasn’t standing alone.

Another soul echo drifted beside him.

’...Dammit.’

She was tall—unnaturally so. Slender and feminine, her body elongated like a reflection warped by black water. Her arms and legs stretched unnervingly long, each finger tapering into brittle, needle-sharp points. Her skin was pale ash-gray, smooth as polished stone but spiderwebbed with thin cracks along her joints and spine, as if she might crumble apart at any moment.

Where her face should have been was nothing—only a smooth, curved surface. From her scalp spilled a crown of semi-translucent tendrils that floated like molten glass in slow motion.

Her torso was draped in something that might have once been silk or petals—now fractured, brittle, and burnt at the edges. And below, her bare legs stretched taut as a dancer’s, toes pointed... not to the ground, but in midair, for she floated, circling Mirius the same way Azriel’s own feather did him.

Azriel’s tongue slid over his blood-cracked lips.

’A grade 2 abyssal.’

Azriel turned sharply to Ranni, his tone tight with worry and impatience.

"Instructor, I hope you’ve got soul echoes strong enough to counter his... otherwise, there was genuinely no point in bringing you here just to die alongside me."

Ranni’s gaze never left the knight. Her expression was dark, unreadable.

"I have," she said evenly.

Hope flared in Azriel’s chest. The cadets were right to look at her like a goddess. She was one indi—

"...is what I would love to say, if I could."

Azriel’s expression collapsed instantly. His teeth clenched hard.

Ranni didn’t even look at him as she continued, her tone calm and unshaken.

"I could go against Master Corven... or Mirius, if that’s what he wants to call himself. But he’ll throw that monarch at me, and probably one of the abyssals too. I might survive if I use every soul echo I have on them."

Azriel’s voice shook.

"You’re telling me... I have to fight an abyssal and a demon at the same time, aren’t you?"

She finally glanced at him, an apologetic shadow in her eyes.

"I’m sorry. There’s no other way. Of course he’d have a monarch... I should have known. But this changes everything. I’m not even sure I can beat a monarch alone—not with what’s in front of us. We’ll have to figure out a way."

Azriel bit down hard, tasting iron. Ranni’s tone softened, as though she meant to reassure him.

"...I read the files from that containment facility. You became an Advanced there, didn’t you? You even killed a demon-ranked void creature. You’re one of those rare heroes who can take down higher-ranked enemies. I’m sure you’ll find a way."

Azriel’s eyes narrowed.

"That was only because that demon was exhausted, its mana core broken, and every possible disadvantage stacked against it. If I hadn’t consumed its core a second later, I’d be dead. That fight wasn’t impossible. This one is."

For a heartbeat, the creatures in front of him blurred. And then—he saw something else entirely.

Fire. Silver flames licking across the ground. Blood, red and black, soaking into the dirt. A faceless skinwalker, black from head to toe, watching him from deep within the Forest of Eternity.

Azriel’s heartbeat thundered in his ears. His skin went cold. A high-pitched ringing filled his head. His pupils blew wide.

’No... no, no—’

"We’ll both have to do the impossible if we want to survive," Ranni said, oblivious to his sudden state.

And then the vision was gone.

The itch at his neck came immediately, gnawing at him.

"We chose to take him on," she said.

"This is the price we pay if we want to win."

"Fine," Azriel muttered darkly. His left hand reached up, scratching at the itch until his fingernails broke skin. Blood welled and trickled down his neck. Across the field, Mirius watched, smiling faintly, amused.

"I’ll kill them," Azriel said, his voice turning low and certain.

"Both of them. Don’t you dare die, Instructor. If I’m doing the impossible, you’d better do the same."

Abyssal and demon? Just an abyssal and a demon. That’s all.

If the protagonists in

Path of Heroes

could do it, so could Azriel. After everything he’d been through—how dare

this

be the fight that took him down?

Ranni smiled boldly at him.

"What kind of instructor would I be if I didn’t live up to my cadet’s expectations?"

Azriel’s glare fixed on the demon, its black eyes locked onto him. His heart wavered for just a second. This was insane. What were the odds that Mirius would have a monarch-ranked soul echo?

The answer was simple—too damn low for this to be fair.

Azriel knew what he was against. He wasn’t a match for a master. The only reason he’d even injured Mirius was because Mirius hadn’t taken him seriously for a single second. If he had, Azriel’s head would have been pulp before the first exchange ended.

He had planned to step back. Support Ranni. Let her take the fight while he played backup. That had been the plan. But the monarch changed everything. Without it, she could have crushed his soul echoes while Azriel handled the demon.

But fate? Fate wanted him dead.

’Slave of fate, huh?’

Maybe this scenario really was meant for Fate to finally bury him.

No.

He could still kill Mirius. Take down the demon. Kill the abyssal. Trust Ranni to finish the monarch. Somehow.

It was madness. But then again—so was his entire life. From the second he opened his eyes in this cursed book’s world, nothing had made sense.

...It was unfair.

Azriel sighed internally.

He’d have to trust her.

"Are the two of you finally done?" Mirius’ voice cut the tension like a knife.

"I’ve been generous enough, haven’t I? Well then... please. Win. And kill me."

He clapped his hands.

The demon and the grade 2 abyssal vanished.

In the next instant, the demon appeared in front of Azriel. Its club swung down with such speed that even Azriel—who prided himself on speed—saw only a blur. His body moved on instinct, Void Eater snapping up to block.

The impact was like a cannon going off in his arms. Azriel’s boots tore through the ground as he was shoved back, dirt exploding in his wake.

The feminine abyssal appeared on his flank without warning.

’Oh, no—’

A jagged, silver-stone sword sliced toward him. Azriel twisted, Void Eater clashing against it with a deafening screech.

He whistled sharply.

The feather blurred forward, a streak of light, aiming straight for the abyssal’s core—

—but the demon stepped in, swinging its club into the feather mid-flight. The two locked in a vicious stalemate, shockwaves shattering the nearest walls.

Azriel lost his own exchange a split second later. The abyssal’s strike sent him flying, his body smashing through the walls of two houses before he was launched over the street, crashing onto a dirt road.

He twisted mid-air, landing on his feet, boots skidding furrows into the ground before he came to a halt.

He exhaled shakily.

’D-damn!’

They were strong.

Azriel blinked, and suddenly, the two abominations were already in front of him—side by side, like a married couple.

Azriel gave a crooked smile as he looked at them.

"Now the three of us are alone, without any eyes on us, aren’t we?"

He bent his knees, and a dark mist began to escape his mouth, slowly swirling around his body.

"Good. Very good."