Leo had no words to describe the feeling of relief he felt in this moment. His brother had come for him, had arrived just when it seemed that all hope was lost.

  But the feeling vanished as quickly as it came, smothered by reality’s weight. They were still in the heart of Rukia—surrounded by the Ehrenlegion and facing a Geistreich. Zeke might have come to save him, but more likely, he’d only join him in death.

  Another name. Another corpse on his conscience.

  “Run, Zeke!” The word tore from Leo’s throat before he could think better of it. “He’s a Geistreich!”

  Ezekiel turned slightly, one golden eye meeting Leo’s. For a fleeting instant, his expression softened, the ghost of a smile brushing his lips.

  “I know.”

  Then he faced forward again, toward the waiting ranks of the Ehrenlegion.

  “Ezekiel von Hohenheim,” the Mage said, his tone as calm and measured as ever. “I did not expect to meet you here.”

  Zeke said nothing. He stood perfectly still, unmoving. A knot of dread twisted in Leo’s chest. Had the paralysis spell caught him too?

  “…No matter how much of a prodigy you consider yourself to be, you can’t possibly expect to do anything here,” the man continued. “Or is this a misguided attempt to save your brother? Utter foolishness. Coming here alone is the height of arrogance.”

  Still, Zeke neither spoke nor moved, like a statue carved from the very earth.

  “…Even if I cannot prevent your escape,” the Mind Mage went on, “you won’t get far while burdened with your brother and his slaves, will you?”

  Leo’s heart sank further. The thought that he might become the weight dragging his brother down, that he might be the reason Zeke failed, was more unbearable than death itself.

  “Surrender willingly, and I swear on my name that your brother and his slaves will be released unharmed.”

  Zeke still didn’t react.

  “I would hurry if I were you; those injured slaves will bleed out soon.”

  For the first time, Leo caught a flicker of impatience in the Mind Mage’s voice. Being ignored for so long was clearly grating on him—or perhaps the chance to capture Ezekiel von Hohenheim was too tempting to ignore.

  “Hey,” Zeke said at last, his voice calm, almost playful. It sounded so absurd in this setting that Leo wondered if he’d misheard. “Are you sure you’re a Mind Mage?”

  The man froze, his blank expression faltering for just a moment. The question, as senseless as it seemed, had clearly caught him off guard.

  “In all my life, I don’t think I’ve ever heard someone talk so much nonsense.” His voice was laced with that particular brand of exasperation Ezekiel sometimes held when he found something utterly ridiculous but was too polite to laugh in your face.

  Then, his Mana erupted, thick, heavy, and suffocating. The air turned metallic with the scent of blood. Even on a battlefield drenched in death, it was overwhelming. Nauseating.

  “No, little Geistreich. They will not bleed out. Not in my presence.”

  Leo’s head snapped toward the fallen bodies of Raze and Slash. Against all reason, he searched for proof of those words, praying Zeke wasn’t lying. The sight that awaited him was not promising. The awls had punched clean through their chests, rupturing their hearts. No one survived such wounds.

  And yet…

  Their chests were rising, barely, faintly, but undeniably moving.

  The Mind Mage paused, reevaluating the situation.

  “…You are surprisingly calm,” he remarked after a moment.

  Zeke shrugged. “First rule of fighting a Mind Mage: Don’t allow them to get under your skin. Isn’t that right?”

  The Mind Mage nodded. “You’ve learned well. Unlike your brother. That doesn’t change your situation, though.”

  Zeke nodded. “It doesn’t. But then again, I am not the one who’s in trouble.”

  “No?” the Mind Mage echoed. “Are you not surrounded, outnumbered, and forced to sustain your dying comrades?”

  “No.”

  The word carried such conviction that Leo almost believed it—despite the undeniable truth before his eyes.

  “You’ve got it backwards,” Zeke said. “It’s not I who am surrounded. It’s you. You’re the one outnumbered. You’re the one standing among the dying.”

  The Mind Mage frowned. “It seems there’s no reasoning with you. Regrettable.”

  He turned to the rows of elite soldiers standing motionless behind him. “Get him.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  No one moved.

  “GET HIM!” he barked, louder this time.

  Nothing.

  Zeke crossed his arms. “You lot should’ve known better,” he said casually. “Leaving your minds so unguarded… did your emperor teach you nothing?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer. “Secure the perimeter.”

  This time, the Legion moved. As one, they shifted formation—retreating a few paces before forming a tight square with Zeke and the Mind Mage at its center.

  Leo’s jaw nearly dropped. The same elite soldiers who had nearly driven him to his death moments ago now followed his brother’s orders like obedient hounds recognizing their master.

  Was this real? Or had he already died and stumbled into some twisted afterlife?

  At least he wasn’t the only one stunned. The Mind Mage’s composure cracked, his expression hardening into something almost human: unease.

  For a long moment, no one spoke. The only sounds were the synchronized rhythm of armored feet and the distant crackle of the burning forest.

  “…I can’t feel them at all,” the Mind Mage said at last. “How are you doing that?”

  “I put their minds to sleep.”

  “To sleep? Then how are you controlling them?”

  Zeke smiled, tapping the side of his head. “You tell me, Geistreich.”

  The Mind Mage fell silent, eyes darting rapidly as he ran through possibilities. Whatever conclusions he reached, he clearly didn’t like them—his expression darkened by the second.

  “Impossible,” he hissed.

  “For you? Certainly. For me?” Zeke’s grin widened. “Child’s play.”

  “You expect me to believe you’re controlling them all individually—through their blood?”

  Zeke shrugged. “It’s your conclusion, not mine. Believe what you want. I’m just about done on my end anyway.”

  “…Done?” the Mind Mage echoed, wary.

  Zeke’s grin turned razor-sharp. “You thought I didn’t notice that you were stalling for time? Did you really think you were the only one doing it?”

  He pulled back his aura, and the suffocating stench of blood receded with it.

  Leo blinked. Now that the pressure was gone, he noticed that his comrades’ breathing had steadied: Raze, Slash… even Hook and his sister Fang. The latter two had advanced deep into enemy lines, but now that the Legion had fallen back, their figures were visible once more. They were still alive.

  “Tell me, Geistreich,” Zeke said. “Do you know the first rule when fighting a Blood Mage?”

  The Mind Mage narrowed his eyes. Slowly, he swept his cape aside, revealing two more awls strapped to his belt. With a flick of his fingers, they shot into the air, hovering over his shoulders and pointing straight at Zeke.

  “…Don’t let them get close,” he answered at last.

  Zeke nodded and tossed the two awls he’d caught earlier to the ground. It looked casual, but it wasn’t. The blades drove into the earth beside his feet, sinking so deep that not even their ends remained visible.

  “And?” Zeke asked, his smile turning predatory. “Think you’re fast enough?”

  “I am—oof!”

  The Mind Mage hit the ground like a sack of grain.

  Leo’s eyes went wide. The exchange had been over in a blink, yet he’d seen it all.

  Before the Mind Mage could even finish his sentence, Zeke was on him—no warning, no flicker of movement, no buildup of mana. One heartbeat he stood several paces away; the next, he was in front of his opponent, fist buried in the man’s gut, driving the air from his lungs and caving in his chest.

  Leo had not known Zeke could do this, hadn’t even known it was possible.

  “…I’ll take that as a no.”

  Zeke stared down at the crumpled figure gasping for air, and clicked his tongue. “Half your ribs are broken, the other half pulverized. Truly pathetic. Is that all you amount to?”

  The Mind Mage didn’t answer. Couldn’t answer. His dry heaves had turned into wet, bubbling sounds—one lung punctured, slowly filling with blood.

  Zeke reached down, grabbed him by the hair, and lifted him off the ground. Up close, the difference between them was stark. The Mind Mage’s feet dangled uselessly, his frame slight and fragile compared to Zeke’s lean, powerful build.

  Now that his sharp tongue was silenced and his body hung limp like a rag doll, the menace he once carried had vanished entirely. Was this really the same man who had seemed so untouchable only moments ago?

  "…Consider this a lesson," Zeke said, his nose inches away from the Mind Mage’s face. "There will be others. Each one will cost you, until you and your kind finally learn to keep your filthy hands off my family."

  “Y-you’ll… khh… r-regret… th-this…”

  Zeke answered with a headbutt that sent a spray of teeth flying.

  “Th—the… Em… gkhh… Emperor… won’t… l-let… you… g–go…”

  Another headbutt. The crack of bone echoed as the man’s nose shattered, one eye socket collapsing inward.

  “St–stop… gkkh… pl-please… s-stop… i-it…”

  Zeke grinned—but there was no warmth in it. It was the kind of smile that promised only suffering.

  “Beg,” Zeke ordered softly. “Beg me to stop.”

  “I… b–beg y-you… ghhk… pl-please… s-stop…”

  Despite the obedience, the words only seemed to fuel Zeke’s fury. He hurled the Mind Mage’s broken body to the ground and drove his boot into the man’s chest. The impact was sickening—whatever remained of his ribs turned to powder beneath the blow.

  “Did you stop when Leo begged you? Maximilian? DID YOU!?”

  Leo stood frozen, unwilling to even breathe too loudly. He saw Ripper slowly backing away from the scene, taking cover behind his body.

  The current Ezekiel seemed more terrifying than the Mind Mage had ever been. In this moment, Leo realized that the facade his brother had been wearing ever since he had arrived had been just that: a facade.

  Zeke had not allowed himself the slightest trace of emotion, unwilling to give the Mind Mage an edge. However, now that he had stopped holding back, all these suppressed feelings were gushing out like water through a broken dam.

  All the anxiety, anger, and vengeful fury he had felt upon finding Leo and the Chimeroi on the brink of death now surged to the surface as he allowed emotion to take the reins.

  This wasn’t Ezekiel the strategist. Not Ezekiel the Mind Mage. Not Ezekiel the diplomat.

  This was Ezekiel von Hohenheim: facing, for the first time, a member of the Geistreich family. The first real outlet for his fury ever since he had learned of Maximillian’s death.

  Leo swallowed hard. This would not be pretty.

  Punches and kicks descended like a hailstorm, turning extremities to paste.

  The Mind Mage was already little more than a shattered husk—more broken bone than whole. Even with the body of a Grand Mage, he couldn’t withstand this kind of punishment. If it continued, he’d be dead within minutes. Less, if Zeke kept going.

  Fortunately, he seemed to regain some control at this moment. He stood over the wrecked form, glaring down with cold fury.

  “…Are you watching?” Zeke asked, his voice like ice.

  For a moment, Leo thought he was being addressed. But something in his brother’s tone said otherwise. Still, there was no one else around.

  “…Don’t act shy now. I can practically smell your stench from here.”

  Leo glanced around, scanning the burning forest for anyone else—but there was no one.

  “Don’t worry,” Zeke continued, eyes still fixed on the broken Mind Mage. “I’ll come for the rest of you, too.”

  Without another word, he kicked out. The man’s neck snapped at an unnatural angle—a single, decisive killing blow.

  Zeke remained still for a time, his whole body rigid. Then he inhaled deeply, held the breath, and let it out in a slow, steady exhale.

  “It’s been a while…” he said at last, turning. It was the first time Zeke had truly faced him since his arrival. His expression had softened—warm, kind—no trace of the fury that had consumed him moments before.

  “…Little brother.”