Zelkara kicked off the ground, the world turning into a blur.

  She did not hold back—something about the man before her told her this fight required seriousness.

  The distance between them vanished. Zelkara already pictured her spear carving into his neck. He was late in his defense; the flames in his hands had only begun to rise when she was nearly upon him.

  But just before she could draw blood, the earth itself responded.

  A thick slab of stone burst upward, blocking her spear’s path, and an earthen spike shot straight toward her midsection.

  Zelkara’s knee shot out on instinct, shattering the earthen spike into powder with sheer physical force. Her weapon punched through the rising slab as well—earth and stone no match for forged metal—but her momentum was gone.

  Her stance broken and her speed reduced, Zelkara shifted into a windmill guard, spinning her spear before her. Not a moment too soon. A massive glob of fire slammed into her position an instant later.

  The impact lifted her off her feet, hurling her backward as flames gnawed at her skin. She buried the tip of her spear into the ground, using it as a rudder to turn the uncontrolled blast into a controlled retreat.

  She landed lightly and hefted the weapon over her shoulder.

  Her eyes swept the battlefield.

  The same pattern she had just encountered was unfolding everywhere. The Fire Mages, seconds from collapse, now found their ranks reinforced by dozens of newcomers bursting from the earth like weeds after spring rain.

  Beside her own opponent, another figure rose from the ground: an elderly man built like a bear. Despite his graying hair, his posture was unbent—a mountain of muscle and strength.

  Zelkara licked her lips. This had just become far more interesting.

  Unlike her excited expression, the two humans' faces looked grim.

  “…A second later and I would have been dead,” the Fire Mage muttered, eyes never leaving her.

  “I acted as fast as I could,” the bear-like man replied, equally focused on Zelkara.

  Unlike the Fire Mage, this newcomer carried a weapon—a massive cudgel as thick as Zelkara’s torso, reinforced with metal spikes the length of a finger. A brutal tool, but deadly only in the hands of someone strong enough to wield it.

  Zelkara stepped forward. Both men tensed.

  “...Is it just the two of you,” she asked, “or do you have more friends hiding somewhere?”

  “There are only the two of us, girl,” the bear-man said. “But that will be enough.”

  Zelkara grinned. “I highly doubt that.”

  Her spear spun around her, fluid and alive, making the heavy metal shaft look light as air.

  The man shook his head. “Even if we only stall you, that alone will be a victory.”

  Zelkara paused, brow creasing. What was that supposed to mean?

  “…Most of the threat your troops pose comes from your own strength. Your men, by comparison, are far more ordinary.”

  Zelkara’s eyes flicked across the battlefield. The Bloodguard still held the advantage, but the man wasn’t wrong. The arrival of the Earth Mages had given the Fire Mages exactly what they needed: cover. With sturdy walls and sudden barriers springing up beneath them, the robed casters finally had room to unleash their strength properly.

  Worse, more and more humans were converging on the area. Scattered pockets of soldiers were regrouping, forming a single, unified front. The chaos caused by their commander’s death hadn’t lasted long at all.

  “...It is not too late to retreat, girl,” the bear-like man continued. “If you value the lives of your warriors, leave now—before it’s too late.”

  Zelkara watched the battle a moment longer, noting how the humans were adapting—layering earth over flame, forming shielded pockets, drawing scattered forces into a single front. She was taking note of all their tactics.

  “Your thinking is wrong, old man,” she said at last, turning her focus back to her opponents. “I do value them. And that is exactly why I will never call a retreat. I will give them the chance to prove their worth. If they die while doing so, then it is better that way. It means they will never shame the Progenitor's name again.”

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  The old man’s expression didn’t budge. “It seems your Progenitor is quite the harsh master.”

  Zelkara smiled, amused—as if a child had said something silly. “This is not his wish. It is mine. It is ours.”

  “You would rather die than retreat, all to avoid shaming your master?”

  Zelkara shook her head, baffled by how difficult this was for humans to grasp.

  “I am a spear,” she said, leveling her weapon at the man’s chest. “What use is a spear that bends?”

  The old man sighed, hefting his weapon onto his shoulder. “As you wish. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Zelkara grinned. “Please don’t die too quickly.”

  Without another word, she charged again, spear angled low. Her target was once more the Fire Mage—but she held no illusions about reaching him unopposed.

  As expected, the old man stepped in front of him an instant later, already mid-swing with his massive cudgel, drawing a wide arc.

  Too early. Far too early. He would miss her by a mile.

  But it became clear a heartbeat later that he had never been aiming for her.

  The ground surged upward—a thick slab of stone rising perfectly along the path of his swing. At the apex, his cudgel struck the slab, shattering it into a storm of razor-sharp fragments.

  Zelkara shielded her eyes as hundreds of stone splinters tore through the air. She felt them bite into her skin like tiny arrows, peppering her from head to toe. The attack was unexpectedly potent—strong enough to kill dozens of human soldiers outright if they were caught unprepared.

  To her, though? Paper cuts on hardened flesh.

  She didn’t even slow, closing the distance in moments. The bear-like man hadn’t recovered his stance—he had no time to ready another swing. As expected, his weapon was too heavy to wield quickly.

  Zelkara struck, the spear tip arcing upward toward his throat.

  Realizing he was too late, the man abandoned his weapon and raised his forearm to block. A foolish choice. How could human flesh contend with steel?

  Yet when the two met, Zelkara felt unexpected resistance. It was like striking something just as hard as her spear. A sharp ring echoed through the air.

  She flowed with the motion, turning the upward stroke into a spin, driving the butt of her spear into his core. Again, the sound was the same: steel on stone.

  Her eyes narrowed as she finally saw it: a rapidly spreading layer of black rock crawling across the man’s skin. A moment ago he had been flesh and blood. Now he stood before her like a living statue carved from obsidian.

  "Surprised?" Even his voice sounded like gravel moving.

  His hand shot out, aiming for her face. His palm was nearly the size of her head—clearly meant to crush it in his stone grip.

  Zelkara met his hand with one of her own. Her slender, snow-white fingers intertwined with his massive stone ones. It looked like a child clasping a parent’s hand… yet when their fingers locked, it wasn’t the child who yielded.

  Zelkara tightened her grip. With a grunt of pain, the towering statue of a man was forced down onto one knee.

  “...Surprised?” she asked, grinning down at him. Even kneeling, he nearly reached her height.

  She didn’t wait for an answer. Her spear was already descending, the blade dropping toward his shoulder like a guillotine.

  “…Did you forget about me?”

  Zelkara didn’t halt her strike, but her eyes flicked toward the Fire Mage. He stood a dozen steps away, a triumphant grin plastered across his face. A blazing crown hovered above his head, and dozens of flaming spheres spun in the air around him.

  “DIE!”

  At his shout, all the projectiles surged together, merging into a single massive sphere of fire that roared toward her. He didn't seem to care about the life of his comrade at all.

  Ah. Now she understood their plan.

  The Earth Mage had already sunk halfway into the ground—clearly intending to escape the blast below the surface.

  Her grin widened. Not a bad tactic. Not bad at all…

  If they were dealing with a mere spear-wielder, that was.

  Zelkara drew a long breath, pulling on every ounce of strength in her blood. Then she exhaled—not just through her mouth, but through every pore of her body. A mist, denser and colder than anything she had produced before, poured off her skin in a rolling wave.

  The flaming orb, several times larger than her, collided with the spreading mist.

  There was no explosion. No impact. No clash of power.

  The massive sphere of fire simply passed through the cloud as though it were ordinary fog.

  But the moment it touched the mist, something extraordinary happened.

  The fire began to shrink. Rapidly.

  From the size of a carriage… to a horse… to a crate… to a fist.

  By the time it reached Zelkara, only the faintest spark remained.

  It brushed her cheek, leaving behind nothing more than a smudge of ash beneath her right eye.

  “…M-monster,” the bear-like man muttered.

  His torso still protruded from the ground—not because he had stopped trying to flee, but because he couldn’t. The soil around him had frozen solid, and so had his body. A single moment of exposure had drained all warmth, locking him in place as if time itself had frozen.

  The stutter in his voice didn’t come from fear.

  It came from the unbearable cold consuming him alive.

  Zelkara kicked out, her heel slamming into the Earth Mage’s torso with earth-shattering force. His calcified, frozen body shattered into countless shards—ironically mirroring his opening attack.

  Only now, he had become the projectile.

  The fragments tore into the Fire Mage behind him. A strangled scream escaped the man before one of the larger pieces sliced across his neck, severing his windpipe. He collapsed, blood pulsing from ruptured arteries.

  Zelkara watched him gasp, struggling to breathe, while his body quickly grew cold. He died within seconds.

  How disappointing.

  Only then did she glance down at what she still held in her hand—the severed arm of the Earth Mage. His fingers remained locked around her own.

  Of course they did. The flesh had frozen solid.

  She studied the limb for a moment. The black stone that had once been his skin gleamed faintly in the firelight. It was… almost beautiful. A fine trophy.

  Would the Progenitor want it?

  Would he be pleased?

  Zelkara immediately shook her head. Foolish. How could someone like him take pride in such a trivial kill?

  Her gaze drifted back to the battlefield. The Bloodguard still clashed with the Ehrenlegion, but victory was assured. She could already see it in the movements of her troops. They were slowly adapting to the enemy tactics.

  There was no true need for her to intervene.

  Then again… Perhaps the Progenitor would be pleased if they won faster.

  She didn’t want to steal glory from her warriors, but if it was his will, she had no choice.

  Licking her lips, Zelkara fixed her eyes on the most heavily fortified enemy position. Her blood was still boiling, and she felt far from satisfied.

  If she were careful…

  If she were selective…

  It should be fine if she just took a few.

  Right? Right!