"Ryoma…?"
The man stiffened.
He turned sharply, eyes narrowing when he noticed it—the barrier was gone.
And there, was Ryoma… holding Astra in his arms.
Astra clung to him immediately, trembling, burying her face in his chest. "Ryoma… Ryoma…" she whispered over and over, her voice cracking. Her arms wrapped tight around him as if letting go would mean losing everything.
Ryoma's brows drew together. His eyelids fluttered, still struggling to stay open. Whatever spell had held him moments ago hadn't fully worn off. "It's just a dream…" he mumbled, his voice low and unsteady. "Just another nightmare. Nothing's real…"
But Astra wouldn't let go. She shook her head against him, her body trembling like a leaf.
Ryoma exhaled, trying to focus. His hand came up to gently tap her cheek, fingers cold but steady. "Look at me. Look in my eyes."
She tried. Her gaze lifted, but everything was a blur. Her breathing was shallow—disoriented, panicked.
His eyes began to glow soft at first, like the shimmer of starlight and then brighter, clearer, "Stay calm," he said, firmly this time. "I'm here. You're not alone."
Astra blinked, finally calming down. She pointed behind him with a finger. "The fire… the shrine…"
Ryoma's jaw clenched. He turned his head slowly, eyes widening as the flames continued creeping toward the shrine.
He took a deep breath.
And then something changed.
A coldness surged around him, unnatural, but sharp. He raised one arm, then swung his sleeve in a single, swift arc.
A gust of frost burst forward.
The fire hissed in protest as it met the freezing force. Embers cracked and died mid-air. The trees, once engulfed, glazed over in thick, crystalline ice. The flames surrounding the path snuffed out in a chain reaction, one breath at a time until everything between them and the shrine was frozen still, silent as snow.
Ryoma didn't respond immediately. His posture remained still, but the energy around him shifted. Heavy. Tense. The very air between them thickened, as if bracing for something inevitable.
The man's eyes narrowed. "You can't hide it from me," he said. "I can feel it—the power you've buried. The restraint. But underneath it all… I can feel the hunger."
He took a step forward, voice steady, cold. "The hunger of a demon. Eager to kill. Eager to destroy. Why are you suppressing it?"
"I told you," Ryoma said firmly, his voice low and resolute. "I'm not a demon."
Without warning, he drew his sword. The blade gleamed in the dim light, catching the edge of the cold wind that now swept between them. He leveled it directly at the man.
"I'm not like you."
The man's gaze flickered to the weapon then back to Ryoma's eyes. His expression hardened.
"…Let me see for myself."
He stepped back, twisting his wrist. A blade began to form in his hand, emerging from swirling dark flame—silent and swift. Within a breath, it solidified, held firm in his grip.
Then he raised it, pointing it straight at Ryoma.
"This is your last chance," he said. "Accept what you are."
His tone dropped quiet, final. "Or die."
Steel clashed.
The silence of the shrine grounds shattered as Ryoma and the man collided, blades ringing through the scorched air. Sparks flew in sharp bursts as their swords met again and again—each strike faster, heavier.
Ryoma's movements were precise, honed. His stance barely shifted, but every swing came with force. He dodged low, swept his blade upward—only for the man to tilt his head and parry effortlessly, as if reading the move before it began.
A blur of motion followed. The man struck from the left, Ryoma blocked. He spun low—Ryoma leapt back. The man's footwork was relaxed, light, but his attacks hit hard, forcing Ryoma to grit his teeth and adjust his footing with every exchange.
Their blades locked. For a moment, their faces were inches apart—breaths shallow, eyes burning.
Then, without warning, the man twisted his sword sideways and struck Ryoma's shoulder with the blunt edge. The impact knocked him back two steps, but he caught himself and lunged forward again.
The man's eyes gleamed faintly. "Which tier demon are you?" he asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice. "Which blood runs through you… to stand against me like this?"
Ryoma didn't answer. He only tightened his grip and surged forward, increasing speed, his strikes coming faster—sharper.
The man's gaze narrowed. For the first time, his stance shifted. His blade moved with more focus now, blocking each blow but no longer playing with them.
Steel met steel in a furious rhythm, the air between them crackling from the force of their attacks. Ryoma ducked a slash, pivoted, then drove his sword upward, aimed straight for the man's chest. But just as the blade was about to land—
A barrier erupted around the man, pulsing with heat. Flames roared in every direction, spiraling outward like a fiery explosion. Ryoma was thrown back violently, his body crashing into one of the stone pillars. The impact cracked it clean through dust and debris crumbling down around him.
The fire surged again, devouring the remaining frost. The ice that had blanketed the ground hissed, evaporating instantly as the heat returned with renewed fury.
The man opened his eyes.
He stepped forward.
Each footfall heavy—deliberate. The fire seemed to dance with him, rising in sync with his movements, crawling up trees, walls, even the air itself. Everything around him flickered orange, drowning in flame.
He stopped in front of Ryoma, who was barely lifting himself up from the debris. Without laying a hand on him, the man raised Ryoma into the air with a single motion—his control absolute. Blood trailed from a wound on Ryoma's forehead, dripping slowly down his cheek.
The man pulled him close, their faces inches apart.
"You're a Tier 8… demon," he said coldly.
Ryoma groaned, pain tightening his jaw.
The man scoffed. "That explains it. That's why you could stand against me—take that hit, recover, and strike again."
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "Tell me. What are you?"
Ryoma clenched his fists, struggling against the invisible force. He didn't answer.
The man laughed, low and sharp. "You can't win against me. Even with your Tier 8 blood… you're still suppressing it. Sealing most of your power away."
He raised his hand and flung Ryoma aside like a broken weapon. Ryoma crashed into the ground, the earth splitting under the weight of the blow.
"You'll never win… unless you unseal it."
Ryoma's fists clenched against the scorched earth. He inhaled sharply, trying to steady his breath. His vision swam, but through the heat haze, his eyes found Astra—her body faintly stirring, a flicker of movement in the chaos.
But before he could react, a shadow fell over him.
The man appeared in front of him, blocking his view. His presence burned hotter than the fire.
"You'll die like this," he said coldly. "If you don't use your strength. Go on—unseal it. That real power you're hiding so desperately."
Ryoma grit his teeth. "I can't."
The man slowly knelt down to his eye level, head tilting with unsettling calm.
"Why?" he asked, his voice sharper now. Then his gaze flicked to Astra lying nearby. "Is it because of her? Are you afraid you won't stop once it's unleashed?"
Ryoma said nothing. His eyes dropped, avoiding the man's gaze.
A small glint lit in the demon's eyes. A cold amusement.
"How pathetic…" he muttered. "A demon shouldn't be like this."
He extended a hand toward Ryoma's chest, reaching to pierce past the seal—
But suddenly, he froze.
His body tensed as a sharp, unfamiliar pressure pressed at his back.
Slowly, he turned.
Astra stood there, legs shaking, breaths shallow. In her hands—tightly gripped—was Ryoma's sword, the one flung aside in the earlier blow. Her knuckles were white, but her grip didn't waver.
She was trembling, but her eyes were locked on him with defiant fire.
"…Don't touch him," she whispered.
The man's jaw flexed. Annoyance twisted in his expression.
"You—" he growled, stepping back slightly, his eyes narrowing as he studied her. "Still standing?"
Astra didn't flinch. She raised the blade between them.
"I don't know who you are," she said, voice raw but steady, "but you're not going to hurt him again."
Ryoma's glare snapped to her. Blood still dripping from his brow, voice sharp with fury.
"Astra! How did you touch the sword?! I didn't allow you! You're banned from—"
"Just shut up!" she snapped back, eyes wide and blazing. "You're half-dead, and this is what you care about?!"
"Astra! Just keep the damn sword down!"
"No! I won't—!"
Before she could finish, a sudden heat closed in. The man had turned to her—standing inches away.
Astra flinched, instinctively pointing the sword forward, stepping back. Her hands trembled, but her grip held.
The man studied her in silence for a moment, then tilted his head slightly.
"…What's your name?"