The guardian was starting to block and even hit Edmund, and with that, he noticed that the explosions that were so plentiful before were becoming sparse, so it clicked on his mind; his power was returning little by little; even his arms had red bruises from blocking the guardian strikes and he even needed to put more strength into pushing away the strikes or pay more attention to dodge the kicks. His clothes were now torn because of how hard he was being hit; even when he was pushed back, Edmund moved in closer, denying the guardian time to use a spell.

They were trading blows with one another as they battled on the streets, inside of the buildings, and through alleyways in a now furious brawl of punches and kicks, tearing walls and bricks as they passed.

Edmund noticed they made a circle and returned to the burned buildings. There, he made his stand and focused entirely on the fight; everything around him became null and void; only the guardian and he existed; all he could do was choose what blow would extend the battle longer when he received, and his body convulsed; each strike was more painful than the other, but he had everything in mind.

From Luther’s perspective, it was almost like the fight back in the temple, movement challenging to decipher, something a standard eye couldn’t understand, and because he could understand the guardian before, even though it was fast, now he understands it is not about speed, is something completely different.

His body was now covered in red bruises flowing down his skin from the cuts made by the hits he was receiving. Edmund thought his situation was dire, and if it continued like this, he would only last a couple more minutes max as the guardian continued to increase its power at the same rate the explosions coming from the mortars dwindled, so there was only one option: if he were going to die anyway, this would buy him more time.

The fact his bruises were red wasn’t because his skin was white; that was his body absorbing magic with each strike he received. The hero used it to store magic in battle but used it as a reserve for more powerful spells.

Unlike the hero before him, Edmund couldn’t use magic like him, so he would use it in another way, the natural way his body was already using it naturally to make him stronger but in a burst of power.

He kicked the guardian straight in the chest, creating a distance between them. This gave him enough time to focus all that energy on his right hand. It wasn’t easy, and he needed to be in an exact position, with his legs extended, his right hand opened, and his fingers pointed towards his enemy.

Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.

To his surprise, the guardian didn’t try to shoot one of his spells towards him but instead chose to close the gap, coming his way at an astonished speed. It was focused entirely on Edmund, and an expression of anger could be seen on his previously cold face as it swung a punch and as it almost hit Edmund’s face, the point of his fingers touched the guardian’s chest; it formed into a fist, his arm extended like a spear, For the first time on the fight, he saw an expression of real pain on its face as he felt the bones on the chest break and his fist almost pierce the skin but instead the guardian flew back and impacted a building at an intersection.

‘Well, I’m going to rest a little.’ Edmund got on his knees. ‘Just a little bit.’ He closed his eyes.

Luther saw everything and ran towards Edmund, who was now covered in black bruises and blood dripping from cuts on his body while on his knees, looking down and appearing to be unconscious, so he tried to touch him to lay him down on the ground, but Edmund's voice startled him.

‘I think you should go back and tell Ariadne where I am.’ His voice was weak.

‘Alright.’ Luther took a steep back.

Before running to the temple, he positioned his camera to point at Edmund while recording; he didn’t want to lose anything. Edmund opened one of his eyes for a moment, saw what was happening, and gave a quick laugh that caused pain all over his body.

‘Are you kidding me?’ He closed his eyes again, and his consciousness faded away.

The last mortar round was launched in the backlines, and the truck was waiting. Nortis, with his blue eyes, observed his soldiers enter the vehicle and saw the expressions on their faces: some with determination, others with acceptance, and some with fear.

‘Listen up, boys.’ Nortis raised his voice.

The people inside the truck turned their heads to him; others needed to get up, and outside, they just looked at his blue eyes.

‘The time for us to become the rounds we launched on the skies is here; those on the frontlines are tired, and we can be a bust to their ranks, so don’t embarrass me, but better yet, don’t embarrass our Goddess.’ Nortis saluted them.

‘Yes, sir.’ They shouted in unison.

Inside the truck, the driver and the co-pilot looked at one another and smiled as they listened to the speech.

‘Well, now we are only going back from the frontlines when the ammo of the A-HM1 up there is all used up.’ The driver took a deep breath.

‘Yeah, we need to push forward with the boys; that is the sacrifice for you.’ The copilot smiled.

All platoons on the frontlines stopped advancing before the last mortar round was fired. Everyone was physically and mentally tired because the majority had returned several times.

Eliza used the same technique with Edmund back in the mansion to calm them down, but she wondered how much they could endure. She was on that as well, using the frames of the beds to support herself as she walked soldier to soldier and taking longer pauses to recover mentally.

Everyone was preparing for the final order, the sacrifice. Luther got to the temple and up the stairs, but nothing changed. Ariadne's head was still on Sorth's lap, and the radio operator didn’t move an inch from his position. He approved quickly and got to his knees close to the duchess.

‘Wake up; Your Highness, Edmund needs you.’ He spoke in a desperate tone.