Momoka stood with her eyes fixed on the horizon, where the battlefield still burned beneath a sky bruised by smoke and flame. She could see it clearly that the tide of war had turned to favor the Sarushima’s side with the balance threatening to crush everything in its path.
A sharp, wicked smirk curved across her lips as realization sank in.
If she hadn’t arrived when she did, this entire conflict would’ve been nothing more than a merciless slaughter with it being one-sided, swift, and absolute.
"That bastard should be down on his knees thanking me... licking my feet until his tongue brushes every corner and every space between my toes," she muttered under her breath, a slow lick of her lips betraying a thrill that curled through her chest.
The Absolute Zero spell she’d unleashed was no ordinary magic. It was high-level ice magic so intense she could only cast it once—but once had been enough to blanket the battlefield in deathly frost, freezing the charging army from the Sarushima’s side into jagged statues of ice.
For a heartbeat, it had felt like the entire war had been silenced in a single breath and was stopped dead the moment she stepped in.
"Now... where are you hiding, Child of Anti-Prophecy?" she murmured, her eyes scanning the eerie stillness left behind by her magic, searching for a glimpse of the one that mattered most.
And then, in the corner of her gaze, she caught sight of Misuzu.
Unlike the others who had fought tooth and nail on the frontlines, Misuzu hadn’t raised a blade as she’d stayed back, tending to the wounded, working alongside Yumi to heal and patch broken flesh.
"Hello, sis," Momoka called out, her tone soaked with teasing arrogance. "Looks like you were desperate enough to need my help, so I showed up."
"Yes, Momoka," Misuzu replied softly, her tired face lighting up with a gentle, genuine smile. "Thank you for coming."
That smile stopped Momoka cold, the teasing words she’d been ready to throw caught in her throat.
She’d come fully prepared to mock them as well as to rub in how useless they’d be without her power—but Misuzu’s simple, heartfelt gratitude slipped past every layer of spite and pride she carried.
Heat flushed across Momoka’s face before she could stop it. Her gaze darted away, lips twisting into a small huff as she tried to mask the unexpected warmth in her chest.
"H-Hmph! Glad you get it, then," she snapped back, voice brittle but defiant.
But the moment of awkward quiet shattered like glass, replaced by a sharp, echoing crack that cut through the frozen battlefield.
In stunned disbelief, Momoka watched as the soldiers she’d frozen began to move again, spiderweb cracks racing across the ice that imprisoned them. Shards splintered off, crashing to the ground, and the nightmare she’d tried to bury in frost came alive once more.
"W-What? How the fuck are they still moving?!" she hissed, shock twisting into raw frustration.
These weren’t just common foot soldiers. They were Sarushima soldiers. They were the kind of warriors that even the heavens hesitated to face head-on.
"They’re Sarushima soldiers," Yumi’s voice cut in, grim and resigned, as she watched the frozen army push forward. "They were never going to fall that easily."
"Guh...!" Momoka bit down so hard on her lower lip that the metallic taste of blood spilled across her tongue. "Yuki Clan! Barrage those bastards with ice! Kill them all!"
In a heartbeat, the loyal Yuki Clan obeyed. Ice magic roared to life in their palms, swirling cold and deadly as they hurled it toward the enemy like a furious storm.
But the magic struck invisible walls as barriers that shimmered and sparked deflected the attacks as though they were nothing but falling snowflakes.
Each blast of ice splintered and scattered uselessly, breaking apart before it could ever bite into flesh.
Momoka’s chest burned with ragged breaths with the Absolute Zero had drained her to the bone, and her magic had run dry. The bitter truth crashed over that the tide had shifted again—and the battle was far from over.
Yuuna stumbled into the fortress, every breath scraping raw against her lungs, sweat mixing with dirt and streaking her torn dress. The room fell silent as the guests turned to stare, shock etched across every face.
"Father!" Yuuna gasped, voice trembling as she stood there, panting hard, her fingers curling around her knees to keep from collapsing.
Her once-elegant dress hung in tatters, stained with mud and sweat, making her look nothing like the noble daughter of the Sarushima House.
"Let’s end this... please..." she begged between ragged breaths, desperation cracking through every word.
"What do you mean?" Kazuhiro’s voice cut through the silence, flat and cold as polished steel. His crimson eyes pinned her in place, unblinking, dark enough to swallow hope.
Before, Yuuna might’ve flinched under that gaze—but now, with everything on the line, she didn’t even look away.
"I want to stop this... please, call back the soldiers," she pleaded, voice shaking but stubborn.
"Why should I?" Kazuhiro asked, his tone so calm it felt colder than the battlefield she’d just left behind.
"That’s..." Yuuna faltered, words sticking in her throat as her thoughts scattered.
"Tell me, Yuuna..." Kazuhiro’s gaze narrowed, each syllable dripping like poison. "Is that man truly the Child of Anti-Prophecy?"
The words dropped like a stone into still water, and the ripple spread fast.
Gasps and whispers broke the silence, the guests leaning in, voices hushed but sharp with curiosity and fear.
"Child of Anti-Prophecy? The one meant to stop Yesh from destroying hell?"
"That man... really is the Child of Anti-Prophecy?"
The legend was old and was probably older than any living memory. A human, not a demon, born to break Yesh’s prophecy. Ayin’s last desperate answer to Yesh’s power, crafted even after defeat.
But over centuries, the story had become just that—a story. A half-remembered myth whispered in dark halls.
Even Kazuhiro hadn’t fully believed when Yuuna first spoke of him. That was why he’d pushed Souichiro to hunt her and to see if the legend had any weight at all.
He hadn’t cared about the cost, not lives lost, not even if it meant sacrificing his own children or the so-called Child himself.
All he had ever cared about was the final result.
"Why should I stop a war that could secure my son’s future?" Kazuhiro’s gaze felt like knives as it locked onto Yuuna. "Why ask me to hold back when the war might come crashing to my door anyway if I did nothing?"
Yuuna’s breath caught in her chest. Words died on her tongue. She didn’t know what to say.
"What? You want that man to live? The one you call the Child of Anti-Prophecy?"
Yuuna met her father’s eyes, her voice barely above a whisper but sharp as broken glass. "Yes."
"Because I love him... that’s why."
For a heartbeat, the air itself felt like it stopped.
Kazuhiro’s expression didn’t change. Then, a laugh—a cold, low, and humorless laugh—broke from his lips.
The sound cut through the room, sharp enough to make the guests flinch back.
But Yuuna stood still, her heart pounding in her ears.
Because in all her life, it was the first time she’d heard her father laugh—even if she couldn’t tell whether it was real or not.
"You love him? You love a human?" Kazuhiro’s voice dripped with disbelief, almost mocking.
"Yes," Yuuna answered, her tone steady despite everything. "I love him with all my being."
"You really are stupid, I’ll give you that," Kazuhiro sneered, his words sharp as knives. "But I never thought you’d be stupid enough to say you’ve fallen in love with a human. You do know that by doing this, you can’t keep calling yourself a Sarushima, right?"
"I do. But I don’t care," Yuuna shot back without hesitation. "I’d gladly shed my name, throw it all away... just to be with him."
"So you want him alive, not because he’s the Child of Anti-Prophecy... but because you love him, huh?" Kazuhiro muttered, his gaze narrowing. "And you love him enough that you’d throw away the Sarushima name itself."
A cold laugh slipped from his lips, echoing through the tense silence of the room.
Then, without warning...
"You can all fall back now."
Yuuna’s eyes flew wide open, heart thundering in her chest.
She stumbled forward, rushing to the nearest window, her fingers gripping the stone frame so tight her knuckles turned white.
Outside, her breath caught as she saw them. The soldiers of the Great House of Sarushima... retreating, pulling back from the frontlines.
Relief crashed over her so hard her legs gave out. She fell to her knees, trembling as the weight of it all threatened to crush her.
But even as the tension drained from her body, a sliver of doubt twisted deep inside.
She didn’t know what Kazuhiro’s real motive was. It felt too sudden and too easy, like there had to be something else behind it.
There had to be a catch.
But right now, exhaustion finally won over, her vision darkening at the edges. Yuuna let herself sink into unconsciousness, the last of her strength slipping away.
Kazuhiro watched his daughter fall forward, her body going limp, and then turned his cold gaze to the waiting maids.
"Take care of her," he ordered quietly.