Linea's breath was a muffled rattle from the magical serpent covering her mouth, her wide, watery eyes wavering between terror and hatred. Still, there was nothing she could do—not against Kael, not against the battalion of witches, and certainly not against the silvery figure bowing before the man she had tried to destroy.

Kael, leaning on the broken chain like a makeshift iron throne, let his eyes narrow. A cold, hungry glint glinted there, amidst the blood and pain. His voice echoed, hoarse but charged with authority:

"Fontane…" He repeated the surname slowly, as if savoring the metallic taste of a blade. "So… this bitch is Sarah Fontane's daughter."

He tilted his head, the chain scraping against the stones beside him, and stared at the silver-haired leader with a lopsided smile.

"Tell me." The tone wasn't a plea. "What do you know about this… 'mother'?"

The amber-eyed woman—who still kept her body slightly bowed in reverence—hesitated for a moment. Not for lack of information, but because the story itself was heavy, dirty, full of scars that the world preferred to bury. Still, she dared not hide anything from the prince.

"Sarah Fontane…" she began, her voice firm, clear, even as other witches maintained the barrier around the destroyed arena. "She was one of the most dangerous demonic sorceresses of the third era. Born in the heart of the Chaos-ravaged region of eastern Skaldi, her powers did not derive solely from the manipulation of natural mana. She was one of the first to make complete pacts with entities of the abyss."

Her amber eyes glinted, reflecting the glow of the runes pulsing on her body.

"During the Shadow War, Fontane founded the Crimson Circle, a sect of sorcerers who sought to destroy the barrier between the human world and the demonic realms. It is estimated that hundreds of villages disappeared in their rituals. Children, entire families, were offered as sacrifices to fuel their ascension."

A murmur ran through the ranks of witches behind her—a subdued but evident reaction to the mere mention of that cursed name.

Kael arched his brow, his expression etched with interest.

"Hah…" He let out a hoarse laugh, spitting a stream of blood onto the ground. "It seems this mother was… fascinating."

He slowly turned his gaze to Linea, whose eyes filled with tears and fury. The translucent serpent tightened around her mouth each time she tried to scream. The contrast between the forced silence and the past revealed by their leader's voice was cruel.

The silver witch continued:

"Fontane was hunted for over a century. Several clans tried, and many fell. But there are reports that she was never truly killed. Some say she abandoned her human body and merged with a demonic husk. Others, that she dissolved into the abyss, awaiting her chance to be reborn."

The leader tilted her face slightly, as if the very mention were blasphemy.

"Linea Fontane, therefore, carries a tainted legacy. We believe her ability to sever one's connection to mana is a hybrid inheritance… partly a product of her maternal lineage, partly from experiments conducted in the Skaldi underworld."

Kael listened to each word in silence, a smile growing on his bloodied lips. When the woman finished, he let out a dry laugh that echoed like iron striking stone.

"An interesting mother, indeed." He tilted his head, as if pondering the absurdity. "A demonic sorceress who tried to break worlds, and her darling little daughter comes here to play at cutting my soul into pieces…"

He raised the broken chain, pointing it at Linea as if it were a verdict. His eyes, full of fire, left no room for doubt.

"Arrest her." His voice was firm, charged with a power that needed no mana. "Use her as a subject of study. I want every detail of this spell that disconnects someone from mana. Break her until you learn. Be cruel."

Linea struggled violently, trying to scream at the magical serpent, but nothing but a muffled noise escaped. Her tears streamed down, smearing the blood on her face.

The silver-haired leader bowed, without hesitation, like a soldier before her sovereign.

"As you wish, my prince." His tone held no shadow of doubt. "Linea Fontane will be taken to the containment chambers. She will serve at your will."

Kael tilted his face back, closing his eyes for a moment. His breathing was heavy, but the cruel smile never left his lips.

"Good…" he murmured. "Turning her pain into knowledge will be the best revenge."

The witch raised her hand, and two hooded figures stepped forward from the circle. They conjured translucent chains that materialized in the air and intertwined around Linea's body. Unlike physical iron, these chains vibrated as if made of music and poison, impeding not only movement but also any flow of mana.

Linea fell to her knees, her eyes fixed on Kael. Tears mixed with blood streamed down her face, but there was no mercy there. Only contempt and fear.

Kael returned her gaze calmly, almost as if he were looking at an insect about to be dissected.

The leader, after giving her orders, turned to him and knelt again.

"My prince, allow me to add." Her voice was lower now, laden with reverence. "We understand the battle has cost you dearly. Your connection to mana is still unstable, bound by this woman's spell."

Kael stared at her, his smile fading.

"And what do you suggest?"

She tilted her chin.

"I ask that you wait a moment. The division chief is already on her way. She possesses the authority and technique necessary to completely clear the interference and restore your natural connection to mana."

There was conviction in every word, as if it were an oath.

The silence that followed was thick. The witches stood motionless in a circle, their robes fluttering in the magical wind that still blew from the open sky. Dust and ash danced around them like reminders of the destruction.

Kael remained motionless for a few seconds, his eyes half-closed, weighing the information. And then, slowly, he tilted his head back, taking a deep breath. A new, more restrained smile appeared.

"The division chief..." he repeated, as if savoring the title. "Good. I'll wait."

Kael let the silence drag on for a few more seconds, as if savoring the tension that permeated the air. Then, with a sudden movement, he stood up. The broken chains scraped the stone floor, producing a harsh sound that reverberated throughout the destroyed arena.

His legs still trembled, but his body—even skinned and bloodied—exuded a savage, raw strength that no lack of mana could erase.

"I will wait," he repeated, this time firmly.

He walked to one of the cracked stone blocks, sitting there as if it were a makeshift throne. The cold metal of the chains still hung from his wrists, creaking with each movement. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes… his eyes were burning.

The circle of witches remained still, merely adjusting the runes vibrating in the air. In the center, Linea, now subdued by the translucent chains, remained on her knees. Blood mixed with tears on her face, and even with her mouth sealed by the magical serpent, the intensity of her hatred was felt.

Kael didn't even look at her again. To him, Linea was no longer an enemy—just a tool.

It was at that moment that the air around them vibrated differently. A luminous fissure opened above the arena, expanding like an inverted aurora. The witches looked up almost in unison, and the pressure of mana that descended upon them was overwhelming, deep, organized.

Kael opened one eye, assessing.

"Hm. So it's her."

From the crack of light, a group descended. At the front, a woman with long hair, black as the night sky, falling over a cloak embroidered with silver symbols. Her eyes carried the glow of a contained storm, and her presence was not just respectable: it was commanding.

Behind her, a dozen medicine witches, each carrying green orbs emanating healing energy. They didn't land lightly; They descended like prepared soldiers, forming ranks around the arena.

The division chief touched down first, the impact of her arrival reverberating through the runes that protected the space. Her gaze swept the room, landing first on Kael.

"My prince…" she said, her voice firm but filled with genuine concern that pierced the rigidity of her title. "You are injured."

Kael arched an eyebrow, resting his chin on his fist.

"Injured, yes… but not dead." He laughed softly, spitting blood to the side. "It's already more than I expected, considering what they tried to do to me."

The woman narrowed her eyes. She didn't approach immediately, as if assessing not only his physical injuries, but the state of the broken bond between him and his mana.

"I brought the best of our medicinals." With a gesture, she indicated the witches who were already beginning to spread out in a semicircle, preparing charms of purification and recovery. — Before anything else, let's stabilize your body.