CHAPTER 176: [LITTLE SIDEKICKS]

Caelen’s smirk lingered like a scar—thin, deliberate—but his eyes had changed. Narrowed. Sharp and cold, like a blade testing its own edge.

The faint hum of mana brushed across his skin, crackling against the air as if the atmosphere itself was warning him to stop.

He didn’t.

He didn’t even have to look up to feel Kairo’s glare—the pressure of it heavy enough to pin anyone else to the ground.

Kairo’s aura bled through the air in slow, deliberate waves—an ocean of blue fire that wrapped around the sword in his hand.

The weapon pulsed like a living thing, every beat synchronized with his heart.

The dim light caught the edges of the blade, and for a fleeting moment, it looked as though the cavern itself was reflecting blood.

Zaira and Mel were the first to move. Their boots scraped against the stone as they formed a barrier beside Kairo, their mana flaring in unison—Zaira’s aura cutting sharp and clean like glass, Mel’s heavy and grounded, sprouting faint roots of green light that curled at his feet.

Mio followed suit, silent but deadly; silver threads shimmered in the air around him, trembling like strings pulled to their breaking point.

"Step back."

Kairo’s voice was a weapon all on its own. Controlled. Precise. A warning with no patience for negotiation.

But Caelen didn’t care.

He tilted his head, that same infuriating grin still curving his lips. "Or what?"

The air thickened between them, every breath suddenly too heavy. Mana charged the space like storm clouds ready to split open.

Kairo’s eyes flicked once, sharp as a knife’s point. "Or I’ll make sure you can’t raise your hand again."

Zaira’s jaw clenched; Mel’s knuckles cracked. Even Mio’s calm expression faltered, his threads twitching closer around Eli as if anticipating the first strike.

Caelen’s grin deepened by a fraction. "Still dramatic, aren’t you?" His tone was lazy, mocking—but there was a flicker in his voice, something brittle underneath the confidence. "You’ve always had this charming habit of thinking your threats work on me."

"Cap." Punzo’s voice broke the tension like flint on steel. He exhaled loudly, snapping his fingers once; a flare of heat followed, small but sharp, distorting the air between them. "Maybe listen to them for once. Seriously."

A hand landed on Caelen’s shoulder—Arman’s. The weight of it was steady, grounding. "He’s right," Arman said quietly. "You told us Elione’s smart. So why the hell are you about to hurt him?"

Even Jabby—gentle, soft-spoken Jabby—spoke up next, her voice trembling just enough to betray how tired she sounded. "Caelen, let’s think about this."

For a heartbeat, the smirk slipped. The hardness in Caelen’s gaze flickered, replaced by something that looked almost like restraint.

He sighed through his nose, shoulders dropping a fraction. "Relax," he muttered, voice quieter now. "I’m not trying to kill him."

"Could’ve fooled me," Mio snapped back, the bite in his tone as sharp as his threads. "Can’t you see he’s already breaking

?"

Caelen’s gaze shifted toward Eli then—finally really looking at him.

Eli stood a few steps back, drenched, trembling, eyes unfocused as if he wasn’t entirely here. His breathing was uneven, his skin pale beneath the flickering light.

He looked fragile in a way that made something twist painfully in Caelen’s chest—something he refused to name.

The smirk softened, fading into something quieter. Not pity. Not regret. Just... conflict.

"Yeah," Caelen said finally, voice dropping low enough that only Kairo and Eli could really hear. "I can see that." His fingers twitched, a faint glow of red pulsing around his hand. "That’s exactly why I think this might help."

Caelen’s jaw tightened; the smirk softened into something harder. For a beat the cavern felt hollow—every throat held, every breath waiting for the verdict.

Mio’s threads trembled like live wires. "Help?" he repeated, voice thin. "You honestly think hurting him will bring him back?"

Caelen looked at Eli the way a surgeon looks at a patient off-balance on a table—clinical, annoyed, worrying all at once.

"If he’s folded into himself," he said quietly, "then a sharp, contained shock that’s indisputably real might tear him out of it. I don’t want to break him. I want to jolt him."

Zaira’s face fell into a knot. "That’s not how you treat trauma—"

"Sometimes it is." Caelen cut her off, utterly calm. "Whatever this is, it’s bleeding into perception. I can feel it. If I can make him feel something that is undeniably present—pain, heat, pressure—maybe he stops floating away."

Punzo made a noise like he couldn’t place—part worry, part reluctant agreement. Arman didn’t move but his posture went rigid. Jabby’s wind curled tighter around her fists. The team’s hesitance was loud.

Kairo’s hand tightened on his blood blade; the metal pulsed at the rhythm of his control. His voice landed like ice. "You do not touch him."

Caelen’s eyes flicked to Kairo, then to Eli—whose shoulders shook with every suppressed breath.

"That’s not your call," Caelen shot back, voice low and fierce. "And he’s not fragile because of rank. He’s not some prize to gloat over. I’m not trying to play sadist."

"Yes." Zaira, Mel, and Mio answered in cadence, sharp as accusation.

Caelen let out a humorless huff that echoed low in his chest—barely a sound, but sharp enough to slice through the air like a blade drawn too close to the ear.

His smirk returned, thinner this time, stripped of warmth or arrogance. It wasn’t amusement anymore—it was restraint barely holding itself together.

"You’re all being idiots," he said flatly, brushing flecks of dust from his sleeve as though the threat of violence hanging over them was nothing more than a nuisance. "Now move."

’I’m done wasting time,’ he thought, his pulse drumming with impatience. ’He’s slipping further away while they argue.’

The words hit like an insult. Zaira’s glare hardened, her hands glowing faintly with refracted mana.

Mio’s threads hissed and trembled in the air, the silver lines between him and Eli tightening into a luminous barrier that hummed like wire pulled taut.

Kairo still hadn’t moved—but the space around him did.

The air thickened, the scent of blood and ozone flooding the clearing as his aura compressed. The pressure hit like a crashing tide—dense, suffocating. The faint drip of water from above stilled midair.

"I’m done talking," Kairo said, his voice low enough to feel rather than hear. His sword lifted, its edge pulsing blue, veins of living blood running through it like lightning through glass.

Caelen’s fingers flexed once around his hilt before his blade came alive—crimson veins crawling across its surface in rhythm with his heartbeat. His eyes met Kairo’s, that crooked half-smile returning, mocking but tired. "Then don’t."

The sound that followed was thunder.

Kairo moved first.

The ground split beneath his step, raw force exploding outward as his blood energy cleaved through the mist in a streak of blue. Caelen met the blow head-on—steel against steel, blood aura against blood aura. Sparks cascaded like shattered stars as the shockwave tore through the clearing.

"Captain!" Jabby’s voice rang out, desperate. But before she could reach him, Zaira’s irises blazed like shards of crystal.

"Glass Mirage!"

A ripple burst from her palms, the air itself bending and refracting light until it fractured like broken mirrors. The illusion spread like wildfire—sharp, precise—catching Jabby and Punzo instantly.

Punzo froze mid-step, his eyes flickering with confusion as the world around him blurred and folded in on itself. "Shit—! I... I can’t—"

His voice cut out as the mirage deepened, trapping him in overlapping layers of distorted reality.

Arman, though—he didn’t even slow down. The wave reached him, shattered, and evaporated into harmless sparks the moment it touched his skin. His aura flared gold and red, violent and unstable, arcs of lightning-like energy dancing up his forearms.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he muttered with a sharp grin, rolling his neck until it cracked. "You know your tricks don’t work on me."

Then he moved.

The ground exploded beneath his boots as he launched forward, every step propelling him faster than the eye could track. His sword wasn’t just metal—it sang, vibrating with raw kinetic energy. Each swing carried an aftershock that distorted the air, tearing at the edges of reality itself.

"Pulse Arc."

The first strike ripped the ground apart, fissures spider-webbing across the forest floor. Roots tore free, dirt flaring upward in a storm of dust.

Mel reacted fast—vines surged from the soil, thick as chains, wrapping around Arman’s weapon mid-swing. For a heartbeat, it held—then Arman’s blade pulsed.

The explosion was instantaneous.

The vines disintegrated into green mist, the backlash hurling Mel backward. He hit the ground hard, his armor scraping against stone as he gasped for air.

Caelen didn’t flinch. He’d seen this before—knew exactly how it would unfold. Arman was unstoppable once he built momentum. He expected Mio to fall next.

Except—he didn’t.

Silver threads flashed through the chaos, faster than lightning, slicing through each shockwave before it could expand.

Every pulse met a strand and shattered into harmless dust midair. Mio stood his ground, face sharp with concentration, fingers moving in rapid precision.

Caelen blinked, the faintest trace of surprise flickering across his expression.

’He’s countering Arman? With those threads?’

That was new.

Caelen had seen Arman and Mio fight before—sparring, dueling, competing just for sport. And Arman always won. Always. Mio’s threads, sharp and fast as they were, had never been enough to block the full force of Arman’s Pulse Arc. But now... now they were different. Tighter. Coordinated. Reactive.

Mio wasn’t just defending—he was predicting.

Caelen’s brows furrowed for the briefest moment, but he didn’t have time to think about it.

A flicker of movement—too fast, too deliberate—and Kairo was already on him again.

The world became blood and motion.

Blue light cut through red. The air hissed as two auras collided, shockwaves splitting the ground between them. Sparks burst outward, slicing through the mist like lightning through glass. Every clash rang like thunder, every impact shaking Caelen’s bones down to the marrow.

Their swords locked, neither giving ground—Kairo’s blade humming with barely restrained fury, Caelen’s pulsing with heat and defiance.

For a heartbeat, all Caelen could hear was their breathing—the sharp inhale, the tremor of muscle against strain, the faint sound of power grinding against power.

Then his smirk returned. Thin. Cutting. Amused.

"Eli taught them that, didn’t he?"

Kairo’s brows twitched, confusion flashing across his face. "What are you talking about?"

Caelen leaned forward, pressing harder until their blades screamed against each other, sparks spilling between them like molten rain. "Mio. Mel. That kind of coordination—that instinct—they didn’t learn that from you." His grin widened, cruel and certain. "I’ve seen your team fight. They move around you like orbiting moons—never as one."

Kairo’s grip tightened on his sword. "You’re talking nonsense."

"Am I?" Caelen’s voice dropped lower, rougher, but his eyes gleamed with the kind of arrogance that came from knowing he was right. "In a few hours, that boy managed to pull your team together in a way you couldn’t. He made them actually useful."

The words hung in the air like venom, sinking under Kairo’s skin.

The blue aura around the man’s sword flickered. His jaw flexed once.

"Of course you don’t get it," Caelen murmured, stepping back half a pace, his smirk darkening into something closer to a sneer. "You’ve always been too busy trying to lead alone. Turning everyone into your little sidekicks."

Then his gaze slid to Arman—calm, calculating, a silent command sparking between them.

"Let me show you."