The infirmary door had barely finished closing when it opened again.

  Raguel Arzenon stepped back inside as if he had never left.

  Raphael was still standing beside the bed, IV discarded, bandage stained faintly at the shoulder where his circuits had torn themselves raw from overuse. His breathing had steadied—but only on the surface.

  Raguel studied him for a long moment.

  “Well?” Raguel asked quietly. “What are you going to do?”

  There was no mockery in his tone now.

  Only expectation.

  Raphael did not hesitate.

  “I will save both our mother and Akane.”

  Silence fell so abruptly it felt physical.

  Raguel blinked.

  “…Are you stupid?”

  Raphael didn’t flinch.

  “You can’t save both of them,” Raguel continued, disbelief sharpening his voice. “You heard what I said. If you move against Father, Mother dies. If you don’t, Akane is handed to Samuel. You can’t possibly be serious.”

  Raphael’s gaze lifted.

  His eyes were steady.

  Unwavering.

  “I am dead serious, Raguel.”

  The firmness in his voice made something flicker across Raguel’s face—irritation… and something else. Unease.

  A long breath escaped Raguel’s nose.

  “…Fine,” he muttered. “If you’re serious, then answer me something.”

  Raphael waited.

  “How much of your mage potential can you currently tap into?”

  The question caught him off guard.

  “My… potential?”

  Raguel’s eyes narrowed.

  “Yes. How much magical energy can you actually wield at full capacity?”

  Raphael frowned slightly.

  Before he could respond—

  A familiar presence stirred in the quiet depths of his mind.

  A voice like silk drawn across steel.

  “Master Raphael,” Cielux said sweetly, her tone laced with unmistakable mockery, “your annoying brother is referring to Magical Energy.”

  Raphael’s eyes flickered faintly.

  Annoying brother?

  Inside the private chamber of his consciousness, he turned toward her.

  “What do you mean by that, Cielux?”

  She appeared as she always did within his mental space—luminous, elegant, eyes gleaming with amused superiority.

  “What I mean, Master,” she said with a small, dangerous smile, “is that you have been fighting like someone using gasoline without ever realizing there is an entire ocean beneath your feet.”

  Raphael followed her words carefully.

  She crossed her arms.

  “Magical Energy,” she began, voice shifting into something instructive yet theatrical, “is the primordial animus—the breath of life itself. It is the force that actualizes Mysteries. Without it, magecraft is nothing more than theory.”

  She walked in a slow circle around him.

  “There are two sources. Two streams of the same ocean.”

  Her fingers lifted.

  “Mana.”

  Another finger.

  “Od.”

  Raphael listened.

  “Mana,” she continued, “is the Greater Source. The breath of the Planet. It flows through the atmosphere, through leylines that lace the earth like veins beneath skin. It is abundant. Vast. In ancient ages, it was so dense that modern humans would suffocate under its weight.”

  Her eyes gleamed.

  “The Age of Gods was not kind to fragile bodies.”

  Raphael absorbed every word.

  “And Od?” he asked.

  Cielux smiled faintly.

  “Od is the Lesser Source. The life force within living beings. Humans. Beasts. Anything that breathes and possesses Magic Circuits. It is generated as long as one lives—but its storage is limited by the individual.”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  She stopped in front of him.

  “Mana and Od are identical in quality. The difference is abundance. Mana is the ocean. Od is the cup in your hands.”

  Raphael’s brow furrowed.

  “So… Magical Energy isn’t raw Mana or Od?”

  She nodded approvingly.

  “Correct. Mana and Od are raw fuel. Magical Energy is what happens when your Magic Circuits refine that fuel. Convert it. Shape it.”

  Her expression sharpened.

  “But conversion has limits. Your circuits determine how much you can process at once. No matter how vast the mana around you is, you cannot wield it without the capacity to refine it.”

  Raphael’s thoughts raced.

  “Large-scale spells,” Cielux continued, “require Mana. It is common for magi to ignite spells with Od, then sustain them with Mana drawn from the environment.”

  She tilted her head.

  “Reinforcement, small-scale internal spells—those can run purely on Od. But anything that interferes with the world itself demands Mana.”

  A realization began forming.

  Raphael’s eyes widened slightly.

  “…I understand the difference between Mana and Od,” he said slowly, “…but does this mean I’ve only been using Od this whole time?”

  The words escaped his lips aloud.

  Raguel heard them.

  And went still.

  “…What did you just say?”

  Raphael ignored him for a moment, still focused inward.

  Cielux’s smile widened.

  “Yes, Master. You have never properly learned to draw upon Mana. You’ve been relying solely on your internal Od.”

  Raphael felt something shift in his chest.

  “All this time?” he whispered.

  “Yes.”

  Outside, Raguel’s thoughts spiraled.

  No way…

  If Raphael had only been using Od…

  A normal mage who relied purely on Od could only tap into a fraction of their true potential. Perhaps ten percent.

  Ten.

  And Raphael—using only that—had already reached a level comparable to the Mage Lords of the Clock Tower.

  Comparable to their father.

  Raguel’s face paled slightly.

  If he learns to draw Mana properly…

  The thought alone made his stomach tighten.

  At full capacity… how powerful would he become?

  Back within the quiet of Raphael’s mind—

  Cielux folded her hands gracefully.

  “Master, we have fourteen days.”

  Her tone softened slightly.

  “If you dedicate ten days to mastering Mana intake—proper synchronization with the Greater Source—you will increase your output exponentially.”

  “Ten days…” Raphael murmured.

  “Yes,” she nodded. “In the final four days, we execute the rescue. Both targets.”

  Her eyes gleamed.

  “Your mother.”

  “Akane Tohsaka.”

  Raphael inhaled slowly.

  He opened his eyes.

  Raguel was still staring at him.

  “Raguel,” Raphael said calmly, “I don’t trust you.”

  Raguel’s lips twitched faintly. “Good.”

  “But I will work with you—for now. We save Akane first.”

  Raguel’s brows knit together immediately.

  “That wasn’t the order we—”

  “Then we save Mother,” Raphael finished, voice firm. “Do you understand?”

  There was no aggression.

  No raised voice.

  But something in his eyes left no space for argument.

  Raguel held his gaze.

  Annoyance flickered… then calculation.

  Finally, he exhaled sharply.

  “…Fine. We’ll do it your way. For now.”

  Inside Raphael’s mind, Cielux scoffed audibly.

  “That piece of filth is really listening,” she muttered, pouting.

  Raphael suppressed a sigh.

  “Cielux,” he thought gently, “aren’t you being too rude?”

  She turned toward him, indignant.

  “No, Master. You are the most important existence to me. The audacity of someone questioning your worth or capability is unacceptable.”

  Raphael almost smiled despite the tension.

  There was no winning this argument.

  He exhaled softly.

  Then he sat back down on the infirmary bed.

  Cross-legged.

  Eyes closing.

  The sterile white ceiling disappeared from view.

  Raguel watched silently.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Learning,” Raphael answered.

  His breathing slowed.

  Steadied.

  For the first time, he did not reach inward.

  He reached outward.

  Beyond his skin.

  Beyond his pulse.

  Into the atmosphere itself.

  At first—

  Nothing.

  Then—

  A faint sensation.

  Like distant wind brushing against the edges of his awareness.

  The breath of the Planet.

  Mana.

  It was subtle.

  Vast.

  Terrifyingly deep.

  Cielux’s voice echoed softly within him.

  “Gently, Master. Do not force it. Let the Greater Source acknowledge you.”

  Raphael relaxed his grip on his own Od.

  For the first time in his life—

  He stopped fighting alone.

  And began to listen to the world itself.

  Fourteen days remained.

  Ten to grow.

  Four to save them both.

  And somewhere beyond sterile walls and white ceilings—

  The ocean waited.

  He would not drown in it.

  He would master it.

  Meanwhile back at the Church with Omega Heinriel The command base had once been a cathedral annex.

  Now it was a morgue with better lighting.

  Holy banners still hung from the ceiling, but their gold-threaded sigils had dulled beneath layers of smoke and dust. Tables meant for scripture review were stacked with field reports. Ink bled through parchment in frantic strokes.

  And on the far wall—

  Names.

  Pinned in rows.

  Crossed out in red.

  Omega Heinriel stood before the wall in full armor.

  He did not remove his gauntlets.

  He did not bow his head.

  He simply read.

  Captain Aurelius — deceased.

  Unit 3 — annihilated.

  Containment Operation Delta — ineffective.

  Sanctuary Reclamation — failure.

  Pinned beside them were new notices:

  “Civilians refusing Church protection.”

  “Mob executions of suspected mages.”

  “Idea Blood mutation variance increasing.”

  The room was loud with silence.

  Omega’s eyes moved methodically.

  He did not blink.

  For a knight trained from childhood to be the blade of certainty, the numbers did something battle never had.

  They did not frighten him.

  They destabilized him.

  Because numbers did not lie.

  And numbers said this war was unwinnable.

  Behind him, the wooden doors opened.

  Yukio stepped inside, white cloak immaculate despite the ruin outside. The red trim of his ecclesiastical rank caught the lanternlight.

  “You requested my presence, Sir Omega?”

  Omega did not turn.

  “Yes.”

  A pause.

  “Why are we targeting mages when vampires are multiplying?”

  Yukio’s expression did not change.

  “The Holy See has determined that mage interference accelerates contamination. Arcane instability attracts aberrations. Doctrine is clear.”

  Omega finally turned.

  His voice was level. Calm.

  “Doctrine was written when vampires were stagnant. They are not stagnant anymore.”

  He walked toward the central table and pulled a parchment free.

  “Idea Blood frequency has doubled in three months. Mutation cycles have shortened. Extermination units are encountering adaptive resistance.”

  He placed the parchment down between them.

  “We eliminate one nest. Two more emerge with variant capabilities.”

  Yukio’s gaze flicked to the report.

  “Then our resolve must double as well.”

  “No,” Omega replied quietly. “Our strategy must.”

  A subtle tension entered the air.

  Yukio’s fingers tightened slightly around his rosary.

  “You speak dangerously close to dissent.”

  “I speak mathematically.”

  Omega’s eyes held no anger.

  Only calculation.

  “If vampires evolve exponentially and we divide our forces to persecute mages, we reduce operational efficiency by forty percent. That forty percent is not theoretical. It is the wall behind me.”

  He gestured to the names.

  Yukio’s jaw hardened.

  “Mages consort with demons. Their existence invites calamity.”

  “Then explain,” Omega said evenly, “why calamity increases when they are dead.”

  Silence.

  Not hostile.

  But fractured.

  Yukio stepped closer, lowering his voice.

  “You were forged to be the Church’s sword, Omega. Not its auditor.”

  “And a sword that refuses to measure its own edge becomes useless.”

  The words landed softly.

  But they landed.

  For a long moment, neither man spoke.

  Finally Yukio exhaled.

  “The Pope believes public unity requires a visible enemy. Mages are… convenient.”

  Omega did not react outwardly.

  But something shifted behind his eyes.

  “So this is containment through fear.”

  “It is preservation,” Yukio corrected.

  Omega looked back at the wall of names.

  “No,” he said. “It is delay.”

  That night, Omega removed his armor in silence.

  Not ceremonially.

  Not rebelliously.

  Simply to think.

  The sigil of the Holy Knights glimmered faintly on his chestplate.

  He stared at it.

  Then set it on the table.

  Not discarded.

  Not rejected.

  Just… set down.

  Because a knight without understanding was merely a weapon.

  And Omega had begun to question who aimed him.

  Three days later, a transport arrived under heavy guard.

  Inside it—

  A captured magus.

  Young. Exhausted. Bound in sanctified chains.

  His hair was silvered from mana overuse. His eyes were sharp despite bruising.

  The guards awaited execution orders.

  Omega dismissed them.

  Alone in the chamber, he studied the prisoner.

  “You know about Idea Blood evolution,” Omega stated.

  The magus laughed weakly.

  “You people burn us before we finish our sentences.”

  “I am not here to burn you.”

  That caught the magus off guard.

  Omega crouched to eye level.

  “I require data.”

  “You require absolution,” the magus replied bitterly.

  Omega ignored the barb.

  “Vampire mutation patterns. Arcane resonance shifts. Irregularities in bloodline awakening.”

  The magus stared at him.

  “You’re serious.”

  “Yes.”

  “And if I refuse?”

  “Then you die,” Omega said plainly. “But your knowledge dies with you. And the creatures you fear will continue evolving.”

  Silence hung between them.

  Finally, the magus spoke, voice quieter.

  “You’re not like the others.”

  “No,” Omega replied. “I am worse.”

  He stood.

  “I will use whatever works.”

  Days turned into weeks.

  Privately, Omega and the magus exchanged information.

  Omega adjusted field formations based on arcane resonance mapping.

  He altered patrol patterns using mage-detected ley fluctuations.

  He authorized small, surgical strikes instead of public purges.

  Vampire casualties increased.

  Church propaganda did not mention how.

  The Pope blamed rogue mages for recent chaos.

  Omega used one to stop it.

  The contradiction did not disturb him.

  Because survival outranked purity.

  In the command base once more, Omega and Yukio stood facing each other.

  Reports lay between them.

  “Containment success rate has improved,” Yukio admitted.

  “Yes.”

  “At what cost?”

  Omega met his gaze.

  “At the cost of illusion.”

  Yukio noticed then—the insignia missing from Omega’s chest.

  “Have you abandoned your oath?”

  Omega looked down at the emblem resting on the nearby table.

  “I have not abandoned it.”

  He picked it up slowly.

  “I am redefining it.”

  He walked to the wall of names once more.

  His voice remained steady.

  “Stop calling this purification.”

  The lanternlight flickered.

  “Call it what it is.”

  He pressed the insignia lightly against his palm.

  “Survival.”

  And in that moment, the fracture within the Church became inevitable.