Chapter 112: Collides
Nolan carried both of them to their room, gently laying them on the bed. He pulled a chair closer and sat down, watching over them.
"This was a bad idea," Nolan muttered to himself. "I wish I hadn’t done it. Just a little bit of my mana—and look what it did to them. I just hope there aren’t any side effects. I hope they’re okay..."
He touched their arms. Their body temperature had already cooled down; earlier it had felt like they were boiling, almost a hundred degrees Celsius. "At least that’s better now," he whispered, then leaned back. "Well... let me try to sleep."
The next morning, as soon as he woke, Nolan went straight to Linda’s room. Both Celia and Linda were still unconscious, lying peacefully on the bed. He sat at the edge, concern written all over his face.
"They still haven’t woken up," he sighed. "Maybe tomorrow... But tomorrow is also the day of the tournament. This isn’t going to be easy."
"Good morning, Master," Lyra greeted softly.
Nolan sat by the bedside, still watching over Linda and Celia. He turned and gave her a faint smile. "Good morning."
"Don’t worry too much," Lyra said, stepping closer. "I can assure you—they’ll wake up tomorrow."
"I hope so," Nolan murmured, his eyes returning to the girls.
"Why don’t we train?" Lyra suggested, her tone brightening. "You should practice your sword before tomorrow."
Nolan tilted his head. "Yeah... okay, that might help. But—is this the sword you’re planning to use?"
Lyra shook her head. "No. There’s no need for that. You can go all out against me—just don’t add any of your magic or mana into the blade. This sword would shatter under it. Use only your pure strength."
Nolan frowned. "Pure strength? That’s still going to injure you."
"It won’t," Lyra said confidently. She raised her hand, and in an instant, a white, glimmering armor grew over her skin. "I can cover my arms with the Behemoth’s Scale."
The scales shimmered faintly, harder than steel, unyielding like a beast’s hide.
Wow, you can really do that?" Nolan asked, surprised.
Lyra smiled faintly. "Not only that... I can transform parts of my body into a bear form. Not fully yet, not into a complete beast—but since you tamed me, I’ve been growing stronger. Much stronger than when we fought in that cave."
"Are you sure?" Nolan raised a brow. "I don’t believe that. Because when we fought in the dungeon, you were overpowered... but in the end, I still won. A win is a win, no matter how it happens."
"Yeah, you did," Lyra admitted. "But the reason is because some of your mana... it’s flowing into me. More than you realize. Sometimes it’s too much, but I’ve been learning to manage it, to reduce what leaks through."
"Good," Nolan said, standing. "Then let’s test it. Go outside—I’ll grab my sword from my room. We’ll practice in the garden."
Lyra nodded and left for the garden.
On his way back down with his sword in hand, Nolan ran into Cynthia.
"Good morning," she greeted with a warm smile.
"Good morning," Nolan replied.
"They still haven’t woken up since yesterday? Celia and Linda... I hope they’re okay. Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do to help?" Cynthia asked, concern clear in her eyes.
"No, no need. Thank you for worrying. I think they’ll be fine by tomorrow. They’ll wake up," Nolan said firmly.
"Tomorrow? So they won’t even get a chance to warm up for the tournament?" Cynthia asked.
"Something like that," Nolan admitted.
"What actually happened? Are they sick or—?"
"They’re not sick," Nolan cut in quickly. "Please, don’t worry. I’ll be going now—I need to train for tomorrow."
"All right then. At least don’t skip breakfast," Cynthia said, giving him a small nod.
Nolan acknowledged her and stepped outside. In the garden, Lyra was already waiting, sword in hand.
"Let’s start, Master," she said, her eyes gleaming with determination.
Nolan charged at Lyra as their spar began. Her forearms gleamed where the behemoth skin had formed, and she used that hide to absorb every one of his blows. Still, Nolan pressed on—harder, faster—then pulled back a step, grinning.
"Didn’t expect you to use the behemoth skin," he said, breath steady. "It’s tougher than I thought. Guess I’ll have to go all out."
"Don’t hold back," Lyra replied. "Full strength, then."
Nolan raised his sword and lunged. Lyra dodged, flowed, and met him blow for blow with the hulking protection on her arms. "You’re fast," she panted.
"But I’m faster." Nolan vanished to her back in a blink and went for a kick. Lyra caught his leg, rolled with the momentum, and hurled him shoulder-first into the ground. Nolan pushed himself up, smiling as dirt fell from his jacket.
"You keep underestimating me," Lyra teased. "Have you forgotten the behemoth you fought? You’re slow to me."
"Took me half a second," Nolan said, wiping the dust away. "Won’t happen again. I’ll keep pushing my speed."
They clashed again—steel singing, the impact ringing through the garden. Lyra’s behemoth-covered hand met Nolan’s blade and guided it aside; sparks flew. The rhythm of their strikes was a language neither needed to translate.
At the window, Cynthia watched, heart tight with worry. Will he be okay against Luthar? she thought, remembering the name that had haunted her for years.
Nolan lowered his sword and took a breath.
"Should we keep going?" he asked.
Lyra tilted her head. "With the blade? No... that’s enough. You already tested what you wanted. Let’s leave the sword for now."
A grin spread across Nolan’s face. "Then let’s trade punches. That’ll be fun."
"Finally," Lyra said, matching his smile.
In a blink, they closed the gap and fists collided.
From the window, Cynthia’s eyes widened. She could no longer see either of them clearly—only hear the thunderous thuds as their fists met again and again. Each impact rippled outward, stirring violent gusts that shook branches and scattered leaves across the garden. It sounded like a storm was descending.