Parallel Memory

Chapter 563: Mia takes action

Inside the shield of light, time dragged like an endless nightmare. The soldiers kept their rhythm, fighting in cycles—step out, one group after the other, when they bled, they retreat to the shield for treatment, repeat. Every breath filled their lungs with smoke and iron. Every strike was accompanied by the trembling of Nick Fletcher’s shield as it shuddered beneath devil blows.

But after some time, Mia’s sharp eyes caught something.

The devils weren’t just throwing themselves at the barrier anymore. Their movements had shifted. Their chaos began to carry patterns. Lines of lesser devils hurled themselves forward to wear down stamina and courage, while human-like devils—taller, faster, cruelly intelligent—waited for moments when a rotation group stepped out. They struck then, piercing gaps, forcing casualties, and retreating before they could be countered.

The humans had fallen into a rhythm, and the devils had learned it.

If this went on, they would be trapped in their own pattern, slowly ground down until the shield broke and they were devoured whole.

Mia’s jaw tightened. She could see it clearer than anyone—the moment their sheild ran out, the humans would be sitting ducks. Waiting for death.

She didn’t wait.

In a sudden movement, she pushed past the trembling soldiers crowding the barrier. Her cold mana aura blew with crystals in her fist in the glow of the Saintess’s light as she stepped through the veil of protection and into the chaos beyond. Gasps erupted from the men inside the shield, but Mia’s focus was absolute.

Her eyes locked on one of the human-like higher ranked devils, its grin mocking as it raised a jagged blade. Without hesitation, she dashed forward. She rained a barrage of fists on the devil, flattening a group of them to the ground. The sharp cracks of her strike echoed, and for a moment even the devils faltered.

Another humanoid devil snarled and charged. Mia met it head-on. Her movements were fierce but precise, the years of discipline and battle merging with raw instinct. Her fists clashed with the jaws of the devil, which sent the devils head flying towards the audience seat and the body dropped it lifeless to the ground. This angered the higher ranked audiences as the way Mia dealt devils was brute and cold but couldn’t take action due to their lords orders

One after another, she took them down.

"...She’s breaking the formation," one soldier muttered inside the shield,in awe of witnessing her fight mixed with fear.

But Seraphine understood at once. Her keen eyes narrowed as she grasped Mia’s intent. If the higher rank devils were left unchecked, they would break the humans slowly. But if they were slain swiftly, the endless tide of lesser devils could be held back longer.

Without a second thought, Seraphine stepped out, her mercenary armor glinting with dark steel. She raised her weapon high, her voice carrying above the chaos.

"Mercenaries of S-rank and above—follow me!"

There was no hesitation. Her reputation, her authority, and the obvious clarity of Mia’s bold assault lit a fire in their hearts. One after another, the strongest mercenaries who could slay the devils without blessings surged from the safety of the shield, blades and axes and magic glowing with power.

The battlefield finally seems to have shifted.

Mia drove her way forward, carving through higher ranked devils one after another. Seraphine and her mercenaries swept in at her flank, slamming into the stronger foes like a storm unleashed. Their momentum carried weight—the devils, so confident and organized, began to waver under the force of the counterattack.

And then Hiro moved.

He had been trembling with rage from the moment Xalvar appeared on the field. Now, as he saw Mia and Seraphine charge forward, his anger turned into fire. Without waiting any longer, he leapt out of the barrier, his blade igniting with mana. His group followed without question, their unity forged through years of hardship. Together, they crashed into the fight.

One by one, stronger humans began to understand what was happening. This wasn’t recklessness—it was necessity. If they sat behind the shield forever, they would die. If they struck now, while morale still lived, they could carve a path through despair.

The battle turned.

For the first time since the trap had sprung, devils began to fall in numbers that mattered. High ranked ones collapsed beneath Mia’s relentless barrage. Seraphine’s mercenaries hacked down the tougher foes that had once held the line with terrifying ease. Hiro’s burning fury carried him through the front ranks, his strikes precise, his resolve unshakable.

Inside the shield, soldiers who once despaired now shouted encouragement, their voices raw but filled with hope. For the first time, the devils were bleeding faster than the humans.

Far away, in the capital’s meeting hall, the War Council and Authority remained locked in debate.

The grim report of the trapped army had silenced many, but silence soon turned to argument. Authority officials, red-faced and furious, demanded immediate reinforcements. The War Council, wary and hardened by centuries of war, urged restraint.

"They’ve walked into a trap already. You would throw more lives into the same pit?" one Council commander growled, slamming a fist into the table.

"And what would you suggest? Sit idle while our men die?!" an Authority official snapped back. "They are our army! Our people! If there is even a chance we can break through, we must take it!"

"They sealed the portal," another Council veteran reminded grimly. "We don’t even know if reinforcements can enter without falling into the same snare."

The debate raged, voices rising, until the air was thick with tension. Back and forth, reason battled with desperation, neither side willing to bend. The Authority saw opportunity—pride and duty demanded action. The War Council saw death—a trap so perfect that any rash move would only deepen the wound.

But finally, as the hour dragged on and pressure mounted, the Authority’s stance pushed through. Reinforcements would be sent.

It was a decision born less from unity than from the collision of wills. The War Council did not agree, but they could not stop it. The order was signed. The armies would prepare.

Back in the Delta Outpost, soldiers gathered supplies and weapons, preparing to march as the word spread. Their faces carried both dread and determination. None knew if there would be a celebration or just more blood for the devils’ stage.

And in the arena itself, under the choking sky of black fire, the humans fought on. Mia’s fists dripped devil blood. Seraphine’s mercenaries roared in defiance. Hiro’s fury carved a path.

For the first time since stepping into the trap, the humans were not only surviving—they were fighting back.

But above, in the seats of stone where the stronger devils sat watching, cruel smiles widened. Their laughter echoed, a reminder that this was still Lord Aamon’s game.

The humans had found resolve.

The devils had found entertainment.

In the capital, the grand hall of marble and banners was filled with voices that clashed like swords on steel. The War Council and the Authority sat around the long table, their faces shadowed by torchlight. Papers, maps, and reports lay scattered, but no agreement could be found.

"The devils have already anticipated our movements," one general argued, his voice hoarse from hours of shouting. "If we send reinforcements blindly, we may be walking into another trap. We cannot afford to lose more men."

"And what then?" an Authority minister shot back, slamming his fist on the table. His rings clattered against the polished wood. "Do we leave them there? Do we abandon the Saintess and the finest soldiers of the human domain? If word spreads of this hesitation, morale across the armies will collapse!"

A commander from the War Council leaned forward, his weathered face hard. "A rash decision will collapse more than morale—it will collapse the very foundation of our defenses. You do not understand the devils like we do. the devil king wants us desperate, impatient. That is when his traps are most effective."

The hall roared again with argument, Authority officials demanding immediate retaliation, War Council veterans urging caution, and both sides refusing to bend.

The debate might have dragged on endlessly, but suddenly the great doors to the chamber burst open with a deep echo. All heads turned.

The Pope of the Holy Church entered, his tall frame draped in robes of immaculate white and gold. His expression, however, was far from serene. Rage burned in his eyes, his steps heavy against the marble floor.

The officials and generals straightened at once, some rising instinctively. Even among the most powerful factions of the human domain, the Pope’s authority carried weight.

"You squabble like children while our Saintess bleeds on the battlefield," the Pope thundered, his voice carrying through the chamber with divine gravity. "She is the Holy Church’s greatest vessel of divinity, a light gifted to humanity. And you sit here debating, while she is trapped in that devil’s arena!"

The room fell into uneasy silence.

One of the War Council commanders bowed his head slightly but spoke with firm resolve. "Your Holiness, we understand the Saintess’s value. But even if we send forces, the portal is sealed. We have no path to reach them."

The Pope’s gaze swept across the chamber like fire. "No path? There is always a path. The Church has long studied the marks devils leave behind when opening their gates. With their markings, we can establish a holy portal that follows the trail back to their capital. It will not be easy, and it will not be quick. At least a week of preparation will be required. But it can be done."

The chamber stirred with whispers, a mixture of shock and relief. Finally, an option had been placed on the table.

The Authority officials immediately latched onto the idea. "Then let it be done," one of them said sharply. "If the Church can provide such a gateway, we should prepare our reinforcements immediately."

But the War Council did not look reassured. A grim silence stretched among their ranks before one veteran finally spoke. "A week may be too long. By then, the trap will have already been sprung. The devils will not keep our soldiers alive out of mercy. They want blood. And if this holy portal leads us directly into their capital, then we risk everything walking into the devil king’s lair unprepared."

Another leaned forward, his scarred hands gripping the table. "Still, it is the only chance we have. If the Saintess falls, not only does the Church suffer, but all of humanity loses its symbol of faith. And if our army is annihilated before our eyes, then fear will spread through the domain faster than any devil."

The room weighed his words. For once, even the Authority was subdued.

At last, the War Council proposed their decision. "We will not wait idly while the portal is prepared. In parallel, we will begin assembling a force capable of marching through devil territory. A rescue mission. Small enough to move without alerting the entire devil army, strong enough to survive if resistance comes. If the holy portal is completed in time, it will serve as a direct path. If not, then our march may be the only hope."

The Pope narrowed his eyes but gave a curt nod. "So long as you understand—the Saintess must be brought back. Whatever it costs."

The Authority remained restless, many still calling for faster, riskier action. But the weight of both the Church’s declaration and the War Council’s plan pressed upon them. The room, once filled with shouts, now settled into grim acceptance.

The fate of those trapped in the devil’s arena hung by a thread. And all they could do was prepare—and pray that the thread would not snap before their hands could reach it.