A torrent of black magical power filled the throne room. It was pressure. Not light, not flame—something akin to gravity, crushing the very air itself. In this abandoned city where the atmospheric magical essence—the magical power drifting through the air—was abnormally dense, Raid's unleashed magic swelled while consuming it all. Fine sand fell from cracks in the walls, and half-collapsed stones in the ceiling trembled. Aira took the full brunt head-on. Her feet, trying to brace themselves, lifted from the stone pavement. Her outer coat tore with a sound, and her body was sent flying. The impact of her back slamming against the wall was instantaneous, and in the next moment, rubble was piling onto her shoulders. "——" No sound came out. More than half of her right shoulder guard was shattered. The jagged edge of the remaining metal bit into her skin, and then came the heat. A burn mark from magical power—a sensation like a scorch. Aira silently felt the pain growing sharper with e