Selica’s voice rang out across the battlefield like a curse cast from ice itself.
The spell she had unleashed—Endfall—continued its descent. The colossal ice spear tore through the clouds like a divine punishment, its jagged edges glowing with deep blue runes. It grew larger with every passing heartbeat. There was no escape. It was falling too fast, too heavy, too massive. The air around it howled like it carried death on the wind.
Marcus stood frozen, his body still tingling from expelling too much mana. He had done everything he could. So had the others. But this... this was beyond them.
He didn’t say anything.
He just closed his eyes and prepared to die.
It was a soft, brittle sound. Like ice breaking in the distance. Then another. Then a chorus of shattering, delicate and sharp.
Marcus’s eyes blinked open.
No impact. No explosion. Just... nothing.
Tiny shards of ice floated down like glass snowflakes, sparkling in the red twilight. They flickered with the last of their magic, then disintegrated before touching the ground.
He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.
"What... what happened?" he whispered.
Across the battlefield, Selica had taken a step back.
Her expression was different now. The arrogant smirk was gone. Her eyes were no longer filled with amusement.
She looked up into the sky, where the spear had once been.
A presence. Far away—but growing closer.
She spotted him first.
A lone figure, floating in the air in the distance, maybe fifty meters off the ground, slowly approaching with a steady stride.
He wasn’t flying like a mage or using any flight spell. He was simply walking through the air, each step sending ripples of pressure across the battlefield.
He wore a black robe lined with frost-gray fur. The robe fluttered behind him in the wind, revealing simple black armor beneath it. A scar ran across his right cheek. His hair was black, shoulder-length, his beard neatly trimmed.
In his right arm, he carried an unconscious boy.
Selica’s mouth fell open, her throat tightening with every step he took forward.
Her lips moved without sound at first.
Then the name spilled out, trembling.
"...S-Sword Emperor... R-Re—Ren Kurogane..."
All the others turned their heads.
Marcus’s face went pale.
Dravis took a step back unconsciously.
Evelyne couldn’t speak.
Even Daelen’s sword lowered slightly, his eyes narrowing.
Ren Kurogane. The Sword Emperor.
One of the most dangerous men to ever walk the continent. A swordsman who had long passed the need for technique names. The man who was said to have split an entire city in half just to make a point.
They all watched him come closer.
And then—he was gone.
No flash. No teleportation chant. Just sudden, brutal movement.
A single sound exploded in the air—
And then he was standing directly in front of Selica.
She stumbled back two steps, eyes wide. "No—"
She reached out, hand glowing with teleportation magic.
A thin red line appeared across her torso.
Then the blood came. A geyser, pouring from the slash across her midsection.
Her knees buckled, and she fell to one side.
The teleportation spell fizzled out instantly.
She coughed, blood spraying from her lips. Her eyes snapped upward in horror.
He just looked down at her.
No fury in his gaze. No hatred. No righteousness.
Only cold indifference.
Like he wasn’t here to argue or scold.
"You attacked my disciple," he said, voice sharp and quiet. "And you raised your hand against students of Etherlight School. Did the Crimson Guild truly forget what fear is?"
Selica tried to get up.
She pushed mana into her legs—
Her blade appeared in her hand mid-charge, laced with frost.
He didn’t even blink.
Her right arm vanished in mid-air. A clean slice. Her body twisted sideways.
Then her leg followed. Then a deep cut opened across her shoulder.
She was just being cut—again and again—without even understanding how.
She crashed into the ground, gasping. Her remaining arm tried to pull her up, clawing at the dirt.
And that, too, was intentional.
Above her, a black and silver rune began forming. It spun slowly in the air, layered and complex, humming with suppressed power.
Selica looked up at it.
Her body tensed in panic. "No—wait, please—"
His voice came low and sharp.
"Soul Sever: Memory Rend."
Her body jerked violently.
Streams of glowing white-blue energy tore from her chest and forehead. Her mouth opened in a scream—but no sound came.
The memories ripped from her were visible. Images. Voices. Faces.
One by one, they entered Ren’s hand and disappeared into the glowing rune.
Ren looked at the corpse.
He walked back toward the group with quiet, steady steps. The same calm expression on his face. Like none of what just happened mattered to him.
He stopped in front of them.
Marcus tried to speak, but nothing came out.
"Ezra is my disciple," he said plainly. "Don’t spread it around."
He pulled a glowing silver scroll from his coat and tossed it toward Marcus. Marcus caught it on reflex.
"Teleportation scroll," Ren continued. "Take him to a hospital immediately. He’s critical."
Dravis stepped forward automatically. Ren handed Ezra into his arms without another word.
"Don’t worry about anything else," Ren said. "I’ll take care of the Crimson Guild."
Dravis blinked. "Wait—"
But Ren had already vanished.
No sound. No light. Just—gone.
The silence left behind was heavier than the battle.
Ezra lay unconscious in Dravis’s arms, bloodied, his face pale.
Meanwhile, elsewhere...
The land was breaking.
Khivdoor Mountain, once a proud peak cloaked in ancient pine and snow, now stood desecrated—its cliffs crumbling, trees reduced to cinders, and the sky above thick with black smoke and crackling crimson lightning. The air reeked of burnt earth and spilled mana.
From a distance, it looked like a divine calamity.
At its epicenter... the battle continued.
Kael Arkzen stood amid a broken crater, his bloodied frame barely upright. His coat, now just tatters of cloth, flapped weakly in the searing winds. Bruises and cuts ran across his body. Every breath was a struggle. Yet his eyes—those cold, winter-forged eyes—never wavered.
Hovering in front of him, Varien Throne smiled like a man already victorious. His former disciple’s body was drenched in blood—his own and others’—but the madness in his gaze only burned brighter.
And beside him now stood a second nightmare.
Serana Nyx, the Bladed Shadow of the Dark Order.
Clad in dark, rune-etched armor, her silver helm glinted with unholy light. Her long saber dripped black flames that hissed against the wind. She radiated bloodlust—and reverence.
She bowed slightly. "Your orders, Master?"
Varien didn’t look at her. His eyes were locked on Kael. "Kill him."
With a sonic crack, she vanished—no magic, just raw speed—and reappeared above Kael, her blade slamming down like a guillotine.
Kael raised his arm, mana flaring—
The impact shattered the platform he stood on, sending rocks flying in every direction. Kael skidded back, bleeding from the shoulder. He barely had a second before Serana lunged again—this time from below, her saber carving an upward arc of seething flame.
Kael gritted his teeth and slammed his palm into the air. A barrier of translucent blue mana formed just in time to intercept her blade. The collision sent shockwaves through the battlefield.
But the wall cracked.
Serana’s power was monstrous. Each of her swings was heavy, precise, like a dancer trained to kill gods. She wasn’t just strong—she was refined.
Kael leapt backward onto a floating boulder, gasping.
He didn’t get a break.
"Let’s make it fair," Varien said, his voice dripping with mockery.
A dozen fire spears formed around him and launched at Kael in a synchronized spiral. Kael spun mid-air, drawing intricate sigils with both hands.
"Magnetize: Reflect."
His mana surged—and three of the spears twisted mid-air, slamming back toward Varien.
Varien’s grin widened as he let them hit. The spears passed right through him—an illusion.
Kael’s eyes narrowed. "Still using cheap tricks."
"Still falling for them," Varien replied.
Serana struck again—this time aiming for Kael’s legs. He conjured a quick pulse of wind to lift himself out of reach, but Serana anticipated it, flipping mid-air and slashing across his back.
Kael hit the ground hard, coughing violently.
He tried to rise. His body screamed in protest.
Varien floated down, eyes gleaming. "You always held back, Master. Even now. You’re still hoping I’ll stop. That somewhere, deep down, your student is still here."
He raised a hand, and dark energy gathered into a massive spear.
Serana landed beside him. Her armor glinted with dried blood.
"Let’s finish it together," she said, emotionless.
Their mana intertwined. Crimson and black threads twisted into a single entity—forming a weapon born of hatred and betrayal.
A towering javelin of cursed mana took shape, howling with the force of destruction.
"Oblivion Lance." they said in unison.
Kael stared up at it, barely breathing.
He stopped trying to resist.
He simply stood there.
A quiet home. A warm evening. The gentle scent of tea. Kael’s wife—Annalise—stood at the doorway, arms folded, a soft smile on her face.
In the courtyard, a young boy grumbled as he tried to control a floating orb of mana.
"You’re doing it wrong again," Kael said, watching from the steps.
"I’m trying," the boy said. "But the threads won’t balance."
"Mana isn’t muscle. It’s rhythm. Listen."
Kael stepped forward and adjusted the boy’s fingers.
The boy’s eyes lit up.
Annalise smiled, brushing hair from her face. "You’re too harsh on him."
"He needs you," she corrected gently. "He looks at you like you’re the sun."
The memory flickered.
A girl with red eyes and sweet lies. The Dark Order’s poison disguised as love.
Kael’s warnings were ignored. He watched as Varien fell—deeper and deeper.
Then one day... an explosion.
And beneath the rubble—Annalise. Gone.
She had shielded children with her body.
Kael collapsed, holding her broken form.
Later, when he hunted the girl down and killed her... Varien had watched from the shadows.
And in that moment... student and master were lost to each other.
Varien’s voice rang cold.
The Oblivion Lance descended.
"Annalise... forgive me."
A massive blast engulfed the peak. The mountainside cracked. Shockwaves tore through the sky, splitting clouds apart. Trees for miles were uprooted. The very air shimmered from the pressure.
When the smoke cleared—
An invisible barrier shimmered faintly around him, crackling with golden runes.
Varien staggered back. "What...?"
Footsteps echoed through the silence.
A man walked forward from the smoke, sword slung over his shoulder. Black hair. Calm eyes. Silent authority in every step.
Varien’s face went pale.
"You—no. You’re supposed to be—"
He raised two fingers.
A ripple of mana pulsed out. Kael, already at his limit, barely had time to glance back before he collapsed. His eyes met Ren’s... and he gave the faintest nod.
Then his body fell limp.
Ren caught him gently.
"Rest kid," Ren whispered.
Then he looked up at Varien and Serana—his expression colder than death.