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Meditation techniques were sold throughout the kingdom, but the most efficient ones were kept locked up by powerful clans. In the kingdom of Hochland, the Standing Tortoise Manual was considered a low-tier mediation technique. It was only profound enough to last a martialist from the Human realm to the Apprentice realm. Nonetheless, Andric studied the manual as if it were a sacred text. In his previous life, Andric had reached the apex of magical power, but he had still been killed by martialists. In order to surpass the martialists in his second life, he needed to first understand how their energy system worked. Andric’s mage worked by utilizing mana and thought energy. Instead of developing meridians, magicians developed an arcane core, which generated mana. That mana would then be imbued with thought energy, which would turn the mana into spells. Martialists were entirely different from magicians. Instead of using an artificial organ to store their spirit energy, martialists stored their spirit energy throughout their enter body. When a martialist wanted to use one of their abilities, they only needed to will their body into motion. Conversely, a magician needed to access their mana, imbue the mana with thought energy, and release the spell. When the two activation sequences were analyzed, martialists clearly had a much faster method! Andric’s heart-lung meridian was open, and he could sense a faint amount of spirit energy moving through it. According to Instructor Hubert, the rate that someone could absorb spirit energy was set by heritage. If Andric’s parents had reached a high realm of the martial way before they had him, he would be able to absorb spirit energy faster than otherwise. According to Instructor Hubert, there was no way to change the rate of spirit energy absorption after birth. Andric, however, took Instructor Hubert’s words with a grain of salt. He knew that there was nothing in the world that was impossible to change, and there was no person more suited for making discoveries about spirit energy and meridians than himself. For the first night, Andric practiced the Standing Tortoise Manual without trying to alter the technique. The next day came, and Andric proceeded like he had done for the past few years. He woke up, bathed outside, and went to Instructor Hubert’s class. He no long needed to attend Instructor Hubert’s class after turning fifteen, but most town youths stayed for one additional year. Then, after sixteen, most town youths found work or left for greener pastures. Instructor Hubert’s classes mostly taught general knowledge. He seldom talked about the martial way, but all of his insights were useful to Andric. The subjects of numbers and letters were unneeded by Andric, but there was no telling when Instructor Hubert might impart some of his martialist wisdom on the class, and so Andric needed to attend every lesson. This was, in fact, a technique used by Instructor Hubert to make sure more students attended his lessons. In the town of Einburg, there were between ten and twenty babies born every year, but half of them died before their fifth birthday. Of the five-to-ten that survived, only one or two would have the capability to practice the Standing Tortoise Manual until its second rank. For many, they would struggle with comprehending the first rank, and their martial stage would remain unchanged inside the Human realm. Andric, with the experiences from his previous life, had no issue comprehending the secrets of the Standing Tortoise Manual. He wondered why the meditation technique used obscure wording, but he guessed it was an anti-theft measure so that someone couldn’t copy the text after reading it a single time. After Instructor Hubert’s class was over, Andric rushed home and resumed practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual. In less than twenty-four hours, he had deciphered the entire first rank of the meditation technique, and he chanted its mantra while sitting cross legged on his bed. All humans started at the first stage of the Human realm. At that stage, their body could only absorb meager amounts of spirit energy, and the use of martial techniques was impossible. If Andric reached Human realm second stage, his strength would increase, but only by a small amount. In the whole Human realm, the strength increase that came from each stage increase was only equivalent to what someone could gain by working out. Only the Novice realm and above had benefits that exceeded the capabilities of normal humans. Andric knew the limitations of the Human realm, so he set his sights on the knowledge he could learn from practicing the meditation technique. At his current level, his magical spells were far superior to whatever attacks he could muster with his physical body. Although it would out him as a magician, Andric would sooner use magic to save his life than martial techniques. In Andric’s previous life, there were no realms or stages in the martial way. Back then, martialists grew stronger at a steady pace, sometimes transcending the limits of the human body without even knowing it. With the creation of mediation techniques came the realms and stages, which helped martialists keep track of how strong they were. Andric pulled in energy from the atmosphere by using the Standing Tortoise Manual, but he couldn’t discern how much stronger his body was getting. His body would suddenly become stronger once he reached the second stage of the Human realm, but he had no way to know how long that would take. After meditating for the second day in a row, Andric no longer needed to refer to the Standing Tortoise Manual to ensure he had the correct form and breathing technique. He sat in a peaceful environment, separated his thoughts from the outside world, and focused on the vision of a sturdy tortoise standing against the winds of a vast plain. The winds blew unceasingly, but the tortoise refused to enter its shell and lay on the ground. It stood arrogantly, unwilling to withdraw. At first, Andric analysed the scene described in the Standing Tortoise Manual for its probability. If a tortoise was standing in a harsh wind and didn’t have anywhere it go, it was stupid for it to not retreat into its shell. Over several hours, Andric practiced the Standing Tortoise Manual without appreciating with. Once Andric looked past the absurdity of the tortoise standing in the wind, he began to understand what the Standing Tortoise Manual was really about. The Standing Tortoise Manual was an ode to all who stood against adversity using nothing but their strength, instead of the defenses they were gifted at birth. It represented humanity’s ability to grow stronger and overcome challenges that were easier to simply avoid. Sitting in cross legged, taking deep breaths, chanting the mantra, and imagining the scene were all it took to circulate spirit energy, but it was an entirely different matter to absorb spirit energy! Only when Andric truly understood the Standing Tortoise Manual did his body being to absorb spirit energy! He had thought he was absorbing spirit energy the entire time, but the difference was quite clear. Spirit energy rushed into Andric’s body and flowed along his heart-lung meridian. Instead of immediately flowing back out of his body, it then seeped into his flesh. With every second that Andric continued to practice the Standing Tortoise Manual, his body took in more spirit energy, and it flowed further along his heart-lung meridian. Without him knowing, two days passed. On the third day, six days after having received the Standing Tortoise Manual from the town hall, Andric opened his eyes. He hopped off his bed, then punched toward his bedroom wall. His fist shot out with great speed, surprising himself. “Human realm second stage?” he asked himself, not quite believing it. He felt a pulse of energy surged through his body, and he suspected it was his arrival at the second stage of the Human realm, but he couldn’t be sure. However, regardless, his strength had definitely increased! Just standing and punching once, he already felt noticeably stronger! His body felt lighter, and his limbs moved with more fluidity. If there was a similar increase of strength at every stage, it could become intoxicating! When properly using the Standing Tortoise Manual, all the flesh in Andric’s body became stronger. Spirit energy could only absorb into his body from his heart-lung meridian, but, after being absorbed into his body, it diffused evenly around his body. Andric changed his clothes and went downstairs. He looked outside, and it was already afternoon. His mother sat in the sitting room, snacking on a dried piece of root. “Andric, did you make any progress?” she asked, feeling hopeful. “I think so,” Andric nodded and replied. “That’s good. You were in your room for three days, so you must be hungry. I’ll cook something for you,” Alda said, and she stood up. The length of three days surprised Andric. In the past ten years, he hadn’t missed more than a single day in a row of Instructor Hubert’s lessons, but here he had missed three. Not only that, but he hadn’t eaten or drinken anything in that time. As soon as Alda mentioned it, Andric’s stomach felt weak, and his lips were parched. “I’m going to get water,” he said, and he exited the house. A well wasn’t too far away, and Andric pulled up some water to drink. He swallowed a few mouthfuls, then looked down at the bucket and thought about the past. Reaching the second stage of the Human realm had filled Andric with a sense of power. He could see while martialists would think their system of power was better than that of magicians. There was something primal about increasing the increase in strength that also increased his confidence. It felt good to punch with greater force than the day before, and magic couldn’t replicate that internal feeling. The water from the bottom of the well was cold, and Andric splashed some of it on his face before returning inside.

The forest was large, having more than enough room for someone to hide out for a few days or weeks. Andric, who planned to stay hidden for much longer, searched for several hours before finding a place suitable for his needs. He landed at the base of a rock wall, near a small stream. He could hear birds chirping nearby, as well as the churning of water over rocks. Andric quickly created a cave in the rock wall and walked inside. Then, he closed the majority of the entrance, only leaving two spaces for air to enter and exit the cave, as well as some light. The cave wasn’t made very deep, and only extended inward for about twenty feet. With that short of a distance, Andric had enough room for his purposes. Andric’s next objective was to open his meridians, so he used magic to craft a bed for himself and took off his shirt. All of the major meridians were inside the center and upper body, and there wasn’t a single one Andric couldn’t reach. His only concern was with the heart-brain meridian and the lung-brain meridian. Both of them went from his chest to his skull, but Andric couldn’t pinpoint exactly where they were located. He estimated their locations to be at the base of his skull, but he wasn’t willing to perform the meridian-discovery process so close to his brain and arcane core. However, with the Spirit Sense technique he picked up from the Erfdag bandits, he would be able to sense his meridians quite easily. Several days passed. In that time, Andric studied the Spirit Sense technique and worked on opening his meridians. On the first day, he opened his diaphragm-lung meridian. Using three days each, he then opened his lung-lung meridian, his lung-diaphragm meridian, and his lung-heart meridian. With those additional four meridians opened, Andric achieved a state of Five Pointed Chest Circulation. He didn’t know it, but the state of Five Pointed Chest Circulation was highly beneficial to endurance. After the meridians were open, Andric felt his heart beating stronger, his lungs breathing better, and a general increase in energy throughout his body. He spent a few hours practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual, and he was shocked to see his cultivation speed become more than triple of what it was in Einburg. After Andric obtained the state of Five Pointed Chest Circulation, his rate of opening other meridians increased. Next, he went after the meridians that were connected to and below his diaphragm. Weeks passed, and Andric’s progress along the martial way increased by leaps and bounds. With five meridians open, his cultivation speed was already unbelievable to the people of Einburg. After he opened twelve meridians, his cultivation speed increased another fold, further increasing the speed at which he could open new meridians. After two months of living in the cave, Andric successfully opened twenty-two of his twenty-four major meridians. All that remained was the two meridians that connected to his brain, and then the thirty-six minor meridians that were located throughout his body. Spirit Sight was an ability that only Instructor Hubert had, and it allowed him to view the spirit energy inside other people. A martialist could only hope to be born with Spirit Sight, but all of them could learn Spirit Sense. With Spirit Sense, they would be able to sense the spirit energy inside their own body. Andric had the technique manual for it, and he only needed to devote himself to learning it. The Spirit Sense technique required the user to alter the spirit energy inside their body into a form that could be detected much more easily than normal spirit energy. This used a large amount of spirit energy, but it helped martialists to visualize the movement of spirit energy through their body when they used martial techniques. Andric wanted to use Spirit Sense to locate his meridians, which was inline with others’ uses of Spirit Sense, meaning it was definitely possible. Andric had studied the Spirit Sense technique while he was opening the twenty-two major meridians, but it took him another week of practice to actually use the technique. When he activated his Spirit Sense, he could feel the spirit energy inside his body much more clearly. Now, instead of a vague feeling that would only be noticed when moving from zero spirit energy to full spirit energy, Andric could feel all the locations in his body that had spirit energy in them. The heart-brain meridian and the lung-brain meridian were both located inside the head, near the spinal cord, at the base of the skull. Once they entered the skull, they continued toward the brain, but Andric was confident that his technique for opening meridians would be able to clear away the debris located inside his brain without him needing to disintegrate and regrow his brain. Most importantly, neither meridian overlapped with his arcane core. The meridians of the body were pathways used to absorb spirit energy from the atmosphere. Where in a state of meditation, martialists drew spirit energy toward their body, and their meridians absorbed the latent spirit energy before circulating it to other parts of the body. If a human didn’t have any meridians open, they wouldn’t be able to consciously collect spirit energy, but it could still happen incidentally. With one or more meridians open, humans could become martialists. When the five chest-located meridians were open, it gave a large boost to endurance. When the seventeen torso-located meridians were open, it gave a large boost to power. When the two head-located meridians were open, it gave a large boost to reaction speed. When all twenty-four meridians were open, the body would obtain a state of Perfect Circulation. Under the effects of Perfect Circulation, cultivation speed increased tremendously, and many abilities were boosted. Andric meticulously worked on opening the meridians in his head, and he succeeded after five days. Immediately after doing so, he felt an intense power throughout his body, but he also felt slightly hopeless. At the ends of his heart-brain meridians and lung-brain meridian, there were several minor meridians reaching into his brain. Unfortunately, they weren’t opened with the opening of the major meridians, and Andric didn’t know how he would open them in the future. But, even so, Andric wasn’t deeply worried. The minor meridians were somewhat useful for increasing cultivation speed, but they weren’t as important as the major meridians. Meridians were used for - in addition to gathering spirit energy from the atmosphere - transferring spirit energy throughout the body. With all twenty-four major meridians open, Andric’s speed of moving spirit energy was much faster than before. Once he opened his minor meridians, his speed would increase by another level. At his current realm, the speed of his spirit energy activation wasn’t very important. Once martialists reached the Adept realm or higher, a fraction of a second was all it took to end a battle, and every microsecond was valuable. Andric finished opening his major meridians, then took a break. He wanted to observe the changes inside his body before he opened his minor meridians. He decided to train with his martial techniques while his minor meridians were closed, then to open them once he had mastered the techniques. That way, he would increase his level of mastery without any extra work, and he would be able to appreciate what having his minor meridians open meant. The silent cave was lonely, but Andric continued to diligently study the six martial techniques he had picked out from the loot he obtained from the Erfdag bandits. In addition to those, he also studied the Thunder Fist Technique, which he found in Veremund’s bag of storage. Martial techniques had ranks, similarly to meditation techniques. Rank one martial techniques were good for Human realm martialists, and rank three martial techniques were good for Apprentice realm martialists. If the martial technique didn’t have a Novice realm first rank, it meant it used too much spirit energy for a Human realm martialist to handle. Of the martial techniques that Andric selected, only the Burning Palm Technique, the Silent Gallop Technique, and the Boulder Crushing Sword Technique were possible to be practiced at the Human realm. Andric spent half of his days meditating, and he spent the other half studying the martial techniques he could activate with Human realm cultivation. The effects of Perfect Circulation was immense, and it lowered the time he needed to reach the next stage to one-ninth of what it used to be. He had previously used almost two weeks to reach the third stage of the Human realm, but he only needed a few days to reach the fourth stage of the Human realm. The fifth stage came a week later. The sixth stage came two weeks later. The seventh stage came a four weeks later. The eighth stage came eight weeks later. The ninth stage came sixteen weeks later. Almost eight months quickly passed while Andric meditated. He nourished his body with magically-obtained nutrients, and he added mass by drinking water. After he reached the ninth stage of the Human realm, he noticed his body was much larger than it used to be. He was still proportionally the same, but his frame grew larger. His muscles were sleek, but each of them held the power of a strict bodybuilder. But, after everything was over, it was still within the bounds of humanity. To truly step on the path of the martial way, Andric needed to reach the Novice realm. While he was only at the Human realm, he couldn’t learn many of the martial techniques that seemed actually powerful and deadly. Furthermore, Human realm martialists were simply too weak. At the moment, Andric could effortlessly kill hundreds of Human realm martialists with only a spell or two. His highest priority was his own safety, so he understood the need for greater power. The cave he was presently inside was safe for reaching the ninth stage of the Human realm, but it wouldn’t help him reach the next realm. According to the Standing Tortoise Manual and the other meditation techniques Andric looked over, reaching the Novice realm required a martialist to temper their spirit with the flames of battle and experience hardship; Andric only needed to look through his memories to experience countless hardships. One week later, Andric reached the correct state of mind, and the strength of his body explosively rose upward.

From his tiny room on the second floor of his grandparents’ house, Andric emerged. Nobody had seen him over two weeks, but he spoke with Alda every day. As soon as he descended to the first floor of the house, Alda rushed toward him and checked his body, which had been deeply injured the last time she saw him. “Are you okay? We should’ve gotten a doctor to check you,” Alda said while lifting Andric’s clothes and checking his skin. After a few minutes of looking wherever she could reach, she found nothing wrong. “I told you, I was fine,” Andric said, and the two of them sat in the sitting room. Andric looked out the window. Judging by the time of day,  he guessed that Gasto and Roza were both working in the fields that surrounded Einburg. He clenched his fists, then said, “I reached Human realm third stage a little while ago.” “Ah? That’s good!” Alda was confused at first, but she then happily embraced Andric. After Alda left home, she rarely meditated, and she didn’t have a meditation technique to use even if she did. After she had Andric, she didn’t meditate for many years, until Andric asked her about it. Then, after several years of on-and-off meditation, she hadn’t made any noticable gains. From the little contact she had with her brothers, she learned that her oldest brother was at the seventh stage of the Human realm. According to the laws of the martial way, a child’s rate of progress in the martial way was predetermined by how much potential their parents had and the realm-at-conception of their parents. When Alda thought about her own family’s poor martial talent, it made her wonder what kind of martial talent Andric’s father had. After sixteen years had passed, she could finally think about those kinds of things without hurting. “You don’t have to worry about me. When I leave, I’m going to keep practicing my meditation technique and grow even stronger.” Andric and Alda sat back down, and Alda began filling Andric in on everything that had happened in Einburg while Andric was in shut inside his room. What she took three hours to explain could’ve been summarized in one word: nothing. At least, according to Andric’s interests, nothing happened in Einburg. The merchant caravan still hadn’t arrived, nobody had died, nobody had given birth, nobody had married, and nobody switched factions. A few youths who were indifferent toward Andric came to check on him, but Alda had turned all of them away. None of Audovacar’s group came, and neither did Miss Erminhilt. Andric was surprised that townspeople he didn’t know would check on his well being. If anyone, he expected Miss Erminhilt to come, but she didn’t. If it wasn’t her, he would’ve expected Miss Erminhilt’s mother or father, who were doctors. The most important information that Andric learned from listening to Alda was about something that was going to happen in the future: the arrival of the merchant caravan. The previous day, a townsperson came by to tell Alda that the merchant caravan would be arriving in two days. The merchant caravan would arrive one day and leave the next, or they might stay a little longer depending on what troubles they encountered before arriving at Einburg. Alas, Andric could do nothing except wait for the merchant caravan to arrive. He didn’t feel like saying goodbye to anyone. He wasn’t sure what kind of relationship he had with Miss Erminhilt, but he knew it was one he couldn’t afford to have. He decided to ignore it and hope the problem disappeared on its own. Unknowingly, Andric had fallen into the mentality of a martialist. His worldly desires, such as those for companionship, had faded into nothing. The longer he paused meditating, the more he wanted to resume. Over the course of the last two weeks, he had developed a thirst for power. He remembered some of his younger centuries from his previous life, when he experimented with thought energy and mana to create perfect spells. The sense of discovery was exhilarating. “Are you sure you want to go? If you want to stay, I’ll work something out so that you don’t have to leave,” Alda asked near the end of their conversation. No matter how much she told herself that Andric would be fine, she couldn’t help but worry. She knew that, in the town of Einburg, having Human realm third stage at fifteen years old was considered excellent, but it couldn’t compare to what some people had obtained after dozens of years. Talent to reach the Novice realm could never defeat someone who had actually reached the Novice realm. The world outside Einburg was dangerous. Alda had traveled for a short while with an older brother of hers, but she didn’t even go more than three hundred miles away from Einburg. Mahtzig was much more than three hundred miles away from Einburg. Along the way, there was no telling what kind of dangers Andric could encounter. Towns like Einburg were actually pretty safe when compared to the rest of the kingdom. The town wasn’t on the border, it wasn’t surrounded by huge forests or mountains, it wasn’t along a major trade route, and there were no sects nearby. If a powerful martialist ever came close to Einburg, it was only to travel past it. A few martialist came to have their meridians opened by Instructor Hubert, but they were usually in the Human, Novice, or Apprentice realm, and they left quickly. The person most scared over Andric’s departure was Alda. She couldn’t easily let her baby leave. “I want to see the capital. This little town is too boring for me. There’s nothing interesting going on. Every day, it’s just more farming. There’s got to be better things out there!” Andric confidently said. Alda gently smiled, remembering similar reasons for why she left Einburg in her youth. Alda stood up and walked to the fireplace. A painting of her family hung over the mantle, painted when she was a small child. It had all of her brothers and sisters in it. Gasto and Roza were standing behind their children, a quarter of a century younger than they were in the present. Alda looked at the painting for a few seconds, then picked up a letter. She returned to her seat with the letter, then gave it to Andric. “This was sent from your Uncle Raban, shortly before your tenth birthday. It’s the last letter we have from him, but the address should still be good. Memorize it, go to his house, and explain why you’re there. He’s always been a good brother to me. I’m sure he’ll take you in,” Alda explained while looking at the letter. Andric looked over the address on the letter a few times, thoroughly memorizing it. The city of Mahtzig was spread into numbered districts, and each house had the name of the family living at it posted outside. In Einburg, nobody had a second name. In Mahtzig, Uncle Raban’s second name was Einheim, By convention, Andric’s second name would also become Einheim. After memorizing the address, Andric gave the letter back to Alda, and she returned it to the mantle. She then sat back down, and they were both silent for a few minutes. When it became awkward, Alda stood up and said, “You must be hungry, right? I’ll make you something to eat,” and walked into the kitchen. Andric stood up. He looked into the kitchen, then faced forward. He still had the rest of the day to spend time in Einburg, and the amount of time during the following day would depend on exactly when the merchant caravan arrived. If he worked hard, he could open his diaphragm-lung meridian, but he already decided he wouldn’t do that. He could find Miss Erminhilt, but he had also decided not to bother her. He could get his revenge on Audovacar and the others, but various problems would arise after doing so. That evening, Andric ate dinner with his family. They were unusually quiet during the meal, and they finished quickly. With, perhaps, only a single day separating them from Andric’s departure, Gasto and Roza were thinking about how things would really be once Andric left. They worried that Alda wouldn’t be able to get her life together even after he was gone. The last few weeks, when Andric retreated into his bedroom and didn’t come out, had shown that Alda couldn’t leave her child’s side. In those two weeks, she never left the house for longer than an hour. Gasto and Roza worried what would happen to her once she was separated from Andric by hundreds of miles. What Alda felt for Andric could be classified as an unhealthy obsession. She wasted her adulthood by taking care of Andric, and she was hesitant to let him go. At the same time, she knew she eventually had to let him leave. In short, Andric was Alda’s life. Other women of her age were married, raising their family, and occasionally working. Alda only had Andric, and that had been true for fifteen years. The next day, Andric and Alda spent the morning in the sitting room, stitching clothes together. In the last decade, Alda had gotten very proficient with a needle, and some townspeople wanted her to join the textile workers in making clothes. Einburg had many women who worked in the field with their husband or stayed home to take care of their children, but not many were able to work long hours and craft textile that could be sold in Mahtzig for high profits, and even less had the same level of skill as Alda. Andric looked over at his mother and saw the great amount of skill she had in the art of threadcraft. She had spent a long time making Andric’s clothes from scratch and scraps, and she did all the repairs on Gasto’s, Roza’s, Andric’s, and her own clothes. Although she didn’t come from a family that had worked with cloth for generations, she had the same level of skill. Shortly after the sun reached its zenith, the merchant caravan arrived outside Einburg. Fifty-to-sixty wagons gathered in a grass field, and hundreds of merchants set their camps. The merchant caravan was like a small army when it moved, but it transitioned into a bustling marketplace when it stopped. Shops opened on the wagons, displaying goods that could be bought at that time or could be ordered from the capital. Smaller pedalers carried their wares around Einburg, trying to sell small gadgets or find out what else could be sold. Normally, Andric avoided the merchants from the caravan. He had no money, so he had no reason to interact with them. This time, he was going to leave with them. A townsman came to Andric’s house and led him and Alda to the merchant caravan. He spoke to the owner of a wagon that took passengers, then him paid fifteen silver coins. The merchant caravan would leave at dawn, meaning Andric needed to leave home before sunrise.

‘This isn’t really formidable, is it?’ Andric wanted to ask while he practiced the Burning Palm Technique. A full sixteen nights passed since he entered Radegart, but he still hadn’t gotten around to working on his other martial techniques. Of course, he was only practicing the first rank of the Burning Palm Technique, but the power he displayed didn’t match up with what the book described the martial technique to be capable of. At the very least, he should’ve been able to char pieces of dry firewood. At the moment, he could only make the firewood heat up by a few degrees. When Andric left the cave, he had already learned the Burning Palm Technique, the Silent Gallop Technique, and the Boulder Crushing Sword Technique to a level that allowed him to use them casually, but he was far from bringing out their full power. Even at the present, after weeks of practicing the Burning Palm Technique and almost a week of practicing the Silent Gallop Technique, he hadn’t mastered either one. In the system used by magicians, there were no techniques that needed to be mastered before they could be used. A magician only needed to learn how to use their arcane core and brain to mix mana and thought energy. Once they did that, they could use any spell they wanted. At this time, Andric understood how the martial way differed from the path of magic. To magicians, there was only mastery. There was no way for a magician to use a partially complete spell. Martialists, though, could use martial techniques while only barely understanding the underlying principles. The ability to comprehend magic came in less than one percent of the population, but martial techniques could be partially mastered by ninety-nine percent of the population. The martial way existed for quantity, not quality. Out of the millions of martialists who tread on the path, very few might reach the end. Andric didn’t let his failure to master the Burning Palm Technique lower his spirits. He paid for twenty more nights at the tavern, at a large meal, and decided to move onto practicing the second rank of the Burning Palm Technique. Inside the tavern, while Andric was eating, he listened to the conversations going on around him. It had been a long time since he leisurely talked to someone, but he didn’t mind that so much. In actuality, he wanted to hear news. In Einburg, Andric always heard about the state of the kingdom from Gasto and Roza, who heard it from the other townspeople. In towns like Einburg and Radegart, news was slow to arrive, and only the most precious pieces were delivered the thousand-plus miles from the capital. A few years ago, Hochland had entered a minor war with the kingdom of Baugland, but that war ended before Andric’s day of adulthood. The results of the war were mixed, but most reports stated that Hochland retreated after taking a minor piece of land from Baugland. In the history of Hochland, Baugland was one of the kingdoms they regularly bullied, and small conflicts broke out between them every few decades. Recently, there were talks of Hochland invading Hilzland. Allegedly, Hochland ships had already bombarded Hilzland ports while the Hilzland ships were frozen in. A ground campaign couldn’t be done in the winter, and Hochland had supposedly reached water superiority before the war was even officially declared. Without their ships, Hilzland would have a harder time importing food, which would make them weaker in the spring, when Hochland would likely send its armies of martialists to attack. The reception of the war by the townspeople of Radegart was poor. Whenever the kingdom waged war, grain taxes soared for several months afterward. During winter, towns like Radegart survived by eating grains they stored from their fall harvest and slaughtered animals that could be salted and frozen to last for months. If the Hochland army attacked Hilzland, they would need to bring an immense amount of food with them, which they would have to take from towns like Radegart. “The war won’t be so bad, this time. By eliminating Hilzland’s ability to import food, they’ve crippled them. Once spring rolls around, the Hilzland army will be starving, or their citizens will be revolting. If they want to survive, their only hope would be for an expert to use a storage object to smuggle in food from the south. But, how many storage objects are there in Hilzland? Ten? Twenty? Even if they have fifty, they’re putting all their hopes on fifty people making a journey across thousands of miles, buying an astronomical amount of food, and trekking all the way back,” a townsperson calmly analyzed about the situation. Indeed, as he said, storage objects were incredibly rare. In Hochland, only the most powerful martialists or the highest members of the government could have one. Andric had no idea how Veremund managed to obtain one, since the previous owner had to be either incredibly powerful or backed by an incredibly powerful organization. The hard truth of the matter was that Hilzland didn’t have enough food to last through the winter. To import food from a neutral kingdom, they would need to send merchants at least three thousand miles. Such a long journey would take months to complete, which meant only Adept realm martialists - with their ability to fly - could travel it in a timely manner. To support their soldiers, Hilzland could only entrust their Adept realm martialists with an immensely difficult task or ration their remaining food by stealing it from their citizens. “It sounds like this war is a good chance to make a name for myself. I’ll sign up in spring and obtain a good rank by summer!” a youth optimistically spoke. Andric looked over the youth, and he vaguely sensed the youth’s martial realm. He wasn’t aware of the ability at first, but it appeared that high-realm martialist could detect low-realm martialists. Every human naturally had a seventh sense that allowed them to sense dangers, and that sense only became more powerful as they progressed along the martial way. While Apprentice realm martialists and higher were impossible for Andric to see through, he could identify Novice realm and below martialists. In the tavern with Andric, there were many Human realm martialists and only a few Novice realm martialists. There were no Apprentice realm martialists, but that was also true in the significantly larger town of Einburg. “A boy who hasn’t even been waned off his mother’s teat doesn’t have any place at the battlefield!” a middle-aged man loudly said while leaning back in his chair. “A shitty Human realm brat is only destined to die in a fight between kingdoms!” “I will survive! I will temper my spirit with the flames of battle!” the youth announced. Around the tavern, several patrons laughed at his enthusiasm. Andric raised his head and spoke, “If you think you’re tough, you wouldn’t mind sparring with me, right?” Several heads turned to Andric and watched him, but he didn’t say anything else. Since he arrived in Radegart, he hadn’t spoken to anyone except the employees of the tavern. Although many people had seen him, nobody ever tried talking to him. He usually ate quickly, then went to his room and slept. “Sure, I’ll fight anybody,” the youth agreed, raising a fist. A Novice realm martialist grabbed the youth’s arm and said, while looking at Andric, “Hold on, he’s at the Novice realm.” In the martial world, it wasn’t uncommon for martialists to kill weaker martialists. The martial way was fraught with peril, and death could be had at any moment. The older man worried for the safety of the young man when Andric offered to fight him. “I only want to practice with a new martial technique of mine. Nobody should get hurt too badly,” Andric said. He really had no intention other than to practice the Burning Palm Technique in combat. The young man had lived in Radegart for all his life and worked in the fields with his friends and relatives. In addition to practicing his meditation technique, he also practiced martial arts, which were only slightly inferior to martial techniques. Martial arts couldn’t make flames erupt from one’s hand, but they could allow a martialist to fight without using spirit energy on costly martial techniques. They were difficult to train in, and very few people practiced them. “I’ll fight him! I’ll fight anybody who wants to!” the young man exclaimed and walked closer to Andric. “My name is Farvald, and I challenge you to a martial battle!” “Sit down!” the older man bellowed, shocking many patrons in the tavern. Only the old man and a few others were truly knowledgeable about the martial way, and they knew there was something strange about Andric. It had to be said that Andric was a few months away from turning sixteen, and for him to be at the Novice realm at his age was utterly outstanding. Nobody in the tavern could think of a single person who had entered the Novice realm within a year of turning sixteen except for the descendents of sects or powerful clans. Those descendents were rarely humble people, and they never held back. If Andric permanently injured the young man or killed him, there wouldn’t be anything a small town like Radegart could do to retaliate, unless they wanted their town to be obliterated by Andric’s senior. Andric thought there was nothing wrong with having a friendly spar. He hadn’t lived long enough to see wealthy young masters using the backing of their clan to take whatever they wanted from villages. Allowing Farvald to spar with Andric might incur personal injuries, and having someone else spar with Andric might incur wrath from a powerful entity. “War is no place for a man without the courage to fight a stronger opponent. Here, if you want to flee, you know the terrain well enough to find a place to hide, and you’re surrounded by friends. If you’re on a battlefield and meet a Novice realm soldier, do you think he’s going to allow you to leave just because you’re weaker than him? We should spar, so you can learn the difference between a Human realm martialist and a Novice realm martialist,” Andric calmly explained to Farvald. His words also reached the older man, making him less resolute on not allowing Farvald to fight. “Uncle, let me fight him. I’ll show you that not even a Novice realm martialist can take me down,” the young man said to the older man, but he was less enthusiastic than he was at the start of the conversation. The older man looked at his nephew, then at Andric. He finally sighed and said, “Alright, but don’t let yourself get too hurt.” “Haha, you’ll surely be impressed,” Farvald said, then walked toward the exit of the tavern. Andric drank a gulp from his glass of wine and then followed him. The two of them went into the street in front of the tavern and faced off against each other. They stood about thirty feet apart, which was the standard distance for martial duels. Farvald was energetic, ready to have his first duel to prove himself, and he didn’t even try to go over the rules of the duel with Andric. He hurriedly asked, “When do we start?” “Whenever you’re ready,” Andric replied, and the spirit energy inside his body began to circulate.

A massive sinkhole opened up below the bandit den. All low-stage Novice realm and below martialists were caught in the collapsed. Whoever fell into the hole was crushed or suffocated to death. The Human realm martialists were completely unable to resist the pull of the mud, and they died without the least bit of resistance. The Novice realm martialists were able to resist for a few seconds, but they were either swallowed up by the ground or able to flee to solid ground. Only about twenty bandits remained after Andric’s sinkhole attack. He spent quite some time removing dirt from underneath the bandits’ campsite, and he was rather satisfied with the results. At a later time, he could go search through the rubble in the sinkhole for any valuables the bandits who were swept inside it might’ve had. One of the survivors was Veremund, who leaped over fifty feet in one go and jumped onto a tree branch. Many of the surviving bandits had done the same, but they didn’t jump nearly as high. The remaining survivors backed away from the sinkhole. They hurriedly scanned their surroundings, searching for a clue as to what just happened. Andric silently sneered and watched the actions of the bandits. The sinkhole had killed many of the bandits, and it couldn’t be tied to an entity trying to exterminate them. If Andric had killed the bandits using long-range magic attacks, the bandits would’ve instantly known that someone was attacking them. To keep his presence a secret, Andric could only operate in ways that couldn’t be tied to a person’s actions. The bandits never would’ve thought that someone would create a sinkhole underneath their fortress! “What is this? Outrageous!” Veremund shouted as he looked over the area of destruction that used to be his fortress. The veins on his forehead were bulging, and all of his muscles were ready to be used at any moment. Strangely, Andric could actually feel Veremund’s anger. ‘Is this killing intent?’ he wondered, resisting the urge to shake in fear. Only a few hundred feet away from him, an undeniable source of danger loomed. If Andric was a normal Human realm martialists - and not a reincarnated magician - he would’ve fallen to the ground the moment Veremund’s killing intent washed over him. “Lord Veremund, we should check the mine,” the old man said with an anxious look. His head turned to an area behind where the buildings used to stand, directly at a dimly lit tunnel that led underground. “Right, I’ll check it. You see if there are any survivors in this hole,” Veremund said, and he jumped to the cave in one leap. Andric hadn’t seen the cave when he was monitoring the campsite, and it wasn’t caught in the radius of the sinkhole. Veremund quickly disappeared inside the cave, and the other bandits began to search through the debris in the sinkhole. A few martialists were still alive, but many were crushed to death, and few could hold their breath for long enough to be rescued. Andric waited a few seconds, then made a quick decision. The leader of the bandits had left the rest of the behind, giving Andric a good opportunity to kill all of them. If Andric could kill all of the lesser bandits before the leader came back, he would be able to fight the bandit leader one-on-one. Unfortunately, Andric couldn’t know when exactly the leader would come back, or if he would be able to kill all the lesser bandits in time. A better opportunity might’ve come along, or the opportunity might never come again. He revealed himself from his hiding spot and flew into the air. When in the sky, Andric was visible from a far distance, but he didn’t plan on staying airborne for long. He threw a few spells downward, and they caused the trees surrounding the campsite to grow uncontrollably. Their branches grew hundreds of feet over the course of a few seconds, enveloping the campsite. A giant fence was erected, one hundred feet tall and three feet thick. The trees closed off the campsite from the outside world, trapping the bandits inside. “What’s happening?” a bandit yelled in shock over the massive growth of the trees, and the bandits around him reacted in similar ways. They turned away from the sinkhole to look at the wall of branches around them. Andric had to move quickly. Next, he launched a few spells which would convert the air inside the campsite into poison gas. Novice realm martialists were unable to resist breathing, and Andric’s poison was highly potent. Within a few seconds, all of the martialists who were in the campsite were dead. Once the exposed bandits were dead, Andric’s flew down and landed behind the entrance to the mine. Now, he only needed to wait until Veremund walked out of the mine, or for the poison gas to kill Veremund. Andric had watched Veremund jump fifty feet into the air when ten or fifteen feet would’ve done the trick. After that, Andric guessed that Veremund’s maximum jump height was around fifty feet, and that it wouldn’t exceed one hundred feet. As long as Veremund wasn’t allowed to jump twice, he would be stuck inside Andric’s tree barrier. While Veremund was stuck at the base of the campsite, Andric could comfortably fire off spells from above. The Human realm and Novice realm bandits were killed almost too easily. Human realm martialists were no different from ordinary human beings, and Novice realm martialists were only on the cusp of transcending the limits of humanity. If spoken in numerical terms, Novice realm martialists were equal to two Human realm martialists. A Novice realm martialists could absorb twice as much poison gas before dying, but Andric created many times that amount. Also, because of Andric’s wall of branches, the poison gas didn’t dissipate over time. The poison gas sank into the campsite and slowly mixed with the air inside the mine. A few minutes later, Veremund exited the mine, still flaring killing intent. The second his head emerged from the cave, Andric shot a spell at him. The spell would erupt once it hit Veremund’s head and explode his skull into millions of pieces. One sneak attack would be all it took to kill the leader of the Erfdag bandits. But, at the last fraction of a second before the spell hit Veremund, the Apprentice realm martialists jumped out of the way. He drew his sword from his waist and threw it at the spell, causing it to explode. The spell burst into the sword, but the sword wasn’t a human head, creating a conflict with the thought energy that existed inside the spell. The sword fell to the ground, unaffected by the spell in the slightest. Veremund’s head instantly shifted toward the source of the spell: Andric. It didn’t even take him a second to recognize Andric as a threat, and he immediately jumped up. The strength of an Apprentice realm martialist was more than Andric had expected, and Veremund jumped seventy feet at once. Andric quickly reacted by throwing a few Explosion spells at the trees Veremund was closest to landing on. His spells were much faster than Veremund’s jump, allowing him to successfully blast apart wherever Veremund intended to use as an intermediary for jumping at Andric. With the tree branch he intended to jump on destroyed, Veremund could only fall to the ground. He noticed that he wouldn’t be able to make it all the way to Andric in short time, so he stuck out his fist and released a bolt of lightning from his knuckles. The bolt of lightning caught Andric off guard, and it traveled much too quickly for him to react. Luckily, it was poorly aimed and shot from a distance, and it arced away from Andric before hitting a tree. However, the resulting explosion of wood blasted Andric off his perch and pelted him with fragments of wood and shocked him with tiny sparks. “Ah!” he shouted, feeling pain worse than anything he had felt in his life. He tightly closed one eye and continued to watch Veremund with his other eye. Andric quickly righted himself and flew to another tree branch, but Veremund had reached the ground and retrieved his sword. Andric tossed another few spells, destroying several more trees. Veremund agilely dodged Andric’s spells and punched the base of the tree that Andric was standing on. The tree shook profusely, then cracked where Veremund punched it. With one punch, Veremund felled a one-hundred-year-old tree that stood over one hundred fifty feet tall. Andric used a spell to propel himself to another tree while simultaneously throwing Explosion spells at Veremund. Still, Veremund dodged them. Veremund threw his sword at Andric, and Andric cast a spell to disintegrate it. The sword disappeared in smoke, but Veremund had used the second that Andric’s attention was on the sword to hide behind a tree. Of course, Veremund had no idea that Andric had a spell that could locate his presence, and Andric accurately shot another Explosion spell at Veremund. Veremund seemed to have an ability that allowed him to sense danger. When Andric’s spell entered within ten feet of Veremund, Veremund jumped out of the way and kicked a piece of wood toward Andric’s spell. The wood hit the spell, causing it to detonate. With that kind of tactic, Veremund managed to evade several more spells from Andric. The two of them fought at a stalemate for several minutes. Then, when Andric had grown comfortable with launching spells from above, Veremund used his second martial technique of the fight. He pranced strangely for several steps, then stomped on the ground. With his final step, a massive amount of dirt surged from the muddy ground. The dirt and rocks erupted like a volcano, blasting high enough to hit Andric, if he didn’t flee. Andric saw the incoming dirt and flew higher. He couldn’t go to a different tree. Veremund’s martial technique covered the entire area with mud, making it impossible for Andric to shoot any more spells at Veremund. Only a few seconds after Andric flew into the sky, Veremund emerged from the canopy. He used the blindness caused by the wave of dirt, rocks, and mud to jump up, and his movement put him only a few dozen feet away from Andric. But, in the air, only Andric could freely maneuver his body. Andric used a continuous-type spell to control his flight, so he could only shoot one spell at a time at Veremund. At the same time, Veremund’s martial techniques activated almost instantly, and he didn’t have a constant drain on his mental capacities. Veremund used his Thunder Fist martial technique to shoot a bolt of lightning at Andric, missing him by only a hair. Andric threw his first spell at Veremund, and Veremund threw a tiny piece of metal at the spell. As it was every time before, the spell detonated before reaching its true target, but, this time, Andric added a cloud of black gas into the spell. The cloud of black gas blocked Veremund’s vision, but it also blocked Andric’s vision. Andric moved himself away from Veremund, and Veremund used another Thunder Fist, again missing. The black gas would dissipate quickly, so Andric acted fast. He deactivated his flight spell and used both of his hands to simultaneous shoot spells at Veremund. As Andric fell, to Flesh Eruption spells zigzagged toward Veremund. The flightpath of zigzagging was a complicated one, and Andric could only do it if he didn’t instruct the spell to hone in on his target. But, when Veremund was in the air and could only fall downward, Andric could manually calculate where Veremund would be after half a second from sending out his spells. Andric fell twenty feet, then recast his flight spell and stabilized himself. He turned to watch Veremund exploding into bits, but the two Flesh Eruption spells had already hit and done their damage.

Andric traveled with the merchant caravan for thirty-two days and saw three towns. When the merchant caravan stopped at the third town, Andric was invited by one of the travelers in his wagon to drink wine at a local tavern. At that time, Andric realised he didn’t have any money. The lack of funds was an oversight on his part, and it needed to be dealt with. Staring up into the night sky, Andric contemplated leaving the merchant caravan. If he stayed with the merchant caravan, he could only follow along as it slowly made its way to Mahtzig. Then, he would need to navigate the city to find Uncle Raban and hope he would support him. On the other hand, if Andric separated from the merchant caravan, he would be able to seclude himself in a nearby forest and continue the slow process of opening his meridians. Without anyone nearby to see him using magic, he could provide for himself much better than he could inside a crowded city. Andric’s options were to either take his destiny into his own hands, or to allow his family members to control where he went and what he did. He had never received a letter directly from one of his relatives, and he could safely assume that they shared a similar viewpoint of him as his grandparents. They kept their attitudes pleasant in the letters they address to Alda, but Andric could only truly know when he met them face to face. Andric had other reasons for going on his own, but some of them would be difficult to realize. After he thought of a few good reasons and excuses, he abruptly stood up and walked over to where the wagon driver was resting. “Hello, I think, instead of going all the way to Mahtzig, I’m going to stop here,” Andric said, and the wagon driver raised his head. “I paid fifteen silver coins to travel to Mahtzig, and we’re around two-thirds of the way through. I reckon I’ll take back the last one-thirds worth and stay here.” The wagon driver thought for a moment, then replied, “Nope. You paid for a full trip to Mahtzig, so you’re gonna get a full trip to Mahtzig.” “But, I don’t want to go to Mahtzig,” Andric said, feeling that the wagon driver was being troublesome. “Well, have fun. You paid for a full trip to Mahtzig, and I’m obligated to give you one. If you don’t want to go, that’s on you,” the wagon driver said, completely unabashed. Andric’s face tightened. To him, five silver coins was a lot of money. With it, he could buy food for several weeks, lodging in a town, and various traveling supplies he might need. Because he wouldn’t be taking up anymore space on the wagon driver’s wagon or eating anymore of his food, Andric thought he was entitled to having some of his fair refunded. Unfortunately, there wasn’t anything he could do about the wagon driver who didn’t want to refund him. Andric turned his head to his roll of clothes, then back to the wagon driver. He thought for a few seconds and decided to leave peacefully. He retrieved his baggage and walked away, toward the small maintained forest that was next to the particular town the merchant caravan had stopped at for that night. The town of Handmund was closer to Mahtzig than Einburg, and it had a population of around three thousand residents. The maintained forest for such a large town needed to be quite large, and it was easy to get lost inside it. Coupled with the fact that it was nighttime, Andric easily hid among the sparse trees and minimal undergrowth. He walked several miles out, then sat against the trunk of a large tree. Andric’s planned to leave the area around Handmund, but only before leaving a little gift for the wagon driver. But, first, he needed to wait until everyone in the merchant caravan fell asleep. He sat in the forest for a few minutes, then crafted a spell in his hand. For the effect he wanted, he needed to imbue it with a large amount of mana. After charging it for nearly twenty seconds, he tossed it into the air, and it automatically zoomed toward where Andric’s thought energy indicated it should activate at. The spell flew back to the merchant caravan, rose a few dozen feet above the wagons, and then detonated. Nearly-invisible specs of mana fell onto the wagons, the passengers, and the horses, and the spell’s effects appeared a few seconds later. Rapidly, over the course of less than ten seconds, all the people inside the area of the merchant caravan fell asleep. Martialists were unable to defend against magicians, and magicians were unable to defend against martialists. Only a magician could use Mana Sense to detect a spell being used near them, and only a magician could use a blast of pure mana to counteract a spell. Without any magicians in the merchant caravan, they could do nothing to stop Andric’s spell from activating above their heads. Whether they were inside a closed tent or in the open air, everyone in the vicinity of the merchant caravan was forced to sleep by Andric’s spell. Next, Andric launched a second spell. He wasn’t sure how much a wagon cost, but he estimated it to be worth quite a lot. His second spell was targeted at the wagon driver’s wagon, and it burst into the side of the wooden frame without showing any effect. Of course, this way by design. Andric intended for the spell to wait twenty-one days, then to quickly decompose the wood that the wagon was made from. If it was timed correctly, it would activate when the merchant caravan was only a day or two away from reaching Mahtzig. With that, Andric considered his business with the wagon driver to be finished. The maintained forest outside Handmund was large, but it wasn’t large enough to hide inside during the day, and it was maintained, meaning people would regularly come in to harvest plants. For Andric to have peace and solitude while meditating and opening his meridians, he needed an untamed forest at the border of the kingdom. Andric cast a spell on himself to help him stay awake, then cast a second spell on himself to make him fly. In order to fly, Andric cast a continuous-type spell, which would constantly be supplied mana and thought energy. The only downside to a continuous-type spell was that he needed to have his thoughts concentrated on it and have one hand open at all times. He held his roll of clothes with one hand, wore his straw hat on his head, and held his right hand forward. Using his left hand, he cast a spell to block wind resistance, then ascended. He kept low to the ground and quickly flew away. Using magic to fly was one of the main methods that magicians used to travel. Similarly, martialists also using flying for their main method of transportation, but they used highly advanced martial techniques to do it. Once a martialist reached the Adept realm, the martial techniques they could use became much more diverse, including ones that allowed their users to fly. Andric heard about such martial techniques in Einburg, but nobody in Einburg had ever reached the Apprentice realm, not to mention the next higher realm. Even among the travelers who came to Einburg for one reason or another, none of them were in the Adept realm or higher. Several minutes of flying later, Andric emerged from the forest. He only flew about five feet up from the ground when he was in the forest, and he moved even closer to the ground when he exited it. The plains around Handmund were extensive, but there was always the possibility of some farmer watching their fields at night, or even a random traveler being nearby. The entire way toward his destination, Andric was constantly vigilant. Andric’s biggest worry was encountering a martialist who could fly. In his current state, Andric could flee from low-realm martialists who couldn’t keep up with his flying speed. Andric had never seen a flying martialist, so he didn’t know how fast they would be. He had didn’t know the power level of an Adept realm martialist, so he couldn’t know how his spells compared to their martial techniques. At the present, the safest thing to do was to simply stay hidden. Andric had something he needed to to before going into seclusion. He flew parallel to the road the merchant caravan used, but he went back the way they came. His target was the area where the bandits attacked. He hoped that the bandits would be nearby, and he would be able to steal whatever valuable items they had. Standard trinkets like jewelry were of no interest to Andric. He didn’t have time to find a buyer for jewels or metals, even if they were worth a high price. If anything, he would trade them for the goods he needed. Andric wanted the coins that citizens in Hochland traded with, which he was unable to replicate with magic. Although he could transmute any mass into any other kind of mass, he couldn’t create spirit energy with magic. Coins used in Hochland had spirit energy inside them, making counterfeits impossible to create. In addition to wanting to find money, Andric wanted spirit weapons, spirit armor, and spirit plants. He had heard about many of these things from Instructor Hubert, but he had only seen a few examples of each. Because they were imbued with spirit energy - like the kingdom’s coins - they were much more durable than normal metal. Spirit plants were valuable in another fashion, and he could be used to create pills that increased the spirit energy inside a martialist’s body. There were many things Andric wanted to explore, but his resources were too limited. He had no martial techniques or pill recipes, and he didn’t know how spirit tools were made or how spirit plants were grown. He didn’t have a single coin to his name, and he had no backers who could fund his research. Andric had many ways to earn money, but most of them would earn him the attention of martialists. He could use his magic to create gold, but someone would eventually investigate him. His only safe method was to earn money through legitimate means where nobody would see him use magic - or survive long enough to tell anyone about it. Massacring a bandit troupe and stealing their loot was the best option Andric could think of. At daybreak, Andric touched down and stopped flying. He couldn’t risk being seen, and the chances of being seen were much higher during the day. He walked against the side of the road, hoping someone would see him and try to rob him. He wouldn’t break his morals by robbing innocent civilians, but he had no problem against killing and stealing from someone who wanted to rob him. To sweeten the bait, Andric used magic to create a shiny golden ring for his finger. He hoped the ring would catch the attention of bandits hiding in the forest, and they would be more likely to attack him despite his overall poor appearance. After a short period of time, Andric subconsciously grinned, looking forward to the moment when he would bring bloodshed to the world once again.

Andric continued down the road, but he presumptively cast a defensive spell on his body. The spell would break after being hit with one projectile, but Andric was confident in it being able to stop a crossbow bolt or a powerful arrow. With his defense spell, he wouldn’t be instantly killed by a bandit shooting him from inside the forest. The pile of dead bodies scared Andric. At the same time, he couldn’t believe what he was getting frightened over. It was only six bodies; he had seen - and caused - much worse in the previous life. Still, every time he remembered the partially decomposed bodies, he shivered. ‘Fifteen years of peace has made me weak,’ he thought. His time in Einburg had made him value human life, and he wanted to change that. He still wore his plain clothes and golden ring. As evening grew closer, Andric slid his straw hat onto his back and continued walking. After a few hours, he stopped at the side of the road to replenish his energy, then kept going. At night, Andric used a spell to supplement his need for sleep, then used another spell to fly into the forest. A continuous-type spell kept him flying, another spell raised a barrier around him to prevent air resistance from affecting him, a third spell eliminated noise around him, and his last spell detected nearby lines of sight. The third spell made it so Andric couldn’t hear anything, but he didn’t need his hearing when he had the fourth spell. Andric operated under the cover of darkness. He moved very quickly, and he cast his detection spell every few seconds. If nobody was looking at him, he could also rely on himself seeing those who were around him. There were other detection spells Andric could use to quickly find someone, but he had no way to know if the person he found was a real bandit or an innocent traveler, or if they were five miles away or five hundred miles away. Instead, he opted to travel at night and troll during the day. Andric didn’t need to fly for long. Only a few hours after he began flying inside the forest, his eyesight detection spell shot out four rays of light. Andric quickly followed the rays of light, and they led him to a small clearing deeper within the forest. At the clearing, ten-or-so bandits were standing around a smoking fire pit. The fire pit was dug so that the flame’s light wouldn’t get out, and Andric could only see it when he was much closer. He landed a few dozen feet away from the bandits and canceled his spells. “What is this red light?” a bandit asked, patting his clothes. Andric’s eyesight detection spell surrounded several of the bandits with red glows, but there were several others who didn’t have red glows around them. “You must’ve been marked by whatever you saw. What I don’t understand is why it marked your four but nobody else,” one of the bandits without a red glow said. He was under the impression that his fellow bandits had seen a beast in the forest, and that beast had somehow targeted them. Several of the bandits raised their weapons and looked into the forest, but none of them could see Andric. The red rays of light had temporarily blinded the bandits who were looking in Andric’s direction, and he was able to use that moment to hide. While leaning against a thick tree, he cast a spell on himself, making his body invisible. The spell cost a lot of mana, and it would deactivate for minor reasons, but it would work fine as long as he stayed still. Andric couldn’t personally determine what martial realm the bandits around the tree from him were at, but he had heard in the merchant caravan that most bandits were at the Human realm or Novice realm. If there was an Apprentice realm bandit, they were likely the leader of a large group and wouldn’t be in the middle of the forest with only a few underlings. “I told you we should’ve gone back to the fort. If we have to fight some territorial spirit beast, I’m making you go first,” one of the bandits said while angrily staring at a fellow bandit. “This red light is probably some kind of killing intent. If a spirit beast is able to mark its prey with killing intent, we’ll all need to fight it, together,” the leader of the bandits said, looking in the direction that Andric was originally spotted. Just by the sound of his voice, Andric could tell that he was much older than the bandits who had already spoken. Andric ran through a few simulations in his mind, then decided on a plan of attack. He formed a spell in his hand, then tossed it aside. It flew toward the gaggle of bandits and burst while in their midst, sending mana out for several yards. When the spell burst, a strong suction force appeared at the center of the group of bandits. The suction forced pulled up the fire, the stones around it, and most of the dirt on the ground. It pulled heavier and further objects, including sticks, stones, and a fallen log. Finally, it pulled in the bandits who were watching the strange scene. None of them had ever seen magic in their life, but they knew about martial techniques. However, they had never seen something with the effect of Andric’s spell, and they were too slow to react to it. Of the ten-or-so bandits that were standing around the fire, nine of them were taken in by the suction force. The suction force continued to pull the bandits toward its center, regardless of how much mass had already been pulled in. The bandits tried pushing away from the force, but they were unable to overcome the power of Andric’s spell. The weaker ones were the first to fall, as their flesh and bones were broken and molded around the suction force. Andric didn’t know exactly how strong his spell was, compared to martialists, but it had enough power to kill an ordinary human, and all Human realm martialists were unable to escape it. After ten agonizing seconds, the suction force died down, and a bolder made from foliage, dirt, and crushed human bodies fell to the ground. Now that the suction force was gone, the blood from the human bodies could flow out, and a thick stench of it filled the nearby air. “What?” the bandit leader shouted and backed up. He survived thanks to his cultivation, and he looked over the other survivors. Besides him, there were only two others left. One was at the Novice realm, like himself, and the other was at the Human realm but was standing outside the spell’s range. Andric walked out of the cover of the tree he was hiding behind, and his invisibility spell broke. He looked at the surviving bandits, then at the ball of gore between them. He raised his hands and flung casual spell from them, which zoomed toward their targets. He made a third spell and targeted the last bandit. The two Novice realm bandits saw Andric’s spells and attempted to dodge them, but Andric’s spells turned mid-flight and still hit them. The Human realm bandit was too slow, and he was hit outright. All three of them suffered their head popping off, followed by a torrential outflow of blood. ‘Damn, I need to do this a little cleaner,’ Andric thought as he watched the three spouts of blood shooting into the air. The bodies fell over a second later, and the forest was quiet except for a gentle sound of flowing liquid. Andric cast an eyesight detecting spell, determined the coast was clear, and started to loot the bodies. Ordinarily, Andric would’ve felt around the bandits’ clothes for anything valuable, but he didn’t have the stomach to do so with the bandits who were integrated with the sphere of rubble. Instead, he cast a spell into the air. The spell activated in the area around Andric, and it disintegrated everything around him that was below a certain density. Dirt, wood, plants, clothes, and flesh were all disintegrated. They blew away like smoke, leaving only rock and metal behind. Various weapons, armor pieces, and valuables dropped from where corpses used to be. Once they were separated from their owner, Andric cast a light spell above him and collected the spoils. Andric picked up a hefty amount of silver, copper, and jewelry. From killing nearly a dozen bandits, he had more than he could fit in his pockets, so he had to unroll his roll of clothes and put the coins and jewelry inside his extra pair of shoes. He didn’t like any of the armor the bandits had worn, but he did find the sword the leader of the bandits used to be attractive, so he switched out his old sword for the bandit leader’s. Andric didn’t know very much about swords, but he didn’t need to choose his sword based on its killing ability. He looked for one with a better appearance, and those with fancier appearances tended to be better swords. Unless the sword was a spirit weapon, Andric could create a better one with his magic. Andric analyzed the sword in his hand for a few seconds, but he didn’t have any way to determine if a sword was actually a spirit sword. In the end, he took it solely because of its looks. Andric couldn’t guess how many coins the jewelry he acquired would be worth, but he could count the number of coins be picked up from the bandit corpses. In total, he had more than fifty silver coins and a few hundred copper coins. The copper coins were a bit heavy, but he placed them in a shoe in his roll of clothes, making them easier to carry. Only about twenty-five hours had passed since Andric left the merchant caravan, and he already had more than triple the amount of coins that were paid for his fare. Now, the few coins he could’ve gotten from the wagon driver seemed like nothing. For a second, he felt bad about destroying the wagon driver’s wagon in a few weeks, but he didn’t allow himself to get too beat up about it. After all, the wagon driver still deserved it, no matter what kind of fortune Andric encountered afterward. Andric checked around for any loot that he might’ve missed, then deactivated his light spell and walked away. From the tiny amount of conversation he had heard, the bandits were close enough to their main base to make an argument for traveling there before the night fully set in. If so, the base couldn’t be too far, especially if Andric was using the superior traveling method of flight. To the bandits, the base might’ve been a couple hours away, but it would only be a few minutes away for Andric. He paced back and forth a few times, then cast a spell to detect nearby humans. He was prepared for ambiguous results, but the reaction from the spell indicated that a large group of people were in one direction, and there was nobody in the other directions. Either the spell had found a settlement, or had it found the base of the bandits. Andric began to fly, then headed toward where his spell said a large amount of people were at. He stayed low, flew quickly, and nullified all the sound his fight created. His invisibility spell couldn’t be used due to its high level of volatility, but he could use a different spell to cover his body with a shadow. He flew like a hawk, silent in the night, zeroing in on its prey.

After four days of sitting in bed and meditating with the Standing Tortoise Manual, Andric felt a surge of energy pulse through his body. In a split second, the spirit energy inside him became more powerful, and it flowed quicker. He knew he had reached the third stage of the Human realm. For ordinary townspeople of Einburg, the first stage of the Human realm required between two and six months to reach. Then, the second stage of the Human realm required between four and twelve months to reach. After that, the third stage of the Human realm would require between eight and twenty-four months to reach. In the history of Einburg, none of the natives had reached the third stage of the Human realm in under a year, but Andric had done so in less than a month. Andric thought for a long time about the fight between him and the four boys. If he was stronger, he could’ve protected himself, but then Audovacar would just need to bring stronger reinforcements. One of Audovacar’s older brothers was at the fifth stage of the Human realm, and he had strength equal to what Andric might have at the seventh stage of the Human realm. Clearly, Andric needed to get stronger, faster. At his current speed, he might only advance one more stage before leaving Einburg. If he couldn’t even protect himself from four youths, there was no way he would be able to protect himself from the dangers of the outside world. For a long while, Andric thought about how to make himself stronger, quicker. The next day, Andric laid in his bed, using Spirit Sense to envision the meridians inside his body. At the moment, he could only ‘see’ his heart-lung meridian and his lung-diaphragm meridian. The pathways continued past the meridian points, but they were clogged with debris, and Andric couldn’t see the meridians that were supposedly at the ends. Meridians were something Andric hadn’t seen in his previous life. Although Andric had destroyed and rebuild his body in his previous life several times, he had never discovered meridians or spirit energy. As a test, Andric cut off his left arm and disintegrated it, then grew himself a new one. When the new arm grew back, Andric couldn’t sense any meridians inside. Andric thought back to when Instructor Hubert opened his meridians. Each time, Instructor Hubert stabbed Andric’s body with his finger, then sent out a pulse of spirit energy. The spirit energy invaded Andric’s body, disrupted the clogged meridians, and dissipated. A few hours afterwards, Andric’s meridians were clear. The process was similar to unclogging a pipe using a stick, except Instructor Hubert never retracted the stick. Andric tried stabbing himself above one of his clogged meridian pathways, but he couldn’t release any spirit energy. He tried surging the spirit energy inside his body toward the clogged meridian, but nothing resulted from his efforts. After those failures, he tried combining the procedures. He pressed down on his meridian pathway while flooding that area of his body with spirit energy. Again, nothing beneficial happened. After a while, Andric began to think that he couldn’t unblock his own meridians because the debris inside his meridians wouldn’t react to his own spirit energy. He theorized that a separate party needed to use their spirit energy to unlock his meridians. If so, it would support the explanation that martialist needed to fight to open their meridians. If it was possible to open their own meridians, martialists would constantly be engaging in self-harm. Andric’s magic regrew his limb to the exact state it was in before he disintegrated it. Even his spirit energy existed inside it, thoroughly puzzling Andric. He tried moving his spirit energy with a separate spell, but no effect was realized when the spell hit his arm. When using spells, an effect could fail to realize if there wasn’t enough mana or thought energy, and Andric knew this, so he tried again while overloading the spell with mana and thought energy. The results were identical. For a few more days, Andric did nothing except test the properties of his spirit energy. He learned several things. Firstly, his spirit energy didn’t regrow with his lost limbs. Actually, his spirit energy was entering the new limb at a rate that Andric almost couldn’t see. When he purposefully concentrated his spirit energy in his right hand, he could see a deficit in his newly created left arm. At the same time, Andric also learned that he couldn’t move all the spirit energy inside his body. Although he could move the majority of it, a tiny amount stayed behind. This tiny amount became more apparent when Andric compared the spirit energy contents of his shoulder and his arm when he regrew his arm. After his arm was regrown, spirit energy flowed into it, and Andric lost a tiny amount that was gathered inside his right hand. Over time, Andric lost more and more spirit energy, and he needed to enter a state of meditation to replenish it. Secondly, Andric learned how to sense the locations of his meridians and the pathways between them. When he regrew his limbs, his spirit energy would flood into them, but the spirit energy couldn’t enter the areas where his meridians were clogged. Andric took a huge risk and cut out his flesh around his lung-diaphragm meridian, then regrew the area, and the new lung-diaphragm meridian was as clear as the old one. Andric repeatedly cut away his flesh and grew it back, and he eventually learned the locations of his meridians. The system of meridians inside the human body consisted of twenty-four major meridians and thirty-six minor meridians. The thirty-six minor meridians were spread throughout his body, and they were only notable as being larger than meridian pathways but smaller than major meridians. The twenty-four major meridians included the heart-lung meridian, the lung-heart meridian, the lung-diaphragm meridian, the diaphragm-lung meridian, the heart-diaphragm meridian, the lung-lung meridian, the heart-brain meridian, the lung-brain meridian, the diaphragm-liver meridian, the diaphragm-stomach meridian, the liver-stomach meridian, the liver-gallbladder meridian, the liver-kidney meridian, the stomach-pancreas meridian, the stomach-kidney meridian, the gallbladder-kidney meridian, the pancreas-kidney meridian, the kidney-kidney meridian, the liver-intestine meridian, the stomach-intestine meridian, the gallbladder-intestine meridian, the pancreas-intestine meridian, the kidney-intestine meridian, and the intestine-intestine meridian. A few more days passed while Andric repeatedly destroyed and regrew his body. His magic prevented him from feeling any pain, and he had already removed any emotional attachment toward his body since long ago. If any martialist saw the lengths Andric went to during his experiments, they would go pale. In the history of the martial way, no martialist had ever destroyed and rebuilt their body so many times. Although it wasn’t impossible to regrow entire bodies with certain martial techniques, it wasn’t easy, and it certainly wasn’t pleasant. Andric went to great lengths for small discoveries, because the chance of finding a large discovery was non-zero. As long as there was a chance, Andric was willing to pay the price. Andric’s spirit energy reached the third stage of the Human realm long ago, and it wouldn’t drop to the second stage of the Human realm outside of unusual circumstances. Unfortunately for him, repeatedly disintegrating his limbs and regrowing them was a very strange circumstance, and his stage did drop by one. Nonetheless, in a few days time, he increased it back to Human realm third stage. From then on, he always replenished his spirit energy to full before cutting something off. The gap between Human realm second stage and Human realm third stage wasn’t large, but Andric could feel a huge change whenever his stage switched between the two. Losing a stage was like coming down with a cold, and gaining a stage was like dropping a weight. In some ways, the power gain was addicting. Andric could see why some martialist would sell everything they owned to have just a chance at increasing their stage. A little over two weeks passed, and Andric made an enormous discovery. He found, when he disintegrated his unclogged lung-diaphragm meridian and the connecting diaphragm-lung meridian and then regrew them, the pathway toward the diaphragm-lung meridian would become slightly unclogged. The unclogging effect wasn’t anywhere near the level that Instructor Hubert’s spirit energy attacks could invoke, but it was noticeable after half a dozen repetitions. Andric estimated that it would only take him a few thousand repetitions to fully unclog the diaphragm-lung meridian. Only a few days remained until the next merchant caravan arrived in Einburg, but Andric was on the cusp of a great martial way discovery. He hypothesised that his spirit energy filling his unclogged lung-diaphragm meridian and rushing through the meridian pathway toward the clogged diaphragm-lung meridian was causing the slight amounts of debris to dislodge, and he devoted his last few days in Einburg to confirming the hypothesis. The first step was to gather his spirit energy above his right lung. He placed it near his shoulder, where only a minimal amount would be affected by the next step. The second step was to disintegrate his flesh under his heart, against his diaphragm, and between his left and right lungs. He used a spell to temporarily supplement his need for those organs, so it wouldn’t matter even if he removed them entirely. His body stopped breathing, but the mana inside his spell converted into oxygen, which then spread throughout his body. He completely suppressed his urge to breathe, and he continued with the next step. The third step and fourth step needed to happen in quick succession, allowing as little time between them as possible. For the third step, Andric regrew the flesh he had previously disintegrated. Pieces of his lungs and diaphragm grew back, along with the meridians that covered them. The next instant, for the fourth step, Andric released the spirit energy he had gathered near his right shoulder. The released spirit energy rushed to fill the void that was his lung-diaphragm meridian. It entered the open cavity, then continued to flow until it hit a barrier. The meridians and meridian pathways were like lakes and rivers. As water flowed from the raging river into the empty lake, it couldn’t help but pick up sediment along the way. When the spirit energy hit the clogged diaphragm-lung meridian, the spirit energy rammed into the debris that clogged it. Once the debris were moved, they dissipated, and the meridian pathway toward the diaphragm-lung meridian from the lung-diaphragm meridian became slightly unclogged. The process of unclogging a meridian pathway by a thousandth of a percent required for the entire meridian pathway to become unclogged took under a minute. By spending every minute of the day working on unclogging his meridians, Andric theorized that he could unclog one or two major meridians per day. Andric tested his theory for two days straight. During that time, he refused meals from Alda and stayed laying in his bed, continuously. In the end, he found that the debris closer to the meridian were more compact than the debris further away from it, and the amount of debris removed with each destruction-regrowth cycle lowered each time. In a full fifty hours, Andric only managed to reach four-fifths of the way toward his diaphragm-lung meridian, and he estimated that one day more day would be all he needed. But, right as his third open meridian seemed in reach, Andric stopped. He considered his actions, and he reminded himself of where he was. If Instructor Hubert used his Spirit Sight on Andric, he could potentially see Andric’s newly opened meridian, and Andric didn’t want him to ask any questions. With only two days until the merchant caravan arrived, Andric put an end to his experiments.

Andric flew through the forest until he saw light coming from ahead of him. He quickly stopped and landed on the ground, then cast an invisibility spell on himself. He watched the area around the light for a few minutes, and he constantly noticed more things about the area in front of him. The light came from many tiny fires placed throughout a wide area. Some were on the forest floor, but some were in the trees. Eventually, Andric also noticed the humans standing in the trees, and the complex array of branches they used to move around on. From what Andric could see without making any movements himself, there were roughly fifty bandits patrolling the outer rim of their fortress. Past the scouts who were in the trees, there were several buildings and tents. The tents were large and draped over long branches, while the buildings were thin and tall. Lights inside the tents cast shadows on the cloth, but Andric couldn’t make out how many people were inside the tents. He guessed that anywhere from an equal amount to four times the amount of the people who were in the trees were inside the fortress. Actually, fortress wasn’t a good name for it. A campsite would be more accurate. There were no sturdy walls. There were no mounted weapons. Due to the density of the trees around the area, there wasn’t enough space for a wagon to make it all the way into the campsite area. If someone attacked the campsite, they would have a difficult time arriving on a horse, negating the benefits of a cavalry charge. The bandits had an array of branches giving them increased mobility in the trees, making them far more maneuverable than anyone who didn’t know the area. Andric frowned while thinking of how to attack the campsite. He could try bombarding them with powerful magic, but he couldn’t be sure that there were no powerful martialists who would be immune to his spells. In that was the case, he would need to kill them before they noticed his presence and brought up their defenses. The more Andric thought about his plan of attack, the less certain of it he became. If it was the past, when there were no martialists, he could simply throw out a few spell and pick off the survivors. However, in the new age, a single powerful martialist could kill him with only a few moves. If he didn’t kill the power martialist with the first strike, he would only have a few seconds to escape. The problem with using excessively powerful spells was that Andric didn’t want to damage the loot that the bandits might be carrying or have stored away. In the campsite he was at previously, all the loot that wasn’t made of metal was disintegrated. Even before that, most of the non-metal loot was torn apart and deformed. The swords of the bandits who were trapped in the Gravity Bomb were all twisted into unusable shapes by the attraction force. Andric thought for a while longer, then settled on one idea: poison. Through time immemorial, poison had taken the lives of thousands of ‘untouchable’ opponents. Whether it was placed in food or water, coated on a blade, or applied to a surface, poison was the method that weak people used to kill strong people. Andric’s only question was how to affect everyone in the campsite with the poison. The first and most obvious thought would be to poison the air. Indeed, Andric knew dozens of colorless and odorless airborne poisons that could incapacitate a man in three seconds flat. However, Andric didn’t know how those poisons would fare against a martialists. Also, if the martialists was inside a closed building, the poison wouldn’t be able to reach him. The next though was to poison the water. Andric only knew that Novice realm martialsts still needed to eat and drink, but he didn’t know about Apprentice realm martialists or higher. If they didn’t drink water, they wouldn’t encounter Andric’s poison. Although Andric knew a few waterborne poisons that were much stronger than the airborne poisons he knew, they weren’t anything if they weren’t ingested by their targets. Andric resisted pacing while he continued to think. Even if he couldn’t poison their bodies, he could still poison their minds. He decided upon his plan, then slowly backed away from the campsite and disappeared into the forest. A few hours later, a heavy rainstorm rolled in above the campsite. Rain poured down relentlessly, putting out many of the fires that illuminated the campsite. The bandits patrolling from the trees were the most effected, but the bandits inside the tents and buildings were only minorly inconvenienced. Time passed, and morning came. The storm showed no signs of relenting. Eventually, a few bandits asked, “What’s going on with this rain?” but nobody had an answer. At noon, the rain was still as heavy as it was during the night. The dark clouds went on for miles, but none of the bandits scouted far enough to know that the rain suddenly stopped only about five hundred feet from their campsite. That evening, before the sun had fully set, a group of ten bandits left the campsite. They wore thick cloaks to protect themselves from the rain, and they carried crossbows along with their swords. Andric watched the group leaving and grinned. At last, less than a day after he began his assault on the bandit campsite, his first group of prey were leaving the safety of the nest. Andric followed the small group of bandits for a short while, then cast ten spells from behind them. The ten spells morphed into giant icicles, which then accelerated to ludicrous speeds. The icicles pierced the back of each bandits’ head, killing them instantly. In the blink of an eye, ten bandits were killed. After killing the bandits, Andric jumped to their position and checked their clothes. None of their weapons or armor interested him, but they did have a few coins and pieces of jewelry. He didn’t understand why the bandits were carrying jewelry with them when they were supposedly going to rob someone of their jewelry, but he didn’t look into it. The loot from this group of bandits was the same as the loot from the previous group of bandits. They increased Andric’s coin total to nearly one hundred silver coins, and the amount of copper coins he had was enough to make it the rest of the way. One hundred copper coins were worth one silver coin, and one hundred silver coins were worth one gold coin. With all of Andric’s funds added together, he had one gold coin. Andric reinforced the rain spell that hovered above the bandit campsite, then returned to his position of vigilance, waiting for more bandits to leave the campsite. He watched continuously, for over ten hours, just to catch ten bandits coming from the campsite. But, he knew that the frequency of bandits leaving the campsite would only increase. Eventually, more and more would want to resume their banditry, or their leader might want to mount an expedition. If Andric was lucky, the leader of the bandits would come out commanding his subordinates, making him easily identifiable. Over the course of the next few hours, several groups of bandits left the campsite. Some of the groups only had two members, and the largest ones had ten. At midnight, the last group had gone out, and nearly eighty bandits had been killed by Andric. Like the groups before them, they were instantly killed by Andric’s icicles, and their bodies were disposed of a short distance away. By the time morning broke and none of the groups of bandits who left the campsite had come back, some of the bandits inside the campside were growing nervous. This didn’t both Andric, because there was a large gap between bandits mysteriously going missing and a powerful magician killing them. At the moment, none of the bandits in the campsite knew that their opponent was merely a single magician. At dusk of that day, almost the entire campsite was in uproar. The missing bandit groups were essentially confirmed deceased at that point, since it would be ridiculous for not even a single one to return after a full day. The groups that had left, which were supposed to be hunting for food, should’ve come back before morning. As more uneasiness spread through the bandit troupe, an apparent figurehead needed to calm the outfit. The old man walked out of a stone building and jumped cleaning onto the roof, showing off his high-stage Novice realm martialist abilities. The moment he stepped out of the building, the noise around the campsite lessened, and the campsite went entirely silent when he jumped onto the roof. “Men of Erfdag, what is this notion of missing patrols? Do any of you need to be told what has happened to the fellows who’ve left and not returned?” The old man’s aged voice spread clearly across the campsite, even through the loud rain. Andric could hear him from a distance away, and he began to wonder if the old man was the leader of the bandits. If he was, his age was outside Andric’s expectations. The old man continued, “We don’t choose this life because it’s an easy one. We all know what could happen when we leave the fortress. There’s always a chance of never returning. But, more importantly, there’s a chance to show those alboche who the real men are!” The old man’s words were met with cheers. Among the bandits who called the campsite - the fortress - their home, none of them were upstanding citizens. They were the downtrodden, the abandoned, the oppressed. Few of them were born into their way of life. “They didn’t want us their cities! They didn’t want us in their sects! They didn’t want us, then, so now they’ve got us, now! Are we going to let him getting away with this, or are we going to go out and slaughter them?” the old man asked, questioning all the men around him. Again, his words were met with thunderous praise. Then, after the old man finished speaking, a younger man appeared at the entrance to the building. The younger man had a chiseled face and thick arms, and each of his eyes showed a disinterested gaze. His looked over the crowd of bandits that had assembled in front of his building, but his expression didn’t change in the least. “Veremund…” “Veremund.” “Veremund!” A chant echoed throughout the campsite, combining the voices of nearly two hundred bandits into one. They repeated the name of their leader. Andric trained his eyes on the man who most recently walked out of the building, but he couldn’t see very much from where he stood. In order to make sure nobody patrolling the campsite saw him, he was quite a distance away. Andric memorized a few features of the man supposedly named Veremund, then cast a spell on the ground. The spell traveled through the dirt, making its way toward the campsite. When it reached its destination, it exploded while still underground. The explosion of mana had no effect on the campsite or the people inside it, but it did affect a spell that Andric had setup a while ago. The secondary spell activating, and a massive crater opened up beneath the campsite. All of the buildings and tents were sucked side, and only a few capable martialists were able to escape. Hundreds of martialists fell into the muddy hole and were unable to pull themselves out of the sludge.

Andric heard the conversation between his mother and the townspeople, but he never left the second of the house. He stayed in his room, listening intently to whatever Alda said. In the end, only her opinion really mattered, but it was unfortunate that she was so easily swayed. In his heart, Andric wondered if Alda actually wanted him to leave before the townspeople said anything about it, but she hadn't ever brought up the topic before. The townspeople departed, and Alda returned to the sitting room with her parents to discuss a few things. Once they finished their talking, Alda headed upstairs, to Andric’s room. Andric heard her movement, and he sat on his bed, removing all expressions from his face. “Did you hear what we were talking about?” Alda leaned through the doorway to Andric’s room and asked. She felt ready to speak to Andric when she was at the bottom of the stairs, but, standing in the doorway, she suddenly felt apprehensive. She gave birth to Andric and raised him for fifteen years, and now she was going to ask him to leave his home; it wasn’t something she had ever done before, and it made her uncomfortable. “Yes,” Andric replied, not looking at his mother. His voice was solemn, precisely because he knew the topic was something that needed to be treated carefully. Although being kicked out of the town wasn’t the end of the world, it was the end of a peaceful stretch of time. Once he left the safety of Einburg, Andric would need to fend for himself in the age of martialists. “We think it would be good for you to go to Mahtzig. The capital is large and prosperous, and you’ll be able to quickly find a job and provide for yourself. It’s better than staying in this tiny town, right?” Alda said, ending with a half-hearted smile. When she was younger, she had been eager to leave Einburg and explore the world, but there was no doubt that her short journey had ended in a terrible way. The more Alda spoke, the more uneasy she appeared. When talking to Andric, the notion of him leaving the town seemed much more real than when she had talked to the townspeople or her parents. She gradually understood that Andric leaving the town would mean him leaving her protecting, and that frightened her. Even after fifteen years, she still viewed Andric as a delicate child. Andric looked up at his mother, then down at his hands. His progress in the Standing Tortoise Manual filled him with the strength of a Human realm second stage martialist, but it wasn’t anywhere near enough to survive in the world. If he wanted to completely alleviate Alda’s concerns, he would need to show her his magic. Alas, Andric vowed to not use his magic lightly, and easing Alda’s heart was not something he wanted to risk being exposed as a magician over. Alda sat next to Andric on his bed, and he said to her, “If it’s what you want, I won’t mind it.” After Andric’s words, Alda reached over and hugged him, and they remained silent for a few minutes. They were both thinking about seperate things, and neither seemed like something they wanted to tell the other person. The most important thing to Alda was stability. She needed Andric to be safe, but she also needed to relieve the tension between Andric and the townspeople. Keeping Andric in Einburg would keep him safe from some external factions, but internal factions were growing more hostile by the year. Very few people in Einburg treated Andric with the respect that every human deserved, and that made his future in Einburg uncertain. If he left, he would have a clean slate wherever he went to. Alda knew she was sending Andric away for his own good, but she didn’t know how to say it without sounding like a harsh mother. Andric, meanwhile, was thinking of how he would deal with opponents who crossed him. In kingdoms like Hochland, there were typically three dangerous areas: borders, untamed wilderness, and cities. If he was in the wilderness, it would probably be fine to use magic, but, if he was in a place with people living there, it would be unsafe to use magic. In the end, Andric’s restricting factors were which methods he could use to defeat his enemies. It would never occur to Alda that her son was thinking of ways to kill people. A journey of a thousand miles started with one step. Without saying anything else, Alda stood up and left the room, and Andric’s fate was sealed. For the rest of the week, Alda talked with Andric about the world outside Einburg, and Alda’s parents coordinated with the other townspeople to get enough silver coins to pay for Andric’s trip. Joining a merchant caravan from Einburg to Mahtzig could cost between ten and thirty silver: a sum which could easily be assembled by the number of families who were supportive of Andric leaving the town. While Alda’s parents and the townspeople were busy preparing for Andric to leave, the man himself was in his bedroom, practicing and memorizing the Standing Tortoise Manual, which he did not plan to bring with him. The meditation technique had been given to him for free, and its non-consumable nature made it an object he should give back once he was finished with. The information inside the Standing Tortoise Manual was needlessly wordy and obfuscated. Andric spent a great deal of time simplifying the manual, especially the second and third ranks, which would become useful if he reached the Novice and Apprentice realms of the martial way. With the Standing Tortoise Manual memorized, Andric went to Instructor Hubert and asked him questions about things he didn’t understand. Unfortunately, although Instructor Hubert possessed the rare ability called Spirit Sight, he wasn’t very accomplished in the martial way. Most of Andric’s question had no answer, and the rest only had guesses or estimations. At the end of the week, the town receives news of when the next caravan would arrive: twenty-seven days. After being informed of the number of days, Andric felt like his hasty preparation was for nothing. With twenty-seven days remaining until he needed to leave, Andric had plenty of time to continue his cultivation. At the same time, twenty-seven days was enough time for the town youths to give their last efforts in aggravating Andric. “If Andric doesn’t know how to fight, how is he going to protect himself?” a town youth said to the group of youths who stood outside Instructor Hubert’s classroom after the lesson ended. He was a part of Audovacar’s group, and he was among the few that understood what Andric had insinuated during their last encounter. “Hagano is right. We should all try to help him,” Audovacar agreed, responding as if he knew what Hagano was going to say before he spoke it. Twenty-or-so youths stood around where Audovacar and his gang intercepted Andric outside the classroom. The onlookers were students of varying ages, but all were younger than sixteen. The older youths persuaded the younger youths to stick around and watch. As the youths became younger, they had less strong opinions about Andric, but the influence from fellow townspeople had still affected them. Although none of the youths in the crowd were obscenely hostile toward him, none of them were friendly with him. Andric was surrounded, and he needed to respond. “If you want to exchange pointers, do it with your little brothers,” he said and walked to the side of Audovacar’s group, but Audovacar’s group moved to block him. “But, our little brothers aren’t leaving the town in twenty-seven days!” Audovacar refuted. Out of the five youths from every age who survived to adulthood, one or two would leave the town. There were opportunities happening all across Hochland, and one only needed to go out and seize them. Of course, one needed the proper background and preparations, but even a farmer from Einburg could seek a fortune in Mahtzig. Alda’s oldest brother had left Einburg with one of his friends, and the rest of her brothers left by following their oldest brother. Of the several of them, they had all been at least eighteen. “Who says they need to be leaving the town? If you want to spar, it should with someone at your own level, like Alfbern,” Andric said and pointed to a seven-year-old child in the crowd. This made Alfbern step back as Audovacar and his group looked in his direction. Needless to say, Audovacar did not appreciate being compared to a seven-year-old who hadn’t even reached the second stage of the Human realm. Out of all the townspeople in Einburg, Andric knew about two hundred names. Those included people he was friendly with, people he was hostile with, and the people he interacted with every day. The seven-year-old child Andric named was actually the son of one of the town guards, and his father had taught him many fighting techniques. Because of Alfbern’s young age, opening meridians in his body would be dangerous, so he couldn’t start practicing a meditation technique or learning martial techniques. “Andric, if you can take five moves from me, I’ll concede that you don’t need any exchange of pointers,” Audovacar offered, turning back to Andric. Five moves sounded short, but it was actually very long! In battles between martialists, a single well-executed martial technique could mean victory. Andric hadn’t been able to learn any martial techniques, but Audovacar knew the Ground Plowing Stomp. Between a Human realm second stage martialist without any martial techniques and a Human realm second stage martialist with a single martial technique, one of them held an obvious advantage. “What’s the point of your concession if we’ve already fought?” Andric raised his hands to chest-height and asked. He sensed Audovacar getting angry, and he prepared to receive an attack at any moment. The townspeople of Einburg were easy to read, especially the youths. If it was Andric from his previous life, he would’ve never allowed someone to talk to him or about him the way the townspeople did. In his new life, he had more important things to worry about than his pride and dignity. Even though he would be leaving Einburg in less than a month, he still couldn’t do whatever he wanted. If possible, Andric wanted to resolve all conflicts peacefully. “Hey, what are you all doing here?” a female voice asked from outside the crowd, and Andric looked over to see Miss Erminhilt looking angrily over the youths who had gathered around Andric and Audovacar. “Ah, Miss Erminhilt, we weren’t doing anything,” a youth quickly replied. In the whole of Einburg, none of the boys wanted to be on Miss Erminhilt’s bad side. Not only was Miss Erminhilt a rare beauty, but she was also unspoken for. “We were just having fun!” a boy from Audovacar’s group said. Even between Audovacar and his followers, if Miss Erminhilt came between them, the majority would go to Miss Erminhilt’s side. In Einburg, there wasn’t a single adolescent male who didn’t have infatuated feelings for Miss Erminhilt! In their small town, there weren’t nearly enough ladies for the boys to ogle, but Miss Erminhilt was one of them! In another life, Miss Erminhilt could’ve been a prominent consort, but she happened to be born in Einburg. She had no husband at nineteen-years-old, which was rare for the women in rural towns. To the dismay of many youths who yearned for Miss Erminhilt, she had an eye for Andric! Even if the children of Andric’s generation could get over the circumstances of his origin, they could never forgive the way he had stolen Miss Erminhilt from them! More than being born a bastard son, Andric greatest sin in Einburg was befriending Miss Erminhilt!

Andric woke up long before the sun rose above the horizon. He cast a spell on his body, filling him with energy, and gently sighed. Now that the moment of his departure was eminent, he couldn’t help but feel a little hesitant. After his reincarnation, he hadn’t left Einburg a single time. Over the years, he had grown attached to the place. Andric collected himself, then gathered the items he wanted to take with him to Mahtzig. He took two extra sets of clothes, an extra pair of shoes, and a winter coat. He wore a large straw hat, which was usually worn by field workers to protect them from the sun. Even through Andric never worked in the field, he had one of the hats. He hoped it would make him a little more inconspicuous on his journey. Alda hadn’t slept at all. When Andric went to the first floor of the house, she was in the sitting room, drinking tea. “I’m leaving,” Andric said to her, pausing before the door. “Be safe,” Alda said, barely keeping herself from crying. Over the course of the night, her thoughts bounced around inside her head, making her increasingly worried. Andric looked at his mother, then punched the air a few times while activating the spirit energy inside his arms. The punches looked forceful, and Andric displayed an air of toughness. “I’ll be fine!” he confidently spoke, and he exited the house. The town was quiet. Only a few farmers started their day so early, and most of them were experienced ones who wanted to finish their daily work before the sun fully rose. A few guards surrounded the town, but all of them were tired. The merchant caravan was somewhat active, with many guards protecting the wares from thieves who might come in the night. Andric walked slowly toward the merchant caravan. His left hand held a rope that went over his shoulder and bound his roll of clothes. Along the way, nobody stopped him. He arrived at the merchant caravan without anything more than intimidating looks from the guards. The merchants of the caravan weren’t ready to leave, and only a few people were preparing for departure. Andric didn’t know it, but many merchants were sleeping in Einburg, passed out after a night of drinking the local wine. Andric quietly found the wagon he was going to travel in, then sat a short distance away. There were people sleeping on the ground near the wagon. Some of them had blankets to sleep on or under, and it made Andric remember that he didn’t have a blanket. He wondered how well he would sleep without a bed. If he didn’t sleep well, he couldn’t use magic to fill his body with energy, like he did that morning. He frowned, thinking about it. An hour later, the sun peeked over the horizon. The crowing of roosters awoke many townspeople and merchants, and the merchants started preparing to leave. In less than an hour, hundreds of people and horses were moving around at the outskirt of Einburg. The horses were gradually attached to their owners’ wagons, and goods were loaded into the backs of the wagons. Meanwhile, Andric watched from beside it all. At dawn, a loud horn blew over the merchant caravan. The preparations became even more rushed, and the people who were traveling in the same wagon as Andric woke up. They moved lazily, rolling up their blankets and putting their gear on the wagon. After the first one stepped up to sit inside the wagon, Andric followed them inside. When everyone sat down, there was only enough room for a couple more people, and only if they didn’t have excessive luggage. Andric sat with his bundle of clothes on his lap and his straw hat on his head. The wagon cover didn’t go all the way down to the side of the wagon, giving Andric’s hat space to expand behind him. The lower part of the wagon cover was pinned up, where it could be unpinned to shield the inside of the wagon during rain. Andric considered traveling by wagon to be primitive, but he had no other option. If it was the old days, he would’ve flown across the sky, reaching his destination in a matter of hours. Then again, if it was the old days, he wouldn’t be in his current predicament. Before the wagons started moving, a man climbed into the wagon driver’s seat, turned his head back, and asked, “Everybody here?” He scanned his eyes over the people sitting in the back of his wagon, making sure there wasn’t anyone extra. He recognized Andric from the previous evening. “Yeah,” a traveler replied, and the wagon driver faced forward. Andric silently looked at the other people in the back of the wagon. There were two families, and the rest were lone travelers. The parents helped their sleepy children stay upright, even though most of them were similarly tired. The merchant caravan arrived and departed at different times than normal when they stopped at a settlement, making it difficult to get used to. The merchants who had been on the road for decades could easily wake up exactly when they needed to, but the travelers who had only been with them for a month or a few had a harder time. Needless to say, the children were the worse. The merchant caravan set off a few minutes later. Sunlight showered the eastern side of the wagons, and Andric tilted his straw hat to keep it out of his eyes. Over one hundred horses trodden across the grassland, filling the air with noise. Gradually, Andric adjusted to the new atmosphere. Miss Erminhilt’s estimations for Andric’s travel time were mostly correct. Every town was spaced about ten days apart, with the merchant caravan going about twenty miles per day. Hochland was in its rainy season, making the merchant caravan slow down whenever a storm came through. When it rained, the wagon cover was pinned down, and Andric had to take off his hat. The rainy days and the days around them were the worst. Humidity built up in the air, and movement was restricted in the wagon. At home, Andric could dry out his clothes inside his home, but he couldn’t do that while in the wagon. When a gust of wind splashed his clothes with rain water, he couldn’t change out of them. Sleeping on the wet ground was also terrible. To make due, Andric had to search for sticks to make bedding from. He dried them by a fire, then barely had something suitable to sleep on. The most annoying part of the journey was all the horses. When he interacted with horses in Einburg, it was usually only one at a time. The merchant caravan had over one hundred horses. Their defecation stank terribly on hot days, and their loud neighs were constant. Guards circled the merchant caravan at all times, and their horses were the loudest of all. Martialists at the Novice realm obtained superhuman abilities, but all martialists valued a good mount. If a martialist could run faster than a horse, they simply needed a better horse! Besides using ordinary horses for mounts, martialists could also use spirit beasts that evolved from horses. Human realm martialists typically had normal horses to ride, but Novice realm martialists rode Novice realm horses. The Novice realm horses were arrogant, tough, and prideful. Wherever they walked, they made themselves known. Along the way to Mahtzig, Andric learned the frightening difference between a Human realm martialists and a Novice realm martialist. About thirteen days after leaving Einburg, the merchant caravan was slowed down along a wooded section of road. With the wagons in the front slowing down without warning, the rest of the wagons became closer together, and many people were angry about the closeness. All of a sudden, the merchant caravan guards rode their horses into formation and circled the merchant caravan with more vigor than any of the previous days. At the front of the merchant caravan, the captain stood at the top of his wagon and scanned the forest around him. In front of him, all across the road, was a line of bodies. Horses naturally wouldn’t step over dead bodies, and many of the horses inside the merchant caravan weren’t trained to overcome their innate fear. While two Novice realm martialists went to clear the road, the rest of the guards prepared for an ambush from the forest. Sure enough, a few seconds later, a massive horde of bandits jumped out from behind the trees. They wielded swords, axes, and crossbows, and they numbered in the hundreds. Unlike the guards of the merchant caravan, the bandits didn’t ride horses, but they weren’t limited with their mobility. Many of the bandits were late-stage Human realm martialists, and they easily ran throughout the stalled wagons. When the bandits attacked, Andric kept his head down. He couldn’t use magic without his identity as a magician being exposed, so he had no way to help the guards or the merchants. If he were to use a spell, he would first need to build the spell in his hand, where anyone would be able to see it. Of course, if his life was in danger, he would immediately lash out against whatever he perceived as a threat. Most of the merchants and travelers in the merchant caravan were low-stage Human realm martialists or non-martialists. In Andric’s particular wagon, the families were completely helpless, and the lone travelers were uninterested in assisting where they weren’t paid to assist. One of them, who identified himself as a mid-stage Novice realm martialist, complained about the wagon being slowed. A bandit ran to the opening of the wagon and brandished a sword at the riders, shouting at them, “Hand over your valuables, or I come in swinging!” The Novice realm martialist looked at the bandit, then weakly thrust his palm toward him. A ray of white light exited the martialist’s palm and hit the bandit’s chest. With one movie, the bandit was sent flying, spewing blood from his mouth. He quickly turned and ran, and the martialist humphed once before turning his head back to the opposite side of the wagon. The merchant caravan’s guards were outnumbered, but they had a stronger overall martial realm and better weapons. Their mounts were useful for killing the bandits who were on the outside of the group of wagons, but they became a hindrance when the bandits ran inside the cluster of wagons. The Novice realm martialists jumped across the wagons, slashing their weapons through bandits they passed over. After a few minutes of fighting, the bandits retreated. They covered their retreat with their crossbows, and their Novice realm martialists held off the merchant caravan guards until all the surviving bandits escaped into the forest. The merchant caravan guards were very experienced. Instead of chasing after the bandits, where their mounts would have a difficult time moving through the forest, they stayed near the wagons and circled around them. They were ready for bandits to attack from another direction, and they remained on high alert until the captain led the merchant caravan out of the forest. That night, a casualty report was taken by the captain. None of the Novice realm guards died, none of the merchants or travelers died, and only a few Human realm guards died. Some cargo was stolen, and some passengers were robbed, but the losses were manageable. The bandit attack made Andric worry, but he ended up getting through it without exposing himself. He was grateful for the Novice realm martialist who shared the wagon with him, and he along with several others thanked him for protecting them. The martialist remained indifferent, casually watching the scenery around the merchant caravan.

The sins of Andric’s father could be forgiven with time, but the way Andric captured Miss Erminhilt’s attention could never be forgiven! Audovacar and his gang might bow down and turn mild before Miss Erminhilt, but they would resume their ferocity as soon as she went away. “What kind of fun is this, getting into a group and surrounding my Andric. Don’t think that because I’m a woman I don’t understand what’s going on!” Miss Erminhilt angrilly rebuked. In the current age, it was common for women to be looked down upon as stupid. None of the youths would say so, but some of them thought Miss Erminhilt wasn’t capable of understanding the animosity between themselves and Andric. ‘My Andric?’ Miss Erminhilt’s words were chosen in haste, and she said something that implied a stronger relationship between her and Andric. It wasn’t until a few seconds after she spoke that she realized what she said, and her face turned red, but it was too late to take the words back. Many of the youths had caught what Miss Erminhilt said, and it only served to bring more fury to the hearts of the youths who pined for Miss Erminhilt. “Miss Erminhilt, I heard that you baked a cake for Andric’s birthday. Was that true?” a girl on the sidelines asked. Along with townspeople disliked Andric because of his origin and his favor with Miss Erminhilt, there were some who wanted to stir trouble between Audovacar and Andric. In a small town like Einburg, watching two people fight was a rare piece of entertainment. For a long time, many youths had hoped Audovacar and Andric would enter a physical brawl. “Eh? Why would you bring that up? It doesn’t have anything to do with the current situation,” Miss Erminhilt responded, slightly flustered. Andric grinned and replied for her, “Yep. It was a pretty good cake, too.” Since he was already being kicked out of the town, there was no reason not to push Audovacar’s buttons as far as they would go. There wasn’t anything Audovacar could do to Andric while Miss Erminhilt was nearby, giving Andric a grace period to provoke Audovacar and his bunch as much as possible. Andric knew for a long time that he could go to Miss Erminhilt if he wanted the children who antagonized him to be told off, but his pride prevented him from relying on a woman. However, if she came to him, it wasn’t so much of an issue. The plan to exile Andric from the town must’ve taken no short amount of time to create, and someone had to think of the idea in the first place. No matter what Andric did to him, Audovacar would have a limited amount of time to respond. Furthermore, because Andric was already leaving the town in a set amount of days, there wouldn’t be any members of older generation helping Audovacar. If he turned to one of his elders to retaliate against Andric, that elder’s response would be something alluding to Andric’s quickly approaching departure. “You make him a cake?” Audovacar almost couldn’t believe that Miss Erminhilt had made a cake for Andric. He didn’t want to believe that the two of them were so close. If so, it meant his chances with her were infinitely slimer. Miss Erminhilt ignored the question. Instead, she strolled through the crowd of people and arrived next to Andric. She looked at him and said, “Come with me.” “Okay,” Andric said, and Miss Erminhilt led him down the street. The crowd of people stayed behind, including Audovacar and his group. They wanted to keep Andric inside their circle, but none of the important players dared to go against Miss Erminhilt. The various girls still wanted to stir up trouble, because they had no objectives when it came to Miss Erminhilt. Miss Erminhilt talking Andric away as advantageous in the short term, but it wouldn’t help the following day. Miss Erminhilt couldn’t come to Andric’s rescue every day, and Andric’s pride prevented him from making arrangements to make it happen. The two of them made a looped around the town, eventually arriving where Miss Erminhilt originally intended to go. “Wait here,” she said, and she left Andric outside a metalworking shop. A few minutes later, Miss Erminhilt walked out, carrying a sheet of paper. “What’s that?” Andric asked, interested in why Miss Erminhilt had left the town hall in the middle of the day. “It’s a log of all the weapons sold by the shop. The mayor is sending a report to the capital about all the weapons that have been sold in Einburg, so I’ve got to get sales logs from the merchants who haven’t turned there’s in. Some of those old blacksmiths don’t like complying with the old mayor, so, instead of sending guards, he sends me to get the logs,” Miss Erminhilt replied as they walked toward the town hall. The town hall rarely had visitors in the middle of the day. Most visitors came in the morning or evening, and they needed to have an appointment to meet with the mayor, except during a town meeting, where the mayor was always present and anyone was allowed to join. Besides Miss Erminhilt and the mayor, most of the mayor’s family also worked at the town hall. As such, there wasn’t much rush for Miss Erminhilt to return. Andric and Miss Erminhilt walked slowly, leisurely chatting along the way. Not much had happened in the last week except for that one event. Because Miss Erminhilt worked at the town hall, she knew about the townspeople forcing Andric to leave the day after it happened. “It’s nothing, really,” Andric said to her, downplaying the severity of his exile. He actually didn’t care about leaving the town a few years earlier than expected. His only concern was finding enough time to practice his meditation technique. “You don’t know, because you’ve never left Einburg. Let this big sister tell you about the outside world. Our town is surrounded by hamlets. The distance between Einburg and the next town is close to two hundred miles, which is about ten days of travel time. If you’re going all the way to Mahtzig, it’ll take you over fifty days!” Miss Erminhilt explained a few things. She continued, “A lot can happen over fifty days. You might get attacked by wild animals, or by bandits. The weather could turn to storms. A lot of bandits like to attack during heavy rainstorms, so you’ve always got to be on your guard. But, even if it’s not raining, you could still be attacked. Really, unless you’re inside the borders of a town with a strong guard, you’re open to being attacked by bandits.” “Wow, Miss Erminhilt, it sounds like you know a lot about the area outside Einburg. Have you ever left the town?” Andric asked after fully listening to Miss Erminhilt. She hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know, but she spoke in earnest, trying to help Andric prepare. “I haven’t left Einburg, but my fiance sent me many letters when he was traveling across Hochland,” Miss Erminhilt replied. It was no secret that Miss Erminhilt once had a fiance, but the man had been away from Einburg for over five years, and he severed his relationship with Miss Erminhilt less than a year after his departure. Nonetheless, there were no ill feelings between the two of them. The mayor’s oldest son had been betrothed to Miss Erminhilt when they were children, but the mayor’s son turned fifteen and discovered he had a talent or the martial way, and he left Einburg shortly after the discovery. Andric only knew some of the story between Miss Erminhilt and the mayor’s son, but he was the reason she worked at the town hall, and also the reason she wasn’t married despite being nineteen. Andric and Miss Erminhilt returned to the town hall with Miss Erminhilt continuing to talk about the areas around Einburg. Although she hadn’t left the town, her work in the town hall allowed her to interact with many people who had, and she had studied various maps of the surrounding areas. “I have a question. If there are martialists in the merchant caravan, would they have to worry about bandits?” Andric asked. “Of course they would,” Miss Erminhilt replied. “The bandits around Mahtzig aren’t very strong; otherwise, the military would be sent out to deal with them. But, even so, they’re still martialists! In most merchant caravans, there is only one guard for every ten merchants. A guard costs money to hire, so the merchant caravans try to get by with as few as possible. On the other hand, bandit troupes are always growing in size. While you’re on the road, you could meet a couple of criminals who decided to work together, or you could meet the remnants of a destroyed sect who’ve resorted to banditry!” In the kingdom of Hochland, sects made up of martialists controlled about thirty percent of the land. The weaker sects paid tribute to the kingdom, and the stronger sects participated in its defense during times of war. When sects expanded, they would attack other sects and steal their land. When a sect was destroyed, the sect members would either join a new sect, go their own ways, or create bandit troupes. The kingdom of Hochland rarely involved itself in the disputes between sects, which made the martialists from destroyed sects think their kingdom didn’t care about them and that becoming a criminal was justified. There were no sects near Einburg, but Andric had seen wandering groups of martialists in the past. They traveled thousands of miles to search for rumors, and all of them were in at least the Novice realm. Martialists who didn’t have an ability like Spirit Sight couldn’t tell what realm or stage a martialist was just by looking at them, so Andric had to be told what realm the traveling martialists were at. For the traveling martialists that didn’t advertise their realm, Andric healthily assumed they were even higher than Novice realm. “Oh, and don’t forget about spirit beasts! They won’t go near the towns and hamlets, but they’re all over the wilderness. You’ve got to watch out for waldbars, waldschwein, steinbar, windspinne, and many others!” Miss Erminhilt said, listing a few creatures that Andric had only learned a tiny bit about. “I’ve got it,” Andric tried to calm her and waved his hands. “Overconfidence! Nothing is certain when you’re on the road. What would you do if all your food spoiled and all the people around you turned out to be cannibals? No matter what you do, there’s no way to account for the actions of the people who will be traveling with you. If just one of them is careless, you could have an avoidable disaster thrust on you,” Miss Erminhilt argued, angrily looking at Andric. He sighed and looked away from her, and they kept walking. Andric and Miss Erminhilt arrived at the town hall a short time later. They paused beside Miss Erminhilt’s chair outside the town hall building, and, just as Andric was about to turn around and walk away, Miss Erminhilt muttered something and grabbed the back of Andric’s head. “I’m going to regret this,” she said, so softly that Andric couldn’t hear, and she turned Andric’s head toward hers and kissed him. Miss Erminhilt released Andric’s head, and he stumbled backward. Her attack came as a surprise, and it moved Andric’s frozen heart. For a brief second, he couldn’t analyze the moment with his intelligent brain. Millions of possibilities ran through his consciousness, but they were snuffed out a second later. He reminded himself of his status, and he knew he couldn’t allow himself to be involved with Miss Erminhilt in that way. Andric turned around and walked away, slightly hasty in his steps. Miss Erminhilt watched him for a few dozen feet, then sat in her chair. Unknown to either of them, a young boy was watching from a far distance.

“The way of the martialist is the path to godhood! Only through the way of the martialist can a human become a god!” The mantra of the martialist was something known to all the citizens of Hochland. From a young age, all children were taught their letters, numbers, and to respect martialists. In the town of Einburg, the strongest martialist was only in the Novice realm, but even the second realm of the martial way was enough to demand respect throughout the kingdom, much less the town! In the world, martialists worked their entire lives to progress through the Human, Novice, Apprentice, Adept, Expert, Master, Legendary, Mythical, and Godly realms. Nine realms with nine stages marked the path to becoming a god, and Andric was ready to start his journey! “Andric, step forward. I will open your heart-lung meridian,” the instructor called, singling out a youth who sat near the back of the classroom. “Yes, Instructor Hubert!” the youth named Andric stood and said, and he marched to the front of the classroom. Instructor Hubert looked at Andric’s chest, seemingly peeking beneath the fabric. The younger students in the classroom were unaware of what Instructor Hubert was doing, but the rest were all aware. Spirit Sight! He was really using Spirit Sight! In the kingdom of Hochland, only a handful of martialists were capable of using Spirit Sight, but one of them called the small town of Einburg his home. The instructor viewed the inside of Andric’s body, searching through his flesh and bones for the pathways that channeled spirit energy. There were many ways to open meridians, but the most efficient was to receive a spiritual wound at the meridian location, thereby dislodging the debris that usually blocked the meridian since birth. Having Spirit Sight made the process much easier, because Instructor Hubert didn’t need to take precise measurements or try multiple times! Andric stood directly in front of Instructor Hubert. He steeled himself, knowing what would come next. He had seen several youths have their heart-lung meridian opened, and all of them described it as a painful experience. The next second, Instructor Hubert stabbed his finger into Andric’s chest. His finger pierced half an inch into Andric’s skin, then released a concentrated pulse of spirit energy. The released spirit energy impacted Andric’s heart-lung meridian, bombarding the filth that clogged the inside. Instructor Hubert pulled his finger away, and Andric stood still for a few moments. If an experienced martialist was hit with a spirit energy attack, their meridians would feel it before their nervous system, and their ability to utilize their meridians would be lowered. But, if the person hit by the spirit energy attack wasn’t an experienced martialist, they wouldn’t feel anything from their meridians! In fact, many martialists went through hundreds of spirit energy attacks in order to dislodge the debris inside their meridians. In a real battle, spirit energy attacks were only used to kill opponents. In a controlled environment, they were used for unblocking meridians! Andric tried to feel the meridian inside his chest, but he lacked the Spirit Sight and Spirit Sense abilities. Although Spirit Sight was something he would’ve needed to be born with, Spirit Sense was something all martialists could learn, although it would only allow him to see the spirit energy inside his own body. For the time being, Andric could only hope Instructor Hubert’s spirit energy attack had worked. “You can sit down. Your heart-lung meridian won’t be fully opened for another few hours. If successful, you will be able to meditate with the first rank of our town’s Standing Tortoise Manual.” Andric bowed to the instructor, then returned to his seat at the back of the classroom. Although Instructor Hubert was known to open meridians with incredible precision, he wasn’t someone who gave out meditation techniques. Most townspeople of Einburg bought the Standing Tortoise Manual from the town hall, but some had meditation techniques passed down through their family. However, Andric’s family had a special circumstance, and he was able to obtain the Standing Tortoise Manual for free. Andric couldn’t pay attention for the rest of the lesson. While Instructor Hubert was teaching about medicinal plants, Andric was focused on his own body, trying his hardest to sense the energy that moved within him. For his entire life, he had tried to sense the spirit energy that supposedly existed within all living creatures, but he never could. After the lesson was over, Andric ran to the town hall. He had lived in Einburg for fifteen years, and he knew the town and its surrounding areas like the back of his hand. The town hall was an area he knew particularly well, and it was almost like a second home to him. “Hello, Miss Erminhilt!” Andric greeted the lady sitting beside the entrance to the town hall. She was a few years older than Andric, and her long blonde hair caught the gazes of many men. Regardless of that, it was known throughout Einburg that Miss Erminhilt had never had a male suitor, and many men thought their chances with her were somewhere between zero and impossible. “Hi, Andric. Today isn’t a grain day, is it?” However, Miss Erminhilt was very friendly with Andric, and her friends commonly teased that she had a crush on him. Her mother helped Andric’s mother when she was younger, and that interaction started Miss Erminhilt’s fondness for Andric. From his birth until the present, she had watched him grow up. “No, not today. I’m actually here for the Standing Tortoise Manual,” Andric replied. “That? If you here for that, it means today’s your birthday!” Miss Erminhilt said. She stood up and hugged Andric. “Why do you try to keep these things secret? Happy birthday!” Andric hugged her back and said, “I just don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m a year old, so what?” Miss Erminhilt yet go of Andric and sat back down, turning her head to the side. “Hmpf. Go get your little manual or whatever. I’ll be out here, not celebrating anybody’s birthday or anything.” Andric laughed on the inside and strolled past Miss Erminhilt. He knew that most families in the town celebrated birthdays from one to fifteen, but Andric and his family never celebrated a single one. Miss Erminhilt knew the month of Andric’s birthday, but he never told her the exact date. The date had even been scrubbed the town hall’s records. The town hall was - as implied by the name - a long hall. The hall had many tables and chairs for townspeople to sit at during meetings, but it was presently empty. Andric walked to the very end of the hall and opened a door, leading into the next room. The next room was the town hall’s storage, where the Standing Tortoise Manuals were kept along with a few other miscellaneous objects. Andric took one of the books, then turned around and left. As he passed, Miss Erminhilt, he stopped to say, “There won’t be a party, but if you’d make me a cake, I’d definitely receive it.” Miss Erminhilt smiled and said nothing, and Andric walked away. He walked to the end of the street, then starting running home. The day still had plenty of time, but Andric wanted to spend as much time as possible perusing the Standing Tortoise Manual. He returned home after a few minutes of running, and he went straight to his room on the second floor of the house. Andric sat on his bed and opened the Standing Tortoise Manual. The language of the book was Empyrean Standard, which was what most of the kingdoms in the Western Continent used. It was a relic of an old empire, and it remained in use long after the empire was dissolved. When Andric first encountered the language, he found it slightly familiar, and he learned it quickly. Meditation techniques were how martialists gathered spirit energy from the heaven and earth and used it to empower their own body. For every meridian a martialist had open, their rate of gathering spirit energy increased. If a martialist had all twenty-four major meridians and thirty-six minor meridians opened, they would have what was referred to as a Heavenly Channel Body. Many martialists dreamed to one day achieve the Heavenly Channel Body, and they all started with a single meridian open. Andric read the Standing Tortoise Manual, then circulated the spirit energy inside his body. Just as the manual said, he could feel energy entering his body from the atmosphere. The energy entered his body, flowed through his heart-lung meridian, and exited his body. Along the way, it tempered the flesh around his heart-lung meridian, giving him a stronger heart and lung. “So, this is spirit energy?” he asked the empty room. In his entire life, it was his first time feeling the mysterious energy. He could only feel a sliver of the energy inside him, but he definitely felt something. For several hours, Andric did nothing but meditate with the Standing Tortoise Manual. A stream of energy gradually formed around him, circulating through his body. Each time the energy passed through him, it made him stronger, and it opened his heart-lung meridian a tiny bit more. As the evening drew nearer, Andric was interrupted by someone knocking on his bedroom door. “Andric, it’s time for dinner,” a young woman softly spoke, and Andric immediately recognized her. “Yes, mother!” he quickly said, and he put away the Standing Tortoise Manual. He stood up and inspected his clothes, then followed his mother to the kitchen. The dinner table was already set, and Andric’s maternal grandparents were helping themselves to the food Andric’s mother had cooked. “Alda, sit down, let Andric serve you,” Andric’s grandfather said and waved for his daughter to sit. Although they lived together, Andric’s grandfather didn’t have a good opinion of him, and Andric didn’t expect him to change. “Right, let me get the food for you,” Andric said, and he held out Alda’s chair for her. “Okay, thank you,” Alda meekly said and said, and Andric pushed her chair in. He took a bowl from the kitchen cabinets and filled it with some grain porridge, then added a few boiled vegetables on top, and he placed the bowl in front of Alda. He made himself a similar bowl, then sat next to Alda. Andric’s relationship with his grandparents was less than nominal. They had once tried to sell him to a group of slavers, but Alda had caught them before Andric could be shipped away. Before that, Alda had always been distant with him, but the event had shown him that she truly was his mother. From then on, he disregarded his relationship with his grandparents, and he did his best to help his mother with whatever she needed. Andric only learned about what his mother’s past a few years ago. At that time, a few kids from around the town had attempted to bully him into submission, but none of their taunts worked. In the end, they brought up the matter of Andric’s father. Andric had never seen his father, and he always assumed his father had died before he was born. After learning about his father, Andric understood why Gasto and Roza hated his existence, and why Alda was so sheltered. After the meal, Andric cleaned the table and the dishes. Once he was finished, he returned to his bedroom, and he resumed practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual. He practiced for a couple more hours, then was interrupted, again. Alda stood at his door and said, “Erminhilt is downstairs. She says she has something for you.” “Thank you. I’ll go meet her,” Andric said, and he put down the Standing Tortoise Manual and exited his room. He walked ahead of his mother and descended to the first floor, where he immediately saw Erminhilt in the sitting room, in a chair and talking to Roza. Erminhilt had a package wrapped in cloth in her lap, and she turned away from Roza to greet Andric, “I hope I didn’t interrupt you.” “It’s fine,” Andric said. He walked to the chair next to Erminhilt, and she stood to give him the cloth-wrapped package. Andric took it and sat, where he untied the cloth wrapping. Under the wrapping was a small wooden box, and the wooden box contained a tiny round cake. It was enough for about ten bites. “Thank you.” Andric retrieved a spoon from the kitchen, then returned to eat the cake. The four family members and Erminhilt sat in the sitting room, and all of them but Andric lightly chatted. Andric listened to their conversations, but they weren’t anything he wanted to interject his opinion in. Andric’s grandparents asked Erminhilt about her job at the town hall, and Erminhilt asked them about their work in the fields. Eventually, the Erminhilt steered the conversation toward Andric’s childhood. The young man himself knew it was a tough subject for his grandparents, but Erminhilt didn’t know the extent to which Andric’s grandparents loathed him. He quickly scooped up the last piece of cake onto his spoon and held it out for Erminhilt. She saw the cake and allowed Andric to feed it to her, bringing a smile to her face. While she chewed, Andric stood and said, “It’s getting late. I’ll walk you home.” “Alright,” Erminhilt said after swallowing the cake. She stood and took the box and cloth from Andric, and the two of them walked out of the house. They walked a short distance down the road, neither looking at the other for very long. “Happy birthday.” “Thanks.” Andric walked Erminhilt to her door, then returned home. He went to his bedroom, closed the door, and laid on his bed. He stared up at the ceiling and thought, ‘Fifteen years after my reincarnation, and I still haven’t met a single magician. I guess the age of magicians truly is over.’

In small towns like Einburg, rumors spread faster than wildfire. Before nightfall, half of the younger generation in Einburg knew about Andric and Miss Erminhilt’s kiss. At some point, the rumor morphed into being Andric who kissed Miss Erminhilt. At a few hours after sunset, Audovacar and his group of friends approached the outside of Andric’s house and banged on the door. “We want to talk to Andric right now!” Audovacar shouted at the house. His minions stood beside him, filling him with courage. Gasto answered the door. He was taller than Audovacar and the others, and he asked them while looking down at them, “What is it?” “Sir, we’re here to speak to Andric,” Audovacar replied, meeting Gasto’s eyes. “Fine,” Gasto said and closed the door. He wasn’t in the mood to protect Andric from Audovacar and the others, so he turned his head to the stairs that led to the second floor of the house and yelled up, “They want to talk to Andric,” and then returned to the sitting room. Andric reluctantly stopped practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual and stood up. He checked his clothes, then went downstairs and opened the door. His eyes widened when he saw Audovacar and his gang, and he wondered why they came to find him at night. Audovacar said nothing and grabbed Andric’s shirt, he pulled Andric toward him and threw him to the ground beside the door. Anger exploded on Audovacar’s face, and Andric withheld a yawn as he stood up. “What was that?” Andric asked, dusting off his clothes. “We heard about what you did to Miss Erminhilt!” Audovacar announced. He was loud enough to alert everyone inside Andric’s home, but Gasto and Roza held Alda back. They explained to her that it was normal for children to quarrel, and they said it would be healthy for Andric. Alda anxiously stayed seated, but her hands were shaky. She was ready to stand up at any second. Andric hadn’t prepared himself for a fight when he came to the door, but Audovacar wasn’t polite enough to refrain from starting fights outside Andric’s house. After standing, Andric tested his spirit energy and put his eyes on Audovacar’s hands, waiting for the next attack. Audovacar brought four friends with him, including a young boy who Andric didn’t know. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andric said. He remained still, in case Audovacar tried something against him. “Otmar, tell him what you saw,” Audovacar opened his palm to the small child and said. “I saw you kissing Miss Erminhilt!” the boy excitedly said. He pointed at Andric as if he was accusing him of some horrible act. Andric sighed, but he didn’t let his guard down. It hadn’t been his choice for Miss Erminhild to kiss him, but now he was being blamed for it. It would be a lie if he said he didn’t enjoy it, but he wished she hadn’t reached for him back then. Audovacar would’ve never come after him, and his heart wouldn’t be worrying about matters that had nothing to do with increasing his power. “Well, you saw wrong,” Andric said and looked down at the child. His eyes flashed with anger, and the young child backed up and hide behind a member of Audovacar’s gang. “Don’t give us that! Otmar knows exactly what he saw,” Audovacar protested. He shook his fist in the air, almost coming within Andric’s reach. Andric analyzed the situation immediately after he was thrown to the ground. Besides Audovacar, there were three other potential fighters - the young boy wouldn’t be a match to any of them, and his presence in a fight wouldn’t help. To increase his odds of winning, Andric decided to wait until someone lunged within his reach for a quick punch or kick. “Did anyone else see it? How do you know he’s not making it up?” Andric questioned, and a slightly confused look came to Audovacar’s face. He hadn’t considered that Otmar was lying about seeing Andric kiss Miss Erminhilt. A seed of doubt spread inside him. Audovacar’s friends glanced at Otmar, but Audovacar kept his gaze on Andric. Otmar eventually broke out of his fear of Andric and said, “I didn’t lie! I really saw it!” Audovacar groaned, then said, “I believe Otmar.” Andric frowned. His relationship with Audovacar was worth than the relationship between Audovacar and Otmar, so it wasn’t a surprise that Audovacar would choose to believe Otmar over him. What concerned Andric was what Audovacar would do now that his mind was set on Andric having kissed Miss Erminhilt. Furthermore, Andric also worried that if Audovacar knew what happened earlier that day, there were bound to be many more townspeople who knew. “Berard, Ingulf, grab him and take him to our hideout,” Audovacar commanded, and two of his friends stepped forward. Andric’s eyes circled the group, looking for an opening, but he didn’t see anything he could exploit. The boys named Berard and Ingulf approached him slowly, cautiously. They were only Human realm first stage, but Andric was Human realm second stage, and all of them knew it. Although the strength difference between first and second stage wasn’t large, the uncertainty had the two boys worried. As the two boys entered within Andric’s range, he kicked one of them in the knee, making him stumble backward. He helped up his leg in pain, and Andric switched targets to the next boy, who stepped out of Andric’s range soon after the kick. “You asked for it!” Audovacar shouted and lunged, winding up his fist. Andric entered a fighting stance and prepared to receive Audovacar’s punch. He gathered his spirit energy into his hands, then moved his hands into the path of Audovacar’s fist. The punch came down as Andric backed away, and most of the damage was negated against Andric’s hands. Andric’s retreat only lasted a second before he was surrounded by Audovacar’s friends. The unnamed friend stood behind Andric, Audovacar stood in front, and Berard and Ingulf stood on Andric’s sides. The unnamed boy stepped forward to punch Andric, and Andric’s head swiveled around just in time to see the boy’s fist hitting the back of his shoulder. The boy wasn’t accomplished in the martial way, but he worked as a farmer for the town, and his muscles were naturally strong. His punch turned Andric around and made his shoulder ache. Soon after the unnamed boy attacked, the rest of Audovacar’s gang attacked. They punched and kicked toward Andric, and Andric did his best to dodge or block as many shots as he could. Andric’s fighting style had never been one of physical confrontation, and he was totally out of his depth. His mana surged within him, desperately wanting to come out and slaughter the four boys. He held back his killing intent as he received the punches and kicks of the four boys, and he even made a few counterattacks. After a few seconds of being attacked, Andric saw one opening. The boy named Ingulf tried kicking him, but he was too far away, and Ingulf’s leg was a little high. Andric jumped toward him and grabbed onto his leg, pulling it up. Ingulf lost balance and fell, and Andric stomped on his lower torso while stepping over his body. Andric’s limbs hurt, but Ingulf was momentarily out of the fight. Ingulf moaned on the ground, weakly holding his stomach with his hands. Audovacar shouted at him, “Get up!” and the rest of them chased after Andric. Andric didn’t stick around and instead choose to flee. He ran a short distance away from his home, into a field, and away from any prying eyes. Audovacar, Berard, and the unnamed boy followed closely behind Andric, and the young boy followed a bit behind. When they reached a deserted field, Andric turned around and raised his guard. Audovacar and his two friends surrounded Andric before attacking him. They inched closer toward Andric before trying to punch him, but Andric deflected their hits. When the unnamed body punched a little further than he should’ve, Andric grabbed his arm and closed the distance between them. He punched the boy in the nose, cause blood to pour out from it. Andric quickly switched his attention to Audovacar and Berard, who wasted no time in coming up behind him. But, while Andric looked at Audovacar and Berard, the unnamed boy recovered slightly and pulled on Andric’s leg, making him fall. Andric kicked the unnamed boy, and Audovacar and Berard kicked him back. They were both above him, and Andric couldn’t block the kicks while laying on the ground. He covered his face with his hands, protecting what little area he could. ‘I’ll slaughter you! I’ll kill your whole families!’ he shouted in his mind, but he refrained from actually doing anything. Even as he laid on the ground and received countless kicks from the three boys, he was aware that greater risks came from using magic than a few cuts and bruises. Unless Audovacar or one of the others used a lethal move against him, he wouldn’t use his magic. A few minutes later, Ingulf caught up with Audovacar and the others, and he joined them with kicking Andric while he was down. Besides a few initial kicks, they didn’t use any spirit energy, and they were only kicking Andric to let out their frustration. After ten-or-so minutes passed, the four of them departed, shouting curses at Andric as they walked away. Andric laid in the grass for a while longer. He resisted the urge to cast a spell on himself to heal his wounds, and he slowly stood up. He was bleeding on his arms and legs, but nothing felt broken. Because he was in the open, he couldn’t risk using magic. He decided to trudge home while injured, then heal himself after heading behind closed doors. Andric walked slowly, limping along the way. As he walked further, his learned a less painful rhythm for his steps. There were no mirrors available to him, but he could guess how unsightly his appearance was. His hands were covered in blood, and blotches came through his shirt and pants. After walking a few dozen feet, Andric stood straight and activated the spirit energy throughout his body. He could sense the spirit energy nurturing his wounds, but there weren’t any visible effects. He walked home, and we went past Alda and his grandparents without saying a word. “What happened?” Alda asked him and jumped from her chair. She saw him covered in blood and rushed toward him. Even Gasto and Roza had worried looks. “I’m fine,” Andric replied without turning around, and he entered his bedroom. Once he was alone, Andric sat on the floor and waited. He didn’t want anyone to enter his room while he was using magic, so he waiting until Gasto, Roza, and Alda went to sleep. A few hours later, they turned in for the night, and Andric knew he could being. Andric started by visualizing his body in perfect condition. His brain flared, releasing thought energy. Then, Andric moved mana out of his arcane core and toward his brain. The mana picked up the thought energy and combined with it. After the mana was imbued with thought energy, Andric moved the mana to his right palm. The mana made a stream, going from his arcane core, around his brain, and to his palm. After a few seconds of letting the spell build, Andric casually tossed the spell into the air. The spell fell back down onto Andric’s palm and burst open. Mana imbued with thought energy dispersed across his hand, then absorbed into his body. The mana quickly moved throughout Andric’s entire body, checking for differences between the ideal body in the thought energy and the body that actually existed. When the mana found tissue that didn’t match the ideal, it destroyed the tissue, then created ideal tissue in its place. After a few minutes, Andric’s body was back to perfect condition. He cast another spell to clean himself and his clothes, then went to bed. He estimated that he would need to spend at least three days in bed to prevent anyone becoming suspicious of his healing ability.

A bloody shower fell from the heavens, and Andric descended. Veremund’s body had split into fragments, marking the end of the battle between him and Andric. Now that he was dead, all of the Erfdag bandits were dead, and Andric only needed to collect the loot they left behind. The campsite used by the Erfdag bandits was thoroughly destroyed. When Andric descended, he was hard pressed to find a suitable location to land. In the end, he stood on a fallen tree and overlooked the destruction. Hundreds of dead bodies were beneath him, but there was no blood coming from any of them; they were either killed by suffocation, poison gas, or by being crushed. Andric allowed the storm clouds above him to dissipate. The water they produced had washed away a great deal of mud, but Andric still had a lot of work for himself. The process of looting the bandits’ corpses couldn’t be completed with only one spell. But, before that, Andric wanted to check out the mine. He hadn’t seen the mine when he was initially observing the campsite, but he revealed it when he opened up the sinkhole below the campsite. Veremund had checked inside the mine, but he never got the chance to say anything about it. Andric guessed that there were no bandits inside the mine, or else they would’ve come out to help their leader. Andric flew to the mine entrance with one spell, then cast a spell to create a ball of floating the light. The ball of light hovered above his head, throwing its light deep into the mine but not into Andric’s eyes. With the mine illuminated, Andric proceeded forward. The mine declined sharply at the entrance. Due to the construction of the entrance, none of the rainwater from outside had entered the mine, but it was still humid. In addition to using his ball of light to see, Andric also cast an occasional ball of light deep into the mine, illuminating a long distance. Many dozens of feet later, the mine opened to a large cavern. The cavern ceiling wasn’t much higher than the ceiling of the earlier tunnel, but it was much wider. Thick wooden beams supported the ceiling, and mining equipment was placed haphazardly against the walls. Andric didn’t know very much about mines, so he couldn’t guess what kind of mine it was, or what used to be dug out of it. Either way, it wouldn’t be something valuable enough to garner his attention. Instead, Andric’s attention was placed on the several metal crates that were piled up at the rear of the cavern. Giant locks were placed on the crates, and some of the crates had more than one lock. The metal crates were impenetrable by Human or Novice realm martialists, and could only be opened by a stronger martialist or with the key. However, Andric’s magic could ignore the defenses of the metal crates. He cast a few spells, and the lid of the first metal crate was broken off. Andric looked inside the metal crate and saw a sea of silver shining coins. He put his hands inside the mass of silver, feeling the metal press back against him, telling him it wasn’t an illusion. Then, an explosion burst from inside the metal crate. Silver coins flew across the cavern, and Andric was pushed back several yards. He felt immense pain, and he looked at where his hands used to be. ‘They trapped the crates,’ he thought as he painfully looked at his stubs. Casting spells required the use of one's hands, but it wasn’t the first time Andric had found himself handless. If a magician lost their hands, they could still cast spells from the bloody stumps, but it would use more than twice the normal amount of mana. Andric made a heavy grimace and cast the necessary spell to numb his pain. Once he couldn’t feel anything in his arms, he cast spells to regrow his hands. Although the process was simple, it took a long time. Spells were naturally difficult to create when made anywhere besides the hands, and they were prone to unraveling. Only a truly experienced magician could cast spells from any piece of exposed skin, and even then it took a huge level of mental fortitude. After Andric regrew his hands, he turned his attention back to the metal crates. If they were all boobytrapped, it would be immensely difficult to search them. Of course, that was only if he didn’t have access to his myriad of spells. Learning from the first crate, Andric destroyed each one’s top side, then used a spell to pick the crate up and dump the contents in a pile. Andric dropped two metal crates of coins before finding a boobytrap. Inside the crate, among the coins, was a slip of paper. The slip of paper had several ancient characters written on it, which Andric only vaguely recognized from Instructor Hubert’s lessons. The boobytrap was a talisman, created by writing formations onto a slip of paper. The formation needed to have the right words, and the ink and paper needed to be specific spirit materials, but they were highly efficient at certain tasks. In the case of the exploding talisman, it obliterated any greedy hands that entered its metal crate of coins. Once the talisman was dropped from the metal crate, Andric used a spell to send it to another section of the cavern. At the moment, he didn’t have the ability to defuse formations, so he decided to ignore it and any others for the time being. Andric made his way through the rest of the metal crates, and he found eight more talismans. All of them were identical, and they were mostly in the crates that were easiest to access. Besides the metal crates that contained coins, Andric found crates that contained weapons, armor, books, and miscellaneous items. The weapons and armor were uninteresting to Andric, but he took a long time looking at the books and miscellaneous items. After a while, he had to discard the miscellaneous items because he simply didn’t know what they were. Many of them were likely spirit ingredients used in alchemy or forging, but he had no way to know, and they were too heavy and bulky to carry with him. The books contained in the metal creates were Andric’s biggest gain. He already had enough coins to last him a while, and he knew he could survive a while without any coins, but the books were things he didn’t even know how to get, normally. They were meditation techniques and martial techniques, and they numbered in the hundreds. The Standing Tortoise Manual was also inside a crate of meditation techniques, making Andric wonder how it landed there. Andric looked through the meditation techniques, and four of them caught his eye. They were the Resting Lion Manual, the Dancing Eagle Manual, the Charging Rhino Manual, and the Heaven Shattering Record. The first three meditation techniques were similar to the Standing Tortoise Manual, where they tried to emphasize a way of life. The last one, though, was too profound for Andric to understand. The words were deliberately cryptic, and if it wasn’t in a crate with other meditation techniques, Andric would’ve thought it was a martial technique. Andric took the four meditation techniques so that he could study them. His Standing Tortoise Manual didn’t have a fourth rank, which would’ve allowed him to eventually reach the Adept realm. Unfortunately, none of the meditation techniques in front of Andric had a fourth rank, including the mysteriously profound Heaven Shattering Record. Hopefully, studying multiple meditation techniques would allow Andric to advance his cultivation faster and reach the Adept realm without a rank four meditation technique. The martial techniques taken by the Erfdag bandits were much more numerous than the meditation techniques. The instantaneous activation of martial techniques was highly attractive to Andric, and he knew that he needed to learn many martial techniques to become a strong martialist. After looking over the selection for quite some time, he settled on taking the Burning Palm Technique, the Flaming Fist Technique, the Silent Gallop Technique, the Thundering Strike Technique, the Boulder Crushing Sword Technique, and the Bone Splitting Sword Technique. Andric chose the first two martial techniques because they were both fire-related. The first one made the palm very hot, supposedly burning enemies without releasing actual flames. The second martial technique created flames surrounding the fist, and it allowed the flames to extend short distances. The third martial technique was a movement technique. It supposedly allowed its user to move quickly and silently, but only for a distance of a few steps. There were no other movement techniques, or else Andric would’ve taken more. The fourth martial technique utilized sound. More than anything, Andric was interested to see what it would do. The fifth and sixth martial techniques were for use with a sword. Andric picked them only because they sounded the strongest, and he wanted to learn how to use a sword at least someone proficiently. The meditation techniques and martial techniques were decided upon. In addition to those, Andric also took a book that detailed how to use Spirit Sense inside his body, a book that explained a few formations, and a book of alchemy recipes. He had no idea how many hundreds of coins the rest of the meditation techniques, martial techniques, or miscellaneous items were worth, but he firmly decided to leave them in the cavern. As for the coins, counted them before making any decisions. He used magic to count them quickly, and they reached a sum of over one thousand gold coins. One thousand coins would’ve been a manageable size for Andric to carry, but the coins were not all gold. Many of the coins were silver, and most of them were copper. Andric thought about weight, then discarded his copper and silver coins. The number of gold coins was only in the few hundreds, but it was an amount that Andric could carry on his person. Andric could tell that the Erfdag bandits had been robbing people for a long time. They had much more treasure than could be gotten in a year, and it made him wonder exactly how long they had been operating. In Einburg, he had learned that bandits were periodically cleaned up by the kingdom of Hochland, but now he didn’t know what to think. The number of gold coins was also not a simple thing. The campsite was well hidden and several hours away from the road, but it wasn’t invisible. There was no way Veremund and the other bandits hadn’t been attacked by soldiers at least once. Andric took the items and coins he wanted from the cavern, then walked up to the exit. After he reached the outside, he turned back to the mine and thought of how to hide what was inside. He cast a spell on the mine’s entrance, shifting rock until the tunnel was completely hidden. He then used a spell to engrave a simple map onto the rock surface. If he were lucky, and if nobody knew there was supposed to be a mine there, the loot inside the mine would remain untouched until Andric came back for it. Outside the mine, Andric looked across the destruction he had caused. No matter how much he looked at it, something about it was deviously satisfying. At the same time, he felt a sense of loss. He couldn't help but think of what kind of life the bandits he killed would’ve had if they were normal townspeople in places like Einburg. If they were never bandits, they wouldn’t have died at their young ages. Besides the old man, all the bandits were below fifty. Some of them could’ve lived another fifty years if they hadn’t met Andric. Andric used his spells to check through the corpses of the bandits for their valuables. He found numerous weapons, pieces of armor, jewelry, and coins, and he piled them all up next to the hidden entrance to the mine. The weapons and armor meant nothing to him, and the jewelry and coins only slightly caught his attention after he saw what was inside the mine. Only one object interested Andric from the moment he saw it. Andric noticed that some of Veremund’s armor wasn’t destroyed by his spells, but there was also a cloth bag that hadn’t been destroyed. Andric hadn’t thought much about it at the time, but it peaked his interest when it survived his low-density matter destruction spell. The bag was a little bigger than Andric’s head, and, from the outside, it appeared to be empty. However, when Andric checked inside the bag, he was amazed at the contents. “It’s a bag of storage!” he exclaimed, almost unable to contain himself. Bags of storage were objects used by martialists to store other objects. The object didn’t necessarily need to be a bag, but it was a convenient, portable, and local object to use. Andric had learned about them from Instructor Hubert, but he had never seen one. According to Instructor Hubert, but they were worth thousands of gold coins, and they could even be things like rings or tattoos. Andric put his spirit energy into the bag of storage and felt all the items it contained. He couldn’t really feel the items inside it, but the formation applied to the bag of storage activated with his spirit energy, sending a list of the contents to Andric’s brain. He then used his thoughts to pick certain items, and said item would appear in his hand inside the bag of storage. The bag of storage was a low-grade space formation. Because it was low-grade, it could only hold items that could fit through its entrance. With medium-grade and high-grade storage devices, objects only needed to be placed against the storage device for them to be absorbed inside. Veremund’s bag of storage contained an assortment of weapons, armors, clothes, plants, books, coins, and valuables. He even had a set of luxurious violet cushions and sheets. Andric recognized a uniform used by the town guards of Einburg. Although Andric didn’t have a great relationship with the people of Einburg, he still didn’t like the thought of the townspeople being killed by bandits. Andric put the bag of storage over his shoulder and put all the loot he had obtained from the corpses around him into the bag. He also went and took the remains of Veremund’s sword. If Veremund had a large supply of swords in his bag of storage, there had to be a reason he kept using the sword he had on his waist. To investigate, Andric took the shattered pieces of metal. After Andric took everything that was outside the mine, he opened the entrance and went inside. Since he had the bag of storage, he might as well take everything. He dumped everything into his new bag of storage, and the list of items it transmitted to his brain grew increasingly large. The mine was completely cleared out after a few minutes, and Andric went back to the surface. Finally, the bandit den was completely looted. Andric put his roll of clothes into the bag of storage, as well as the sword he picked up along the way to the bandit den, and he quickly flew away. After he left, the wall of branches that surrounded the campsite dissipated. Eventually, natural rain fell, and plants grew. Over time, the den of the notorious Erfdag bandits was overgrown by nature.

Andric practiced the Standing Tortoise Manual for the rest of the day. In a little under three days of constant meditation, he had reached the second stage of the Human realm; such talent was unheard of in Einburg, but it wasn’t something to be joyous of. Andric’s grandparents would’ve been ecstatic if their grandchild had been born under normal circumstances. In their eyes, Andric’s talent was merely a small redeeming quality of his. At least with his progression through the martial way, he would be able to earn the family more money. The next day, Andric attended Instructor Hubert’s class, and he was stopped by the instructor as soon as he entered the classroom. “Second stage! I was wondering why you were gone for so long!” Instructor Hubert walked up to Andric and said. He could see the spirit energy inside Andric’s body with his Spirit Sight, making Andric’s advancement to Human realm second stage obvious. “Thank you,” Andric bowed to the instructor and glanced across the room. If he could help it, he would rather have his talent remain unknown to the rest of the townspeople, but there was no helping the instructor’s sudden statement. Several town youths had heard the instructor, and they were sure to spread the news around. “Don’t start slacking, now. If having a little bit of martial talent makes you think you don’t need to attend lessons, you’re mistaken!” Instructor Hubert laughed and said. “I won’t!” Andric replied, and he took his seat at the back of the classroom. For the past fifteen years, Andric hid most of his capabilities. When he was young, he couldn’t stand crawling on the floor and babbling, so he skipped directly to walking and talking. This action made Andric’s reputation in the town soar, but it also earned the ire of parents who wanted their own children to be superior. When Andric showed a hint of being a genius, the townspeople were eager to bring up his past! Once the town youths around his age learned that he had advanced to the second stage of the Human realm in less than a week, they would surely try to do something to prop up their own egos. A few minutes later, a group of six boys entered the classroom and sat at the back, near Andric. Four of them were fourteen, and the other two were fifteen. Of the fifteen year olds, only one of them had reached Human realm second stage, and he had been practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual for several months. A youth from the front of the classroom scurried to the back, whispered something to the group of six bodys, and ran back to his seat. At that moment, the group of six boys stared at Andric with looks of hostility. ‘I was right!’ Andric had read the thoughts of the six boys like a book, but his options were severely limited. As a reincarnated magician, he obviously held much more power than six children, but there were much larger entities at play than a few town youths. If Andric ever revealed himself to be a magician, he would instantly become an enemy of Hochland! Therefore, using magic was forbidden! When Andric’s previous life was ended, magicians and martialists were at war. It was too risky for him to out himself as a magician without knowing how the current political climate faired for magicians. If he used magic to defend himself from the six boys, he could very well face retaliation from a hundred thousand Hochland soldiers, or more! Furthermore, in addition to not being able to use magic, Andric couldn’t use violence. His martial progressed made him stronger than five of the six boys, but he was weaker than the sixth. Also, even if Andric could fight equally against the six boys, he still had to worry about their boys’ parents and relatives. Most families in Einburg had between three and ten children. However, Andric was an only-child! While the six boys had older brothers they could receive assistance from, Andric had nobody! Andric spent the class period thinking about what the six boys would do after class. If he was lucky, they would get up and walk out without saying anything to him. If he was unlucky, they would want to prove their superiority to his face. The class eventually came to an end, and Andric saw the six boys beginning to approach him, but he was saved by Instructor Hubert! “Andric, to congratulate you on your stage advancement, I’ll open your lung-diaphragm meridian,” the instructor said. He paused for a second, and he spoke before one of the six boys around Andric could angrilly speak up, “If anyone else can advance to Human realm second stage in less than a month, I’ll also open a second meridian for them.” Instructor Hubert’s words silenced anyone who was about to complain. Although Instructor Hubert could easily open meridians, he never opened a second meridian for free. Although townspeople could pay Instructor Hubert to open one of their meridians, nobody had enough talent to warrant it. In the last ten years, Instructor Hubert had strictly opened one meridian per townsperson! Instructor Hubert wasn’t withholding the use of his ability for no reason. Using spirit energy attacks was easy for someone in the Novice realm, and Instructor Hubert was limited in how many he could perform each day. Secondly, he needed to earn money somehow! If Instructor Hubert opened meridians for free, nobody would pay him to do it! Though none of the native townspeople would pay for it, outstanding talents from outside the town would frequently come to Einburg with chests full of silver coins specifically to employ Instructor Hubert’s ability. There were a myriad of other reasons why Instructor Hubert didn’t open meridians for free. But, when he considered the circumstances of Andric’s birth and his talent, he allowed Andric to have a second meridian opened for free. Andric stood and bowed and said, “Thank you.” To his sides, the six boys glared menacingly at him, but they couldn’t touch him while they were inside the classroom. As long as no adult was watching the six boys could do whatever they wanted to Andric, but Instructor Hubert stayed in the classroom following his lesson, interrupting the six boys’ plans. Andric walked to the front of the classroom, but Instructor Hubert did not immediately begin opening his lung-diaphragm meridian. Instead, he said, “Let’s wait until the classroom is empty.” They waited a few minutes for the younger students to shuffle out of the classroom, and finally it was just Andric and Instructor Hubert. While Andric was anxious to have his second meridian opened, he knew he would have to face the six boys once he exited the classroom. The longer he took, the further away Andric’s encounter with the six boys would become. Instructor Hubert also knew this, so he took his time. “To reach the second stage in less than a week is excellent in a small town like Einburg, but it’s nothing compared to the true talents in Mahtzig. Three years ago, a son in the Blanchard Clan reached Human realm second stage in less than an afternoon!” Instructor Hubert’s statement shocked Andric. Even though he had knowledge from a previous life, it still took him almost a week to advance to Human realm second stage. If an ordinary child in a powerful clan could achieve the same in a fraction of the time, it just went to show how important it was to have natural talent. What Instructor Hubert didn’t tell Andric was that the Blanchard Clan was a clan of renown generals in the history of Hochland, and that particular son had been a once-in-a-century genius! Normally, even a clan of generals would have a difficult time reaching the second stage of the Human realm in less than a week, but Instruct Hubert wasn’t going to tell that to Andric. “I’ll continue to work hard,” Andric said. “Good. Now, I’ll open your lung-diaphragm meridian,” Instructor Hubert said, and he turned to face Andric. He looked at Andric’s abdomen with Spirit Sight, then stabbed the location between Andric’s lung, heart, and diaphragm. His finger sank a short distance into Andric flesh, then he activated his spirit energy attack. Ten seconds after it started, it was over. Andric winced in pain, but he refused to make a sound. He focused on the inside of his body, but he didn’t learn anything from observing Instructor Hubert’s actions. He thought he might learn something from the way Instructor Hubert cleared his meridians that would allow him to clear his own meridians, but it was futile. Perhaps, if he gained better control over spirit energy and spirit sense, he would be able to work something out. Once Andric’s lung-diaphragm meridian was opened, Instructor Hubert sat at his desk. He allowed Andric a few seconds to recuperate from having his body stabbed, then reminded him, “Don’t slack off.” “I won’t,” Andric replied, and he exited the classroom. As expected, the six boys from earlier were waiting a short distance away. They stood outside a shop, chewing on thick stalks of sweetgrass. At first glance, they looked like ordinary town youths who spent their allowances on candy, but Andric knew they were waiting for him. Further away, in various locations, other youths from the classroom were sticking around to watch the inevitable confrontation. Andric had no reason to fear the six boys, but he did feel aggravation. He wanted to return home to continue practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual, but a few jealous children wanted to start a ruckus. The first boy to approach Andric was the leader of their group and the oldest, Audovacar. He wore farmer’s clothes, and his body was strong from doing field work for most of his life. In terms of physical strength, he would exceed Andric even if Andric was at Human realm third stage. Andric’s only method of fighting Audovacar was through words. Contrary to many types of fights, the upper hand in a battle of words was gained through speaking second. Whatever Audovacar said, Andric needed to twist the meaning and make Audovacar seem like an idiot. Directly insulting him would work, but too much provocation would incite a battle of fists, which Andric did not want. “Last night, my father said he would teach me his Ground Plowing Stomp. It’s a Human realm second stage martial technique, so not just anyone can learn it,” Audovacar spoke among his group, although loud enough for Andric to hear it. He then said, louder, “Andric, does your father have any martial techniques to teach you?” Half a second later, he pretended to catch himself making a mistake, and he appended, “Oh, I forgot that you don’t have a father.” Audovacar went straight for the classic: bringing up Andric’s father. There wasn’t anyone in Einburg who didn’t know about Andric’s lack of a father, and the issue had plagued him for his entire life. The insult was as basic as it could get, and it meant Audovacar hadn’t thought through what he was going to insult Andric with. Andric immediately replied, “Is that a sparring technique? Well, you two have fun plowing each other,” and walked away. Audovacar and two of his flunkies were shocked. Besides them, nobody knew what Andric’s euphemism meant, and the insult had gone over the heads. In short, it was the perfect comeback. If Audovacar were to get overly upset, the others around him would look deeper into what Andric said, and they would eventually discover the homosexual insinuation. If this happened, Audovacar would be faced with untold embarrassment. At least for the moment, Audovacar would pretend nothing had been said, and he could save some face, but he would have to deal with the knowledge that he took Andric’s insult without returning anything. Audovacar’s inward perception and outward perception were clashing, and he ended up letting Andric walk away without any further dispute.

Andric returned home. He had no business inside the town, and he didn’t work in the fields with his grandparents or mother. Besides practicing the Standing Tortoise Manual, Andric had no other pressing matters. He needed to get strong as quickly as possible, and his lack of obligations made it easy to find time to cultivate. But, even though Andric had no reason to seek out the other townspeople, they had reasons to seek out him. That night, nothing happened. The next night, a group of townspeople from the older generation arrived outside Andric’s home. They were mostly farmers with minimal say in the town’s governance, but two were businessmen from the inner town, who happened to be relatives of Audovacar’s friends. As soon as Andric saw the small gathering, he knew they were there to make trouble. It wasn’t unknown to him that many of the townspeople thought he had no right to be born, and the handouts Alda and him received made some townspeople jealous. In Einburg, everyone had to work for their meals except Alda. She had the favor of the town’s mayor, and he gave Alda many free benefits. The Standing Tortoise Manual was one benefit, as well as a weekly bag of grain. In the past, Alda could defend Andric by saying he was only a child, and the mayor could defend Alda by saying her parents had worked for the town for a long time and deserved a little help in their time of need. Now that Andric had turned fifteen and was technically an adult according to Hochland law, Andric didn’t know what would happen. If the townspeople wanted to chase him away and stop the charity Alda received, there wasn’t much of a moral reason to dispute them; after all, it had been fifteen years since Alda’s trama. The townspeople of Einburg weren’t stupid, and they wouldn’t allow themselves to be taken advantage of for so many years without complaining. When Einburg was only a village, it wasn’t too difficult for one or two families to receive help from town hall. However, now that the village had turned into a town with several hundred residents, there needed to be regulations placed on who could receive what when. The townspeople did not want residents becoming lazy and asking for handouts with Alda as a reference for when it had been done in the past. In the history of Einburg, nobody had gotten free bags of grain for fifteen years, and the townspeople who had to pick up the slack weren’t going to let it happen again. “Hey, Alda, I want to talk to that boy of yours,” an adult townsperson from Alda’s generation stepped up to the door of Andric’s home and said. The walls were hardly soundproof, and it was easy to hear the man’s voice throughout the house. Andric had known the group of townspeople were gathering for a few minutes, but he remained in his bedroom, sitting on his bed and reading the Standing Tortoise Manual. Gasto and Roza were with Alda in the sitting room. They were hesitant to confront the group of townspeople. “That boy is nothing but trouble,” Gasto said and leaned back in his chair. He had never thought highly of Andric, but he couldn’t be happy about a group of townspeople gathering outside his home. Although he wanted Andric gone, he wanted it to be a farewell Alda was comfortable with. “If they want to talk about him, they should talk to him. He’s an adult, he can speak for himself,” Roza added, similarly displeased at the mob outside her home. “I’ll go see what they want,” Alda said and stood, and she walked toward the front door. Andric knew that his grandparents didn’t want him around, and he knew that most of the townspeople around him weren’t fond of him, but he didn’t care. To him, the only person whose opinion mattered was his mother. He could put up with ridicule and abuse as long as his mother still wanted him to stay. Staying in Einburg was merely a choice of convenience. In Einburg, Andric had a relatively safe place to practice meditation techniques and learn about the world. If he left earlier, there was no telling when he could’ve acquired a treasure like the Standing Tortoise Manual or had someone as generous as Instructor Hubert open two of his meridians. In Einburg, Andric had food, shelter, and information. He originally planned to stay in Einburg for another year, but leaving early wouldn’t cause any harm. Andric paused his cultivation, but he stayed in his bedroom, while Alda went to talk to the townspeople outside the house. She opened the door and asked them, “What do you want to talk about?” “I just want to ask you one question, when are you going to move on?” the townsperson asked and backed away, melding with the group of townspeople. “What do you mean?” Alda asked. “Listen, I’m gonna tell you that nobody is blaming you for anything. We know that having Andric wasn’t your choice. But, you can’t sit at home and let your parents and the town take care of you forever. At some point, you need to realize that nothing is going to change what happened in the past, and that kid is now an adult who should be spending his days working,” a man said, earning some words of agreement from the townspeople behind him. Alda, standing flustered in the doorway of her home, was unable to think of a response for several seconds, in which time her parents walked up and stood behind her. Gasto said a word in her ear, then she said, “I know. I know I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get back to where I was at before, but now I’m too old to be that young girl. I think the worst thing is all the time I’ve lost. If I was stronger, I could’ve resumed my life when I was seventeen, but I’m now thirty-two and still in the same place.” Alda’s words were filled with deep shame. She thought every day about where she might be if she hadn’t encountered Andric’s father, if she had aborted Andric when he was still inside her, or if she had allowed her parents to sell him to slavers. There wasn’t a day that passed without her wondering where her life could’ve gone. She learned to pretend that it didn’t bother her, but she couldn’t forget. Many of the townspeople who gathered around Alda’s home knew her when she was a child, and some of them had grown up next to her. They sympathised with her, but even so, they had a limit to what they could excuse. In many of their minds, Alda had wasted the latter half of her life. More than they wanted Andric to stop receiving the charity of the town, they wanted Alda to move on with her life. She had lived thirty-two years, and she could easily have another thirty years afterward. The townspeople of Einburg didn’t want Alda’s entire life to be weighed down by Andric. The younger generation of Einburg came to Alda’s home because they hated Andric, but the older generation came because they were worried about Alda. Her refusal to abort Andric as a fetus had made some townspeople annoyed with her, but they could never blame or despise her. “Alda, whatever you need, we’re here for you. But, we aren’t here to help that bastard child. You need to decide: either the two of you start working, or he leaves with the next merchant caravan,” the man said, giving Alda only two choices. “We didn’t want to do this, but it’s the only way to help you move on.” Forcing Alda to move on with her life was no simple task. She had stayed at home and worked only occasionally for the past fifteen years, and her routine had changed very little. For the first few years, Alda didn’t leave her house or talk to anyone. When she did go outside, she wouldn’t walk more than ten steps away. Only when Andric had gone missing did she finally leave the area around her house. Andric couldn’t be carried away like he could when he was just an infant, but something similar needed to happen. Merchant caravans came to Einburg every few months. They usually had between twenty and one hundred people in them, including merchants, guards, and travelers moving to new cities. Whenever a merchant caravan came to Einburg, the merchants restocked on grain and water, and the townspeople bought the things they could make themselves. The price to tag along with the caravan was zero, but the cost to join one of their wagons was measured in silver coins. The cost couldn’t be bared by Alda and her parents, but it was a small price for the town to have Andric gone. Alda’s parents would be happy to send Andric away. If possible, they would like to send him to one of the border regions, where he could join the military and die on a battlefield. Then, they would earn a silver coin for each month he had served. That way, they would get something back from having raised Andric for fifteen years. Anywhere he went, they would at least get him out of Alda’s life. For the last sixteen years, Andric had weighed Alda down like a ball and chain. Even with the ball attached to her, she could still move slowly. If she encountered something that made her want to run away, she wouldn’t be able to return to where she started from. Without the ball and chain, she could go much farther, but she could also retreat deeper. As long as Andric was with her, Alda’s life was stable. The townspeople knew they needed to interrupt her peacefulness, but they were restricted in their methods. They would never harm Alda, so their only option was to harm Andric. Exiling Andric would undoubtedly change Alda’s routine, so much so that she might find a job on her own accord. Alda thought for a while, then meekly asked, “Can you help him get to Mahtzig?” “He can go wherever the next merchant caravan is headed. If they’re going to the capital, we’ll pay for his trip,” the townsperson replied reassuringly. The mood among the crowd lightened after Alda asked her question, because it sounded like she was going to agree to sending Andric away. “If you can do that, I won’t have to worry,” Alda said, and relief washed over the crowd. Finally, after fifteen years, they had succeeded in convincing Alda to let go of Andric. Alda didn’t believe she could force Andric to leave the town, but she knew she didn’t need to. In the past ten years, there hadn’t been a single instance where Andric refused something Alda asked from him. If she asked him to leave, she knew he would do so. Although Andric was quite reserved as a child, he was talented in many aspects, and he had no issue adapting to change. Of course, Alda wouldn’t be willing to send Andric away if it meant never seeing him again. Mahtzig was a safe city at the heart of the kingdom, far from any battlefields. For someone like Andric, there would be plenty of work. Many townspeople of Einburg had heard about how marvelous the capital was, and a fair portion of the town’s younger generation moved there when they became adults. Alda had a brother in Mahtzig, which she hoped could help Andric if Andric got into trouble. It was a long stretch, seeing how none of Alda’s family treated Andric like a member of the family, but it was better than sending Andric to a random city where she had no connections.

How did Rem find himself fighting the baby of all dystopian robots? That was a simple question with a long answer. To explain how the arrest of the World Smartest man went so catastrophically south, the condition of the arrest must first be understood. Melosov was hiding inside Acrisius’s temporary camp deep beneath the valley. In the history of Centuria, someone must have used this place as an emergency refuge given various corridors underground. Rem wasn’t Hikma, but he doubt the cave painting of a giant butterfly emerging over tiny stick-like humans painted all over the wall foretold a sunny future. The adjacent wall also depicted a white tower and an army of monster being chained by this humongous dude waving a golden sword. [Clairvoyance] might have its power significantly reduce, but Rem’s instinct worked fine. Especially the imaginative part that prophesied a potential threat. Alas, he finally reached the fake door leading to the room his target resided. … Nereo Melosov stood in front of him like a twisted reflection. His black hair contrasted with Rem rapidly whitened lock. The flannel shirt and trouser were downright relaxing compared to Rem’s heavily modified suit with smart fabric. Both men were so similar in so many ways. They were both men who chased an illusory goal, and both knew they would face utter darkness to achieve it. However, the victor was clear. Rem fell to his knee. His head spiked with a painful migraine. The hero could only ask what was the dwarf with wrench was doing with his brain. His [Clairvoyance] flickered as the vision of the future transformed into a static snow of a malfunctioning television. This had never happened before. Not a cried escaped Rem’s lip, but the critical damage was done. Rem instantly knew what Melosov accomplished and immediately upped the threat-level to the maximum. Screwed Orwell, Wayward or even the gods, those guys were nothing. Rem knew he wasn’t facing the final boss. This was the hidden boss meant to test your jacked party at the end of the video game. Nereo Melosov did the unthinkable. He jammed [Clairvoyance], taking out Rem’s greatest ability before the battle even started. “Quite a useful ability,” Melosov knew exactly what he was thinking. “But you are too overconfident with it.” “When did you set it up?” Rem had to ask. He refused to believe Nereo packed a future-vision jammer for shits and giggles. “Before the battle even begun,” Nereo answered. “You are smart, but do you believe just searching Promtus can stop me from listening in?” For Rem, everything suddenly clicked. “You modified Kakia and showed her on purpose,” Rem realized. “You know Ace wants to kill her, so you throw the bitch away to lure her out of here.” Melosov nodded, “Yep, quite a collection you got there. I can’t afford to have your gang assembled. That is too much variable. So, I play a classic divide and conquer. Nano-12 is an Anti-Magic, mass-destruction golem to deal with the softy, Kakia to bait your elf, and in case you have a back-up I decide to throw in the Earthshaker jacked up on booster signal.” Melosov chuckled. “Okay, you are probably thinking I am explaining my plan like a megalomanic, and it would backfire.” Melosov spread his arm outward as a welcome, “Sorry mate, but you are too late. I am long gone.” Rem expected this, “You are a LMD—a life-model decoy. The real you already got everything he wanted and made you as a robot’s terminal to talk to me.” “Bingo,” Melosov applauded. “After reviewing your friends little tussles with the two S-rank specimens. I conclude that even my best effort will only slow you guys down. I simply don’t know enough about you folks in black to risk it. The data about the Earthshaker, the crest and the Leyline are the reason I am here. With that done and dusted, I have no reason to stay.” “You scoop,” Rem said. “You sold the portfolio and cut your loss.” Melosov shrugged, “You can say that, but I never care about the loss, Dream.” Melosov laughed. “You are really careful with those codenames. I can’t help but be curious about you.” Rem grabbed his Central Magnum, “Curious? Consider me afraid. You wound Acrisius like a wind-up toy and played him like piano.” “Not going to deny that,” Nereo felt a certain kinship with the boy. “It isn’t even hard. They want to believe we are just like them.” Nereo chuckled. “Come on, do you think everyone in the world operates like El Acerbia?” “Then what do you run on?” Rem asked, trying to figure out this dangerous enigma. The room must be a booby trap. That was pretty obvious. “Exactly,” Melosov answered like Rem hit the question. “That question is what I want to answer.” “What?” Rem said, without [Clairvoyance], deducing the man in front of him is impossible. “I thought long and hard about this,” Melosov said. “I don’t want power. Fame isn’t my thing. The only thing that drove me is the pursuit of knowledge.” Melosov narrated. “But long time ago it used to be more than that. I wanted to impress someone.” “And that person is gone,” Rem finally got what Melosov operated on and it scared him. “You are doing this out of revenge.” “No, she wouldn’t want that,” Melosov said. “It is a logical assumption, but a mistaken one, Dream.” The World Smartest Man chuckled. “That name has a meaning, isn’t it? You believe dream is the basis for all goodness. In certain aspect, you are right, the desire to do good and sustain said merit is borne out of a vision. Without that vision, people will simply exist without desiring for better tomorrows. Yes, empathy is nice and all, but to sustain a long lasting and meaningful change, you need an image of what that world would be.” “You are the first enemy I have ever met who actually get close to understanding that meaning,” Rem was respectfully fearful of the man before him. “Ah yes,” Melosov replied. “I apologize for the rest of Phantasia. They have been repeating the past for time immemorial, but you already know that.” Melosov clapped softly. “None of your enemy understood you, and that ignorance brought your victories. Those masks. Those entrances. Your symbol. They are to light the beacon of hope, daring the people to dream. Once the people believe better life is possible, no one can stop the coming tide. The power that be could try as they might, but the moment people dared to envision the world without them, the evening bell will toll. But you never give your organization’s name out. Let me guess, a euphemism for the sunrise, isn’t it? You are called the Dawn.” “No,” Rem lied. “You are lying,” Nereo confirmed. “Anyway. I have clarified some of my doubt.” “Your doubt?” Rem said. “It is suspicious for someone of your caliber to emerge out of nowhere,” Nereo said. “I want to understand more about you. For I also have a dream to chase. You should understand better than anyone, not all dream is selfless. I seek to understand the greatest mystery of all — me.” “You want to understand yourself,” Rem finally pieced together Melosov’s desire together. “You want to know why exactly you are this way?” Melosov laughed, “Quite childish, isn’t it,” the scientist seemed remorseful but determined. “I know what society accepts as right and wrong. I understand why that concept needs to exist. I am smart enough to understand what people want and why that should be respected. But I happily ignore all those qualms, in favor of attaining wisdom and peace with myself.” “You know right and wrong, but still ignore the consequence,” Rem knew he was wasting time, but Melosov must be understood. “Do you think you deserve peace after all the bodies you pile to get there?” “Who knows?” Melosov replied and put forth his final speech. “We are, all of us, submerge in the pool of doubt. We invent million stories to escape from the bottomless pool, tricking ourselves the imaginary light can guide us out of darkness. I refuse to accept those half-bake answers. I need to understand what exactly is ‘me’ who is swimming in that pool. “To shed myself of ignorance, I have studied countless tales we, as a collective, had woven. Stories range from Religion, Material Science, Physics, Mystical Theory, Programming, Nanotechnology, Chemistry, Biology, Astronomy, and countless field of engineering. Yet, I know I am only a student. The stories we created are countless, so are our tools to measure the pool of unknown. “We have a million ways to understand the pool of mystery, but the field of ‘us’ and our existence is still unbelievably thin. For the ‘me’ is the measurement of metaphysics, we can measure how our nervous systems and brain activities allow us to swim in that pool of darkness. We know when we swim from history and evolution biology, but what are we swimming in the first place? Where exactly are we swimming too? Why did we exist to swim? “I seek neither power nor domination. The only thing I want is to answer that question. I already lost interest in the cultural definition of good and evil. The pool exists to be used to answer that question. This is my apology to you, bringer of Dawn. I want us to part in peace, but you know I won’t stop nor turn back. Your dream exists for all who hope, while mine exists for me alone. We might cross sword and lock-arms depend solely on the enemy. I want you to know this isn’t personal.” … The World Smartest Man That title was highly disputable among all its various interpretations. For Rem, the reason Nereo was awarded with such a title was to credit the sole dream of exploring knowledge above all things. The man wasn’t just smart, but he pursuit intellect for the sake of intellect itself. Experts in their field pursuit their interest out of desire. They would hit the peak eventually. However, Melosov—The World Smartest Man — pursuit knowledge out of desire to understand himself and knowledge itself. It was a path only brought more question, an unending interstellar mountain, requiring the man to understand and surpass every discipline. If education prepared the man for the environment he lived in, Melosov’s was beyond even the most educated of them, for he sought to pursuit the metaphysical meaning of education itself. … Melosov stood, “One last thing, I detected the few movements in the Spirit Realm. I believe Hades might be after something,” Melosov looked at Rem sympathetically. “And I apologize.” “For the entire mess?” Rem retorted. “Nope,” Nereo replied as the floor beneath them cracked and the entire room shuddered. “For making you test-run my new Anti-Mage robot.” Nereo shrugged at Rem’s glare. “Good test-run aren’t easy to find, you know?” The green Magus Sin Crystal particle beam exploded from beneath Rem. Melosov’s LMD exploded in the attack, refusing to give Rem the satisfaction of venting his anger. It was the first time Rem solidly got out-planned by someone. … Meanwhile, in the valley, Hikma got blasted into the rock with violence. The Nano-bot enhanced meat-tower was proven to be magic resistant. Hikma already tried freezing, electrocution, sealing, biting it off with darkness, killing it with laser, crushing it, and cutting it. He even flooded the Valley, but nothing work. The only thing he hadn’t really tried was burning, and that was because the meat tower responded to that by rechannelling it back into another thermal death-ray. Worst, the tower kept splitting itself apart, making any effort to bind and handle it all but in adequate. It was then he found himself at the feet of a familiar man. Sameal Wayward in his new blue hair, was carrying Duke Eurystheus on his back like a knapsack. “Have fun?” Hikma said. “And put Eurytheus down.” “I will have to say no on that,” Wayward said. “How about a deal,” he pointed at the hungry meat-tower, “I help you deal with that and you left me alone with Eurytheus.” Hikma groaned, “You think you have a choice?” Wayward shrugged, “I already have to destroy several flying ships and war-machine to get this far. At this point, I no longer bloody care.” Hikma picked himself up, “I can handle this.” “You might,” Wayward looked at the meet tower. “But that thing operated on high power Nanotechnology and Anti-Magic system. It was ready to split apart several times when you tried to attack it. Your firepower couldn’t kill it, could you? You needed [Tenshou] to hold the pieces together.” “I could wait for Dream,” Hikma argued. “But Dream won’t be coming soon,” Wayward gestured around the valley. “And how much death we are on? Oh yeah, there we are down to around few ten thousands survivors in this valley. Can you bear to watch that dropped any lower?” Hikma knew Wayward got him, but he couldn’t go down. “What are you really planning here, Wayward?” Hikma said. “I am not as savvy as Rem but even I know you have an agenda.” Wayward smiled, “Yes, I have a long-term plan in Frisnia. Personally, I have a reason to believe El Acerbia is testing something.” Wayward grinned. “But I suggest is a whole new ballgame. If a rumor is true, the Enma clan is involved with the project.” He clicked his finger. “I also heard your old nemesis is sighted in Frisnia,” Wayward mused. “It would be an interesting time to reboot your relationship.” “Oh shut-up,” Hikma addressed the giant meat tower. “Let get this over with.” “Very well,” Wayward spread his finger and held the tower of meat in place with telekinetic pressure. Image of a blue bird appeared behind him and scorched the tower with the flaps of its wings. Together with the telekinetic whirlpool, the flames imprisoned the meat tower in place and did what Hikma’s ability could not, chaining the meat tower in place. Still, the nano-machine enhanced tower proved to be worthy of its durability. But with himself freed from the constant attack and facing an immobilized opponent, Hikma was finally freed to unleash his combination attacks. “[Tempest], [Aegis],” Hikma commanded his pseudo spirit and the cloud above them part. “Unleash the [Entropy] ray!” The beam of severing light collided against the tower. Each nano-machine was hit with an electromagnetic wave that slowly shutting the off one-by-one. Normally, such an attack would be quickly intercepted by the nanobot’s ability to absorb and vent energies, but Wayward cyclone of heat had entered the equation. Unable to handle the combination of magical-base scrambling and the Wayward’s firepower, the titanic golem composing the corpse of hundred people slowly crumbled into a burnt out-husk. Wayward felt something in wave of [Tenshou], “It looks like your comrade is finishing their businesses,” he noticed something, “oh. This is interesting.” Hikma watched a cute little mouse flying toward him. It was a pink rodent that seemed to swim through the air like sardines, leaving a trail of twinkling dust behind. “What is this,” Hikma asked as the cutesy animal crept at him with pleading eyes. “That mouse is the emissary of the Spirit King, Hades,” Wayward took a few steps backward. “It has space attribute by the way.” Hikma finally realized what Wayward meant when the mouse exploded with light. When the light faded, Hikma De Darwin was gone.

Melody was pissed off the Earthshaker wasn’t going down. Her [Heavenly Eye] backed by [Scarlet-Brand Soul-gazer] already told her the truth that someone was boosting the six-eyes dragon power with soul resonance. It was an unstable boost in power never meant to last long. But Melody knew she couldn’t afford to waste more time. Her contest with the Earthshaker already dug a new valley. Mountains were obliterated by lightning and rivers were diverted by Melody’s [Astra]. The dragon’s breath had dug a new gorge on the very Earth and the tornado created from the Dragon attack. Melody focused her soul energy into a canon and showered the six-eyes beast with [Vajra] the sent gasping in pain, but the humongous size prevented her attack from scoring the hit that actually matter. Knowing full-well, their battle could permanently damage the atmosphere, the Empress went all out. Conjuring [Scarlet Brand Soul Gazer], she cast an enchantment on herself. [Dravritra] Crimson patterned emerged on the empress like an illusory armor and Melody disappeared. The six-eyes black dragon suddenly felt the kick the knocked off its jaw and shattered most of its teeth. The blow hit like a tail-swipe from a primordial dragon. Not wasting a move Melody lifted her feet up to deliver the knee drop of the century. The blow slammed like a dropping mountain, knocking the kilometer-huge dragon unconscious and out of the sky. The collision parted the cloud and finally allowed the sin to shine. The dragon woke a feel breath later from the sun’s shining light to feel Melody impaling its chest with the lance of [Vajra] enhanced by the power of ancestral dragons. The air flashed with scarlet light. Earthshaker’s innards boil from the grievous injuries as it fell into the ground with enough to collapse the very landscape into a new open pit mine. The Dragon burst with even more power, widening the pit in an explosion of force, but refusing to surrender. Melody used her Aura to tank that last struggled of the critically injured beast, unleashing one more technique to end the battle. [Soul Servant]. Scarlet brand emerged on in the pit, and from its countless arms of rock rose from the Earth to obey their mistress’ desire. Several arms put the dragon in the head-lock, stopping it from firing the destructive breath. Hundred more works to encircled its wings, pinning to the earth. But the Earthshaker refused to surrender, it lifted it four limbs to escape the bandage but the spear of Melody’s [Vajra] pinned the limb to the ground. The Dragon finally realized it was more or less doomed when Melody stepped on its snout and began waling on the dragon. Each blow cracked the atmosphere. It was a bloody display of dragon abuse. And the game of whack-the-dragon didn’t stop. Its humongous length did exactly nothing to stop the unending punishment, which aimed to bring it to submission. “Just. Get. Lost. Already.” Melody repeatedly bashed the energy spear on the Earthshaker with enough force to shake the county and caved hills. The Knight didn’t allow the Earthshaker any right to get up or defend itself. After the lightning and landscape of scorching draconic breath, Melody was fresh out of mercy. Finally, after what had to be fifty bashes with the lance of soul-pressure tipped with extra dripping from a [Dravritra], the guardian beast of old Centuria kissed the ring into a bloody mess, leaving the Empress of Horizon Dawn standing. The terrify space mice slowly tried not to get notice by the venting demoness as it teleported her into the land god only knows. … On the other side of the land, Luxinna was having a grudge-match, and it went exactly like Earthshaker bout with Melody. The mechanically enhanced cyborg that used to be the nightmare of all maiden and woman in Centuria put up it best fight it could give, but Luxinna was to piss to give a damn. Outside the battlefield, the space mouse sent to teleport her quaked in the distance as it watched the beating of the century. Kakia bounced across the field like a football. She swung leg, armed with high-frequency blade, at the elf. Instead, she hit nothing, and the counterfire of [Assault Flora] hit the worst place possible. Two of Kakia’s appendages fell off, taking the barrier projector with it. “Oh, I guess you needed that,” Luxinna growled, grabbing the mechanical abomination by the face. “Yeah. I know how annoying shield could be.” [Jewel Sword: Salvation] The very earth boiled from the blasted of molten glass and heat that transformed everything it touch into molten sand. Kakia ate the blast in the face. Her high-durability fame and godly electricity grounding would prove adequate against every lighting-user, but Luxinna was armed to the teeth with particle canon. Kakia flex across the battlefield. Her body heated from the intense temperature. The inner force-field generator absorbed most of the damage, but Kakia was stunned. Not wasting any chance, Luxinna closed in and severed Kakia’s arm again, lopping off the contraption on the heavily armed limbs. Sparks flew from the stump that used to be her arm, but Kakia’s electronic mind aimed at her nanite-power bunker buster with electronic precision and fired. However, the ammunition [Assault Flora] intercepted the weapon. The glass sword sliced through the missile and impaled the launcher. With four out of ten limbs down, Kakia aimed the appendage with the super laser and floored the firing mechanism. High-intensity Laser beamed flashed, blasting the top of the mountain. However, the elf already calculated the attack’s trajectory and evaded. Kakia readjusted the path of the laser, but Luxinna, in a twist of quick thinking, constructed a special [Guard Flora] which acted like a mirror to reflect the beam of light at Kakia’s leg, cutting it off. Fallen to the side due to lack of balance, Kakia lifted her remaining arm contraption and fired a barrage. Luxinna dodged the micro-missiles and powered through rapid firing laser bolts. An [Electro Lorde] discharged. dissipating the roaring flame unleashed on her face. The elf flashed forward at the speed of Mach 15, unleashing the sonic boom. Luxinna dodged a coming high-frequency chainsaw by a hair breath, slicing the cable connecting with it in a single slash, and sent the problematic weapon flying in the air. She pirouetted past another chainsaw, attempting to cut her in half, and severed it — length wise. Kakia responded by firing a last-ditch effort of laser, but even the high-energy photon beam could stop Luxinna. Blocking the laser with [Historia], the elf flew through the photon ray, diffracting the beam of devastation, which devastated the entire area they fought. Luxinna tackled Kakia in a flash of lightning and took her into the mountain. The dazed cyborg felt an audible snap as Luxinna crushed the laser-appendages under her foot. “Out of tricks?” In the elf’s hand [Historia] morphed into a giant sledge-hammer. “Great. What did he say again?” she recalled Rem’s word. “Impale you for all to see that we are not fucking around. Okay, Hellspawn, I know you are already dead, but in case there is a single part of Kakia in there. I want you to know,” Luxinna lifted the sledgehammer over her head with vengeance, “This. Is. Personal.” And she brought it down… Crash! Crunch! Bang! Fizz! Bang! Bang! BANG! Correction, she bought it down until Kakia resembled a bloody chunk of scrap-metal. The space mouse saw his target gruesomely dragged the mangle pieces of metal by its remaining foot. It saw the elf embalming the mangled result of her rage in an obelisk of golden glass and decided that ambush would not work. Luxinna turned back to see the mouse supplicating itself to the ground. The glass spired holding the mutilated wreck lighted a surreal god-like feel to Ace. “Hey, little guy,” Luxinna blinked at the mouse. “What do---” The mouse exploded amid its surrender. It knew cheap shot was the only way to achieve its mission. … Rem got up from the ground and looked at the mouse peaking at him by the corner. Great, Hades wanted a prick. Luxinna, Melody and Hikma were already relocated where they needed to be. Guess it would be his turn next. But Rem already made the calculation. Pieces were already in place to accomplish this mission. It was time for him to follow the scripted. Behind him, Ehto landed at Rem’s request. “Architect,” Rem said and motioned toward the three. “Take Phillip and the girl away from here. Tell Cytortia the Dawn will be scattered a little.” “R—” “Code name,” Rem prepped Central. “Fine, Dream, what do you mean?” Ehto said. “Circumstance has moved beyond my control,” Rem said. “Architect, Empress and Ace have been sent into a vital location. Hades needs our help, and he is being an ass about it.” Poppies gathered in Rem’s palm. “I will be gone too. Don’t worry. I believe we can still contact each other, but I doubt we can count on united soon.” “Wait, Hades?” Ehto watched the killer robot rose with another particle beam. “How come a Primordial god gets involved?” “Because fairies are Titania’s offspring,” A sword formed on Rem’s palm out of poppies. “Hades wants to resolve the sin of Tengen and make a stupid amend he shouldn’t be making.” “What?” Ehto said. “The man is so upset at his daughter action he wants to make it up to the tiny ants by ‘protecting’ them,” Rem shifted into the stance. “Leave, Architect, I am clearing the field.” “I—” Phillip started. “Go,” Rem yelled as the killer-bot fired the beam again. “We can’t to have you caught up in this. Go now!” Ehto promptly put Penelope on his back, hauled both Phillip and Atlanta into his arm and flew away. A microsecond later, Rem caught the beam with his spectral blade. [Tenno-no-Ken] Psychic storms ripped across the canyon, blasting apart everything. Anyone who was still awake was sent into unconsciousness. The robot facing Rem disintegrated as light filled the canyon. As soon as the light flashed, it was gone, and Rem was nowhere to be found. … Several things happened after the legendary Hidden Vault Showdown. Only 30,567 soldiers made it out of the valley on two feet. All three Dukes’ faction utterly collapsed from the battle. With Penelope declaration published into the paper, her voice-recording spread all over Centuria. As Rem predicted, the infrastructure waiting for the victor met with no one and fell into chaos and infighting as warlord popped all over the place. Acrisius flee the battlefield and was found several weeks later, murdered by a roaming band of bandit—an inglorious and anticlimactic death. Rem would have called it fitting for the wannabe king to meet his maker in such a pathetic manner. Minos was killed during inside the Hidden Vault. Balos Aurorin and Ornith were found alive beneath the rubble by the team dispatched by Aurorin themselves. However, with Balos being in no state to command the army, Minos’ faction splintered into several groups of warlords, vying for glory as the unifier. With Eurytheus captured, Elish Metis and ZZZ Millione found themselves utterly overwhelmed by the raw carnage and frankly cut their loss in Centuria. After surviving certain death together, the two may or may not have reconciled. The floating rumor of them dating wasn’t clarified nor confirmed. Nereo Melosov and Sameal Wayward had disappeared. Elin Rockshooter luckily survived the epic carnage and promptly left Centuria a day after. As for the Horizon Dawn and Acropolis… … “Fifty-two,” Penny struggled to complete the sit-up before collapsing. “How can you survive this?” “Guts,” Phillip replied, and handed Penny a cider. “Drink this, it helps boost your sugar content.” The sun was happily beating over Acropolis. Penelope had been successfully rescued and insisted she wanted to be trained in the Acropolis’ specialized self-defence course. Phillip, as the graduate, acted as her trainer. The former monarch progress was even, and Phillip expected her to move past the C-ranks soon. Surprisingly, Penny had an affinity for fire and her Adamakles were heavily inspired by Luxinna’s base creation types. After a feel more laps of training, the two went to greet Atlanta at the café. “So, your highness,” Atlanta spoke and quickly corrected herself. “Sorry. Force of habit. Well, Penny, what are you planning to do?” “Well, I consider becoming an ambassador for Acropolis,” Penny sipped the cider. “This is a damned good cider.” Phillip groaned, “Please told me you won’t be kidnapped again?” “By the time I actually become an ambassador, I won’t be that useless,” Penelope argued and turned her attention toward Atlanta. “Are you sure this place is going to be okay?” “The garrison is increasing at a decent pace, and the solar, wind and wave generator meant we are on our way to sufficiency,” Phillip said. “Our wall is one of the best in the entire Phantasia.” “I am not doubting our defense,” Penny said. “I am asking about the refugee that is coming here. The current conflict uproots many people.” “Well, we have the cerebro project,” Phillip said. “Can’t believe actually pull it off.” … ‘They’ were in a little rut. “So all our strongest members disappeared to the wind,” Cytortia surmised. “And Hades is getting involved. Well, Tengen is going to turn into quite a fight.” “With Cerebro online, things here will stabilize,” Ehto spoke as he scanned the data from the computer. “But what are we going to do, Cytortia?” Cerebro project was Rem’s psychic enchantment meant to make sure only a certain people with the correctly mental aptitude and psychological profile could find their way to Acropolis. Horizon Dawn created to screen the unwelcome criminal, deterred bandit and attracted the man-power. It was Rem’s basic idea to make sure the Acropolis remained protected even when the Dawn leaved. Cytortia looked through the sunny evening skies and the Ocean beneath. “Ehto, you think is the end. Just because those guys are scattered for a little while doesn’t mean they are going to be gone forever. Don’t worry, I believe we will find Rem again. This is just a beginning, Ehto. Rem and I didn’t get this far by calling quit at the slightest sign of inconvenience.” The two-remaining members of the Dawn stayed in that room, discussing their path forward. ... With that, the saga of Centuria came to a close. Event would only escalate from there on. Unbeknownst to everyone the forces of Divine Fist and Isle of Knowledge were rapidly closing into Tengen continent. However, those would be another story. This was the end of the foundation saga. Soon, the Dawn Avante will begin. Announcement IMPORTANT To everyone, due to the increasingly convoluted Mess HD have become (let be honest here the previous chapters are all over the place, and Grammar is sucky). I believe the attempt to rewrite the entire novel is in order, but it will probably take too long (and to be honest you probably want an extra chapter not retread).  Thus, I came with the best solution for now. I am officially concluding the Horizon Dawn Story as completed  TO REBOOT THE ENTIRE NOVEL IN THE NEXT ARC AS NEW SERIES. This reboot will shave down the convoluted Stat Card and systems, while keeping the storyline so far intact. The newest novel will simply read like the first chapter of a new series, while the entire 170-ish Chapter of the Dawn will be a threat as a background of legendary lore. I will take the short break to prep this new Arc. Some character name will be altered and detail will be more explained. The chapter length will be readjust to be more coherent. To follow the update you can find me at https://www.buymeacoffee.com/jlresearchq And even download the first Arc of my new novel United(?) We Stand in PDF format to await the new series. Please comment below if you want me for any question and I will update those who ask the very moment this very new reboot is released. Dawn Avante: White Tower will be out soon Remeber please tell me if you want an instant update Sloth out.

“Hundred and thirty-two,” Phillips barely lifted himself up for another push-up. “Good job, you are nearly used to six-fold pressure environment,” Melody said, chilling in the same room. “We will start a live combat prep after a regular healing potion doping and an hour of rest.” Phillip thought Rem’s extra-curricular training would be extreme. He was wrong — catastrophically wrong. The training he received wasn’t just harsh, it was Horizon Dawn’s trade-mark of brutal. The Dawn took a basic from Scathach but period under Satholia elevated the training system. Exercises under high pressure environment. Mana-doping to increase resistance of one Aura. Mental routine technique to optimize concentration. Regular meal of Alchemical serum for nutrition. It was a regime to turn your average joe to superhuman and superhuman to superhero. Every member of the Dawn, including the physically weakened Rem and non combat active Cytortia, was put through this gauntlet. The Dawn didn’t simply toss the student in the forest and pray; they condensed the optimal training condition to improve physical limitation at accelerated period. It was a revolutionary training, abusing the magical steroid ability to improve growth and Cytortia’s medical skill to eliminate the consequences. Within a week, the originally frail Phillips was ripped. His stats moved from C to B, and approaching A. However, those terrifying growths were simply getting him ready for advance combat training. Steroid and artificial gravity only got you the body, but the technique came from something else. The Dawn debated introducing their test-apprentice to True Magic, but apparently Satholia shot the idea down. According to Satholia, while True Magic existed in every person, only in a specific circumstance would it unleash its potential. As the Queen of Center, she bargained six special quotas from the WORLD for Rem, Melody, Luxinna, Ehto, Cytortia and Hikma to awaken their power through secondary awakening. Without quota and WORLD insisted on breaking the reality breaking bullshit, mass-recruitment wasn’t on the menus. Thus, until Satholia haggled more recruitment slot from the stingy arbitrator of reality, the Dawn’s recruitment drive would be hitting the break. Still, they planned to give Ehto the next best thing. A modified version of Orwell Mehest’s Adamakles using planned from Horizon Dawn’s member Origin. Phillip got five flavors and picked what he felt closest to him. Adamakles modified after Melody’s [Manifestation]. Rem expected its effect was like Wayward’s [The Fire Bird]. Unfortunately, being baked under the raw power of [Dravritra] was too hot for the young man. Melody’s Adamakles was one of the hardest to establish because it would require synthetic dragon essence that could only be created via Absolute Extraction using [Nectra Floral] and a medium to blend the user’s attribute with raw bathtub of dragon concentrate. Luckily, the Dawn got a stock of Dragon essence after the snafu in Millian and Phillip possessed lightning attributes like Luxinna. Phillip barely met the requirement to pursue his interest. Although, the happiness he received from this unexpected good fortune quickly had its anus pull inside-out, because acclimating your Mana with an alchemical bath of dragon juice and [Static Glass] felt like a painful acid scrub. Then there were the painful facts that he needed to live and sleep with the bathtub of hell until he formed a pseudo [Dragon Reactor]. To his credit, Phillip faced his self-impose torture without hesitation. His Mana soon exhibit the draconic property and Melody expected he would finally get the [Dragon Reactor] down within 2 weeks. However, that left one week of intense combat training to make sure the boy would walk out of the battlefield with Penelope instead of a coffin. The Dawn didn’t know this, of course, but they were writing history. Few weeks ago, Phillips was your average joe with an impossible dream — a D-rank fodder. Yet, within less than a month, the Dawn made him in a B-class. Geniuses use their entire childhood to reach that point. Average joe didn’t have a hope at all. The Dawn kicked the previous power-levelling record holder in the nut. The soon to be Acropolis’ training method would soon become legendary marvel that shamed every magical and martial institution in Phantasia. Its success rate, detail and innovative uses of every psychological, physical, alchemical, and Manalogical element to forge a warrior were unprecedented. Most outrageously, it was relatively accessible. No huge sect locked it inside a stuffy library. No one was keeping it’s in an attic. Acropolis’ authority got expressively forbade by Remus the co-founder from inhibiting its spread. Aurorin and the Seven Continental Alliance only got their arrogance to blame for utterly failing to recognize its existence until years later when Acropolis finally grown into a respectable city state. The nation’s strict adherence to its value of freedom and new beginning meant this method was designed by Rem like he wanted to be adopted by Cicero and Thomas Jefferson. THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARM, SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED. This quoted from the American constitution was carved in a monument at the Acropolis square. As far as Rem was concerned, Phillip was just a test case to see how viable the method was. The moment it proven to work was the moment it got shipped into market. This blatant disrespect Rem gave to the natural common-sense of inhibiting the right for self-defend would awe even Orwell Mehest. Yes, Orwell’s Diogenesis would soon become the major headache of Divine Fist, but even the young descendant of the Deathless Clan looked at Acropolis and performed the pose of supplication in respect and awe. Why? Because by the time Acropolis got on anyone radar. Nearly every able man and woman was A-rankers on average. This newly born nation of the Dawn doesn’t need an amy. They were the army to themselves. It was like invading the America where every state was Texas and every gun owner was Super Saiyan. Something wasn’t worth the effort to surmount and the future Acropolis was amongst one of them. In the coming era, the Seven Continental Alliance experimented with Super soldiers, Starland became the symbol of compromised and empty platitude, Isle of Knowledge fractured, Aurorin and Balperia descend to anarchy and tyranny, Demonic Continent became the punching bag, the Holy Land became the laughingstock, Vampire suffered from internal culture revolution and Enma Enterprise and Divine Fist ran around like a headless chicken to pick the fracture pieces. Yet, amongst the mess Phantasia descended into, one nation and its allies rise like Phoenix from the ash-heap of history as the prosperous winner of them all. With the strongest non-state militia that surplexed the newly minted army of Supersoilder enhanced by World Enemy DNA to the ground, business men more roid than Kenshiro, and School literally quoting the American Founding Father as their national Anthem.   Sadly, the record of disrespect from the nation so Chad it humbled Diogenesis and emasculated El Acerbia would come later. Right now, Phillip was simply the baby step in a long Acropolis military prestige. A step that was batted around to shape up by one Melody. “I can’t move anymore,” Phillip gasped from the floor. “I am not cut out for this.” Melody drank from the water bottle and sat a bottle of carbonated apple down beside him. “You wasn’t,” the demoness corrected with a much softer eyes than the one she had years ago. “You are doing fine. Those pain and ebb you are feeling? They are your strained muscle being rebuild back better. Our special herbal bath and good food will fix that.” Phillip groaned. “Did it have to be so painful?” “Philip, your body is literally tearing itself apart to build itself back better. It will hurt without a doubt. Think of it like this, the more painful it is now the higher survival chance will be when you eventually have to march up to Acrisius and punch him in the face.” Phillip laughed. “You spoke like you expect me to face off against him, Man-to-Man.” The exhausted man suddenly realized Melody wasn’t kidding. “You must be joking.” “I wish.” Phillip got only one question. “Why me? Why not you? Or Mr. Dream. Or Miss. Latoria. Send Mr. Chronicler, he will beat Promtus and two attacks. What are you planning to send a newbie like me to beat someone so high on the military totem pole?” Melody thought back to how far she had come. A year ago, she would agree with Phillip, but as a member of Horizon Dawn she saw further. It no longer about taking the shorter path of convenience and self-aggrandizing. It was about fighting for a vision. “Because it doesn’t prove a point. Acrisius is currently more than another head on the block. He can be taken as a symbol of everything damning Centuria; the obsession with power, compromising integrity and charity to those weaker to win in the history book, and the symbol that might and prestige made a man. Yes, I can put on my mask and dash his head to the rock, but that would be foreign intervention by a god-like figure. I am going to make him a martyr. Can you live with that guy as a martyr?” Phillip looked at Melody. “How would I beat the Dukes to prove anything?” Melody smiled at the boy. “If a boy from humble origin with nothing in his blood but hard work, dream and spirit to succeed challenges the would-be-king and defeats him to protect what he loves. What message will it spells?” Melody reminiscence upon her very battle with Rem. “If Acrisius loses to you, who takes back Penelope, all those Dukes become loser for investing in this war. It won’t be a story of rescuing a nation from a brink of devastation or an internal reform that justifies bloodshed. Your victory is the symbolic triumph of Acropolis’ very foundation: the American Dream. A boy from a humble beginning rescuing a girl of his dream even when every force under and above heaven condemned her to die. If you won, you will set a precedent of what is possible and inspire countless people. You will be an example of a person succeed not because of the jackass system, but human spirit and desire to care for other. If Phillip Odysseus can defy the odds and win, everyone can.” Melody continued to spouse what she learned from Rem. “Phantasia is plagued by insistent addiction to power without ideal. Every faction worships the need to control two more yards of something without even knowing why. And they are using whatever method they see fit to do it. You don’t know this yet, but we are flooding in threats arising in respond to this tom-fuckery. Some want to be above it. Others want to maintain the status quo or advance the agenda in this stupid game of tic-tac-toe. The rest want to end it in bloody revolution. Centuria and your girlfriend are simply the latest body bagged by this cancer.” “She isn’t my girlfriend,” Phillips responded. “But from what you said, having me rescue Penelope by beating Acrisius is just a beginning.” Phillip realized something. “Acropolis is also part of the plan” “Yes,” Melody admitted. “As you know, to prevent more nation and people from burning down in a fire of greed and door-matting to the status quo, we needed to toss the stupid ideology, fueling it, from the rooftop. Sadly, ideology cannot be killed and any attempt to silence it will just drive it underground and allow it to surface later. Only superior ideal can kill another ideal.” Phillip got it. “You are pitting Acropolis’ promise of new beginning, believes in dream and individual freedom for the betterment of all against the rest of Phantasia,” he concluded. “If Acropolis grew from a settlement to a nigh-unstoppable and free land, it will be undeniable evidence of how the rest of Phantasian is indisputably wrong.” “And a victory of Acropolis’ citizen against the old guard of Phantasia will help build the momentum,” Melody declared sweetly. “So, Phillips dear, we have a lot riding on you.” Somehow that sweet smile weight like a pickup truck on Phillip’s poor shoulder. … On the other end of the country, Hikma and Ehto weren’t smiling at all. Ehto was suited in a black multi-module combat armor that completely hid his body beneath plating of sophisticate weapon and high-power weaponry. Meanwhile, Hikma was in his Dawn issue combat suit with a sheathed Symphony Blade dangling by his belt. Both men looked clean compared to trails of charred sand and the sea of groaning bodies they just fought through. The operation was a success. The two waited until the bandits met with their supplier and began the ambush. One-two hit combo of flashbang and sleeping gas sent the group into panic, opening them for Hikma and Ehto to swoop in and took the collective goon to lunches. The battle was over in less than ten minutes, but what it led to keep them here for much longer. “Isn’t this a symbol of Aurorin?” Ehto glanced at one item they confiscated from the supplier. The buffoon was yelling at the two about the fact they knew nothing before Hikma sent him to the sandman with one slice of Symphony Blade. Hikma glanced at the crown emblem in the man's wallet. Aurorin was an independent faction outside the realm of Seven Continental Alliance. They were the gathering of influential noble from all over Phantasia, with sky-high corruption and almost bottomless wealth. Liberator was founded to fight them (unsuccessfully). It was almost too perfect for them to fund the bandit, almost too perfect. “Yes, this smell fishy,” Hikma concluded. “Why on Earth would Aurorin supply the bandit destabilizing Starland? They made like 15% of the entire Phantasia GDP, taking stolen good made little sense.” Ehto turned toward the octopus. “Rem, Lady Satholia, do you have any idea?” [Curious,] Satholia’s voice echoed on another end of the line. [They must be a reason for Aurorin to be involved.] “I don’t think this is a framing attempt,” Rem said. “They are already unpopular and the international legal system is heavily rigged for them. Any tactic to frame them is a long shot, not even worth attempting. I believe they only want to mess the Coalition of Tengen as much as possible.” “Then we come back to the old question,” Hikma said. “What would they gain from doing that?” "Hikma, dear," Satholia’s voice said. "It isn’t them who gain anything. It is who. Remember, someone actually benefited from an easily conquer nation. The south of Starland is Majestopia border. That is essentially a sentence to be a meat shield against the vampire." “The order border is Frisnia, which is currently warring against Tai Hua and Starland, which is being occupied by Tai Hua,” Rem knew exactly who got the winning. “Let assumes our opponent sees no value in human-life because they are bastard, then they wouldn’t care where the refugee fleeing from the chaos end up. Let us assume they ran away from the vampire at southern border and hedge the bet at the fellow member of Coalition. Under that scenario, who loses and who wins?” “Tai Hua, Frisnia and Starland need to deal with the border crisis, Rem,” Ehto made the calculation in second. “Everyone lost.” Rem made a dry laugh from the telephone. Ehto might have a supercomputer brain, but he didn’t get human ability to imagine possibilities. “No, Ehto, there is a winner. Frisnia and Tai Hua will be dead exhausted. Starland will run around like a deviant penguin in mating season until a certain chick come over and seduces them with a combination of cashes and promises that the problem will go away. This person — connected to Aurorin — will knee-cap her major enemy, weaken her future targets and solidify her foothold in one stone's throw.” Hikma’s eyes widened. “No way. Cytortia talks about her often, and I think she is exaggerating.” “You haven’t hanged around Cytortia long enough, yet, Hikma,” Rem growled. “Or else you will already realize LinLey Tianshang doesn’t have depth she can’t sink through.” Ehto looked at the bandits they just annihilated, “You mean Cytortia’s senior sister—the Heavenly Daughter of Water.” “Righto,” Rem humorlessly replied. “If LinLey already got moving, I bet my right arm Tai Hua aren’t far behind. Gentleman, we are in collision course with a three-front war. I hope you are ready.”

In the Daybreak’s rec room, Luxinna was watching the collection of anime Martynov returned to Rem. She was drowning in the epic word game of No Game No Life, specifically the part where the empty-headed angel got blown up by a supernova, when Cytortia and Melody came to her. “Hey, Tree-hugger,” Melody said. “I heard about your fuck-up and I bring pizza.” Cytortia glared at Melody’s non-existent tact. “Hey, why can’t hide our mission from her,” Melody shrugged. “Rem sent you here,” Luxinna paused the modern-day masterpiece of Japan. “More like he sent Cytortia to cheer you up, and she grabbed me to help,” Melody propped down to the sofa next to the elf. “Got to love how we decorate the place.” Cytortia nodded. Like their club, the Daybreak came far. They actually have a bar made of rosewood, several comfortable sofas, and awesome lightings. The television set was downright awesome. Rem needed to ask Martynov to send some of it by mail through Madam Marmel but the game consoles are worth it. They heard Ehto had a plan to add his own touch to the Horizon Dawn’s multimedia, but they believed that was a future project. “I don’t need your help,” Luxinna argued, but Cytortia shoved the pizza onto her lap. “I spent an hour piecing this recipe through the internet,” the goddess growled. “You will eat it.” The elf grumbled, but took a bite out of herbal ham pizza topped with goat cheese. “Hey, aren’t you supposed to be utterly impaired around meat product,” Melody asked on her way through second slice. “I order that from Acropolis's local butcher shop by mail,” Cytortia said, taking a piece out from her personal plate of spinach pizza. “Just because I decide to go vegetarian didn’t mean I can’t cook meat.” Silence occurred while the group munched on. Alas, Melody was the default tension scissor. “Okay, so Lux fuck-up, and let a psychopath overly eager Lesbian rapist with drunk on excessive sadism and history pedophilia off the hook.” Luxinna sunk into the sofa, but Cytortia quickly come with the verbal fire-extinguisher. “To be fair, I wouldn’t call Kakia ‘off the hook’. Lux creamed her so badly even an Alchemist can’t get her running again in time-scale that matters.” Melody leered at Cytortia, “You can.” Cytortia’s mouth hung open before she admitted the obvious, “Fine, I can, but I have a freaking cheat code which rewind time.” “Cy,” Melody breathed with exasperation. “Illma, Wayward, Sol Grandy, Orwell, PALISADE — the folks we run into are hardly ordinary. Given how Rem is grilling Promtus about this Melosov guys, I won’t be surprise is he got Kakia running again.” Luxinna growled. “Okay, I spar with you enough to know what you are thinking,” Melody said, checking the elf with a point. “You want to finish her, and you are mad at Rem for blocking that motion.” “Incorrect,” Luxinna grumpily answered. Cytortia raised an eyebrow. “Mel, you are useless. She wasn’t mad at Rem,” Cytortia glanced at Lux. “I know you are mad at yourself.” “Oh, come on. I am fine!” “Lux, you cannot beat yourself up for every mistake.” Luxinna looked at Cytortia in outrage, “Can’t beat myself up? Really? For all I know, Acrisius is cutting another 10-years-old virgin open in a blood ritual to get that bitch back on track.” “Lux, Nu Wa teach me most of the ritual magic known and unknown through-out Phantasia,” Cytortia said. “And while there are forbidden blood-rites which dictate sacrifice of comely, young virgin, those were more for taming a cannibalistic eldritch spirit then healing. The one that could fix the damage you gave her requires the Elixir and Unicorn blood.” “Exactly. The bastard could issue a Unicorn hunt and it will be on me for failing to nip the disaster at the bud,” Luxinna palmed her face. “I fuck-up so hard.” Melody shrugged, “To be fair, I don’t think you should take the complete blame. Who would have known Kakia has those records?” Luxinna answered that one with a frustrate sob, “Us, Diary-cow, we have been collecting information for months.” Melody rolled her eyes at the nickname, “Can you please stop with that nickname?” Luxinna eyed Melody’s abundance asset with malice, “Then remove those two annoying melons.” The demoness laughed, stretching herself straight to show off her chest, “No freaking way. Why can’t I show this off as a proud owner? Jealous much, wash-board?” Luxinna’s vein throbbed, “Mine is perfectly normal. It is yours that looks like they belong to a mutate cow. With those two lumps of meat, how is your weight doing?” Melody smiled twitched, “My weight is fine. Aren’t you supposed to be the one who should be worried? You chow down enough food to feed an entire family.” Luxinna hollered, “My body burned a lot of calories, Mel. My engine simply operates better. You should know, because I still hold the lead in our sparring match. How are you doing, Runner-up?” Melody’s fist clenched, “Funny. If your body operated better, we would be seeing your chest-growth. All those intakes and hardly any go where it matters.” “Heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh, heh,” The cold laughter echoed around the room and sent a shivered down the demoness’ and the elf’s collective spine. “It must be nice, right? I wonder why my body hardly burned any calories. I try to drink extra-milk and made several concoctions every day, but the size remains so constant. You two must have a field day with those C Cups and humongous F Cups. It must have been comforting to rest, knowing the protein and fat are in a hefty supply. After all, you aren’t a vegetarian. Should I be expecting you to grab a boyfriend soon? Maybe ask Hikma to take you out on the date, or ask a cute boy for a trip to a café. For you two it should be easy.” Melody (F+ Cup) and Luxinna (C Cup) turned their attention to Cytortia (barely past A Cup) who emitted the murderous aura that shouldn’t be possible with her True Magic. The former goddess's green-eyes were devoid of light. “Cy,” Melody quickly spoke in self-defense. “I heard tofu is an excellent source of Protein.” “Even then, those are just a lump of meat,” Luxinna utterly left her funk to stop the second coming of carnage alchemist. “What did Rem say again? The flatter they are, the closer it is to their heart.” “Bullshit,” Cytortia called her out. “People hit on Shyme all the time and she is A-cup. Me? All I get is tumbleweed. A date is delusion for me, nevermind a boyfriend!” “…” Melody was silenced. Truthfully, she was quite popular with boys. Sure, she didn’t have any personal friends, but she got admirers. “Nobody ask me out too!” Luxinna tried to salvage the situation. “Because you were stuck inside the forest for ages!” Cytortia snapped back. “And don’t use that excuse. I know some cute cadet ask you out for a drink after yesterday training!” Luxinna’s train got mercilessly unrailed. “But you can always ask people out yourself,” Luxinna tried to salvage the situation. “Rem won’t reject you.” “Rem! You think Rem has a romantic bone in his body? Asking him out just felt weird! Why don’t you show me how to do it then?” Luxinna thought about it. Yes, Rem was an okay decent guy, but he put so many guards and just too professional. Luxinna thought of Rem as her older brother, but that meant he wasn’t among the dating material. “Well, there is Hikma. I mean Hikma is pretty popular with women,” Luxinna argued. “Of course, he is popular with woman and he is dense as lead around them,” Cytortia yelled. “Then we have Ehto who is dead serious on robotic maid,” Melody glanced into the distance. “The surrounding boys are horrible dating material for all the wrong reasons.” “One too nice and oblivious. Another feels like an army than a man. And the final one is an astral AI,” Luxinna sighed. “The romantic prospect of this organization is horrible.” “Well, mission succeed,” Melody verbally patted herself on the back for hauling the elf out of her funk and lifted a game console. “Hey, anyone wants to play this thing? I believe Rem said he got a special edition of something called Devil May Cry 5.” “Is that a game from Earth?” Luxinna mused. “I heard the stuff they imported from there is mostly a niche novlety.” “I am more amused about this Guilty Gear,” Cytortia stated. “Rem’s and Hikma’s world are just weird.” That night tested their friendship in more way than one. … Inside an isolated lab protected by curtain and layers of defensive seal and barrier, Melosov was admiring his vast array of surgeon tools. The man’s emotion dropped from the reality comprehensible to most humanity and anyone who believed his good mood from those cheerly cordial tones were the kind who would sooner get their kidney stolen by the Fair Folks. “Before we formally start, let me voices my complaint,” Melosov switched on a handheld drill. “You are a disappointment.” The woman on the operating table attempt to rise, but several Mana suppressors, paralytic injections and seals kept her perfectly still. Melosov even took the liberty of impairing her voice box before the operation. “That aside, let me perfectly clear. Although my distaste for you as a human being is unarguably immeasurable, this isn’t personal. It would be if the Penelope — who is a way better specimen than you by the way — is permanently damaged by your shoddy self-control. Thankfully, she is physically and psychologically intact, so this operation isn’t about her.” The unrepentant sadist glared at Melosov. She would spit at the scientist if not for metal gag. Melosov ignored the glared of the thousand sun and put his rubber glove. “Oh, shove your fury,” Melosov checked the crimson fluid as he connected the tube to the unfortunate patient’s vein. “It is the truth, Kakia. For all your bravado and boasting, you are just one of the many S-rank in Phantasia. Sure, you are the top .02% but a .01% of a 100 million is still ten thousands. Phantasia total population comprised over 9 planet’s worth of people. We are way past the 30 billions mark a long time ago. If not for the Mandatory Recruitment Order and the status quo obsession with gate-keeping knowledge, you won’t be that special. Look at how we arrive here, getting an S-rank sample to vivisect isn’t even that hard. A little of luck and some persuasion skill is all it took.” Kakia attempted to murder Melosov with her sole remaining eye. “The Queen, on the other hand, is a real prize. I don’t get you folks obsession with Hidden Vault. Sure, there would be some stuff in their that might tip the war or get more stupid S-ranks to sign-up, but those are old news. Think about it. Penelope is the product of a century of genetic immersed in special magical contract, counting her, only three such line exist and one of them already burnt out because those daughters of idiots.” Melosov lifted a saw, switched it on and started working on Kakia. Cutting up her skin and flesh as blood and bile began flowing from the table. Kakia tried to scream, but without her voice-box no sound came. “Oh relax, the reconstitution of the body is much worst,” Melosov noticed Kakia’s confusion. “Wow, you don’t know a thing. Well, I always have this passion to teach, so let me educate you a little.” Melosov produced an intricate Mana engine from under the table and began connecting it to Kakia innards. He gazed carefully. It appeared he need to rearrange some organ. The man sighed and began his gruesome work. Even Kakia who enjoyed gored and pain could only internally scream when she saw her larger intestine being cutaway and replaced with machinery in a gruesome surgery. And yes, it transparently clear there was no anesthetic. Nereo didn’t even break his stride from the mini-lectured even as he began grafting the cybernetic where Kakia’s stomach used to be. The pain she experienced defied any words. “The main difficulty to break into the S-rank is the exercises of balancing. The total power-level must surpass 25000, but we run into… what does kid this day call it? Ah. The chicken and an egg problem. The best method to raise power-level in early stage is hyper-focus on increasing you muscle-power or raising the qualities and your number of Mana circles or expanding the energy stock. But at some point, they ran into logistic problem; the growth slows. The reason is obvious — the dilemma of hyper-specialization. For MAG intense build, the body is too weak to handle the Mana. For END, STR and DEX, it is that their growth plateau at maximum saturation, and the internal Mana-resistance became so high, consolidating Mana Circles become much harder. This is the burden facing every S-rank aspire.” Kakia didn’t listen. She was in too much pain, but Melosov continued his lecture any way as he activated the machanism to suck the overflowing amount of blood. Nereo wasn't even bother an eye at the blood lost, he meant to replace them with alchemical anyway. “Thus, the best method to hit S-rank is to increase every aspect of your stat together, but that means conscripting to the growth rate that makes stupefy snail blushed. The real breakthrough is understanding the key prospect that makes all this possible — Mana. Two-years researching this subject revealed Mana is an energy carrier not a storage. It is the fact that somehow elude multiple studies, traditions, and researches. My hypothesis with how the understanding of Mana become stymied in this mud is because the vast majority obsession with the god’s ability to consume power from atmospheric Mana. The classic bandwagon of seeing the answer instead of understanding the concept.” Melosov sneered as he replaced the helpless Kakia’s kidney, “Since the world-strongest race of man-children become so strong by wielding power in such a way, then it should be correct, isn’t it? Yeah. That is how people delude themselves into believing government is a foundation not an offshoot of civilization and right to bear arms is for paranoid morons hanging in the countryside.” Kakia wanted to cry out in pain. “Oh sorry, minor gripes of mine. Back to our short lecture, my calculation showed that assimilation of the body to Mana itself would allow nearly everyone to hit S-rank in a much faster period. Further experiment also showed that Mana is also adaptive. It consistent adjusts itself to best suit the person ability. My conclusion is that reconstituting this evolved Mana with your body will allow you to reach unseen power-level. Now, you might be asking why aren’t I am S-rank with this knowledge. Truth is, I simply don’t have the time or desire for that burden. The only thing I seek is intellect. While the power to protect myself is necessary, I already took precaution in case of the worst-case scenario. Given the fact, you are still confused like a deliberate chicken. I guess you didn’t use that method to hit S-rank. If I may guess, it is the same old piggybacking off an inheritance manual popular with the Divine Fist. What a disappointment.” Nereo injected a jab of purple serum into Kakia, and using a heated device to sear shut her wound. Yes, it was as agonizing as it sound. “Now, we finish remaking your internal-organ to best support further modification. I know this might disturb you, but this is just a beginning ” Kakia’s mind bricked from the revelation that this hell was just a warm-up. “Relax. I only need to mod your respiratory system and Mana Circles with my specialized reactor system, inject this nifty serum to strengthen your muscle structure and fixed your broken bones with a mutagen that changed them to bio-steel. You will be up and running in no time Kakia, after a little brain surgery.” Nereo’s voice turned into a whisper, “Afterall, you are the surest bet to lock one troublesome piece of the board. You must last long enough to buy time against the elf.”

“Phillips,” Rem watched the ongoing development, and turned toward his mentee. “Try not to die, I will stop Melosov from turning the Three Disasters into the Seven Wonders of Hell.” Rem nodded to, Hikma. “Chronicler,” he crane at the meat tower, “do you have a handle on the babel wannabe?” Hikma ignited the Symphony Blade, “Phillip,” he gave the boy a thumb-up, “take care of your girlfriend while we dealt with the big guys.” “She is not my girlfriend!” Phillip ineffectually protested as two of his teachers dashed off in the opposite direction to handle the crisis. Meanwhile, Penelope blushed like a tomato. Her head already left the body for her imaginary wedding days. … The following battle could be boiled up in one word, hectic. Horizon Dawn pretty much split itself apart trying to handle Nereo Melosov. However, tackling all the simultaneous battle of titans that pretty much made the Hidden Vault Showdown a legend all at once would be too much of one man.  Instead, we shall look at this Armageddon from the most basic story known to mankind. It was a romantic story of a boy saving his girl from an evil authority figure. … “Now, now, Penelope,” Duke Acrisius snarled at the girl conjuring a sword of ice. “I have wasted too much time with you.” The Duke sneered at the girl he couldn’t stop shivering. “Now, be a dear to uncle and died for my sake.” Penelope mustered her courage and yelled, “I am not—” But a hand appeared before her, causing her to stop dead in her track. “Penny, you have faced enough,” Phillip drew his sword with his free hand. “You have nothing to prove to the heel.” The boy pointed the sword at the duke. “This is what will happen. I am going to beat you, and we will walk out of here, as your delusion crumbles into the background.” Acrisius couldn’t help but laughed at this development. Penny herself didn’t look confident in Phillip’s odds either, as far as she knew Phillips was still an orphan son as a merchant who was her emotional support. Meanwhile, Acrisius was… “Young man,” The Duke began the round of bragging. “I am the man who held together. When my brother failed to hold himself together, it was I who resisted Frisnia and the old-fart in Starland. My name alone gathers the force of over a hundred-twenty thousands. When I declare my desire to rule this land, both Praetors flocked to me! I beat your little girlfriend at every engagement and took her prisoner! Even her precious men agreed in my superiority! Even now, my forces are dispersing your allies.” Acrisius pumped into his chest like a gorilla of testosterone. “And who are you to face me!?” Acrisius’s speech wouldn’t be a stranger from the hammiest villain of the eighties action flick. Its very gregarious content was the reflection of the cultural belief in power over all else. However, Duke Acrisius, and many other like him, were the historical samples of those who face the Dawn and fell. The says of macho warrior yelling their greatness to the sky died when the like of Orwell Mehest rose to convince the mass, much less the overwhelming forces of the Horizon Dawn which mobilized to combat him and his ilk. In response to his enemy’s red-meat fueled boast, Phillip Odysseus replied with what would become the Acropolisian staple, “Okay.” Phillip was unimpressed. “I am simply a simple man, but where I come from, they said boasting isn’t worth a damn against action.” Phillip lifted his arm in face of the challenged and wagged his hand. “Come on,” he swung his sword, “Let dance!” Lightning erupted over the Phillip as the no-name charged toward Duke Acrisius. … It was the battle of the fable. A humble beginning came to challenge greatness for the sake of all he loved. It was the story that soon ingrained the seed of the nation, building the state where dream and freedom were sacred. For what was the point of power without heart, for the heart guided man's path toward true power without letting it wielder be distracted by distraction. The battle between Odysseus and Acrisius illustrated this believed of Acropolis in its purest form Acrisius swung his blade, sending the harrowing trailed of ice toward the boy. He aimed at such an angle that Phillip couldn’t dodge without harming Penelope. The duke was grinning, believing his victory was at hand with the advantage of hostage. However, the boy expected this trick. He was trained in it, submerged in trickery during his trial. He did his research and knew exactly what Acrisius was capably off. He came prepared. Phillip tossed a heat-grenade into the mist, countering the ice with a firebomb. The device touched the mist and exploded in the cloud of steams. “What?” Acrisius mustered, but then he heard the sound hinting at the miserable direction the battle was about to head. Bang! Bang! Two high-velocity, lightning enhanced electromagnetic bullet pierced into Acrisius’s abdomen, forcing him to cough up blood and paralyzing him.  The Horizon Dawn came far from the day Melody disassembled her first firearm with curiosity filled eyes. The modern knight had adapted the art of gun-crafting and magic engineering. From the foundation of Aria Steel, mystical technology and Arcane, came a new type of weaponry. Arcana that adapted speed of the gun with the power of magic. Phillip’s model was 4mm Dawn-Edge Handgun with a silencer. A lightning-type mage-killer, featured cast magic-crystal round of alchemical lightning-regent coated with protective magic-metal jacket, and operated on Mana released mechanism. Although the Mana released mechanism was indeed patented by Melody as the creator of magic gun, but, in acts championing Rem’s unwavering believe in potential of the common man to succeed without the intervention of corruptive forces like Orwell, the magic-crystal bullet that finally damage A-Ranker was something else. They were invention of brother-team of an alchemist and mechanic to impress Melody with their design. Rem himself took them to a patenting office and gave them a medal. Acrisius was shot by the bullet of the commoner, proving that the day A-rankers were qualified as a commanding officially went to the ash heap of history. No one in Phantasia knew the precedent had been broken, and the everyman had the power to scratch the system without the need of an all powerful avenger. Acrisius grunted from the unexpected injuries which caught him buy surprised. His ample END stats mitigated what would have been a critical wound, but the opening was created.  Phillip closed in, forcing the duke in a flurry of furious demolition of blades taught to him by Luxinna. Lightning coursed through his body, amplifying his skill as the [Dragon Reactor] in his Origin poured out concentrated electricity. Finally, the Mana forming Acrisius sword shattered from the precise overhead blow of the lightning blade. Around them the valley quaked, ashes and rocks rumbled as the earth shifted and volcano exploded. Lighting fell from the sky in a testament of draconic range. The giant meat tower spewed the torches which burned the air. The valley shook from minor earthquakes as the combat escalated. Phillip ignored the golden lighting and the smell of ozone which filled the air to pound his lightning cladded fist into Acrisius bullet wounds, bringing the duke down to his knees. Phillip attempted to knee the down duke with his knee, but Acrisius caught the attack and attempted to cast a freeze spell to shatter Phillip’s leg. Normally, Acrisius close-range freezing-touch spell would have worked, but to prove how little the Dawn thought of Phantasian spell-casting, Phillip’s Aura dissipated his attempt. What came next was utterly unexpected by Acrisius. To be honest, who would have expected Phillip to drop his sword, grabbed Acrisius by the head and electrocuted him? Not finished with his attack, Phillip made a gun gestured with his hand and cast an Arcane, “[Electro Lorde].” Electric discharged centered on Acrisius exploded as Phillip’s blue-lightning pulsed from the Arcane, wrecking ever nerves in his body. Charred and wracked with pain, Duke Acrisius fell to the ground and squirmed. Penelope watched the one-side beating in awe. On her laps, the recently awakened Atlanta starred, jaw-dropped. Both of them barely comprehended how events turned out. “Hey, Atlanta,” Penny said, watching Phillip drew his gun and checked the bullet. “How did Phillip get like that in a month? Did he sell his soul to a demon or something?” Atlanta could barely answer, “I think they speak something about special experimental training. Alchemists where we came from said something about alchemy formula, doped exercise, and the librarian is filing the book called Mehest Adamakles revolution.” Atlante’s jaw dropped as she saw Phillip aimed his gun at Acrisius’ knee-cap. “They said Phillip signed to test-field that training, but I never imagine he would get this absurd.” Bang! Bang! Acrisius groaned in pain as the two rounds of magic-crystal bullet blasted his knee-cap. “I recommend you sit this out,” Phillip warned. “The injury can fester, if you over-exert yourself.” Acrisius could barely tolerate the insult, “Finished me, boy.” “I want to,” Phillip said. “But I believe letting you live to see the consequence is a better punishment,” he turned away from the beaten man, “you can dream about having a martyr death. You started this entire mess to be a king. History would give you a positive footnote if you die in valiant effort. With this, you had to answer all your actions as a man instead of a symbol. I want to see how they record you after this humiliation now.” Phillip walked away, ignoring the Acrisius’ groaning. In the distance, Penny and Atlanta watched Phillip walked of victory. “Atlanta,” Penny had a dangerous idea. “Should take up this special training?” the former Queen thought back about her terrifying captivity. “I think it can be really helpful.” “Normally, I will recommend against that,” the former General answered. “But recent event convinced me you have a point.” Atlanta tried to explain Acropolis to Penny. “The refuge we are going to has this massive monument in its center.” Atlanta gulped. “It wrote ‘THE RIGHT TO BEAR ARM, SHALL NOT BE INFRINGED’ and below that are tons of quote about how self-defense is the best protection against tyranny, wimpy excuses tyrant used to steal people weapons and how arms-to-the-teeth society is the politest.” “It sounds like rambling of a madman,” Penny said. “I think so too,” Atlanta watched Phillip picked up his sword. “But I believe the madman might have a point.” “You know what, I am going to sign-up,” Penny concluded. “It is available to the public, right?” “Oh, you just need your name, face and accept special contract to defend the refuge as a body-able member of a Militia,” Atlanta replied. “Hell, they even give a good benefit.” She turned to her friend. “Can I join you too?” “Yeah,” Penny shrugged. “Why not?” Penny wasn’t kidding. After the Hidden Vault battle, she completed the special-force training with flying colors. Penelope Odysseus, as she was known later in life, was proven to be one of the worst political figures to kidnap. Most of her attackers ended in the hospital ward and her [Pyro Genesis] Arcane were legendary within a certain circle. While how the Primal Arcane spread forced the Divine Fist and the Seven Continental Alliance to capitulate and reformat the entire spell-casting schools of Phantasia were the story of the future. Instead, the result of Rem brief ‘talked’ with the World Smartest Man had arrived. And Dream received the worst result he expected. … Acrisius growled. He dragged himself. He must rise to avenge his defeat. This humiliation couldn’t stand. He needed to get up and used the contract he received to avenge the defeat. Sadly for the failure, karma wasn’t done with him just yet The meat tower exploded with energy, blasting Acrisius into the far wall. Then the wall broke open as he flew into it, hammering him with extra humiliation. To top it off, Acrisius caught surreal sight of a masked man hanging from a three-meter tall mechanical mech emerging from the rubble and gaped. Somehow, during Phillip’s battle with Acrisius, Rem got himself into a fight with a humongous robot. A baby between BattleTech and ED-209 out of the dad’s generation RoboCop movie. The wierdness of a superhero wrestling with a robot from dystopian future silently blew away Acrisius’ brain. He could barely react as the robot slammed into him, carried him into a cliff face at the opposite end, and buried him into it in a collision. … Phillip, Penelope and Atlanta were slack-jawed as the two-legged giant mech prided itself from the rock, spun toward them in a robotic manner and opened its limbs to reveal a very terrifying barrel. “Get down,” Rem stumbled toward them and raised his hand. Green twin beams of razor carved trace the path of heated destruction across the rock. Rem met the attack with Tutaminis. The high intensity beams broke against the knight of Dawn’s palm, spreading into several strands of destruction which carved trenches in the earth around the trio. After what seemed like an eternity, the heated rays faded, but unlike the time he blocked normal attack, Rem fell to his knee, gasping for breath. His arms were numb from the strain and he was sweating. Phillip watched in stunned silence. He had never seen one of his teach this exhausted before. “What is that?” Phillip asked. “Magus Sin Crystal Particle Canon,” Rem wheezed. “That bastard cracked the ultimate Anti-Mage weapon and made it radioactive,” he turned back to Phillip. “Whatever happens, don’t get close to the beam. Even exposure to it could be lethal.” “Where did that thing come from?” Atlanta asked. “From the fucking psychopath,” Rem yelled, recalling the meeting he barely survived. Ten out of ten, he would not repeat that again. The robot backed open up and missiles began unloading from the launchers. Rem’s [Clairvoyance] spelled the coming doom. “Incoming!” Not even embarrassed, Rem telekinetically lifted the earth and shoved the trio into it for the fourth time that day, “Bunker out. We are dealing with a raining pin-missiles strike.” “Wha—” Phillip began, but Rem promptly shove him into the holes. … The slaughtering rain of green energy bolts slammed down the ground like hail from space. It was cruel and efficient demolition that hit everyone equally. Each time the green fell, blood flew and cries emerged, painting the valley into a recipe of blood and gore. Some were lucky enough to find a shelter behind, most found themselves a bloody smear amongst the ruin that now resembled a bee-hive. … Inside the hole, Rem wondered how did it go so bloody wrong.

It was the day like any other when Penelope, dressed in white ceremonial dressed, was walked up to the execution stage guarded by an army of over hundred thousand men. Duke Acrisius accompanied her up to the stage of brick and magic with the smile like an eager gigolo about to cheat a woman out of her inheritance. Penelope stepped into the middle of magic circle drew with mercury and took one more glance at the cloud, knowing this might be the last moment she witnessed the wonderful expanse of blue. … Outside the canyon which the Hidden Vault located, the army of Eurytheus and Minos surrounded the entrance, readying their war machines. It was an unlikely truce that fated to shatter. The three 33 Stars, ZZZ Millione, Balos Aurorin and Elish Metis met each other with their respective Dukes in the most awkward meeting of the last centuries. “Well,” Balos, relaxing on the table like the entire universe was under his control, stated. “This must be awkward.” “No shit, plaster-face,” Elish glared at him. Balos glanced with Millione and Eurytheus with newfound respect. “Is he this awful the entire trip?” Balos asked. “Yes, and yes, I threatened to kill him,” Millione said. “It didn’t take.”  “Because you are not strong enough, narcissistic banshee,” Elish shrugged off Millione burning gazed. “What is the plan? Should I go first? Or should I let you go first and get stabbed by whatever surprise they have? Or should we go together and used the shrieking bard as a meat shield?” ZZZ Millione silently counted to hundred to stop herself from ripping her ally in half. “We will not attack until they started the ritual. They will be at their weakest then,” Balos answered. Duke Minos, who had spent the entire discussion enjoying Balos’s tea collection suddenly realized something, “What happens after we crush Acrisius? Someone must ascend to the throne. I want to make a confirmation before we find ourselves backstabbing each other in a middle of the battlefield.” “That is simple,” Balos replied. “We do a point base system game. Whichever team gets more point out of three wins.” “Killing or capturing Acrisius is one point. The other is to secure the Hidden Vault,” Millione said. “What about the last one?” Balos smiled charmingly, “I heard former queen Penelope is also in there. Whoever capture the failure get a third point then.” “Well, man,” Elish Metis said with grudging respect. “I am fascinated that you can be this reasonable.” “As an Aurorin noble, fairness and sportsmanship are my tenet.” Balos believed he got this covered. Truth was he was expecting them to either win or lose against those Dukes. What happened next was the series of unpredictable landslides that awarded both teams zero point, a beating of their lives and trauma for masked superhero. … It was then the ritual began. Blue light floated from the platform as a multiple tendril. Penelope gasped when the tendril joined as one a quickly speared her through the chest. Acrisius smiled as a crimson light broke from Penelope and the entire valley shook. Rocks stumbled from behind the vault as a humongous winged reptile woke from beneath the earths. From the entrance, the allied army of the two Dukes marched into the field with a thunderous momentum. Siege machines and magics crashed against the magical barrier erected by the defender in colorful volleys of flames, ices and winds. However, it was Balos’s butler, Ornith, supported by several buffing spells from ZZZ Millione who rose to occasion. The butler shot out like a silver bullet and pierced the barrier with his blades. The metal point dug inside the barrier surface, and with the power of an S-ranker, he divided the translucent barrier.  “Sorry, Aurorin, I am getting the point!” a woman in a cowgirl getup, S-Ranker Elin Rockshooter, emerged from the alliance army and sniped at the podium with her finger, unleashing a beam of magic glowing in the starry combination of purple and blue. It was then the figure of woman cladded in red metal armor intercepted the beam, and rocketed toward allied army. She clashed in mid-air against another S-ranker, a barrier specialist invited by Elish Metis. The S-ranker began enveloping the woman in red-armor inside a multi-layer barrier that was rapidly failing to hold her in place. Yet, the S-ranker construction was unbreakable. Ornith, facing against the army, attempted to close the gap between him and Acrisius and Penelope on the ritual stage. Balos waved a golden knife and shot several magic to cover the butler as he made his way through layers of magical protection, turning soldiers attempting to stop him into swizz cheese. He lunged his blade into a trooper who received it with his stomach. Ornith ran through two more soldiers without stopping, but surprised when the three skewered men did the unbelievable and halted him. Ornith looked into those unnatural crazed eyes and shivered. Something was wrong with these men. Ornith suddenly felt the heat from above and jumped back to avoid the hell fire. He, and the army of both Eurytheus and Minos, looked up to see raw terror. It was a massive black dragon whose head long could fit snuggly inside a ravine. Its length stretched over a kilometer long. Its snout towered hundred meters over the army like a skyscraper of despair. The shadow it cast was insurmountable. Even when only with its top half rose over the earth, the dragon already blotted out the sun and radiated raw killing power upon over soul beheld in its gaze. The Earthshaker had awakened … Acrisius laughed madly at the dragon’s advent. The holographic crimson seal shaped as the Earthshaker’s head glimmered, levitating victoriously in his hand. Penelope collapsed in exhaustion beside him, powerless to do anything. “Well, thank you my niece,” Acrisius reveled in his success, basking in the glory of Centuria’s guardian beast. He admired the six ruby-like eyes lining the beast head, the black shining scales and the claw that could kill Godzilla with a swipe. The oppressive black-tinged Mana from this humongous king maker was unbelievable to behold. “Your final parting gift is well received. With this—” Acrisius drew his sword and finished his farewell, “You can die happy that your blood shall be shed in the name of a Nation Reviving King.” Acrisius swung his sword down. Penelope starred at the coming blade with acceptance in her powerlessness. She wasn’t happy with how this turn out, but she did her best like he believed she could. If Penny were honest, she would say she even surpassed her own expectation. But like many tyrants would soon find out in near future; thou shall not gloat until the sunrise is surmounted. Clang! Storm of poppies petal erupted in front of the strike, heralding the young man who blocked the attack. Acrisius at the peak of his power wasn’t stopped by a knight of Dawn, but a young hair man with flaxen color hair. His face was ordinary, but Acrisius only took one look into his eyes to see the burning determination. “Phillip?” Penelope said and then saw a woman kneeling beside her. “Atlanta? How?” “It is a long story,” then Alanta, garbbedd in the royal guard uniform, addressed her master and friend with a long-awaited scolding. “What are you thinking? Using yourself as a bait? You are lucky Kakia didn’t-“ “Stop! You two have to leave right now. You are going to die!” Penny panicked at the thought of two people she cared about being caught in this mess. Acrisius swung his sword at Phillip. The young man responded with a maneuver learned from his mentor, dropping his weapon to grab coming wrist and twisting Acrisius’ arm over his shoulder to break his hold on the blade. Acrisius’ sword, glamorously studded with jewelry, dropped to the ground as Phillip released an electrically charged palm strike at the duke, knocking him off the stage. That simple martial art moved got everyone's attention. … “Where the hell did that guy come from?” Elish Metis asked as he disintegrate another frenzied attacker with high-intensity sound waves. “From the look of it, he is on Penelope’s rank,” Balos Aurorin slit a man's throat with his knife. “This is ridiculous. Penelope have no hope of making a comeback and her faction should know this.” The believes Balos subscribed through was ripe in everyone's mind. They knew for certain the Penelope’s fall was set-in-stone. With only two people on her side in this skirmish, the best she could ask for was a graceful death. It was a mindset which displayed the difference between them and the Dawn. Phillip Odysseus wasn’t here to make Penelope sat on that painful throne again. The journey of his life and the path placed before him meant much greater than a page in history. Those countless poppies scattered in the air wouldn’t come to his aid for less. Acrisius, the man still obsessed with those pages, angrily staggered up to face Phillip. The two men didn’t know each other, and they didn’t need to. Both of them had enough reason to trample on another. The dukes couldn’t afford to let a stranger out of nowhere arriving to trample upon his sovereignty. Meanwhile, Phillip couldn’t let the Duke’s ambition crept toward the girl he swore to protect and the dream they could share. Beneath the gaze of the ancient dragon, two ideal, two selfishness, ambition and love were about to crash. “No, shit sherlock,” Elish spat at the making of history and pointed toward Phillip. “Hey, if that guy beat Acrisius and takes Penelope away, doesn’t that mean our point is gone?” “We also needed to do something about that dragon,” ZZZ finally brought the attention back to the humongous dragon who got the show stolen by a mere human. Her sharp eyes already spot the solution to that problem. “I think Acrisius is controlling the dragon through the magical seal he was holding.” “We needed to attack,” Balos suggested. “Temporary alliance?” The three 33 Stars nodded. … Protected by the gaze of the dragon, Acrisius tried for the last time to use reason. “Young man,” he addressed Phillip. “I can see you have skill.” “If you are here for the recruitment, I reject,” Phillip kicked up the sword he dropped. “I already have a place I belong.” Acrisius waved to the growling Earthshaker who eyed Phillip with a disdain reserved for an insect, and the vast army fighting behind him. He spread his arms opened like he was making the speech for the world. “A place you belong? I can give you rank, status, and wealth! If you like it, I can even give you Penelope. What does a place to belong give you!?” “First, happiness,” Phillip slowly twirled his sword. “Second, pride.” “Phillip,” Penelope tried to warn him away from the fight. “Just try to get out of—” “Penny, you already do enough,” Philip said to her. “You might already work this out, but your disguise suck. These past few days I am wondering, whether my last encouragement to you is the right thing I should do given hot it ended.” Phillip glanced at the crowd so busily fighting and the explosion rocking around. “Now, looking at all this, even with this failure, I still think I said the right thing. You tried your best to hold an impossible situation with no reward. You have already gone beyond what I have asked for. As a friend, I am proud of how far you have come.” Phillip turned toward her, “Although a part of me wants you to try again and succeed, I doubt you want that, so I have one question. Penny, now that your duty is already complete, do you want to hang out with me in another market place? Sure, it isn’t as big as the capital, but it is growing.” Penelope’s lip trembled. Her heart was yelling out for a yes, but amid pain, confusion and magic attacks being flung amongst the ranks of enemies, she couldn’t say it. The monstrosity of Kakia, the madness of Acrisius, and the humongous shadow of Earthshaker dragon sat upon the girl chest like a towering mountain to her dream. For Penny, her freedom was an impossible wish. “Oh my, that is a touching speech,” Acrisius mockingly applauded. “There are many problems with thought. You are alone, surrounded by all sides by enemies.” He pointed at the Earthshaker. “I have Centuria’s guardian beast as my proof of kingship. Only me can grant your wish. What miracle are you hoping to accomplish by coming here? Just what reason make you believe I will allow you to walk out of here alive?” It was then the voice everyone was waiting for proclaimed from the sky. “Because I am here.” And the hero arrived, leaping from the camouflage of attention dissonance he wove with [Tenshou], and landed on the ground precisely where he aimed — right on top of the invisible Balos Aurorin who was in the middle of his attempt to enact his own plan. It was an ingenious plan by the 33 Stars, Balos, armed with Elish’s camouflaged tech, would score a sneak kill Acrisius and Phillip using a point-blank attack and captured Penelope. But alas, a certain knight of Dawn saw it coming from a mile away. … From everyone perspective, he appeared out of nowhere. He slammed into the ground, hitting the heir of Aurorin out of his invisibility, crushing the deluded noble’s lofty ambition under his metal studded boot. Black long coat waved like a fluttering cape, showing forth the symbol of the dawn for all to see. The dynamic of his impact contained such a speed and power, the stage itself splintered in the collision. Balos, receiving the traditional hero-landing in the spine, fainted in a single hit, coughing up blood from what was certainly the worst injury in his life. Dream rose from his dynamic entrance, standing tall against all opposition with the prone body of 33 Stars under his heel. It was an image of the generation. He proclaimed his purpose proudly for all to hear. The power of Primal Arcane resonated his voice with every mind. For a second, the war stopped. The army of the three Dukes watched his thunderous entrance which sent a psychic boom through every mind. The two other 33 Stars gawked at the man in the black mask. Acrisius, being close enough to feel the force of his power, immediately relied on his new found pet to attack. Duke Acrisius wasn’t the only man in maintaining his composure. Upon witnessing, his charge being stomped to the floor like a toad, Balos’ butler Ornith, rushed at the knight of Satholia like a silver bullet. As for Penelope, the entrance of the knight ignited one emotion that she believed she would never feel again. Hope “Young master!” Said the butler. “Earthshaker,” Acrisius launched his order. “Kill him!” Two events unfolded. A beam of scarlet flame slammed into the humongous dragon casting a shadow of despair upon all beneath. Despite being an ant compared to the beast, the lance of [Astra] backed by the power [Authority], rippled across the kilometer length of the dragon in a tsunami of force. The Earthshaker groaned in pain, a six-eyes rolling in their socket, before Melody Solarmaria, Empress herself, slammed a flying kick into its snout, knocking the head blocking the sun flat to the floor. The shock from her collision rocketed through the battlefield, and the force of the humongous beast hitting the ground quaked the earth. Melody landed on the dragon's ringing forehead with one message. “Down and behave, Fido.” As for Balos’ ever so loyal butler, he made the perfect lunge, but Rem’s [Enlightened Trajectory] rendered that attack muted. Instead, Orninth’s face sped into Rem waiting uppercut while his sword brushed past the air where Rem’s face used to be. Not wasting time, Rem, Dream, executed a five-hit combo, abusing the aged butler’s torso. Bruised and winded, Orninth could only pick upon Rem’s twisting foot and arching fist which brought an entire back muscle in one final haymaker fueled by encroaching Origin and telekinetic armor of [Tenshou]. The haymaker, fueled by the entire strength of the reality-altering garden world, plowed into the S-rank’s cheek. The fist left an imprinted on his skin, fractured his jaw and broke all of his teeth. The butler armored broke to pieces. Consciousness immediately surrendered as Ornith’s head slammed into the splintered stadium, cracking it in half. Poppies exploded from the punch as the raw psychic pressured reverberated, freezing the crowd in ice-cold psychic wave and sending the weak will to their knees or dreams. Men and woman of all ranks couldn’t dare move as the knight in black coat, mask and necktie addressed the entire battlefield after one-shotting an S-ranker.

It was the moment history was made. Phantasian historian still argued to this day about the significance of the Hidden Vault Showdown. After all, it was the moment the legendary Horizon Dawn publicly flexed its muscle and girth in front of the Phantasia in one of the most devastating records in military history. The battle was often overblown in epic proportion with sixty mythical retellings, each more outrageous than the last. Portions of chronologist insisted this was the birth of the Superpower Acropolis became. Other faction insisted Acropolis already founded before the first rock in the battle was thrown, but they agreed it was the beginning of the end for Tai Hua Tianshang’s ambition and the ghost of Christmas future for the Heavenly Daughter’s final defeat in the Saint’s Goodnight Campaign. Retelling and movies portrayed Phillip Odysseus’ legendary rescue to a memetic height. Some said the Tai Hua Slayer Music (Shadilay by P.E.P.E) was on full blast when Dream himself kicked Acrisius in the nut. Many insisted the Architect of Tomorrow entered battle field a in tank accompanied by an orchestra of winged opossum playing bagpipe. Therapist cited that traumatised veteran of this showdown insisted Empress transformed into a dragon, which the fabled Phillip Odysseus rode away with Penelope while the Knight of Glass herself threw dynamite in the background. Because of the Dawn’s tactic, it wasn’t surprising the survivor of this one-sided battle developed Psychedelic vision and intense trauma of explosive. Truth to be told, it was understandable for soldiers, nobles, ancient families and fail-to-be-kings to subsist on this overblown exaggeration of the event. Afterall, insisting you lost because of a magic shroom was less bitter than admitting six people and one extra dealt you one of the most humiliating defeats in Phantasia history. Careers and ambition were shoved into the cliff of hell as the Hidden Vault Showdown pretty much stomp a final nail on Centuria’s coffin. To fully understand the nuking of egos happened that day, it was vital to understand the force and investment being sent into the gutter. … Duke Minos spent weeks marching his army of 89,000 toward central Centuria. The morale was high as solider and heavy artillery rolled across the battlefield in an orderly manner. Center of the march was a mobile commander's quarter drawn by two gigantic land dragons. Inside the luxurious, ventilated space a young man with blonde hair man in a silver suit was humming beside the dukes pouring him wine. Behind him, an old mustache knight in silver armor guarded the two with vigilance and discipline. “Good tea, my friend,” The young man said. “Thank you,” Minos replied. “Quite an orderly army you have here. I believe our investment will be quite secure.” Minos didn’t share such an opinion, “We shouldn’t underestimate Acrisius and Minos. Taking all our soldiers out to fight makes our base back home pretty vulnerable.” “That wouldn’t be a problem. With the reinforcement from Aurorin coming to supply you, our back line is forever secure,” the youth addressed the old man behind him. “My personal butler, Ornith, is here. He will be more than enough against the S-ranks in this continent given the embarrassing loss of Lord Promtus and Kakia.” The butler nodded sagely. However, Minos couldn’t let go of his concern and the youth saw through it. “Minos, my friend, do you doubt me, Balos Aurorin? My promise as 11th of the 33 Stars worth it weight in gold, and didn’t I promise you unquestioned victory?” the youth said. “Yes.” “Excellent,” Balos replied with a charming smile. “Come. Let us negotiate about our policy once we are done with this policy. Lady LinLey and the rest of the Aurorin are quite eager to build the future profit of our cooperation.” Balos would later talk about a million other policy and alliance cooperation. The most often bought up being the right for Aurorin and its associate in the management for the future of Centuria. However, both the boy and the Duke understood that Centuria most vital role in the coming conflict was to act as an anvil when LinLey’s sledgehammer eventually smashed down upon Tai Hua’s army. Soon, both of them realized you shouldn’t skip in modelling the future. … Meanwhile, Eurytheus also assembled his army of 66,000 which headed to the main battlefield at an adequate pace. Unlike Minos, Eurytheus’ army marched with the highest military technology from hoover craft to stealth tech. A flying ship cruised above the army at an even pace. Inside, Eurytheus met with his investor. They weren’t a happy camper. One was a young man in flamboyant clothing with a thick glass and a headphone raising his voice to get the point across, “Eury, I hat to say this mate, but this stupid civil war is taking way too long. I don’t care how you get it, but I want result.” “I need time,” Eurytheus replied. “Bullshit, all those resources and you snag the feeblest amount of this rotting country’s military. What a joke! You think we would have the number to deal with those stuck-up elders after we are done punching out the other dukes. El Acerbia would already give three more promotions to that upstart little nitpick Cocogar before we are actually done.” The young man in flamboyant clothing was Elish Metis. He was one of the Isle of Knowledge most prodigious lead researcher, specializing in sonic technology. He was also a member of the up and coming 33 Star ranked at 12th—only a spot below his rival Balos Aurorin. If anyone asked Elish, he would claim it was because Balos cheated by bribing the rankers. For everyone else, they would correct that assumption by claiming Elish was a pain to work with. To clarify the obvious, yes, he had a rivalry with Cocogar and thus shouldn’t be compared to the Dawn at all. Eurytheus tried to be diplomatic, “I would have already finished them if you lent me—” “Shut the hell up,” Elish screeched, but for once he got a great reason. “Those shit you are asking for are top secret project. You should be grateful El Acerbia didn’t murder you a decade ago. You will not mention it again, man. Especially not in front of HER!” Elish pointed at the young blonde girl in bard get-up playing a harp by flying ship window. Her beauty sincerely harmonized with the music of the world. “Secret much, Elish?” the girl musically said as she plucked the harp to match her tone. “Oh, shut up, hitchhiker.” Elish growled. “Go back to your stupid island, you bald harpy.” “If manner maketh men, your manhood must be pitiable.” Elish audibly snapped, “Oh, you fucking bitch, I am going to strip you naked and put you on a show in front of this flying ship” The girl struck another chord, looking down at Elish through her upturn nose, “Try me. I want another boy-toy.” “For someone who ranks below Amitate, you sure talk big,” Elish retorted. “Seriously, you lost to that oaf Salazar in a backstab. How can you be that dumb?” It was that insult which finally scored a chink past the beautiful bard’s armor, “The match is rigged! I can get him in the rematch.” “He is dead, you nincompoop. You can’t have a rematch with the dead. Seriously, stay where you are on the ranking. What kind of name is ZZZ Millione anyway? Are you parent drunk went they popped you out?” Elish pressed more button. “Mind your bloody manners! My fans love it!” the female bard yelled. “Your fans love your shitty music. I don’t!” Eurystheus gazed at the view below. He was already losing by the major league and now he had to cope with the team that get along like cream-soup and sushi. This wasn’t worth it. No matter how many S-ranker these two could invite. Even if Millione’s concert was profitable enough to fund his spending bill. Even when El Acerbia threw another innovative asset his way. None of those were worth the bickering that kept his eyes wide open at night. … In the distance, a blue hair man watched the flying ship and the procession heading to the damnation land with a whistle upon his lip. Wayward stretched himself from a fight. Sure, he held to the highest level of professional and standard, but he loved battle and carnage. Years of bloodshed had awakened the beastly instinct he could barely tame with benefit and reason. In his view, if the cost was relatively within the acceptable margin, the fun of the fight was the joy of the job. Wayward was reasonable, but he wasn’t the saint. That symbol was being upheld by the Dawn. While killing those he like filled him with disgust, it was incomparable to the glee of crushing his challenger and improves with every step. Wayward didn’t start this way, but years of bloodshed and competition ingrain this combat seeking mentality that couldn’t be shed. Hence, he wasn’t going after Eurytheus now. Centuria might be his birthplace, but he had almost no stake in its rise and declines aside from a reassuring feeling and a little sad pang in his heart. Eurytheus was his only target here. That aside, he no longer had to behold to the standard of his profession. Yes, he could attack Eurytheus and take him out early, but that wouldn’t be the challenge to push against the obstacle surely facing him in the future. What Wayward wanted from his trip back home was a glorified brawl. And no, facts that the Dukes ripped his home to piece and their soldier enabled them surely didn’t encourage him one bit. … If there was one head honcho of this conflict, it would be Acrisius. Despite the catastrophic loss of both Promtus and Kakia, he was confident. He got more troops than anyone combined and after a bit of threatening persuasion; he got further assistance from Nereo in form of a power-boosting serum and high-power artillery. Those weapons costed a petty penny, but Acrisius believed it was the price well spent. He also the first to arrive into this Hidden Vault and landed a solid defender advantage. The only thing he needed to do was set the ritual, stalled the two dukes and retreated with everything he ever wanted. To further boost his luck, the battleground was a valley, making it easily defendable in one entrance. Although it made retreat difficult, Nereo’s teleportation technology solved that problem. With such advantage, his reputation would be irrecoverable if he lost this. “Duke Acrisius, long time no see,” said the dethroned queen dress in white ritual toga. It was a ceremonial dress for transferring the contract and possibly execution. “Being a traitor must bode well given your excellent health.” “Beautiful as ever, my niece,” Acrisius smiled. “Say anything you want, but your defeat is written for all to see.” “Defeat? Is this victory?" Penelope argued. "Centuria fractured in half. People are uprooted. Foreign interference is everywhere and you are about to start a war to give our heritage to an outsider. Why are you even doing this?” Acrisius looked out at the sky, wrung his hand, rustled his hair and turned back toward his niece in a mixture of rage and exasperation, “Because I can’t afford to let Centuria fell in your hand!” Penelope backed into a pillar in fright. “Think about this, Penny. Stew on it for a second. I was active in military matters before you were, labored tirelessly for twenty years, dealt with our neighbor. I fight tooth and nails for this country only for your father to piss it down the rain and your incompetency to deal it a crushing blow. Enough is enough. I, more than anyone, prove myself the worthiest to be in charge! With me at the helm, I can make us the strongest of Tengen. Everything I have done is done in necessity.” Penny stared into the raging uncle, “Then why don’t you say so! I never want that chair!” Acrisius facepalmed as he lifted out an unsettling laugh. “Never a cub live, or else you will face with the lion. Never let a hidden poison linger, or it shall be your end,” Acrisius eyed Penelope with hate and fear. “You might be harmless, but sooner or later your blood will shake dynasty. I cannot allow that to happen.” “You are insane,” Penelope gulped. “You are talking about something that might happen.” It was then the door swung and Nereo Melosov walked in with a chain… creature in tow. “What is that?” Penelope shivered as she met the pupilless pool of red that was the creature’s eye. “I am impressed, Melosov,” Acrisius gleefully inspected the creature. “I don’t believe that your claim about finally chaining Kakia and giving her an improvement.” The creature growled at Penelope who fell down before such a terrifying presence. Nereo gazed shone anticipation, “Yes, I live to impress. You should better get the Princess ready. We have a big project coming up.” … A certain distance away, in a white tent embroiled with Horizon Dawn’s insignia, Remus Breaker ceremonious presented Philip a long sword. Atlanta watched the ceremony on the sideline. Unlike her, which wore the Centuria’s royal garb uniform, Phillips was in his graduation clothing of a white cape and plated tunic. “It is in our constitution to not be the tyrant who preordains men's path,” Rem started his speech. “However, we are here not to interfere with the fate of nations and people but to save a bond between two souls — the friendship between them. To build upon the sacred, not to extinguish or pervert its heart. To protect our sacred purpose, we trained you in the art to defend what you held dear and guided other to your path.” Rem presented him with his sword, “Phillip Odysseus. You have persevered through our trail and tribulation. Now, say your oath. Not to us. Nor to a higher power, but to yourself.” “I swear to uphold the spirit of liberty,” Phillip recited as he accepted the blade. “It will be my highest honor to partake in this eternal vigil. I need not for reward nor applause for I am doing this for no one but myself. My power is the weight of my responsibility.” “Then stand as proud as your vow. I dub you the first of Acropolis Special Militia.” … Luxinna whistled from outside the tent. “Wow, Rem is darn good at making ceremonies. Hey, Ehto, what is the Mana's signature telling us.” At the cheap plastic table Horizon Dawn placed as operation center in their camp, Ehto scanned all the data from the screen and sighed. “This is worst than we expected. Our reading suggests the Earthshaker is stirring. Worst, the sensor from the Leyline just sent me a comparison result on the Mana around here. The graph is daunting. Someone or something must be doping the Mana around the area for months. Either Acrisius woke the Earth Shaker naturally or…” “Tengen will explode?” Hikma's heart sank. Ehto groaned, “It won’t be that bad. Earthshaker will wake up 4 months later as a magical equivalent of flying nuclear meltdown.” Hikma, who was carrying a bunch of measuring equipment, dropped the device on the table, “So, Rem is right. We can’t stop the first phase.” “Boo hoo,” Melody who was screwing a tube of brown into a missile voiced her irritation. “If any of you got free time, can you come and help me and Cytortia finished our gimmick, please.”

There was hardly a time that S-ranker were annihilated like fly. Sure, massive battle between S-rankers happened regularly, but most case often ended in a retreat or a mutual agreement to stop. A clear-cut case of victor and loser were rare. Even in most of those cases, such battles took hours to conclude. The battle-royale between Marley the Magpie, Scathach, Judy Mann, Telomer Grandy and Arden Christy against Samael Wayward was considered by many media to be the harshest S-rankers brawl in living memory with clear cut loser. It took three hours to end with Wayward and Marley escaping, Judy Mann and Telomer injured, Arden Christy presumed dead (until she showed up later) and Scathach walked out as the last woman remaining in the ring. Although Duke Acrisius tried to suppress the news, the consecutive defeats of both Kakia and Promtus were treated like an ominous omen. But to both the public and the soldier at large, the Centuria’s Praetors were beaten after a long, odious battle. Only, the 10000 soldier who accompanied Promtus knew of the truth, but even their mind couldn’t comprehend such two gods-like pillars kissing the ring under fifteen minutes. And now, under gazes of hundred thousand, this nigh-impossible feat was repeated in the most irrefutable manner. Seven-hits. It took an upper-cut, a combo and a haymaker for Dream to KO an S-ranker cold. Ornith’s body laid amongst the shattered brick and pool of his own blood beside his master as a testament of changing times. Duke Acrisius gritted his teeth. Three minutes in and he was ready to believe the masked monster was the omen of the end. Seizing that moment, the armor-clad crimson beast imprisoned by the Isle of Knowledge S-ranker shattered the barrier holding it, but a pool of ink emerged like a shadow and bound it with long thin Arcane. A lonesome figure of the Chronicler, in Horizon Dawn's issue blazer, levitated above the battlefield, chaining the beast down with the classic dose of his [Paradiso]. Around Hikma, a dozen of aerial drones decent from the sky. It was then Rem made a speech. His voice being amplified by speaker on the drones. … “I know my entrance is unexpected, and certainly isn’t wanted. Technically, I am here to do only one thing and in every version of the future all of you will be stopping me from doing it. To cut the matter short, I am here to help the kid play the hero. To all those who are listening, there are two versions of how this little hang-out end. “One version: we walked out here with Penelope, and you went back to do whatever it is you are doing. Play poker. Chat. Hit each other with a cannon. Whatever it is, I don’t bloody care. It is your free will to be an ass, and I won’t stop that. In this version, I can guarantee that you the opportunity to walk out of here alive with all my blessing. “In the second version, you decide to be a prick. Maybe our Dukes can’t accept my intrusion, or maybe your little sponsors want to have a dick measuring contest. In this scenario, I can’t guarantee anything. I can only promise to hold back as much as I humanly can, but it is your own choice to have a close-casket funeral. “So, what it will be ladies, gentlemen, cunts, civility or casket? Anyway, before we get started, anyone wanting an out is free to do so.” … Rem spoke in a leisure manner, and one soldier from Minos’ camp decided he had a dog to feed and promptly edged closer to the ravine entrance before bolting away. No one bother to stop him. Several of his friend, freed from peer pressure and disgrace of being the first to flee, followed. Their commander attempted to stop them, but something invisible force locked his body in place.” “Two hundred thousand and only twenty have a brain,” Rem muttered as he turned to Phillip. “Well, that is your cue. Time to talk the girl into it.” Penelope, the girl being spoken about, asked, “Into what?” “Penny, since Acrisius technically already taken out the contract, doesn’t this mean your value to the nation is pretty much zero?” Phillip asked “Why does that matter?” Penny was still confused. “It matters because there is no point in you staying anymore,” Phillip said. “You are free now, but only you alone can make it official.” Penelope finally got what Phillip said. “I-I don’t-,” Penny struggled. “Every nation is fated to end,” Rem crafted his poetry. “But, girl, you can always choose the ending.” Penelope looked around her, and finally, after a month of loneliness and even more time staring into the barrel of defeat, she wasn’t alone anymore. So the queen took a deep breath and proclaimed, “I, Penelope the First of Centuria, from this moment forth, abdicate the throne to take responsibility for all my previous failures! From now on, the Centuria family is no longer fit to manage this land. The fate of the nation, upon this second, belongs to the people! I am done being her majesty Queen Penelope. I am just a normal old Penny now! Just let the people sort the new leader themselves!” The air froze over, and one girl’s heart was lighter than it had been in years. … “What the hell did she just do?” ZZZ Millione’s eyes widened at this curve ball. “You tell me?” Elish Metis said. It was Duke Eurytheus, holding the fort outside the valley and observing the event through a scrying spell, who asked the most important question, “Wait. If Penelope gave up the throne and left the management of the country to the people, then doesn’t that meant… none of us could be the next king?” he muttered. “Our right to rule and the excuses to rebel is to dispose of the ineffectual ruler. But would it still worked if the technical ruler abdicates the throne and give the power to the people? Penelope is already defeated, but until she passes the position or if the new king disposes of her and took the reign, she is still the Queen.” … Minos quickly worked out the newest concept invading this war, “Title alone is powerless without power but the Monarch of Centuria still possesses a royal prestige,” he reminded himself then struck with another revelation, “that is a reason people either married the old royalty or wipe them out when creating a new regime. But if Penelope erases her family from the royal rank before ceding authority to the new king, and left the decision to the population, then isn’t that mean the throne of Centuria has no inheritor?” … Duke Acrisius finally arrived at the only answer. “What have you done?” He glared at the masked man. “WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?!” “Nothing, the girl does it, not me,” Dream, Rem, shrugged. “Sure, I gave the guy who can talk her into doing it a push, but that is only it. The boy talks to his girlfriend. The girl finds the strength, and by her own volition, deep-six your plan.” “My plan isn’t dead yet!” “It is,” Rem dumped the metaphorical ice-water of Acrisius’ ambition. “Your entire plot pin around the fact you are a better monarch than Penelope and this entire coup is for the good of the nation. Well, I, the kid and Penny there agree with a part of your statement. But giving a power to you is a tad risky, so we done away with the middleman. We give the people the power to choose their leader.” Acrisius exploded, “But… but… but they are scattered all over the place!” Rem smiled ear-to-ear behind the mask. “Exactly!” Rem tuned the speaker's volume to rub the fresh dose of karmic punishment on the entire civil war. “You, through your stupid civil bickering, have scattered the demographic of Centuria all across the compass direction! And now it is impossible to count the vote and elect the new leader. Your right to rule is effectively dead, boi. The entire nation is going to fragment into fifty different warring states helmed by leaders elected by bandits and refugees. If you are so good at your job, then you should be able to pick up the piece, right?” … Everyone heard Rem’s sentence, and it hit hard. “He broke a nation?” Millione eyes swirled in confusion. “This is ridiculous! The entire unification campaign will take years. Tai Hua and the rest of Tengen will take this opportunity to bite.” “No shit,” Elish was in awe at the masked man audacity. Civil war and unification weren’t the same. Civil strife implied the nation was still in one piece. The institution simply split apart and turned against itself. The victor of the war could force the other to concede their right to rule, and everything went back to business as usual. The country hadn’t sunk, simply change in hand and management. A complete fragmentation was another story. It meant all counties were out for themselves. The institution was so broken it lost any commanding power. The nation was officially put to bed, and each fiefdom would be a nation of their own until someone subjugated them again. Centuria was in this state, but the title of Queen Penelope still held a marginal recognition. With all three Dukes’ army, it was still possible to crown a new king, regathered the scattered citizen, and patched the holes when the new regime rose to power. It wasn’t good or healthy for anyone, but it was still possible to have a nation call Centuria. Penny’s proclamation put the final stake in the heart of the sinking ship. The wheel was effectively smashed. Without legitimacy, the king’s decree had no weight and thus a stable regime couldn’t be established and the people won’t come back. However, those scattered people tasked with selecting the new king couldn’t do so with the infrastructure full of holes, thus new leaders couldn’t be elected. It became a chicken and an egg problem. What came first? The king who gathered the people or the people who made the king. It was an impossible mathematical problem. The kind that would melt a super computer. Here, it was the entire nation being burnt by this logic bomb. “No!” Acrisius faced this unexpected TNT with the grace anyone expected. “I can still do this! Penelope’s proclamation hadn’t been made public! If I kill her and proclaim myself a monarch, I can still gain the authority. I can do this!” “You can’t,” Rem’s voice was an arctic air. “Penny will walk out of this valley alive and live the happy life she always wanted. If any smartass tries to stop that from happening, I will follow the footstep of my spiritual predecessor and teach you why they call our name when all hope seems lost.” “You think that will stop me!” Acrisius brandished his sword at Rem. “You think any of the three dukes will let that pass?” “You won’t,” Rem was under no illusion of the sheer audacity of his mission. “But you are free to bring your complaint to my face. In which, I have only one thing to say… bring it!” Everyone with a meager amount of commanding power immediately for the girl’s head. “Attack!” “Kill Penelope!” “Don’t let her leave this place alive!” “We must capture her at all costs!” It was the historic moment. The entire military forced of Centuria, numbered over 250000, declared war against the Horizon Dawn members of six over having an innocent girl be a political scapegoat. It was a battle of legend where egos got broken, career sank, tavern song and catchy sea-shanties were made. It wasn’t a political war, but the ultimate triumph of good over evil, vainglorious ambition struggled, for it might against condemnation from the blade of empathy. It was the favorite fable of Acropolis, the Hidden Vault Showdown, a legend that taught children the value of dignity, the raw power and valor of simply being a force for someone to lean on. That true courage in being true to one's conscience in face of impossible odds. But the question the starry kids took to heart was likely the coolest one. When evil lure its head, violence is simply a question, and the answer is yes. … Rem was skill in violence. He was even more skilled in warfare. “Release the fear toxin!” “The what!?” Penelope yelled a few meters away from him, but Atlanta, prepped with the plan, quickly injected her with the antidote. “Ow,” she turned toward Atlanta. “What was that for?” “For that!” Atlanta pointed at the drone that opened up its storage and emptied the content — a brown gas.  Multi-tonnes of gas made by Cytortia in the last month flooded into the battle-field. In no time, it diffused across the battlefield, rapidly inhaled by the soldiers on all sides of the fence. The gas smelled sour, but the effect was effective and ruthless. “Monsters!” A soldier screamed, stabbing another in the throat. “They unleash a monster hoard on us.” “No!” Another man tried to stab Elish Metis, only to be punched by sound waves. ZZZ Millione barely dodged a fireball in the face and retaliated by slicing the icicle rushing at her with a flick of a harp-string. She felt the surrounding crowd blended in an amalgam of beasts, monsters and nightmarish slimes of creation. Darkness and fear clouded her mind. Meanwhile, Elish Metis were already gang-up by a dozen of his own soldiers. They were all convinced that his colorful languages were curses. … “Fear toxin!” the Isle of Knowledge’s S-rank trembled in disbelieves. “They drop a fear toxin on an entire army?” “Fucking hell,” Elin Rockshooter looked at the pandemonium the entire battlefield decent into in disbelief. “Why did no one ever do this?” “Because it will hit their own!” Then the realization hit the combat researcher. “Holy shit, they are playing their lack of numbers as advantage! They can afford to use the chemical weapon because they don’t have to worry about mass-producing antidotes.” Elin looked at the stage far ahead with newfound respect. Few people would walk in the fight outnumbered 10000 to 1 and used that as an advantage. “They are good,” Elin focused her power. “But what would they do,” she blasted forth her spell, “when we dispersed the cloud!” Nothing happened. There was no explosion in the air, nor parting of the fear-lace cloud. Elin dumbly trailed off, “What…” Boom! A glass arrow exploded at the two like a missile. … A far distance away, Rem coordinated the assault through the octopi network. “Dream, I was enchanted by the air and the ground with [Mistral] and [Terrafon],” Hikma said through the Za Wa’s terminal. “They won’t be dispersing the gas.” “Good,” Rem commended. “Ace, laid down the suppressive fire. If you couldn’t take the S-ranker out, pin them down.” Rem then turned his communication channel to Ehto, “Architect, I want you to encircle behind and take out the reserve force. EMP the transport and the war-machines! We are going to win the battle before they fire a single shot.” Finally, he circled to Melody, “Empress, if Fido makes a funny face, blast him!” As Rem shouted the order to the communicator, Acrisius stared at how his path to glory was about to be shot down the moment the actual battle took off. It appeared tacticians were cut from different cloth.

Duke Acrisius sat in his office, face-palming at the report, when Nereo Melosov opened the door to greet him. If one imagine Acrisius was a middle-age man dressed in extravagant clothing befitting a royalty, they would be half correct. True, the man sport a greying short boxed beard, greying rush hair and wrinkling forehead as a sign of obvious age. However, the stereotypical evil old-man image died there. The man wore a loose shirt covered with a military jacket, which did little to hide the buffed body honed through military service. Acrisius wasn’t an arm-chair noble. While lacking the talent, knowledge and dedication to break into the realm of S-ranker, he was a solid A-ranker. “I heard about Promtus and Kakia, my condolence,” Nereo feigned empathy. Mad scientist aside, he could be a decent actor if he put his mind to it. “Stop it, Melosov!” Acrisius growled, letting temper got ahead of him. “Don’t you realize how bad this is! It would be okay if we could sweep this under a rug, but ten-thousands of our men came back telling the same story that is spreading like wildfire! Not one, but two! TWO! Two Preator with an army of ten-thousand man chased down the defeated Atlanta and her rag-tag company barely above a hundred in headcount got beaten half-to-death.” “Sound like overkill,” Melosov whistled. “Seriously, ten-thousand to chase a hundred. What are you thinking?” “To sent a message!” Acrisius yelled. “Atlanta won’t give-up unless we shattered her hope. The depth of the Centuria royal family is massive. I need to make sure she can’t find a secret weapon to overturn our advantage. Those numbers are sent to assure any surprise is stomp.” “Well, you are right,” Melosov nodded. “But 100-to-1 advantage is sadly not enough.” Acrisius wiped a sweat from his brows and sank into his chair. The weight of failure pressed down on him. Centuria was a weakening nation and this Civil War scrapped the bottom of reserve and hidden favors they got. All the dukes ran to every S-rankers they could to establish their rules. In Acrisius’ dreamworld, he would already capture Atlanta and extracted the location to the hidden treasury. The hidden treasury. It was a treasure rumored hoard of Centuria Royal Family for time of great emergency. However, only a scant few knew that the treasury was real. Its location was only known to the upper echelon of the nation and the key was kept with the monarch of all time. Without the key, any attempt to open the vault would cause an auto-destruct magic that would turn everything inside the vault worthless. All the three Dukes already estimated the location of the vault, but Acrisius and Kakia failed to find the key on Penelope, which meant the only suspect holder was Atlanta. They abruptly ordered a search for the fleeing general. The vault was a strategical importance given the artifacts and treasures inside it would even be enough to bribe the S-ranker. In a war such as this, the number of S-ranker chipping in was like the number of nuclear war-head. All the dukes need as many advantages as they scrounged up. Centuria was currently a home to 278,000 troops. 8000 of those are A-rankers and the rest variation of C and A-ranks. Eurystheus control 66,000. Minos 89,000. After absorbing the defector from Penelope’s decimated Royal Army, Acrisius obtained the remaining number, counting for 123,000 strong army of 3000 A-ranker and two out of five active S-rankers under his command. With those advantages and access to the vault, Acrisius should be able to recruit more S-ranks under his banner, crushed Eurytheus, then conquered Minos. The wind of fortune heavily blew in his favor, up to the successful siege of the Centuria’s capital, every faction fully believed he was about to win a landslide. He even heard healthy news that Eurystheus and the rest of his enemy considered leaving the fight and starting over in Frisnia. He could still remember his confidence when his spies reported a deteriorating morale of Minos’s faction. Even better with Penelope as his tool, the legitimacy of his future dynasty was assured. The throne of Centuria was within sailing distance, and the wind was in his sail. Then two mysterious knights dressed in black conjured a hurricane to sink the ship. Promtus — captured.  Kakia — beaten beyond all recovery. The army of ten-thousand — marched back utterly defeated for everyone with two-eyes in their skull to see. Yes, ten-thousand was only one-twelfth of his force. Losing that amount in one skirmish is devastating, but it was recoverable. What wasn’t recoverable was there was no hiding the walk of shame they took back home with their severely injure commander in tow. If they died in an ambush, he could use their death as a propaganda and readjusted the strategy. But getting sent home with their defeated commander, that was humiliation. To make a matter worst, the returning ten-thousand got their bravado and pride beaten out of them so badly it made the army of walking zombie blushed. While Acrisius heard the report first, he was powerless to stop the tale from spreading like a wildfire. It was a legend of a mysterious guardian arriving to aid a group of powerless humans against an army that outnumbered them 100-to-1. The soft-spoken, humble guardian whose words leaked of excessive humility and meekness. They laughed at him, but they couldn’t laugh anymore. The stranger fulfilled his absurd promise. He bested an army of ten-thousand in an instant, even spared them the killing blow. His army never fully witnessed the battle, but a gigantic fire-giant being tossed over the mountain, amputated and destroyed wasn’t something anyone could miss. It was a tale straight out of the heroic legend of old. People saw the ground darkened and the new sun rose against the cloud of Brimstone as a sky flashed with yellow flames and flaming cloud. Alas, the mysterious knight emerged as a victor. Then there was Kakia. Kakia was powerful. There was no doubt about it, but the person who bested her was a mystery. The only clue was a golden lightning and light flashing near the area the familiar scarlet wind was last seen. However, Acrisius wasn’t worried about who broke every bone in the woman's body. He was more worry about the effect it had on the populace. Kakia was the hated boogeyman, chronically addicted to the abuse of her power and authority. People of all stations feared her, and a huge margin of them clenched their fist and teeth when their friend, daughters and families got taken to her perverse dungeon. Acrisius knew taking her in was a political risk, but the fear she inspired on the opposing side and her power and authority more than balanced her demerit. She qualified as an asset when her leash was properly handled. With Promtus beside him and ample of connection to satisfy her extravagant taste, appealing to her should be fine. And now that decision exploded in his pant. Her defeat was being celebrated like Christmas came early. Class war stopped overnight. The nation united in tears of celebration when they captured the sight of her bloody body. Acrisius could already hear the echo well-wish and the grateful prayer for their mysterious avenger from his bedroom. Keep this up and there would be a new cult center on the mysterious agent of salvation who vanquished the dreaded Kakia. Acrisius’ image as a seasoned necessity was being destroyed. If the embodiment right itself flew from the heaven to help Atlanta and punished Kakia, then Acrisius’ justification for the war looked less like a divine mandate and more like an egomaniac in over his head. “This is a political shit-show,” Nereo summarized. “And you don’t know where they took Promtus.” “You spoke like I have a shot of rescuing him from a clutch of two S-rankers we have no information about!” “We could,” Nereo smiled. “But I need more payment.” Acrisius growled. He believed he got Nereo worked out. The man was a mercenary researcher from the Isle of Knowledge, and a good one. He was expensive, but the information and performance-enhancing drug he provided to Acrisius army was invaluable. He even gave some connection to weapon supplier as a goodwill. But Acrisius knew Nereo was only interest in the money game like El Acerbia. He was here to make a profit. “What can you offer?” “I could bring Kakia back to the board.” That one took Acrisius by surprise. “You could? But the injury she suffer…” “Ruptured organ. Multiple Lacerations and impalements. A missing eye. Amputate arm. Many broken bones,” Nereo nodded. “Expensive and troublesome, but within my wheel house. Here, I will even throw in an extra deal. Give me some honorary nobility title. Something with tangible authority after you got to the throne and I will even throw in a special deal.” Acrisius growled. “A mercenary taking a position in my government. You are asking to become a national security risk.” Nereo smiled. “But I believe the Centuria Royal Family control over the land guardian is more than worth it.” The Duke blinked. “What? You mean the legendary guardian beast of the land, but that power already escaped the Royal Family for ages.” “It is still there,” Nereo said. “I have a method to awaken it. If it fails, well, you can always kill me anytime you want. What do you have to lose? Penelope? Sure, Kakia might complain, but look at the state she is in.” Acrisius hesitated for a second, but Nereo pressed more button. “How do you expect to go after this disaster? You know the more decisively you cemented your right-to-rule, the more solid your authority becomes. Acrisius, I know you think I am only in it for money and power. That I am exactly like El Acerbia. A war-profiteer. And you are right. I do care about getting paid.” Acrisius looked at Nereo in the eye. “But don’t you realize I win nothing for having you lose. The other Dukes wouldn’t trust me. You are my best customer in Tengen continent. With you gone, I lost every network and cashflow I set-up here. I need to win. You can at least trust the fact I gain the maximum mileage with you on the throne.” Nereo pitched more sale point. “Heart-to-heart time,” the researcher said. “I pick out of all the three Dukes, because I believe you have the most solid choice. Eurytheus doesn’t have the number and Minos is an ass. You are the closest thing to a strong leader Centuria needed. Who else is more viable for the throne?” Acrisius understood Nereo was right. He was the best option. “It up to you, mate. But we are in a pickle right now. You need to decide soon because time won’t wait for us.” Nereo turned toward the door and prepared to leave. But before he got to the door, Acrisius’ voice rang out. “Do what you must,” the duke said. “Thank you, mate,” Nereo replied. “I know you will come around.” …   Anyone who truly understood Nereo would know the entire sale was a lie. The war-profiteer image akin to El Acerbia was something Melosov projected to deceive everyone in his pursuit of knowledge. It gave him a convenient excuse for his action and aided in the manipulation game to attain the opportunity he wanted. No, Nereo gave as much shit about his pan-continental influence as much as CNN gave about being a pillar of journalism. Yes, the influence was convenience, but nothing compared to the importance of his grand goal of data collection. However, Melosov’s grand design would come later. Today show was the interrogation of one Praetor Promtus. … The former S-ranker didn’t know where he was. He woke up on a table, shackled to a steel chair with chains. A dim lamp above his head provided a circular source of blinding illumination. The old man squinted enough to make out the shadowy silhouette of a man sitting at the opposite end of the table. “You…” “A friend,” the man answered. “You can call me Dream.” “That is a lie,” Promtus growled. “Maybe,” Rem said from the shadow. “I want that to be an alternative compare to what I got on the table.” “Table?” “Yep, to be honest the situation is downright a mystery. Oh, I know a lot, but not enough.” Promtus realized his advantage. “You want information.” “Incorrect,” a multicolor light of his eyes shone from the darkness. “I already have everything you know and witness. What I want is your insight?” “Insight? You want my advice.” “Oh god no,” said the man with the eye that know all. “What I want is your opinion. Your advice worth shit given the fact you abandon a girl who is trying her best to Duke of imminent failure. I only have part of the picture but not a full one, and you, gramp, are the key to figure the rest of the pieces in this puzzle” Rem’s words were rooted in complete honesty. The reason for this struggle was a simple development in frustration. It was the happenstance that would later send the rest of Phantasia into a panic. [Clairvoyance] had been blinded. A haze of thick mist had descended into the very Phantasia itself. The usual freedom for Rem to find the truth of all things and witness the future turned faulty. If [Clairvoyance] was a report file, most of the access he used to enjoy like the search function got heavily gimped and the document got mostly redacted.  The war between Malice and the Center Force turned fabric of possibility into an incomprehensible soup. No one could navigate the map on the macroscale anymore. Thankfully, the microscale was still working. Rem could crack people like a safe and beat anyone short of the high-risk target by simulating his next moves to a perfect degree. The problem was scale. Five seconds forward of future vision was no problem. An hour and things turned grim. A day was asking for trouble. More than that, and it became downright impossible. Then there was Rem most useful skill; ability to scan the present for threat. Nope. It appeared life couldn’t give him a universal alarm. A fog blanketed the entire map. It was like a game of MOBA where the fog of war covered the entire map. Sure, Astral Projection allowed him to get around that, but it was inconvenient and required to do actual reconnaissance. Past-Vision? That one also got gimped. One annoying Vampire outright shrugged most of those abilities. And he needed a face-to-face meeting to look at the past, and it could only be done from their perspective. For example, he could look at Promtus’ history from the time he was a baby to what he had for yesterday dinner, but using him as a ladder to browse Acrisius was downright impossible. Rem was still trying to find a method around this. This meant he couldn’t get a reading on the subject most alarming to his concern. “I want your perspective on the man named Nereo Melosov.”

“Vivian is alive!” Cytortia’s voice lighted a brilliant sunshine through ZAWRUDO’s terminal. Rem activated the octopus communicator to report his finding to the Congress of Hope, and that excitement was the first thing out of Cytortia’s end of the telephone line. He melancholically observed the evening sunset outside the cave as the excited Cytortia gushed about Vivian. Wayward, on the other hand, opted to stay behind and chatted with the goddess. Personally, Rem believed it was less a chat and more to visit his comatose adopted sister. If he had to guess, Vivian probably kept her in the basement.  “Aunt Artio spoke of her fondly. She was quite a daredevil in her younger years. Even Nu Wa admits in that she is slightly better than her in setting up workshop and formation. Even Ishtar called her a rival in the Inter-Pantheon Goddesses Pageant. I always want to meet her. LinLey will be so jealous. Can I ask for an autograph? I can’t wait to see what the egotistical mermaid expression will be when she realizes I have Vivian’s favor.” Rem decided that the time cometh to stop the gushing of Cytortia — for the sake of the emotionally crushed Lady of the Lake. “Cy, I really want to get her autograph for you,” Rem walked away from the Vivian’s cave. “But Vivian is currently like you. She lost her [Divine Core], and is in hiding from all her enemies. She is a nervous wreck.” “That is why we need to stick together!” Rem needed to admit such a proclamation would fall to deft ear to a more jaded man, but as an aspiring hero, he couldn’t brush it away. If any random joe with addiction to justice said the same sentence, he would introduce them to a bucket of water to break waterboarding world record. But if anyone could understand Vivian, it would be Cy who experienced the same situation. Her empathy wasn’t an empty one. “Maybe next time,” Rem spoke. “How about this. Why don’t you start as a pen pal? This way you won’t have your expectation to collapse from a disappointment and Vivian can slowly get out of the shell.” Cytortia was impressed, “Wow, I can’t believe you can be this considerate. Are you sure you didn’t take a wrong medicine?” Then Melody’s voice spoke from the terminal, “Let ignore the fact Rem needed that medicine. And yes, buddy, I notice you limping up this morning. Seriously, your declining health is a worrying factor.” “I am fine. Just pull several all-nighters in a role. A little power nap and I will be back on track.” That was a lie. The element of Center Force was slowly invading his body, and dear old buddy REM returned every night for a death match (the current score is 315 wins 0 losses). Although Rem defeated him every time, it did no favor for his declining stamina. He even resorted to actively using [Tenshou] to prop the body that would fall over in a stiff breeze to be combat functioning. Popular viewer would say Rem was the most subtle of the group in power, but that was because he couldn’t afford to put a hundred percent of his power in a fight. Significant portion of Rem’s ability was actively employed to keep himself functioning. In the move which exemplifies who he was, Rem refused to let the Dawn knew about his declining condition. The impact on morale would be enormous and they would likely strap him to the bed. He needed to misdirect them from the truth under the guise of stress and overwork—a juggling act to keep the ice-berg hidden beneath the wave. Let them believed this was overwork, reinforced the misconception, and met them part-way to ease their supposed concern. Yes, this was a blatant manipulation of his own friends and allies. Rem was under no illusion about his selfishness. They would inevitably discover the deception and grilled him for it. Hopefully, the Dawn would have enough foundation fortitude to cope with his permanent retirement, or worst, going rouge and needed to be put down. Until then, the charade must go on. “Limping like that isn’t fine,” Melody was stern. “My health can wait. The mission come first. One all-nighter and I will have a rest.” “Rem!” Cytortia yelled. “Okay, okay,” Rem knew he succeed in his bluff. “This will really slow us down, but for your sake I will take 5 hours sleep tonight.” “Do you want to be strapped to the bed?” Melody said. “9 hours then,” Rem put out the real number he prepared on the phone. “Are you happy?” “Smiling ears-to-ears,” said the demoness who was convinced she won the negotiation she lost. “Wipe that smile off,” Rem feigned grumpiness to cover his relief. “How is Ehto and project Cerebro?” “Complete right on schedule,” Melody answered. “So, what did Vivian tell us about the seal?” Rem reflected on what he discovered. The knowledge was alarming. It sounded innocuous when anyone first heard about it. Predictably, like most harmless pop-corn flick, it could be horrible once you started dissecting the plot.  “A seal erected with the three safeguards, namely the guardian entity protecting the Leyline in each nation of Tengen Continent: The World Tree guarded by the dark elves in Frisnia, The Garuda of Starland, Earthshaker of Centuria. Each one is the royal family contracted beast and the land guardian.” Hikma chose that moment to reply, “Three safeguards of that magnitude. That is pretty secure, isn’t it?” “Yes, Hikma,” Rem replied. “On the surface, nothing on this continent should be able to break the seal. But the Fair Folks were relentless in the attempt to wear down the barrier. Their collective Mana already pervaded the continental Leyline like malaria infection.” “That sound bad,” Cytortia surmised. “It is bad. Vivian believed the guardians were forced to focus their entire brainpower on curbing this infection. All of them already went into trance-like state to block the invasion. It causes their hibernation. If they are distracted and awakened, the seal will slip.” “Then we must prevent them from waking up,” Melody got the challenge. “Wait. Isn’t Tengen continent a war zone? What happen if someone landed a shell in the place they were sleeping.” Rem was thankful someone got the gargantuan disaster incubating beneath their feet right now, “Exactly. One smartass turns desperate enough to wake them, and we are screwed. Maybe the seal can tank one slip-up, but I don’t want to risk it.” Cytortia groaned as the expert of the Heavenly Daughter, “This is bad. LinLey will certainly try to rob the Starland royal family blind for her aid. Tai Hua is in Frisnia at the moment. They are the type who pokes the bear cave to steal the cubs, but this won’t be stealing a pet, it will be shifting the tectonic plate. One wrong move and they will end this entire continent.” “Well, I think the solution is pretty obvious,” Melody was the voice of solution. “Let split up and guard the guardians.” “Not easy,” Rem said. “I needed more time to divine the location of the Garuda. The World Tree is deep in Frisnia with the dark elves’ and the adventurer guide’s eyeball glue right through it. The Earthshaker is located by the royal family’s secret stash. One wrong move and will might cause a massive troop deployment that will blow the seal.” The members of the Dawn got what Rem said. Beside the Garuda sleeping in no-clue land, the other two locations were surveillance hotspot. Sure, they could infiltrate the country and set a stakeout there, but it was risky and discovery guarantee immediate escalation. The escalation that the Dawn didn’t want to stomach. Hikma got to business, “Then what is the plan?” “I will think of something,” Rem muttered. He knew his reply was fostering the opposite of confidence. “You don’t have a plan?” Cytortia was feeling the chill. “Rem, we need a plan right now? From you told us the fairy is like miniature divinity and they have been propagating uncheck for six centuries. We might be facing a full-scale crusade.” “Cy,” Rem calmly spoke with sincerity. “Do you ever heard of the trope called you-can’t-thwart-stage-one?” “I don’t know that one,” Melody pointed out. “But I already hate it.” Rem smiled with total self-pity directed at himself, “Let me explain it. Supervillain G is trying to assemble the Superweapon using three different artifacts. This trope guarantee that no matter what the hero does, Superweapon will be assembled. The villain might plant the spy on the hero team. They might use hostage to trade pieces. Or just outright outplay them at every turn. This concept guarantees the hero failure in the mid-play because the narrative and the board are utterly stacked against them.” Melody was still confused, “How does this get—oh.” She got it and groaned, “You are telling me we can’t stop it.” “Seriously!” Cytortia yelled. “You must be kidding me!” “Yeah, we are in that scenario, right now. Centuria’s seal is currently open for all to see with its pant down at the location three different armies will go all-out to snatch the uncontested victory. We can infiltrate each camp and brainwash them into giving up, but that is a long-shot. Plus, I really have a feeling we can’t underestimate this dangerous-looking guy. As for the World Trees, our intel suggests Tai Hua is heading there, and you read the interrogation report I squeezed out of Chuang.” Chuang’s interrogation repot. It was the document that force the Congress of Hope to put several legislations to stop from mind-raping prisoner. Sure, they got every piece of Chuang’s brain, but the life-loop Rem put her through broke the Heavenly Daughter of Fire to shards of fracture psyche. It was so bad even Rem believed he went too far and the entire Dawn designed to erase her mind and transform her into Shyme Enma as her new maid.  But the information gain wasn’t in vain, they discovered Chuang was a victim of theoretical time-loop. She experienced the future timeline where the Dawn never came to be and Phantasia predictably got its ass kick by the World Enemies. Of course, it was only partial information. Chuang’s future vision was limited. While some averted disaster, such as Melody’s ill-fated conquering of the Demonic Continent and fall of Lightwell by Luxinna were reported, it missed several major plot. Venistalis Incident. PALISADE. Orwell Mehest and Arden Christy. Samael Wayward. Those were major global that never appeared in Chuang’s version of the future. “It is difficult to pinpoint where exactly the future diverted in her version,” Rem said into the communicator. “But I believe I has a working theory. I think Chuang perceived the version of the future where the Heavenly Daughters are—this sound so corny—the main characters.” “Excuse me?” The former Heavenly Daughters of Wood didn’t like that. “Let me explain,” Rem said. “Chaung, somehow, experienced the true potential of Mana and asked for her future. The future where she can be the hero. Do you get me?” “We are still here,” said Melody. “In this version of the future, the Heavenly Daughters are the main cast. Mana rounded off every single threat capable of threatening their station as the protagonist. It essentially eliminated the problem Chaung can’t possibly surmount to give her the story she wanted to see. That is why there is no Wayward or Orwell or PALISADE. Those guys are so monstrously equation breaking that factoring them in will cause the world Shyme didn’t have a shot at anything.” Melody was far from impressed, “So, Mana just shelved reality to create the world she wanted to see. How could someone be dumb enough to fall for it?” “More or less,” Rem bit back a snort. Of course, Mel wasn’t impressed. She had no-sell the same trick when WORLD himself bamboozled her.  “But aren’t Melody and Luxinna in that false future too?” Rem must admit, watching Cytortia’s tactical growth gave him a warm, fatherly feeling. “They did, but those versions of them never possess True Magic. Oh, the Heavenly Daughter is in a fight for their life, but they can realistically gather an alliance to overcome the globe-uniting international threat of nut-out Luxinna and dictator Melody. Theoretical Heavenly Daughters have advantages of moral unambiguity and neon-sign visible enemies, but reality doesn’t work like that. Unlike evil Luxinna and Melody, our enemy didn’t give them such convenience.” Rem could already get what will happen if the Heavenly Daughters faced against the Dawn’s villains. They wouldn’t be able to face Orwell who will unite and empower the people into a revolution army. Wayward would easily overpower them one-by-one. PALISADE would grow beneath the surface and ruthlessly and tactically overpowered Phantasia with his superior intelligence and technological prowess at the worst timing. LinLey, Chuang, Kar’dia, Tai Hua and the rest of the 33 Stars couldn’t possibly survive the Horizon Dawn’s difficulty. In fact, even without the home-grown threat, the World Enemy chewed them alive in Chuang’s version of the timeline. PALISADE was right. Without Satholia and Dawn, Phantasia was doomed even in the best possible condition. However, incorrect as the timeline was, it gave Rem an insight into one-person’s potential ceiling. “Tai Hua Tianshang couldn’t be underestimated.” “Aren’t you spending this last few minutes yelling about how she and the rest of my senior sister are failures?” Cytortia pointed out. “Failures? Totally,” Rem reaffirmed Cytortia without a hint of hesitation. “But Chuang is right to fear Tai Hua. Even when overwhelm and outmatch, Tai Hua is the last person fighting. Her political philosophy is impossible because of the self-interest of humanity, but with a better perspective she could have triumphed. If Tai Hua ever accepts that ‘law of the jungle’ is the incarnation of stagnation, she might actually win in those specific future.” Cytortia was stunned at Rem’s unexpected commendation of her dreaded tormentor, “Wait! Then why in that ideal world do they lose?” “Because Tai Hua’s sheer arrogance. Let me be clear, I mean arrogance, not pride. Pride has a basis in accomplishment tempered by personal growth. Arrogance lethally combines overconfidence and ignorance. Tai Hua is powerful. That timeline showed us her potential,” Rem said. On the other end of the phone, Melody silently agreed. They read the interrogation report and the account from the hypnotized Chuang about how powerful Tai Hua and her generals are. Somehow the Heavenly Daughter of Steel knew the marital art, Cultivation Technique and Spells lost to the Ancient. She was a charismatic leader capable of fighting above her rank. Her comprehension in the sage art and sword skill was on the level she could take down army after army of World Enemies. She was the impetus who laid the final blow to the tyrannical Melody and Corrupted Luxinna at the height of their power. Her talent, lost knowledge and grim determination were the stuff of legend. “Still, Even amongst the god, her knowledge in ancient lore is abnormal. Between Tai Hua, and Nereo Melosov giving me bad feeling, I doubt we can stop what coming. Even if we somehow prevent the initial leak, the seal won’t hold forever. The goal of a barrier is too cordoned an event, but most of the time, said cordoning blow-up eventually.” “So, we just give up,” Melody asked. “No, we will give it all to buy time, but tell Ehto to design fairies killing weapons because by the end of this campaign I have a feeling we will need to wipe out a species.”

The conference of Rem, Wayward and their host, Vivian, took place on a tea table over a bowl of fruits and a blue grape juice. Let us say, it was the host who broke the emotional wall after Rem finished his explanation. The method the graceful Vivian used to express her opinion? A massive wailing. “I CAN’T DO THIS ANYMORE!!!” Vivian sobbed facedown on the table. Wayward sighed, pouring himself more grape juice and chugging it down his throat like an alcoholic. Rem tried to be sympathetic. He really wanted to sympathize with the melodramatic breakdown of Vivian, but he couldn’t. His brain simply didn’t allow him a margin of understanding toward the curious collapse being present before him. Vivian reminded him of Cytortia before she grew some spine. It was a nostalgically annoying feeling. Alas, the time had come for Rem to move the conversation along, “Lady Vivian, I want to let you vent your tears further, but I am on a time-table. Can you please start explaining?” “Can we wait tomorrow?” the muffled voice of Vivian echoed from behind the barrier of arms. “Vivian,” Rem's voice hardened. “I know I am a guest here, but I am about to put my neck out in a guerrilla war that will decide the fate of this continent. Every minute waste means an increase in casualties count.” Vivian shuddered at the raw mental pressure from Rem. Wayward gave Rem a look of respect, “Seriously, where are you when the royal mages are recruiting? The amount of work your presence might reduce would wonder for my previous job.” Rem gave Wayward a stink-eye, “I will ally with Lucifer before I swear royalty to the red tapes.” “To each of their own,” Wayward nodded. “Lady Vivian, seriously, let bite the bullet and get this over with for everyone's sake.” Vivian looked up for her arm cushion in hopeless attempts to buy allies with her puppy-eyes. She found exactly zero comfort, “You two are demons.” “Yes, we are. Please tell us the story,” Rem said. Vivian let a long deep exhaled of air and happiness, “Okay, how do I begin?” Rem took time to contemplate such a question. Humanity was telling stories ever since the Neandertal learnt how to paint on cave walls. But he wanted the story to be short and to the point. Thus, the best option was condensing into the abridged version, but did the concept of abridging even exist for the gods? Well, no harm in trying. “Okay, what condensing everything you know about the fairies and the fairy realm in the shortest term possible.” Wayward perked his ears. He always wanted to know why the seal in the North existed. For all his life, the opaque screen blocking the fairies was a part of his scenery. The opportunity to understand what behind it was enticing. Vivian took sometime to thank and listed her story in the shortest possible format. “The Fairy Realm is a country and a magical workshop of my creation to house the Fair Folks. They are the creations of my sister — Titania; made by using the inheritance from our father to fuse her blood and various essences of magical beast, creating a diverse, magically rich race which she ruled as a queen. At least until, a World Enemy’s attacks and the resulting disturbance forced me to seal away the country before…” Vivian bit back tears and raw trauma as she said in shaky voice. “Before my sister shattered my [Divine Core] and stole my part of the inheritance.”  Silence. “This is a plot of over-the-top Korean drama,” Rem voiced his opinion. “We lack context,” Wayward pointed out. “What is the inheritance? Who is your father? How is a World Enemy got into this?” Vivian looked dead inside. Yep, it appeared this story-telling session would be long and painful. “Okay,” the former goddess managed. “Let start with my family.” … “You know I am far more ancient than even Zeus and Ra. That is because I am the creation of one of the primordial divinities; Hades, the King of the Spirit Realm. You could call me the Princess of the spirit.” Rem was curious, “I am new to divinity, but isn’t Hades one of the Olympian.” Wayward chuckled, “A myth for your world isn’t actually a reality in Phantasia. The gods in Phantasia used to access the rest of the multiverse until a millennial ago, when something cut the connection between Phantasia and the lower multiverse. I believe the mythology of your world which described the gods got distorted through time, fan-fiction and word of mouth.” “So, in reality, Hades is one of the elder gods,” Rem reaffirmed. “Yes, the five Primordial YHVH, Dharma, Gaia, Ouranos and Hades. They are the eldest [Divine Core] birthed directly from the Multiverse and have been alive since the time of the Ancient. Although, father and the rest of his colleagues never become truly active until the Ancient vanished. To fill in the hole left behind by the Ancient, the original [Divine Core] expanded their species, each using different method. Gaia and Ouranos merged their divinity to create the original Titan, elder Cyclops, Hecatonchires and the 6 grand giants.” Rem sipped his juice. Yep, he needed to ask Cytortia about those. It seemed like the enemies he was up against just multiplied. “Brahma dissolved himself to create three grand divinity and became the whirlpool in which countless gods from his line emerged from the essence of his [Divine Core]. YHVH, being amongst the mightiest among them, created a divinity model after his own. And my father, well, he imbued his own power into blueprint to supplement natural affinity in the atmosphere to create me and my sister.” “You and Titania?” Wayward asked. Vivian nodded nostalgically, “Then Morrigan and Artio, the four Ladies of the Spirit Realm.” Rem sat straighter. Artio was basically Cytortia’s honorary aunt. The family tree looked twister by the minute. “Being his eldest two offspring, father gifted me and Titania with his treasure. A fragment from the beginning of the multiverse. I receive the piece from which father first came into being; a spiral of Mana he took from the void far removed from our reality,” said Vivian. “[CHAOS],” Wayward recalled the name. Like the Dawn, he had time to look into the past via the looking glass of the Astral Realm and Mana. He witnessed the creation of the multiverse and the ageless power which formed the bastion of Arcane. Wayward was like the Dawn in his reverence and respect to the might of Primal Arcane. Rem nodded in agreement. “What?” This time it was Vivian who got caught in the curve bomb. “Your father gave you an artifact originating from the beginning of the multiverse, predating even the formation of Phantasia. Some of these treasures are natural one of the kind artifacts. Some are conceptual phenomenons or Bonafede eldritch beings capable of turning the entire solar system into molecular soup. [CHAOS] in particular could be called a top grade amongst these Imaginary Heritage. It is the cosmic spiral. A galactic foundry that annihilates and recreates matters both mundane and magical. You could call it the multiverse black hole. It is the Imaginary Heritage which gave birth to the gods. But given the fact you are still alive after being exposed to it, I believe that should only be a fragment of [CHAOS] — a leftover piece.” “Exactly as he said,” Wayward nodded. Vivian looked at Rem in disbelief, “Who are you?” “A random good Samaritan.” “Impossible,” Vivian flatly shot that down. “We have no have no clue about what it is for millennia. My father. My sisters. Everyone who knew about it didn’t even know what it does, much less its name. We only know it can create [Divine Core], but nothing else. Even Athena is clueless.” “You speak like Athena knows everything,” Wayward mused. “This is ridiculous,” Vivian were still hanging on the revelation. “Wayward, don’t tell me you actually know this too.” Wayward shrugged, “I recently learned it too from the same source he did. Turn out if you channel your consciousness into the Mana and follow its energy, you can decipher the knowledge from its memory. Trace far back enough and you will learn a lot of new and powerful knowledge.” Vivian’s jaw dropped, stunned by the revelation her minds try to process. It was then Rem went back to the rail. “Anyway, go back to the story. You got [CHAOS], but what did Titania received.” “A petal of flowers that seemed to create a nectar that could create new life-form. Holding it gives her such a healing power it essentially makes her immortal. She used it in a combination with her blood and essence of the other species to create the fairies. I originally believe she was creating a race of servant to rule over. I was wrong.” Rem took a depressive sip, “[Necta Floral]” “You know that too,” Vivian said with resignation. She settled on believing her conversation partner is an eldritch tome surpassing the gods instead of an opportunistic puny human. “Imaginary Heritage which creates the bio-soup which all life originate from,” Rem explained stalely. “It possess unparallel ability to heal, provide life-force and supplement biological performance. You could trace every healing and life-manipulation ability back to it. It is no surprise even a petal from the flower can create an entire race.” Vivian’s eyes widened like a flying saucer, “So that is why it can do that.” “Do what?” Rem had a bad feeling about this. “You remember I help Titania created the Fairy Realm, right?” Vivian answered that with a leading question. Wayward could help but noticing something strange, “Didn’t she stabbed you in the core and reduced you to this state? I would have believed you get along poorly.” Vivian sank into nostalgic reminiscence, “Back then, we were pretty close. Artio, our youngest sister, is aloof. Morrigan never contacts us. That left me and Titania to be each other neighbor. I and the founders of Tengen support her as an ally. We believed it was the right decision then. Titania’s creations are created using the foundation of other powerful magical beings to be diverse and powerful; pixie, dryad, nymph, werewolf, gnome, Satyr and the leprechaun. She told me we could reach the height of our father together. I trusted her and sent the founder to her aid immediately when a World Enemy entered her territory.” “That incident was a disaster. The subjugation failed, and the fairies attacked the border. Luckily, they are sealed away before a full invasion started,” Wayward listed of the history lesson.  He turned toward Vivian, “And you disappeared.” “I must,” Vivian replied, down-cast. “I don’t know exactly what happen during the subjugation, but whatever it was turned the Fairy Realm mad. After losing contact with Titania, I am forced to use my inheritance — what you called [CHAOS] — to erect the wall separating our two nations.” “Let me guess,” Rem spoke. “Titania used that opportunity to stab you behind the back, blow-up your [Divine Core] before taking [CHAOS] away.” Vivian nodded. “Did she give you any clues about where she is heading?” Rem probed deeper. “Aside from gloating about the fact the fairy and me outlived our purpose, not much.” Rem squinted at the newly arrived point, “What is her end game? She needs [Chaos] for a reason.” “You are Phantasia greatest detective,” Wayward spoke. “I believe you already have a hunch.” Vivian turned toward Wayward with a new sense of appreciation, “This is the first time I see you grow a respect for someone.” Wayward sighed, “Lady Vivian, this guy is that good.” … Titania’s creations are created using the foundation of other powerful magical beings to be diverse and powerful; pixie, dryad, nymph, werewolf, gnome, Satyr and the leprechaun. She told me we could reach the height of our father together. Yes, the five Primordial YHVH, Dharma, Gaia, Ouranos and Hades. They are the eldest [Divine Core] birthed directly from the Multiverse and have been alive since the time of the Ancient. Aside from gloating about the fact the fairy and me outlived our purpose, not much. … “So that is it,” Rem hit upon the realization. “That is why she needs [CHAOS]. She already exhausted every possibility of [Necta Floral]. She must have spent every waking moment ever since receiving it to run her experiment. Her obsession would just build-up.” “Need [CHAOS] for what?” Vivian asked. “To surpass your father.” Vivian was more outraged than surprised, “That is impossible. Father is a Primordial. He is a magnitude above other gods. The qualitative difference between [Divine Core] is insurmountable.” “Don’t assume things are impossible just because it have never been accomplished?” Rem paraphrased a certain Roman philosopher. “You help her build the Fairy Realm. You should already semi-realize Titania designed them for a purpose just by knowing its facilities and people. Recreation. Finance. Industry. What type of society the fairy built then?” Vivian about to argue, but shrank back a look of horror flashed through her face. Wayward, knowing Vivian better than Rem, realized they just came across something horrible. “Lady Vivian,” he tried to be gentle. “What did you build there?” Vivian’s lip quivered at the thought. At long last, she finally broke the fact, “Wayward, you know what I am infamous for before being reduced to this state, right?” Wayward recited the answer, “You were once the most skill maker of magical workshop and Leyline Manipulator,” Wayward answered Rem’s question. “At her peak, Vivian made impenetrable mazes, legendary magical sanctum, rearrange the Leyline to produce mine constantly produce gold and palaces that existed in alternate spaces.” Rem turned toward the goddess with newfound respect. Instead, he was greeted with a soul-crashing resignation. It was like looking at a swan with a clipped wing. A beautiful creature fated to never soared in the cloud ever again. “I never realize what it is,” Vivian admitted in a pained voice of betrayal. “Maybe if I did, I might hesitate. My sister asked me to help create a certain foundation for her country. She wanted to speed up her ability to create that life-creating fluid needed to create new fairies. Being as close as we were, I helped her whole-heartedly.” “What did you do?” Rem was almost too afraid to ask. Wayward thought it was strange hearing the tint of terror in Rem’s voice. That man never fears death, but the answer he was waiting for terrified him. “I rearranged the Leyline to use it to create a magical pool to produce what you call the Bio-soup. It is beyond my ability to replicate every function of Titania’s inheritance, but making a stable source of that life-creating soup from pure Mana and innate nutrient of the land was within the realm of my best effort. I believe it is still there at the center of Fairy Realm, a lake of self-refilling sea that could endlessly create life.” Rem looked at Wayward, and they both glanced at Vivian’s mad-scientist of an accomplishment. ““WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?”” “Good question,” Vivian make a self-derisive chuckled. “It is a challenge for the sake of my dear little sister, so I put everything to it without realizing what could go wrong. I foolishly believe everything always is under my control. I am Vivian — the eternal elder goddess. The Princess of Spirit Realm. The Fair Lady of the Lake. No challenge is beyond me. It took a shattering [Divine Core] to awaken me to the reality of how vulnerable I really am.” Vivian was in tears at the confession, “I was wrong. I was arrogant. It took several hundred years wallowing here to realize how pathetic I really am. The sign was all there, but I ignored all of them.” Vivian let out a broken laugh. “Look at me now. You mortal must find hilarious. The mighty goddess, once out of reach even for kings of the gods, now couldn’t even resist average bandit without her [Divine Core]. I am probably the most pathetic woman alive.” After all of that, even Rem felt sorry for her, “Okay, enough self-pitying. How do I destroy this pool?” “The Lake of Life?” Vivian mused. “I already severed the Leyline supporting it. Without the energy to sustain itself, it should run out its lifespan 600 years ago.” Somehow Rem doubted things would be that easy and Wayward agreed. “That is ridiculous. If the lake dried out, how did some fairies still have enough number to escape your seal?” Wayward said. “I don’t know!?” Vivian wailed. “Titania made them with inherent natural power. Just procreating alone requires a massive amount of abundant Mana. I already did everything I could to block those supplies when their entire species went mad 600 years ago. Without the Lake and the Leyline jammed, they should have gone extinct!” Rem breathed slowly to regain his cool, “Vivian, never mind that. Tell me how to shore up the seal.” Vivian told them about the seal, and Rem nearly fainted on the spot. Vivian’s answer gave every unfortunate detail about why its failure was nearly inevitable.

Knock! Knock! When Melody opened the door for the mysterious knocker, she didn’t expect to meet Phillips Odysseus. “Hello, Phillip,” Melody switched to the kindly teacher mode. “What do you need?” “I think I found what I wanted,” Phillip said with renew determination in his eyes. “I need to meet with that strategist.” “You need to wait for a while, he is out scouting.” “No need.” The two saw Rem walking to the house with a stack of papers in hand. The Knight of Dawn looked exhausted. They could have sworn he did a lap around the country. It was a guess that wasn’t far off. Rem spent chunks of his returned trip monitoring the area around the Acropolis settlement, beating bandits and helping travelers. Dream got more thing from Napoleon Bonaparte than military wisdom; namely the backbone to enter the ditch with his army. “So, what is your answer?” Rem pumped himself up for one more conversation. … Acropolis’ Barrack was divided into two parts. A cozy sleeping quarter that recruits could freely decorate as they saw fits. Originally, there were three quarters, but the recent improvement in both food qualities and lectures’ quality saw the increase in permanent participants. Although Melody and Luxinna increased the training rigor to match the demand, the circuit of hell, gravity machine and atmospheric Mana manipulator did little to deter the recruitment rise. Helping those numbers was the Dawn’s refusal to believe in measuring talent with a glowing orb.  If you have a brain, you can be trained. If you have a heart, you have a will. Thus, the training was open to everyone regardless of race and station. You only need to come with one thing; the willingness to be a true citizen of Acropolis. And no, the citizenship wasn’t a certificate written by Rem and approved by Cytortia; it was the willingness to protect the spirit of Acropolis’ settlement to the last constitutional brick; to defend freedom, dignity and unity of this newfound home, so anyone with a willingness to start anew under the law would have every opportunity to do so. Yes, Rem partially ripped that off from America’s founding, but if the wheel worked you don’t reinvent it every time. For that reason, the mascot and symbol of Acropolis United Militia (AUM) from its founding early days as a settlement to the most powerful nation wasn’t a lion, a dragon or a bald eagle, but a honey badger. An animal whose, despite its size, was famous for its inability to die, courage that shamed the lions and the balls that earned Rem’s respect. Seriously, Rem was almost ashamed for their species that Scathach disguised herself as one. The goddess probably made for the meekest badger alive. The real honey badger would rather die arguing with Rem than submit, and Rem pretty sure it would extract its weight worth in calories before it past. “Is that rodent your mascot?” Phillips was confused at the flag stationed in the sparsely decorated commander-in-chief room Rem occupied. “That rodent fights off apex predator 10 times its size, and possesses such credit big cats that can hit 130 Km per hour in running speed disguises as it to survive to adulthood,” Rem listed the basic honey badger fact. “Their cousin is among the most devious and smartest mammal in the natural hierarchy. You will be well to respect the rodent. If they learn how to use magic weapons, I will give them half a decade to enslave elves and kick the Olympian off Mt. Olympus within fifteen years.” Phillip glanced at Melody. “He wasn’t joking,” Melody said, recalling the video about Stoffel. “Those things are smarter than most people I know.” Phillip looked at the rodent flag with wariness. “Anyway, time for you to pitch. What is the miracle bullet you will give me that will somehow persuade me to go on an assault?” Rem said. Phillip stared at Rem’s eyes. The eyes color wasn’t natural. The effect of the Center Force already bleached his eyes and turned it into a darker shade of grey. Sooner or later, Rem’s cornea would be dyed unnatural white, divorced completely from humanity. Yet, despite the inevitable demise, what Phillip found within the greyness is a shade of unyielding light. He gulped, but he won’t back down. “You are right. I never want to save Centuria. Frankly, I think if we are honest with each, letting it be wiped out in a clean slate will bode well for everyone involved” “Kinda obvious,” Rem said. Phillips sighed. With his back fully cornered, this was the moment. Either he succeed and lived, or walked out of the wall and die. The moment he admitted this was the moment he put his metaphysical nut on the chopping block. He either died as a man or fold as a fungus. It would be impossible to take back what he was about to say. “I only want to save one person. I can’t let her die. I know she is in an impossible situation. I know the chance to rescue her is nigh-impossible, but I can’t throw her away,” Phillip spoke with grimed certainty. “I made a vow to myself that day.” … It was a sunny day in Centuria’s capital when a girl walked through Phillip’s shop. “Hello,” the girl said shyly. “I am interest in what you are selling.” She had an auburn hair tied into a twin tail, shy smile and the eyes as bright as a star. Phillip responded over the counter, “Magic Item is over the chest counter, but we are mainly specialized in redistributing imports. Oh, I am Phillips, by the way, nice to meet you.” The girl looked at the boy for a solid minute, “Are you a bit too young to do business?” “Can’t help it. My parents already died and left me this shop,” Phillips shrugged. “I am sorry,” the girl sympathized. “Don’t worry, so what is your name?” Phillip looked at the girl. “And how can I help you?” “My name is Penny.” … “She isn’t even trying with the name,” Phillip commented toward the lamest disguise he ever seen. “Took away the twin tail and replaced the town girl dresses with a gaudy clothes at it is pretty much obvious. It took me less than a week to work out the ruler of the country just visited my shabby store in a disguise.” “Let me guess,” Rem said. “You keep it a secret to build connections.” “At first,” Phillips admitted. “But she is damn innocent. It is almost painful.” … “So, what is business like?” Penelope swallowed down a cotton candy. “Are you happy here?” “Well, the ruler could be doing a worst job,” Phillip eyed said ruler completely oblivious to the charade wouldn’t fool anyone. “There is corruption here and there, but I believe the Princess still doing great. Who knows? The king might recover soon.” “Really?” Penny looked down at the ground. “I think the royalties are complete failures.” Phillip was surprised the very Princess of the nation admitted that. He expected her to be a little more pompous and this burst of humility caught him between the eyes. “The king’s health is getting worse,” Penny was visibly biting back tears. “The courts are like a band of wild animals, and the Princess doesn’t even know how to do anything.” Penny made a self-depreciating complaint. “It is almost inevitable Centuria will flip upside down. I don’t know what to do anymore. I am scared.” Phillips Odysseus glanced at the crowd of travelling passerby. Beside him on the wooden bench by the sidewalk, the Princess-in-disguise sat petrify by an uncertain future. “You speak like you are the Princess.” “…” “Now, assuming I am sitting to the Princess,” Phillips opened a little of his heart toward the girl facing an impossible future. “I will tell her to do what she believe in. She is a stronger person than she looks. The fact she cares enough to worry about us already meant a lot to most people I know.” With that, a little girl smiled, “You know what I want to see.” “I am listening.” “I want to see this every day,” Penny looked at the busy crowd in the marketplace. “Where I com from everything is so tense and stuffy. The pressure and the constant lying in my home are really draining, but every time I come here, some of those weights are lifted from my shoulder.” “There you go,” Phillips grinned. “I believe you find your footing.” … “She is bumbling to a fault,” Phillips recalled. “But I want to believe in her even when the deck is so absurdly stack. If there is anyone who deserves to be happy, it is that goofy little girl.” … It was gloomy that night. Penny came to his shop suddenly and asked him to accompany her on a night date. Dazed and confused, the dumbfounded Phillip walked along the street. Something ominous was coming. The gravity pressing on this usually bubbly girl was all he needed to know. Nothing about that night was moderately fine. In the street lighted with lamp and tensed atmosphere, the young girl finally said what she needed to say. “My father passed away yesterday. This is a least time we will ever meet.” “Why?” Penny refused to meet his eyes, “I am forced to inherit the family business.” That massage was all Phillip needed to hear. The king had passed away and Penny was up to inherit the throne. Given the amount of workload and burdened of the entire nation that upon to land on her shoulder, she wouldn’t have another opportunity to make a carefree visit like this. Compounded with the fact this girl had lost her father, miserable was the correct word to describe her. Beneath the gaze of the full moon, Phillip wanted to shed tears. He had no ideas where this burst of emotion came from, but still, his face remained dry, “Are there another way?” “Every other successor is way worse than I am.” Phillip absorbed that in, “Are you happy with this?” “Not at all,” Penny’s face was filled with despair. “Hey, Penny,” Phillip tried to smile at the girl. “I know it will be hard, but whatever happens, just do your best. I am rooting for you.” Penny’s face lighted up for a moment, “Yeah, it will give it my all.” … Phillip’s eyes were filled with the fire of a thousand suns, “Centuria could fall and I would agree it has a decent run, but I can’t accept Penny as the sacrifice on the altar of progress. I know it is selfish, but I can’t take that. I love her and I want to be happy. The world may disagree with that option. Fate itself might want to screw her over as a final hurrah, but I have another thing to say.” Rem looked at the man who finally found the hill to stand on, “You know you must fight through the army to rescue her, right? She a symbolic prize to the duke rule.” “Yeah, the duke won’t give her up without a fight,” Phillip agreed, but remained undentable. “And the scary thing is I am fine with that. The moment I admit I value one person above my country, well, I no longer fear dying.” “Even when she might not be the same,” Rem pointed out the genuinely dreadful possibility. “The bloodline of the previous dynasty is quite a scary tool to legitimate their control. If the Duke forces her into a marriage, it will attract many traditionalists. Mind Control. Drug. Torture. There are fifteen million ways they can break Penelope. Assuming, we can even take her back, the Penny you know might already be gone.” Phillips took a solid minute to accept Rem’s words, “My friend promised she will do her best. Penny might have already fallen, but even then, I have to know. I know I might be up for a crushing disappoint. I accept that, prepare for that, but it won’t change the fact I will take the march of faith.” “And why do you think I will march alongside you,” Rem asked the trick question. “Because you are here to save the people, aren’t you?” Phillip said. “It should be obvious, but you want me to arrive at this answer on my own. You already plan to rescue Penelope from the very start, right?” “Guess, the facet pure motivation can sharpen the mind is true because you are certainly smarter than you were,” Rem commended. “What is in it for you?” Phillip asked. “I know where I stand, but what about you?” Rem smirked, “You think we are a philanthropist with an agenda,” Rem said. “You are half-right. If you call serving a higher ideal an agenda, you will be fully correct. We are a secret Order found to protect all that is beautiful in this world. For that purpose, no hill is insurmountable, impossible is a suggestion, and numbers is irrelevant.” Melody stood and walked toward the exit. The Dawn had cometh. She needed to prepare the rest. “The beauty of a soul cannot be priced,” Rem said. “And thus, there is nothing that should be protected more than a bond between them. That bond you have with the princess worth more than a country or the delusion of grandeur from the three morons. Congratulations, kid, your feeling for the Princess summon a force of nature, be sure to treasure it.” “You have an army to fight those dukes?” “Sorry, kiddo, but we can’t ask the garrison to march toward suicide mission,” Rem said. “Instead, you get every combat active member of the Dawn. We are still lucky. Interrogation of Promtus indicates out that Acrisius didn’t touch the Penelope, yet. With Kakia incapacitated, the risk toward the girl drop sharply. We recently eavesdropper some of Acrisius’ troops and all the military activity pointed to a preparation of a serious march toward the Hidden Vault. With the key remaining with Atlanta, I believed Acrisius knew alternate method to open the vault and preliminary investigation we performed on the Leyline after a certain tip off from an anonymous source more or less spell out they needed Penelope’s contract with the land to pull it off. Said source also stated that they needed at least a month of submerging her inside the Mana to loosen the contract for a removal. That is our attack window.” Phillip blinked. Those were very concise detail. Rem knew what he was thinking, “Dude, we haven’t been slacking on the job. Oh, and we also provided an accelerated training course for you. You vow to protect the girl, and we will ensure you will earn the strength to do so. You make a promise to yourself, and as a man, you should fulfill that by your two hands.” “That is the plan,” Phillip asked. “Ambush Acrisius’ army next month?” “We aren’t ambushing them. As I say, our only target is Penelope. It will be a basic snatch and grab, with side quest to blow up the Vault. Plus, you are wrong, Eurytheus and Minos have spies in Acrisius’ rank. It will be naïve to think they won’t be moving too.” “All three?” Phillips said. “That a solid 250000 troops plus every S-rankers in Starland.” “268,000” Rem corrected. Then his voice tuned to a chill, “Still, I can’t see how that is our problem. For where I sit, there are only two results in this. Either the entire military force of a country humbly gets out of our way or we move them. The result will be the same.” Phillip nodded. After accepting his feeling, the notion of a quarter million solders being laid to waste barely bother him.

The bird was chirping under the peaceful sun shining over Acropolis. Children played tag inside the brand-new park Horizon Dawn and the community barely finished a week ago. In the middle of this refuge, the lake was glittering in the sunlight. Phillip Odysseus sat in this park trying to bury his internal conflict beneath his combat’s lecture note. The question was why. Why was he even here? He needed those almighty mysterious men in black to help him, but the question remained: how could he convince them. The strategist who refused to give his name already listed several reasons explaining why he won’t lift a finger to save Centuria. Instead of hiding behind that selflessness, which is basically selfishness in denial, ask yourself what is it you are trying to save. That was what he said.  Phillip disagreed. He wasn’t selfish. He truly wanted to save other. He helped the wanted Atlanta crossed the country to do it. The prospect that he was out for himself was ridiculous. The young man doubled his focus on his notes to distract himself from the gnawing contradiction. The poisonous inkling of conflict, smoldering annoyance and worries plaguing his mind. He took the combat course in Acropolis. Atlanta even joined him to find a crack in these almighty stranger’s armor. After a few lectures, even Atlanta admitted these people had no business on community defenses. They should be a guest lecturer on the top Academies in Balperia. Their theory on Mana usage was revolutionary and the trainee already experienced a significant increase in power. They even revamped the concept of Spell Casting with a primal material on magic and relegated most of Spell Casting framework into Magic Engineering. Even Atalanta became a regular attendee to pickup some trick. The very competency of their instructor served to further irked both Atalanta and Phillip. With all this power and wisdom, why won’t they help. “You look a little stress there.” Phillip startled and looked back to find their lecturer. “Miss Solarmaria,” he addressed Melody. “Want some tip with your writing?” “No, I understand the material fine,” Phillip grumbled. Melody raised the eyebrows and looked at Philip up and down. “Something in your mind?” She stated, trying to be welcoming. “Come on. Talk to me. What is bothering you.” Phillip hesitated for a second before giving up. “It is your friend. The strategist.” Melody was hardly surprised. “Let me guess. He shut down your argument like a total smartass, deconstructed your motivation, verbally illustrated your stupidity and sent you to square one.” Phillip glanced at his mentor with an inkling he wasn’t the zeroth victim of Mr. Smartass. “Did he love tearing down people’s dream that much?” Melody laughed, “God no. I can’t name anybody who cares more about individual aspiration than he is. Our strategist wants to see people's dream succeed like every success inflates his ego. Strip of all those sasses are the man who is will go above and beyond to treat people well-being and freedom as his own.” Phillip stared in disbelief, “Are we talking about the same person?” “Don’t let that apathy and the so-called cowardice trick you,” Melody said. “In fact, let me tell you the story. “Once upon the time there is a girl with a stupid dream that will probably get herself kill. It is a righteous goal to take back what hers.” Philip looked at his mentor who was clearly talking about herself. “But before her ill-fated journey even starts, she met a certain man. She wanted his help. She needed it. She believed she is the hero of her story. That man disagreed. He shredded through her excuse and ripped out the fact for everyone to see. He tore apart the dressing of prosperity to reveal the desire for vengeance that will cause everything but happiness. He revealed the treasure she wanted came at an exorbitant price in both blood and maintenance. The girl refused to accept his reasoning and accuses him of ignorance and cowardice. She fully believed the man before her was a scumbag of highest order. Even with those accusations, the boy refused to budge, so the girl did what every single arrogant moron in the history ever did when they confront the opposing view they lack the wisdom and solution to override. Grab the hammer and shut him up.” Philip’s face froze. That statement was the opposite of the beginning of a lasting friendship. “Did she succeed?” “It is a good she didn’t,” Melody reminiscence. “She would surely crash and burn. But as you can guess, the girl lost. She didn’t just lose normally. It was an epic defeat. The girl was stronger than him, more experienced, more trained and came from a great pedigree, but she lost because that man is the embodiment of courage and conviction. Even when faced with the prospect of grievous injuries and impossible odd, he refused to accept the impossibility and won. The shadow of his intervention was so humongous it convinced both the girl and her mother that their dream was impossible, not for the literal armies facing them, but for the interference of one man and his unshakable ideal. I have seen that man stand against foes I dread to face with grim determination as inspiration to all. The strategist you met is the opposite of a coward.” “Why are you telling me this story?” “Because I want you to understand that guy refused your request for a reason. Sure, the massive pile of bodies is one of them, but I believe he is trying to save more than that. Just like how that hero encouraged a girl to find what she truly wants — protecting her father's legacy — over what is expected from her. I believe he is refusing your request for the same reason.” “I want to save Centuria” “Ah, so that is the issue,” Melody couldn’t help but felt nostalgic. “Is that what you desire, or is it a convenient front you can hide behind?” Melody winked at Philip after she dropped the revelation. “Well, the next class is starting. Anyway, consider it. Even if you assume saving a nation which already died is feasible, would you be happy with it at the end.” Melody left Philip sitting in a park with himself. The man spent times starring at the cloud and at last whispered. “What I want?” He asked himself the question with an obvious answer. The question is would he dare to say it. … Penelope was led, in handcuff, into the center of the room surrounded by stone and darkness. “Where am I?” Penelope asked. “How do I say this?” said Nereo Melosov, tinkering with a sophisticated control panel. “I promise Acrisius I will give him the control over the Mountain Shaker.” Penelope’s face went pale, “The Earthshaker? The guardian beast of Centuria had been hibernating for ages.” “True enough. It is in an energy saving mode to prepare against the fairies, but the person setting up the defense didn’t think it through. She never expected the Centuria Royal Family to weaken so catastrophically after generations and lost the master control over the land’s Leyline. Luckily, the contract structure remained in your DNA. I simply needed to overcharge your cellular structure with power from Leyline Mana to reawaken the latent crest. To be fair, you won’t be able to handle the power. I expect there are 65% chances the crest explodes and takes you with it. If that happens, the Earthshaker will go ballistic.” Penelope paled at the casual discussion about her faith, but in typical Nereo fashion. The man remained unperturbed by any emotional distress and hopeless obstacle hanging above them. “Relax,” Nereo said. “I want to study the crest in action, not blow you up. We only need to transplant the contract to someone else. The main problem was ensuring the stability of the crest. In such case, synchronizing the crest with the nexus in which it was first created would likely allow it to exist outside your body.” Penelope gulped. “Of course, I know the location, which happen is the Hidden Vault Valley. What do people call it? Loose lips sink ships? Yes, I think that is the term. You should be careful to guard information better, assuming you survive the extraction. Funnily enough, I believe that is also the location the Earthshaker hibernates. None the less, it will be quite exciting, Princess.” “What exciting?” Penelope trembled like a rabbit while Nereo charmingly smile. “Oh, I can’t spoil the surprise,” Nereo slid across the control screen. The ceiling and the room hummed with energy. Ethereal glows floated from the ground and bathed the former queen in bluish light. Penelope was hit by a sense of drowsiness as the mysterious forces levitated from the air. She hung suspended like a maiden in the moonlit shine, under the power intricate spell, formulas and human designs. The queen let the realm of sleep took her amidst the humming machinery. “It will like one month for you to be significantly primed. Good night, Princess. I hope you have a sweet dream.” That was the last thing she heard before everything faded. … Wayward and Rem walked into the plain black cave hiding the glowing pool of water. Yes, that sounded like the beginning of an unfunny joke. “Got to say this cave would make for a decent acoustic,” Rem muttered, absorbing the echoes of his voice. Wayward, refusing to respond, waded into the glowing water. Rem watched the rippling water, sighed internally, and followed the man in a swim of faith. The water felt cold to his skin. Something that made the dampened air worst. As the men continued to the center of the pool, they sank deeper into the eldritch tinge of water and the eerie atmosphere. Then, at the center of the lake, Wayward dove beneath the surface of the glowing pool. Rem followed suit. He felt the rushes of water, tailspin of moisture and the world-turning upside-down. By the time the world right itself, the knight of Dawn found himself suspended amidst the cold water with shimmering light above. Rem swam and break through the wave. He wasn’t in the cave anymore. Instead, he found himself adrift in an endless expanse of water. He turned and found a small cosy island with a wooden cottage nestled by the beach with a lush, humble, well-kept garden featuring beautiful bushes, orange trees and yellow and pink flowers. Rem swam to the beach, clawed out of the smooth sand glittering on this artificial paradise and took in a scenery. The house was like a perfect retirement home from the former grandma who suffered through too much politics. The scent of cookies. The swing hanging by the large oak tree placed in the garden and the tiny wooden fence keeping the bushes at bay. The endless expanse of water and a beach. Everything about this place spelled summer vacation. Rem found Wayward standing in front of the house’s bright yellow door and walked to join him. To his surprise, the water evaporated from his body in form of a mist and flowed back into the ocean, leaving him perfectly dry. Neat. Rem joined Wayward just in time for the door to swing open. What greeted them wasn’t a kindly grandmother, but a supermodel on the front page of a fashion magazine. The description would be perfect if said magazine targeted at gardening enthusiast.” “Lady Vivian,” Wayward bowed. “It is an honor, Ma’am,” Rem followed suit. Vivian was a flaxen hair woman who appeared to be in her early twenty despite being older than Zeus himself. Her eyes were bluish white like the water they just dove to get here. Her beauty, from youthful, refined face, comely eyes and a neckline worthy of her divinity was hidden beneath the shadow of her wide brim gardener hat. This blatant camouflage of an enchanting natural heritage also extended to the body to contest with Melody. The thick cotton sweater for garden work and work trouser heavily enclosed her tight waistline and thigh that would cause mass death via jealousy in Hollywood. Admittedly, Rem judged Melody edged Vivian out in the bosom, but her size would likely give Luxinna a crisis and sent Cytortia down another fit of depression. In conclusion, goddess Vivian was a beauty pageant, failing to hide her undisputed three-time winner of Ms. Divinity beneath a gardener get-up. It was akin to Yang Guifei and Helen of Troy trying to disguise as a delivery girl, failing upward in all its finest. Vivian squinted at Wayward. “Samael, you have grown, and you even bought a friend,” Vivian’s shoulder drooped. “Please tell me there won’t be an army after you?” “Lady Vivian, I know how to keep my mouth shut.” “Really?” She pointed at Rem. “Truth to be told, I already know you are here,” Rem said. “Wayward just make my introduction a little less hostile. Oh, you can call me Samadi.” Rem offered his hand and met with wariness. “Who else know?” Vivian’s voice was tiny, almost afraid. “Ma’am, I am not a vampire, or the Holy Church, or Odin, or—” “Basically, he won’t be kidnapping you to sire a clan demigod,” Wayward cur to the point. Vivian still refused to budge. Hell, she was trembling like a rabbit. It was a display almost unbecoming of a goddess. Rem could have sworn the raw terror at a miserable future as a glorified bedroom trophy, plus the associated perversion, was running across her mind like a Gazelle attached to rocket booster.  As a goddess with age comparable to the Titan, Vivian represented a peak genetic pedigree of Phantasia. As a Divinity who had her [Divine Core] shattered, she was the perfect prime target — an eugenic treasure chest without a power to back it up. Her circumstance was like Cytortia. As far as the world knew, Vivian already perished 656 years ago after the founding of nations of Tengen. If word slipped that she was alive without her former power and prestige, it would be a goddess hunting season. Everyone but a group of hero with their moral hovering in the Everest wanted to impregnate a powerless goddess and rose to the top of the world using a clan of Demigod like Enma Clan. “Okay,” Vivian was a tad nervous. Rem got to the business, “Lady Vivian, I would love to stay for tea times, but need to ask you a favor.” Vivian shrank like over-dried laundry. “Were you there when the wall in the North got erected and the fairy seal-away?” Vivian’s eyes widened, and she visibly backed away from the door like she saw a ghost. “Y-yes,” She stuttered, looking around the room like she wanted a place to hid. It was then Rem’s [Clairvoyance] saw the truth, “You are the one who put the seal there, aren’t you?” “Y-yes, what about it?” Vivian was shaking like the air turned colder by twenty degrees. Wayward butted in. “You are scarring her,” Wayward said. Vivian nodded in agreement, trying as much as possible not to look at Rem in the eyes. Rem ignored both of them and stated his reason for coming. “Lady Vivian, Ma’am, I want you to breathe deeply and keep your cool.” Rem broke the news as gently as possible. “I believe that given the current circumstance, your seal will probably fail within a year at the earliest.” Silence. Vivian stopped trembling but slumped down like the spirit deflated out of her. She leaned on the door like it was the only thing propping her up. The beaten, depowered goddess who had gone hermit for over 600 years looked at the sky and said the following: “You must be shitting me!”

Melody stood amidst the flaming wreckages. She did it. Her mother was watching her proudly. The masked bastard was finally floored by her feet. Cytortia and the elf looked down bitterly. She won. She shut the mysterious mask-man up. Yet again, her strength proved her superiority and right to rule. There was no more opposition blocking her path to glory and restoration of her name. But in the middle of her triumph, Melody did something she never thought of trying. It was a fundamental change in how she saw the world compare to the past. Ok, she had beaten the mysterious man and gained Cytortia’s help. What next? Could she take out an entire nation? How would she usurp the throne and maintain the economic infrastructure of Demonic Continent? Now that she took time to ponder, was the Aztellic Dynasty’s market and economy even salvageable? Someone once told her economy was the production of good and service, and the only specialities the Continent provide were mercenaries and wars. What was food import figures again? Just how much debt was on the Dynasty’s tap? Holy hell, just how much cash remained in the central bank’s reserve fund. Wait, did the Continent even have a bank? How the hell did they pay the soldiers? Did she seriously consider putting her life, the life of her future comrades and her father’s remaining legacy on the chopping block for the nation that was politically and sociologically afflicted with terminal-stage cancer. What kind of weed was she on?  Melody distracted herself from her victory and glanced at Ebony Solarmaria's satisfied face. Somehow, the way she saw that face differed. The smile on her mother belonged to people who ignored reality. “I shouldn’t win this fight,” Melody whispered at the scene from Millian. The day Rem and she fought. “Something is wrong. Rem was supposed to beat me.” “Why?” The prone and bloody ‘Remus’ asked. “This is everything you want. You have beaten him and proved your point.” “When does winning a fight change the logical fact that I am blatantly wrong?” Melody yelled at the obviously fake Rem. “If power gave you an obligatory morality license, no dictator will ever be unseated. Just because you have a might to shut the opposition doesn’t automatically make your point indisputable! Who the hell are you, because you sure aren’t Rem.” Then Melody got it. “Oh. This is a trail, isn’t it? Ha. Ha. Ha. Hilarious WORLD. Wipe my memory, trick my perception and drop me in the scenario where I defeated him. Do you actually believe I will be stupid enough to avert my eyeballs from the obvious and dunk head-first in a delusional conquest that will mysteriously turn alright, despite million loose pieces guaranteeing a tragic death? DO YOU THINK I AM AN IDIOT?” The scenery dematerialized like a summer dream, revealing the WORLD giving Melody an ovation. “I am impressed. A few months ago, you would fall for that false reality hook-line-sinker. You truly have changed to pass this trail with flying color.” “I am smarter.” “Smarter and wiser,” World agreed. “You have finally learnt the art of foresight and humility. This trail tested your maturity as a person by giving you the reality you want no matter how ridiculously false it is. I can create the world where Communism work, Feminism can reach the height of insanity without mass MGTOW, and the Wall Street can make infinite wealth with no social repercussion. But we all know reality won’t allow that.” “Only idiots can fail a trail this obvious,” Melody pointed out. “True, but here a thing about some smart people. They preferred an ego-soothing fanfiction over reality. Cognitive dissonance will kick in and bury any doubt they got. The power of True Magic is too dangerous to be left behind in the hand of the politician.” “So, what do I get,” Melody asked. “Well, your boss would do a better job explaining.” Melody felt the entire reality flipped. Light and direction spun and blurred. The girl's inner-ears flipped half a dozen times before she found herself on the familiar multi-color platform with a familiar woman waiting for her. “Hello, Melody,” Satholia in a summer dress waited for nauseated Melody to readjust. “How does it feel to be the first to receive my tutelage.” … While Melody was deep in her Contemplation, the rest of the Dawn was busily finishing the Rec Room. “So, what will Satholia teach her?” Hikma was paving the floor with cement. “Don’t know,” Rem replied, telekinetically placing the marble tiles. “Maybe she will go Dumbledore and teach Melody something about history.” “Who is Dumbledore?” Luxinna came into the room with a furniture in arm. “It’s Earth’s stuff, Luxinna,” Cytortia yelled as she tried to put the gas-pipe in order. … “Before we start, I need to tell you I am not Dumbledore. There will be no memory hunt quest where I educate you about the history of the Fair Folk or the opposing S-classes’ sob-story. I am teaching you how to fight the army and triumph when you are surrounded eighty-to-one. Oh, and during our lesson address me as Shishou.” “Ok, Shishou.” “Good girl. But before we start. I must express my apology to all of you.” “Apology? Why, Shishou?” “You aren’t as strong as you could have been,” Satholia said. “I left the basic to Scathach. However, Wayward’s appearance forced you to lean on Rem who brute-forced your progress, despite him struggling with his own True Magic. Although the result is acceptable, we end with the case of the blind leading the blind. For that, I apologize for not laying a better foundation and take a more rigorous care as you commander. These sessions are here to remedy my negligence.” Melody didn’t expect Satholia to be this serious. The raw pressure she exuded was a pure, world-bending force of raw will. “We will begin with the basic. First, you must understand True Magic and its classification,” Satholia began her lecture. “True Magic can develop into three types: Noblesse, Trinity, and Transcendental. Noblesse, such as you and Luxinna, will develop four Legends. Trinity will develop three, with one achieving a mutate state. Transcendental, such as Rem and Hikma, won’t have Legend, instead they achieve transcendental mastery in their True Magic.” “Wait, you mean that is a reason Rem and Hikma never got a trail.” “Yes, but never underestimate the Transcendental. Think of True Magic as a Martial Art. Noblesses are diversifier who master four disciplines. Trinity reaches pinnacle on one but mixed few schools to round their kit. Meanwhile, the Transcendental hones one style beyond its peak. The Transcendent can solve every problem you can with their one solution. To quote Bruce Lee: ‘Don't fear the man who knows 1,000 techniques. But fear the man that has practiced one technique 1,000 times.’ Truthfully, I am also a Transcendental.” “You have a True Magic?” Satholia laughed. “Melody, do you think the more ruthless aspect of Center Force simply bow and let me takeover? I am not strong because I am the Queen of Center Force. The Center Force give me the throne because I am the single strongest and most skilled entities it ever birth.” Melody tried to wrap her head around that. She knew Satholia was strong, but this revelation blew her mind. “Now, let us got on the topic,” Satholia resumed her lecture. “We need to streamline your ability and work on your weakness. The growth of your Dragon Manifestation will accelerate under specific circumstance. I believe the most available method is absorbing a draconic power from another Dragon. That is the issue for tomorrow. What facing us now is your inefficiency.” “Inefficiency?” “Your kit is all over the place. [Nuclear Forge] and [Dravritra] might be a good beginning. But they each have a different weakness, which becomes a time-sink to fix. [Dravritra] hobbles you. [Nuclear Forge] needs raw materials. Once exploit, those flaws pretty much guarantee your defeat. You are putting your eggs in two separate faulty containers, Melody. We must disassemble your ability and build it back correctly. Fortunately, the WORLD just give us the perfect opportunity and save us several textbooks worth of Arcane lecture.”  Melody’s eyes widened. “My 2nd Legend?” “Ding! Ding!” Satholia smiled. “I love smart student. Now, I will explain your True Magic’s second feature. Manifestation-type Legends focus on symbolizing the attribute of the manifestation. Your first Legend gave you a Void-surfer’s evolution path. The second symbolizes your heritages. Melody, tell me what type of demon are your parents?” “My father is an Asura and my mother is a succubus.” “Asura’s ability in combat and the inheritance of [Heavenly Eye] is obvious. However, the Succubus part shouldn’t be underestimated. Common misconception mistook Succubus as sex-demon. Although that description come close to the ring of truth, it grossly skips the mechanic. Succubuses are demons that consume and manipulate soul and emotion. It is how your mother discovered [Anima Enchanting]. Her succubus nature allowed her to grasp a way to code spiritual property into her enchantment.” Melody blinked. This was totally new to her. “Ma can do that!?” “You can too. Comprehending the relationship of soul and Mana give birth to [Anima Enchanting].” “I think you just blown my mind” “Piece it back together. Those are the crux shaping your 2nd Legend. Your new power is sublimation of your bloodline into a single cohesive ability. Essentially, your [Heavenly Eye] develop into a new Legend after your trial.” Satholia showed Melody a scarlet glowing sigil of an eye, composed entirely out of light and shimmered like a desert haze. “Meet your 2nd True Magic: [Scarlet Brand Soul-gazer].” Melody looked confuse at the symbol. “Okay, what does it do?” “Melody, ‘it’ is the summation of your entire existence and a supreme ability developed from [Heavenly Eye]. This brand is directly possessed by autonomous consciousness and observation ability linked to your trait. And lucky for us, out of your three traits — Dragon, Asura and Succubus — the Succubus part gave it an ability to bestow soul.” Melody blinked.  “What?” “Soul, Melody. A pseudo consciousness,” Satholia explained. “This brand was the ultimate magical talisman for [Anima Enchanting]. Forget weapon, you can give life to an artifact and turn it power into something even the gods never imagine. You can’t believe how lucky we are. These little guys pretty much have potential to triple your ability and cut down the time to rebuild your kit by half. Our goal is to get you accustom to the magical talisman a mage will sell their soul for.” Melody couldn’t help but feel doubtful. Was the brand that impressive? “I can guarantee even that you that an entire 33 Stars and their grandparent won’t even want to put a fight against you once you master it.” “Okay,” Melody nodded. “How?” “Glad, you ask,” Satholia beamed. “But we must take it slow. Luckily, the Asura trait of [Heavenly Eye], [Link Consciousness] and [Maximum Circuit] is something you can grasp in a day. Our main road block is the Dragon aspect — [Authority]. Only after mastering [Authority] can you properly wield the succubus trait — [Soul Servant] and [Spirit Drain].” “Wait… isn’t that six abilities,” Melody gaped. “At last, you realize why I am saying this little thing is our savior,” Satholia nodded. “That thing has six functions roll in to a single skill,” Melody was flabbergasted. “Yes,” Satholia said. “The first three is pretty easy to use, but [Authority] is the hardest. And that is the initial state of our training.” “Okay, so how do I train that?” … Melody was presented with a simple tool. It was training equipment Rem would totally commend for its cheapness, simplicity and depth. A tiny candle inside a plastic cup suspend from a stick by a thin thread. “Melody, this is an incredibly difficult exercise,” Satholia warned Melody who successfully conjured the [Scarlet Brand Soul-gazer]. “I would say Rem is the best person for  you to ask for a tip, because this is something right in his alley. The technique I am about to teach you is called [Soul-gazer: Soul Splendor].” “Okay, so what am I supposed to do?” “Snuff the candle out without tipping or destroying the cup or cutting the string with [Authority].” Satholia said. “[Soul Splendor] is a technique to weaponise raw soul pressure of a dragon. It is range is anti-army attack. This soul pressure could also nullify attack. Think Rem’s [Tenshou], but power with pure tyrannical soul of the dragon.” “Okay.” “Reach inside yourself, feel the Void Surfer, and channeled it presence through the brand…” RIP! “…as expected.” The plastic cup got tore to piece by invisible force, smashing the candle into smithereens. “Huh,” Melody’s mouth hung open. “That is the brain of your target exploding like watermelon,” Satholia answered, before going on a rant. “And they say being good and kind is weak. Yeah, if everyone is lazy like those edgy morons, this world will be a fucking Stallone film! You know how much effort it took to stop someone without turning their head to paste. Get up to my level you lazy motherfuckers.” “Shishou,” Melody never had a teacher who vented her grievance like that. “Oh, sorry,” Satholia calmed down with a few breaths. “Dragon soul pressure is incredibly powerful. Thankfully, dragons are too lazy and overconfident to bother learning its application. If they do, we would be running around stopping them from turning an entire country into blood festival during their fly-over. This exercise teaches you how to control and direct that pressure without turning the entire countryside into a slaughterhouse. Too little pressure and nothing happen. Too much and the cup blown up. The goal is to target and snuff out the fire delicately, while leaving everything intact.” Melody got it. “So, we are working the power management and targeting in one go. Wow, this is actually a good exercise.” “Thank you,” Satholia produced another cup. “Now, second try.” … Two hours tickled by before Melody finally extinguished the candle. “Whew… finally!” Melody cheered after wiping off her sweat. “Don’t celebrate too soon,” Satholia placed two cups in front of the demoness. It was then Melody realized the true nightmare of this training. “No. No freaking way. You aren’t telling me to snuff both of them out at once and kept increasing the number when I succeed.” Satholia smiled sweetly. “Ding! Ding!” The girl felt a part of her died inside. Barely a day in and she missed Scathach. … The night the Dawn witnessed Melody yelling at the room full of plastic cups and candles. The groups gulped, dawning on the fact their freakish commander wasn’t kidding around about stepping the gas on the training train. And sadly, Hikma was the next one out of luck.

Atlanta didn’t expect this. She expected a harsh argument. Wall of refusal that could only be overcome by steep promises. The General expected to receive a steep price tag for the help. Truth to be told, the worst-case scenario of being sold right to Acrisius also ran a marathon behind her brain. She was hanging her foot over the accelerator to run for it the moment something gave. Instead, they got a port-side café and a grape juice cider on Rem’s tab. Phillip sipped the drink being served to them by a young server. “It is incredible,” the young man commended “Totally agree,” Rem took a gulp down his. “Those kids have some awesome talent. Got to love how the sweetness and fizzling feel down your throat.” Atlanta eyed her mug with suspicion. “Come on, General. I am not the type who poisons the drink. It is considered a bad form,” Rem said. General took a sip. They weren’t kidding about the drink quality. “Back to business,” Atlanta tried to grab the straw. “I need—“ “We won’t start a war,” Rem cut Atlanta's question before its maturity. “And this nation is already doomed. You may save the critically injured, but you can’t revive the dead.” “How dare you!?” Atlanta yelled at his face. Rem calmly took a sip, “Do you know what is a minimum function of a nation?” Atlanta hung her mouth opened her mouth but nothing come. “Minimum function of the social construct called country to protect it law-abiding citizen under it code of law. Any country which fails that low bar is over. You can split the country in two, and it will still survive. However, if the infrastructure to maintain order sails off the mortal coil, the nation is effectively dead. Sorry, lady, but the amount of bandit and anarchy erupting across several counties indicates we are way past that stage,” Rem answered his question. “But… but,” Atlanta tried to dig out more venue of attack. “Are you going to let Acrisius get away?” “God no,” Rem shrugged. “He is already screwed. It is the basic Art of War. Anyone raising an army must be paying for training, supplies, and the marching expense. Sure, War economy is exempt from that logic, but exceptions by nature prove the rule. Acrisius is loaded, but he won’t be for long if the civil war dragged on. The smart play is keeping him and the two other morons throwing their money and assets at the other’s throat, while decapitating their income. Those guys cannot show weakness in folding. This civil war is an all-in gamble because it is impossible to win as a half-revolutionary. Those Dukes must soundly win the war to be the history maker. Anything less and they become a parody.” “Why?” Phillip asked. Rem went further with his explanation. “All conflict is built on justification. People need to believe they got lady justice’s favor, and every warmonger needed to spin her like they are the head cultist. Acrisius’s reason for this war is to remove the weakening and incompetent Royal Family and replace with a better leader: himself. The other two idiots seized this opportunity to decry themselves as a better option. That is the game board. This uprising is a gamble of a lifetime and their supporter would want to bet on the winning horse. It is an all-in, and there isn’t a second chance. How do you think this will end?” “A blood-bath,” Atlanta answered. “Exactly,” Rem said. “Normally, things will either end with one of them achieving quick victory or a stalemate. A stalemate which would sap away the intent and justification to keep warring. Acrisius is a slave of his own image. Failure at victory will disprove his claim. With each week stalls, the likelihood of those three morons getting knifed by their own supporter increases. The only thing we needed to do is to play psychological and informational warfare to make sure nature took its course. Now, with every variable charted, give me the reason to go out of the wall.” “It sound horrible,” Phillip was the one who bought that up. “You are just letting them beat each other senseless. The country will never recover.” “You are confusing what is important,” Rem stated. “A country is a social construct form by territorial claim and rule of law to forge the people into citizen. Those shit rise and fall all the time. What worth protecting is the people.” Atlanta felt the snarky counter in her throat faced the raw cliff of greatness in Rem’s statement and promptly retreated to her voice box. “Even if Centuria get ground to dust, as long as its people survive the culture, history and tradition remain intact. That is what you should be protecting. Abandoning that duty in favor of whacking your enemy is the true betrayal of the very tenet you supposed to stand for.” “But…” Phillip knew Rem was right, but he couldn’t accept it. Something was missing. “Kiddo,” Rem glanced at Phillip with his [Clairvoyance]. “Instead of hiding behind that selflessness, which is basically selfishness in denial, ask yourself what is it you are trying to save. We both know you will give your life to protect one thing, and it isn’t Centuria.” Rem left the table, hoping the duo would bring him a satisfactory answer. Yes, telling them what they should fight for would be easier, but no one would leave better for it. Bonds were beautiful because it was chosen not given. For Rem, that was the beauty of free will and growth. … The room was nicely kept for a prison cell. The comfortable bed rested in the corner beside the silk curtain with golden embroidery. The room even came with a small desk with beautiful engraving and a red carpet. A modest ceiling lamp hung above the room. The room was, without a doubt, the picture of tranquil. A girl in a plain white blouse and skirt looked out of the window like a bird gazing through the gilded cage. Her auburn hair and kind eyes had lost its luster after the ordeal that was the past few days. She saw the men she knew being drilled into the training ground. They were conscripted, instructed, and paid, obeying their former enemies like the grudge could be easily buried. It was a simple statement of how their loyalty could be easily change like the color they wore. Like all the trail and tribulation, all the torment they suffered together and all those words of encouragement they once gave her were nothing to those stoneface men who were easily prided away from her side. “Your majesty seems to like the view,” said the gentle voice coming into the room without knocking. The girl gave no replied. “How cold. Maybe that is why Kakia went over you so badly. A little icebreaker won’t hurt anyone, milady,” the man softly chuckled. The girl shuddered. Any kind of self-control and bravado fell apart upon recalling the utter nightmare of that two hours. The trembling girl turned slowly to face the gentle voice. She was trembling, and the reason was shown on her face — a decoration of bruise and a black-eye. It was the surface of evidence of the perversion visit upon her. She could still feel the moment her dress got tore from her body, the tongue sliding across the nape and the so-many violating touches, slaps and fist visited upon her body. She remembered lying on the floor as a bruise trembling mess by the laughter of that woman. Penelope knew the only reason Kakia didn’t pull out the whip and ecstatically celebrate by toying with her bloody half-dead body was because they needed her alive. The man she faced wasn’t Acrisius. No, he was far worse. “Nereo Melosov, milady,” the bespectacled man with a charming smile gave a bow. “A humble researcher from the Isle of Knowledge.” “the Isle of Knowledge?” Penelope backed to the window from fright the vision of her trauma scarring her heart. “What bring you here?” Nereo invited himself into the room. Unlike Director El Acerbia, he wasn’t dressed in an extravagant display of clothing design or possessed lineage of a higher race. Nereo looked like any normal man in plain white flannel shirt and trouser. His non-offensive black hair, a moderately handsome face and silver necklace painted an image of a well-off man from Earth. It was an utterly harmless image. But image was a subject every human projected for a reason. “To check on you,” Nereo beamed with a friendly smile. Penelope’s eyes widened. She could hardly believe anyone siding with Acrisius actually cared about her well-being. “You look surprise,” Nereo politely joined her by the window-sill. “Do you perhaps believe all of us are like that rabid animal?” “Don’t let Kakia hear you say that?” the young queen shuddered “You are truly a kind soul,” Nereo observed. “Captured in disgrace, imprisoned in the glided-cage, but you can still spare some part of yourself to care about other. Truth to be told, being near you, it brought me some memories.” Penelope glanced over at the man, “Someone important to you.” The man huffed, “Maybe. And I don’t mean to be mysterious here. To this day, I still don’t know how or what I am supposed to feel. I guess that set me apart from everyone else.” Penelope glanced at the man. Everything he said was utterly honest, but something was seriously off about him. The man looked like a moderately upstanding citizen until she heard what emerged next from his mouth. “Don’t you know you are quite a fascinating specimen. When I heard the low-grade material laid the grimy hand on you, I nearly lost it.” Penelope felt her hair stood up like someone dump a frozen water over her. “Excuse me?” Penelope sharply turned toward the man. “Specimen?” “Well, that is the truth.” Nereo replied civilly. “Think about it. Centuria’s influence is maintained by the contract between your ancestor with the very land, granting your line a marginal control over the continent guardians. Don’t you ever wonder how it works? The mechanism behind such covenants. The inner working of those magical bonds and how its miraculously inherited over a century. Does the contract alter your phenotype? If so, is it recessive or dominant. Or if something spiritual? So many questions, yet we are sadly downed to only one remaining specimen who carries on the such treasure of discovery.” Nereo gave her a look of relief before growling in annoyance, “And because one imbecile, we nearly lost you. Truth to be told, I have an option of cloning as my last resource, but given the clones’ degradation problem, that option is too tardy for my preference.” Those words scared Penelope to the bone. The man remained cordial and polite, but the content of the conversation veered into the most violating territory. Underneath that soft veneer and kind smile was a something utterly alien, it subconsciously repulsed her. She tried to inch away from Nereo, but the man picked on it. Contrary to her expectation, his response wasn’t the one of madness but complete understanding. “Oh, I must apologize,” Nereo comforted the utterly freaking out Penelope. “I often have trouble keeping my image when I get sentimental. Let me assure you aren’t the first to react badly to my quirk.” “You aren’t planning to dissect me, aren’t you?” Penelope was trembling like a kitten. “I have to admit that investigation method crosses my mind,” Nereo replied in complete honesty. “But there wouldn’t be a point. Sure, if I have about ten members of Centuria’s royal family to cross-reference, then a dissection might actually produce something. But alas, the data sample was so tiny I cannot waste a high-quality sample on vivisection. Don’t worry. I already settled on my method of experimentation and it doesn’t involve knives.” “What do you want from me?” Penelope backed herself into the corner. Nereo sighed. “Well, it appeared I overstay my welcome,” Nereo said while walking himself to the door. “You don’t need to worry about Acrisius’ ambition yet your majesty. Relax and take you time. I know your reaction toward me can be summed up as primal fear, but rest assure, I will guarantee your safety for the foreseeable future. Oh, a piece of advice, you shouldn’t trust Acrisius or any promises in this place. I know this might sound incredibly hollow, but I prefer you as living and healthy specimen.” Nereo stepped out and closed the door on that happy note, leaving the young queen to fall to her knee sweating like she just chat with the devil. … Nereo Melosov wasn’t exactly pleased with himself. He knew people's reaction to his perspective. As a researcher, his proud observation skills were more than enough to inform he wasn’t like most people. His morality simply didn’t conform to traditional value . As a kid, he tried to avert his eyes from his peculiarity, but those days were akin to a lie. There were limits to how long Nereo could lie to himself. Those sentimental days were gone. Nereo was under no illusion. He was a Bonafede psychopath. The grieving reality smashed the denial at ten and awakened his lust for knowledge. How else could he explain the lack of tears from suffering the greatest parting of his life? His only regret for that tragic day wasn’t the loss. The tears he shed were from research mis-opportunities. The interview he could conduct. The CT scan he could do on himself. He lost the opportunity to discover the logical working of the alien emotion that suppressed him — his love for one woman. He regretted the lack of technical knowledge and skill he now possessed to make most out of the past. Nereo lost his opportunity to discover the scientific underpinning of why he went through all those efforts to deny himself his joy. For that, he took revenge. Part of him probably tried to cling on to hope human emotion existed in him. Hope that he could feel pain and hatred. That experiment failed. Even when the culprit behind her death died miserably by his machination, he received no solace, only more question. The point he accepted his twisted nature was the moment he asked himself why was he wasted so much time for vengeance instead of researching the truth of this world. Thus, Nereo would continue to search. Maybe, if he searched far enough, he could answer the ultimate thesis evading him all this time: why is he this way? He wasn’t happy with how he turned out. Nereo knew the mother-figure he lost would be disappointed at the man he became. But like how addicts couldn’t stop gambling even when they knew the house always win, Nereo couldn’t stop ramming a truck through any kind of moral or legal barrier in pursuit of his happiness in research. And like any self-aware addict, the researcher understood he was a fuck-up. He knew he should be comforting the young queen, but he was more worried about how the emotional trauma might affect his findings. Nereo rounded the corner to face another door. The unexpected losses of two S-rankers would likely reach Acrisius by now. For someone with such a station, Acrisius’ information network was just deficient. The scrying formula he placed on Kakia and Promtus already told him everything he needed to know. He smiled, reminiscing about his study of Spirit. The truth about the creation of spirit was a breakthrough. Sadly, Nereo lacked the resource to create the Spirit himself, but he discovered the synchronization effect that attuned a scrying spell to someone with similar astral blueprint. All it took to spy on two S-ranker through all their senses was to use their astral signature to create a faux junk-Spirit connected to the scrying formation that synchronizes with the target, akin to quantum entanglement. Then, viola, an unblockable spying device. Nereo even miniaturizes it into a size of a compass. According to his nifty little quantum-bug, Acrisius just received the news. The poor man was trying to keep a cool-head, but the quantum state of his junk-spirit couldn’t lie. Nereo smiled. It was time to make a sale pitch.

Our nation rose from ruin of another. Father often told me of the time when I was a baby. About the chaos that ripped apart Phantasia and the civil war that destroyed our former home of Centuria. He reminisced upon the hardship of fleeing Duke Acrisius’ fabled army; the countless mercenaries and warlords that transformed the once peaceful land into a battlefield. It was a harsh time that forever scarred our people, but despite his pain, there is hope in my parent’s tale. The beginning which blossomed after the carnage faded. It was my favorite bedtimes story. Once upon the time, in the nation aflame with evil, the young boy humbled himself, not before the strength in an army of steel nor survival, but to his heart. He bowed to protect what dear to him and made a wish. It was the most human request possible. A wish he believed was impossible to be granted, but he couldn’t live with himself for not voicing it. It was that hope which summoned the Storm to douse the burning battlefield. With the strength unseen in this millennium, the Storm aided the boy in defeating the flames plaguing the nation. With the might of hope and bravery, the boy led his men and triumph over the raging fires. Some flickering ember of evil survived that battle, but they possessed no hope to overcome the wind bulwark gifted by the Storm. To satiate their impossible ambition, the ember warred among themselves, and consuming each other in retribution and rage. In time, those sparks of retribution were no more. Meanwhile, the boy retreated to the storm’s bulwark, with his humble wish fulfilled. He and others, with the blessing of the Storm, build a new nation behind the mighty wind-wall. And together they sculpted our fair Acropolis. Our country never pays tribute to the gods, nor deigned to join the Alliance. The storm of light taught us we are the maker of our fate. True strength arises when one has something to protect and earnest wish to fulfill. In time, I come to learn the name of that mighty storm which blessed our founder with victory. Thank you, Horizon Dawn. — Excerpt from The Birth Acropolis Republic written by C. Homer. … It was a month after New Year’s Eve, or basically, two months after Centuria kicked the bucket. The boy’s name was Philip Odysseus. In near future, his tale became the favorite case study for a history essay. To be honest, young Philip would be laughing at the notion he scored such historical significance in Phantasia history. He was a child born in a family of merchant — a total nobody. He also got a bigger problem: surviving the collapse of his own country. Centuria was on the backfoot unrest ever since the accusation against Grand Empire for the Leviathan’s attack backfired. The death knell arrived when the king finally parted the mortal coil via a lethal combination of health problems and stress two years ago, forcing Princess Penelope Centuria to ascend to the queenship at the tender age of twelve. The nation quickly went into the decline with several dukedoms amassing their force and the newbie ruler too green to stop it. All it needed for the powder keg of a nation to explode was a spark — namely the three Heavenly Daughters warring in the neighboring country. Using national security as an excuse, Duke Acrisius started the open rebellion against the throne. Credit to Queen Penelope, she did her best in fending the rebel forces, but the royalist couldn’t handle Acrisius who had wrangled majority of Centuria’s military power. The fact the other duke picked this time to rebel or outright help Acrisius took out the royalist was simply dropping an anvil on a dying horse. Smash between anvil and powder keg, the young Queen reign was fated to end miserably. Sadly, fate wasn’t satisfied with slaughtering the horse, its need the corpse atomized. On New Year’s Eve, the only two S-class of Centuria defected and joined Acrisius. Against overwhelming numbers and a critical betrayal, the capital of Centuria got sacked within a matter of days. Citizen flee the capital to the four winds. While the Queen and her small royalist army desperately retreated with Duke Acrisius’ army hunting after them. Compared with that national stage, Philip Odysseus was a guy who barely escaped the capital with his life. Okay, Philip would admit he had one thing special to weigh on the scale, but he knew perfectly well his sentiment wouldn’t change anything. He was the poor shmuck whose business got burn down during the capital’s sacking. Survival should be the highest priority for him. So why did this happen? “Are you okay, General Atlanta,” Philip asked the woman tagging along with several battered troops. The woman growled at him. Yes, Philip was sheltering the last remnant of Centuria’s royal army. It appeared after their final defeat. Princess Penelope split up with the main army to act as a decoy. It was the true final glory of a move for the young Queen. Without a doubt, this act of sacrifice elevated her from her prior placement in the Mary Jane Grey-tier of Queenship. It even caught General Atlanta by surprise. The General of royalist originally thought she was going to be the decoy until the Queen launched a flair, alerting her location to the pursuing army, before setting off in the opposite direction with the fastest skyship in the entire kingdom. Everyone and their puppy knew the Queen Penelope was toasted. It was a matter of time until that skyship ran out of power, but this act of courage allowed what remained of her army to survive, until Philip found them. Sane men would run away from this mess. Opportunistic men would inform their location to Duke Acrisius. But Philip was neither. It was a part of resourcefulness, blind luck, and foolhardiness for him to seek them out and found them so fast. No. Those were excuses. The only reason he found the remnant of the army before Acrisius was because he understood the girl behind that mask more than even her general did. He instinctively knew Penelope would use herself as a decoy. “I don’t need your help!” General Atlanta yelled at the young man. “I am going too—” “She risks her life for you to get away!” Philip yelled back. “It is too late anyway. How can you expect to catch up to that ship!?” Atlanta was outrage, but she knew the boy had a point. “Why are you here, then? You and the rest of those coward flee the capital the moment things burn. Stary and fight dammit. Can you even call yourself Centuria’s citizen!” “Fight with what? A mediocre fireball? A C-rank strength stats?” It was Philip turned to raise his voice. “I want to, you know? But I know what you did to the grunt. Sorry, Miss, but I have too much to lose by joining your army.” Atlanta looked at him with rage and sighed. “So, you expect the magical teaching and resource to be widely available? You know how much that will erode the national security!” “So much for national security!” Philips retorted, before looking in fear at the brightening sky behind the lines of trees. “Oh shit, we need to hurry. That light is probably Kakia. If she found us…” Atlanta and the troops behind her paled. The fear of the infamous S-ranker was carved deep inside their heart. Kakia was the strongest and the most brutal S-ranker of Centuria for good reasons. “Fine!” Atlanta ordered the troop to move. “Where are we going?” Philips looked amongst the tree line. Soon this forest they were mingling in would burn to the ash. The green trees charred black, and the dirt scorched as smoke and dust covered the air. He believed that was the path waiting for them all. His plan was a long shot. An improvisation hinged on the glittering stardust of hope on the sandstorm of malevolence that covered Tengen. Yet, Philip still dared to dream of a twinkling falcon that could shelter them from rampaging environment. “I am not sure, but there is a rumor about a place. A few days ago, my business partner wrote to me about it. He said he met a wizard building a wall of sacred forest to protect her newly create refuge by the coast south from here. Aside from churning out awesome drinks, he said the refuge escaping the chaos is gathering there. The people call it the Acropolis.” “Wait, you are believing a word of a rambling drunk. How could we miss something like that?” Helen didn’t believe in this fairytale for a second. “Do you have a better idea?” Helen quieted down. And thus, the remnant of the army and their guide marched toward the refuge of a wizard. … Said wizard was currently dealing with the usual discord inside her camouflaged interdimensional ship. “Okay, explain to me why we are twiddling our thumb when the fucking capital is burning?” Luxinna Drakokia made her point known, while pointing at the growing red area on the holographic map of Tengen Continent. “Yeah, I am seconding Luxinna,” Melody growled. “We should drop this pet project and hose Acrisius down.” The wizard — one Cytortia Tianshang — repeated the same explanation she had since day one. “I know how you feel, but we are doing our best.” “You mean building a freaking wall, train bunch of refugees how to farm and fight, while Hikma and Ehto went out on Rem's top secret mission,” Melody pouted. “Seriously, we are supposed to be restoring peace and order, right? Why don’t we just go in and finish this? It is better for everyone that way.” Luxinna nodded in agreement. “Yep, I can’t recall the last time a war is won when we sat on our ass and chill like a turtle.” The door opened, and the orchestrator of the refugee settlement walked in to shine the light of enlightenment. “Hello, ladies,” Remus Breaker cheered, with a wooden cup in hand. “Cytortia, fantastic job! Thanks to your agricultural innovation, the farming is going great. Our first batch of Phantasian carbonated fruit drink is an instant hit. Those kiddos are geniuses!” Rem waved the cup. “We finally have our main export. With the merchants gathering here, this thing will jet us to financial freedom!” Rem let fantasy take him further. “Maybe this could be a great source of funding. Now, I need to figure out how to teach preteen about handling money.” “Phantasia to Rem!” Melody yelled at her friend. “I need an answer.” “What answer?” “Answer to why are you sending me to drill a volunteer army, rather than marching up north to kick Acrisius’ ass?” Luxinna joined Melody in glaring at Rem. Rem sighed. “Very well, a lesson on warfare it is.” Rem walked over to the holographic board. The Daybreak’s Operation Room on the mid-floor nested at the center of the battleship. Multiple holograms detailing the strategic location lighted the room in an ethereal glow. Rem motioned with his hand and summoned a map he, Ehto and Hikma had work on. It was the map of Centuria. The largest blood red area stretching from north to the capital was Acrisius’ territory. The sickly green by the west which controlled the coast belongs to another Duke; Minos. Finally, Duke Eurystheus controlled the territory of the east, which brought him to close contact with Frisnia’s border. “This map represents the pieces Centuria collapses into. The country has splintered.” “Because we did nothing!” Luxinna yelled. “More like it is too late to do anything,” Rem wasn’t happy about that fact. “Things progress faster than we expect. It took us around three weeks at top speed to sail here from Aurora’s continent. By that time, Queen Penelope’s and the future of the intact Centuria kissed the coffin.” “She still got the capital then,” Melody protested. “Mel, I could address the refugees tomorrow and claim our settlement is the new capital of Centuria,” Rem coldly stated. “If having a throne gave you an automatic mandate, Japan and China would never get a single civil war in its bloody history. A ruler’s strength is their reputation and trust. Penelope lost both when the S-rankers defected a month ago. Even if we gave her victory on a silver platter, her career is over. Monarch is tested in the time of crisis and there is no possibility of Penelope attaining any authority outside of expensive chair decoration after failing that badly.” “You are saying we already lose?” Luxinna was outrage. “In a certain sense, yes,” Rem grumpily declared. “No.” He corrected himself. “Losing implies we actually throw a punch. Since we didn’t even arrive at the brawl in time to make a political difference, it could be said Centuria self-destructed. Those Dukes didn’t gather their power in the vacuum. I and Hikma did some light research, and we can safely assume the chaos from the previous monarch’s death, systematic bureaucratic corruption, administrative ineptitude, and the three bastards gaming the waning system made the cocktail that broke Centuria like a porcelain before we even landed on this rock.” “This might sound morbid,” Melody said. “But why don’t we use Penelope as a figurehead.” “Because you are not Madam Hydra and I am not Lex Luthor,” Rem gave a simple answer that should be obvious to any hero before following that up one more in line with the sociologist. “Aside from the moral disgrace of propping up the entire Centuria’s society as our sock-puppet, we will so be breaking the 4th Constitution of Dawn if we go that route.” “Hey, isn’t that the one you push,” Luxinna said. “The one that state we won’t surrender our sovereignty.” “Horizon Dawn will not surrender Sovereignty to foreign body,” Melody quoted from memory. “Why do you insist on that one so badly.” “Because I know we will be tempted,” Rem answered. “And the moment our command structure and purpose get tied to another institution, we will end being a tool for said institution rather than a force for good. This also prevents us from absorbing an institution that could destroy us from the inside — like Centuria.” Luxinna couldn’t believe Rem’s paranoia. “You are treating the entire country like a time-bomb.” Rem laughed. “Lux, you are wrong. Centuria isn’t a time-bomb. It is a sociopolitical nuclear fallout. I should have known because my country — The Mother-fucking United States of America — is a case study on trying to stabilize said fallout by foreign intervention. Trust me, both of you, we will be repeating Saigon and its desert sequel before things get any better. Untested faux government isn’t rewarded here. Overt interference will unite our enemy, and even if we clean them out, the opportunist will emerge from the woodwork to usurp our replacement the moment we left.” It was Cytortia who summed it up. “Basically, trying to reanimate Centuria as a zombie will sink both resources and lives. We aren’t doing the people favor by trying to float a sunken ship with pump and duct-tape.” Luxinna couldn’t believe this. “You two of all people are just letting it burn.” “That sound horrible,” Rem agreed. “But all things end. Fortunately, although the physical skeleton of the nation is wasted, its soul — the people — is salvageable. And that is the crux of our strategy.” Rem resumed narrating their mission. “Hikma, I and Ehto came to a consensus that only a total overhaul of the broken institution will save it. However, if that route is our only effective option, then it is much easier to build a new system from the ground up especially with the war refugees desperately seeking community.” “Ohhhh!” Melody got it. “So that is our plan. You are using Acropolis as a seed for a new nation.” “Bingo,” Rem gave Melody a thumb-up. “That is why we are having you two on a training job. This little refugee camp needs trade, law enforcement, and education. We need to teach the people how to stand proud and rebuild. Meanwhile, Cytortia and I will lay ground work to ensure they can survive after we move on. Hikma and Ehto are now on overtime to rescue as many people as they can and bring them here.” “I get where you are coming from,” Luxinna nodded. “But what about the three Dukes.” “They will be problematic once it dawn on them their future subjects are holding fort here,” Rem looked at the colorful map. “Luckily, they are focusing on each other and we can keep it that way. Hopefully, they will throw so many bodies at each other they ran out of stamina before reaching us.” But alas, Rem wishes of pacifistic victory wasn’t fate to come true. Announcement Guys, I need some opinion because this is the start of a new arc. Anyone have preference

Gazing upon the utter mess of the battlefield, it finally dawned on Acrisius that his glorious future might not last much longer. Then the communicator inside his pocket bleeped. With every eye watching, Acrisius took out the magical equivalent of the cell-phone and answered his caller. Rem noticed that action and issued the order, “Ehto, tapped it.” “I am on it, Dream,” Ehto voice replied from the octopus. Acrisius listened to the devilish bargain from that tiny device like it was worth his entire career. “Well, my friend, it looks like this is the end of the road,” said the voice of Nereo Melosov. “I have some Hail Maries left,” the voice hesitated, “but I want to make sure you will be thrown under my plan. It is going to be messy, but I totally understand quitting now.” Rem’s face sank. Aw crap, that was the classic reverse psychology. He must order Ehto to cut the connection at once. He doubted the tactic would stop the mysterious Nereo Melosov, but beggar couldn’t be a chooser. He needed to slow down whatever was about to happen. As usual, Rem was too late when it mattered the most. “Go ahead!” Acrisius’ voice was that of the desperate man. “Do anything you want!” … History often deviated when it record how the battle proceeded, but all the statement from all involved wrote the same fact. Everyone had underestimated the shadowy researcher hanging behind the mythical villain of Duke Acrisius. It was at that moment Nereo Melosov showed the world what he was capable of. Even the Horizon Dawn who had stood tall and triumph against various threats admitted the Hidden Vault Showdown was an unexpectedly even battle because of this one man. Yes, the Dawn technically won, but Dream, Chronicler and Architect never counted themselves the victor because one man pulled out ahead. It was for this development, and his subsequent escape, that Remus Breaker awarded Nereo with a title. It was an honor he didn’t reserve for Palisade, Ehto Shaxter, Orwell Mehest, or El Acerbia. Yes, Rem said they were intelligent, but Nereo was another story. In the Horizon Dawn's file, Nereo Melosov was classified as a Darkseid-level threat. The highest of the five classifications of Condiment, Light, Atomic, Luthor and Darkseid. His moniker was a simple reason Rem used to encapsulate why he ranked alongside the multiversal threats and cosmic beings. Rem feared Nereo Melosov as The World Smartest Man. … The first to feel the effect of Nereo’s shenanigan was Melody. Beneath her feet, the originally docile Earthshaker erupted with power. Its black scale turned sparkling blue, and its six-eyes erupted into crimson flames. The burst of power blasted Melody off the dragon’s snout as it thrashed from the power-surge. The humongous beast took into the air and spread it three-pairs of wings wide enough to cover the sky. And those wings flapped. The effect was immediate. Mana burst outward from each wing beats like a volcanic eruption. A suspended explosion that couldn’t be contained rippled through the canyon, causing massive landslide which buried every fighter regardless of allegiance under a mountain of rubble. But the heaviest hit was the Hidden Vault itself. The secret treasure trove was directly below Earthshaker’s sudden ascension and the intense Mana storm cratered the valley housing the treasure. The crushing pressure flattened the canyon itself, along with the Vault, into molten rock. Still, the berserk dragon wasn’t completed it in attempt annihilation. With a roar, the intense will within its Mana gathered the cloud across the Tengen continent to the wrecked valley. Storms and winds raged as a gloomy cloud blanket the 12-million-kilometer square worth of Centuria. From the tumultuous cloud, crimson lightning rained in wrathful strike across the nation. Various cities toppled and trembled beneath the Earthshaker's rage. Cries of terrified citizens rose as the battle officially escalated to a terrifying degree within mere second. … The ground zero of such incident, the Hidden Vault’s valley, was utterly ruined with Rem’s hope for a clean, quick victory vanished with it. In the site of the massive avalanches, flooded to the brim with rubbles, several rocks levitated as Rem dug himself out of the epic landslide, carrying a spotless but shaken Penelope with him. “Okay,” Rem spoke to himself. “How the hell did the dragon recovered?” Beside him, several rocks shifted and a lightning bolt blasted out as Phillips Odysseus dug himself from the ocean of boulders with Atlanta’s unconscious body on his shoulder. He wasn’t the only one. Debris shifted as people rose from the impromptu burial, but the dragon carnage took its toll. Out of over two-hundred thousand troop, only 56890 survived the bombardment. Of course, the most annoying players were still alive. ZZZ Millione and Elish Metis emerged as a pair from the hole. Their clothing was tattered. Millione herself looked like she had been holding a concert in Amazon rainforest for a month. Meanwhile, Metis looked as if he had been caught in an explosion. Elin Rockshooter blasted herself out relatively unharmed, but judging from the blood on her cloth, her fellow S-ranker from the Isle of Knowledge didn’t make the cut. Duke Acrisius rose from the rubble. His shirt was gone, revealing the toned body above his tattered trouser. Various soldiers and lucky survivors dug themselves from the earth, thanking whatever cosmic entity keeping them alive. And of course, like lightning, Luxinna rejoined the fray in a positive health. Beside her, the rock quaked and Hikma walked out of his burial on a perfectly shaped stair. Acrisius laughed like a madman as he enjoyed the sight of the new and enhanced bloody Earthshaker, “Nereo, you are freaking awesome!” “All your troop is dead, moron,” Rem said. “You are the biggest loser here.” But Rem was wrong. The World Smartest Man struck again. Beneath them, the battlefield exploded. Flood of flesh from hundred-thousand men rose as one in a form of bloody abomination. Pieces of armor decorated the squirming meat told the entire story. One looked at Acrisius' color dotting the lumbering tower of muscle, blood and gore flowing up the sky as the solid proved that the 113000 people who sided with Acrisius were absorbed into the abomination hanging over them. “A blood golem,” Hikma recognized something similar from Venistalis. “Acrisius! What are you doing?” the normally mild-manner Hikma was enraged. “Those are your own men!” But Acrisius responded in an enchanted, maddened trance, “Incredible. This is fantastic!” Rem gritted his teeth. The Duke lost his mind. The event happening was too much for that idiot's brain to fathom, but the question was how did this monster arrive when they weren’t looking? The answer came from the smartest woman in the canyon. “Dream,” the voice of Satholia herself emerged from the octopus. “Look carefully at the flesh monster. See those thin glowing lines? Scan the image and sent it to Architect, I need to confirm something.” Rem followed her instruction and noticed faint strands of lightcoursing through the flash monster. He quickly realized the light frequency hiked, and a vision struck his [Clairvoyance]. Shit. “Everyone! Take cover!” Rem took an image with the multi-purpose octopus and dove back into the hole he emerged from with Penelope. Luxinna disappeared in a flash. Hikma sped to the gawking Phillip and dragged him and the unconscious Atlanta into smoking pit. He jumped down with both of them and plugged the entrance with [Trinity]. Seeing the most threatening group of individuals took a dive, Elish Metis took a clue and shove ZZZ Millione back into the ground they came out of. The toward of flesh worth a thousand people coursed with energy, thousands of pores emerged around the tower, and from them, came countless beams of heat. Troops failing to find cover in time were skewered by the lance of heat that easily penetrated shield and armor. The high temperature attack immediately boiled the victim’s blood, bursting limbs and organs. Several heads burst from being punched directly with the heat ray. The tower of flesh wasn’t finished, a gaping mouth warped at its tip and torrential high temperature beam spew forth as the abomination tower hosed the entire canyon in heat rays. The torrect of heat radiation penetrated the canyon entrance and exploded a camping siege engine Eurytheus loaned from the Isle of Knowledge, punching through its magical protection like a piece of paper. Finally, the tower stopped, leaving a red-hot path in its wake. Rem poked his head from the steaming ground agian. He looked at the molten rock the flesh tower laser beams reduce two-third of the canyon into. It was clear. This wasn’t your classic flesh golem. Flesh golem didn’t come with a torch capable of destroying an entire city in one careless wave. It was then Ehto arrived with the gloomy analysis. “Dream, I deciphered the electromagnetic and thermal reading,” the voice between the octopus huffed like the artificial intelligence barely escaped a meeting with the reaper. “If the analysis wasn’t wrong, that flesh operated with an electric component.” Ehto’s voice paused. “Very tiny machines. Shit. Dream, listen to me. That thing operated with nanobots. This is one of the most advance models I have ever seen.” Rem asked lady misfortune how did the nano-machine got involved with this battle, then he realized that every soldier in Acrisius camp received a booster jab from one guy. “Yeah,” Rem growled. “Take the shot they say.” He glanced at the lumbering monster of flesh that used to be humans. “Nothing will go wrong they say. Fucking hell, people should listen more to the Anti-vaxxer.” “What?” Penelope asked, curious about her savior’s outburst. “Nothing,” Rem said. “Just complaining about a childhood gripes.” Then he realized the humongous dragon was about to throw down another round of death by lightning. “Oh shit,” Rem realized Nereo Melosov had just shit on the entire battlefield. The Earthshaker roared as another round of lightings slaughtered the country. When it rained, it poured. “Awesome!” Acrisius yelled amidst the falling lightning of heaven. “I fucking love you, Nereo!” Despite the continuous barrages of lightning around her, one woman stood tall. She prided herself from the hole created after she got launched like a cannonball by the six-eyes freak outburst. She cracked her sore neck and flexed her finger. [Scarlet Brand Soul Gazer] appeared in her hand and morphed into a sword. Melody Solarmaria rocketed into the Earthshaker, impaling the lance [Soul Gazer: Ara] into its chest and detonated the power. The shock-wave rippled the sky and parted the cloud. Melody refused to stop. Using [Void Surfer Manifestation], she entered her dragon form and punched with renew ferocity. A tiny ant-like glow of crimson blew the kilometer=long juggernaut, enhanced by steroid, away from the canyon. Earthshaker recovered from its dazed and attempted slaughter the ant tormenting it with a breath to carve the ocean floor, but Melody was faster. She flew into close-quarter and closed the mouth full of charging breath in a kick, causing the energy to explode inside the dragon. Not waiting for the lizard six-hundred times her size to recover from roasting its own mouth, Melody grabbed the humongous dragon by the nose and surreally threw it into the ground with enough force to cause Richter 5 Earthquake. … Rem picked himself from the high-voltage smiting from the stupid dragon. To be honest, he believed he could technically intercept those lightnings, but to his relief, Melody came in to save the day. Rem got up and sincerely hoped the nanobot meat and the unpredictable dragon of the doom were the only surprise Nereo Melosov had prepared for them. He believed otherwise. Three was the golden numbers, and they were only two down. “There will be third, isn’t it?” Hikma had accompanied Rem on so many mishaps he knew it wasn’t over. It was Acrisius who unleased the curse of the Nereo the genius wish-granting genie. “Melosov,” said the Duke, so drunk on power he didn’t realize the abomination his insane wishes had released. “I want Penelope dead!” “Aww hell,” Rem’s [Clairvoyance] came with the bad news. “Ace! I think you are about to meet an old friend.” Once again, the rubble exploded. … She, it, or whatever the pronoun anyone preferred was barely human. The monster, cladded in steel, rose from the debris and dust cloud like a mishappened puppet being pulled by the string. Purple light ran across the armored fiber optic that replaced her nerves. Her skin hissed as the machine composing her body whirled. The chest and abdomen armor split, revealing a complex combination of Mana-circle and fusion battery for the heart. The internal organ and intestine had been hollowing out for sophisticated capacitor hooked to a force-field. Her rib and skeletons were converted into high-strength bio-alloy offered by Nano and Material technology. The legs clicked open, revealing a red-hot high-frequency blade sandwiched by an accelerator. The cyborg back shone as eight appendages, supported by unholy mixture of advance shape-memory-alloy-fiber, unfurled. Each of those appendages support different weapon; a pair of high-frequency chainsaw, a high-intensity laser, a bunker-busting nanite-disassembler rocket, and a pair of external barrier projector. Pair of human arms twisted, revealing the contraption that resembled the unholy love-child of mini-gun, cannon and rocket launcher. Her faceplate opened, revealing the human mouth and utter robotic face of fitted with eight different zoom lenses. The monster screamed. Her body surged with Mana and spewed forth the mother of all sonic screams. Rem dissipated the scream with Tutaminis, but the monstrous transformation was witnessed by everyone. ZZZ Millione took one glance at the abomination and fainted on Elish’s shoulder. The normally crass Elish was utterly unused to this side of Millione. The combination of the cyborg transformation and the girl falling into his arms blew his world-view. Elin Rockshooter stared and questioned what had the world had come into. Acrisius laughed so hard you would convince a time-traveler gifted him the mythical PlayStation 6. “Is that T-1000 meaner big sister?” Hikma asked Rem. “That is Kakia,” Penelope was quivering like a hamster. “Nereo Melosov…” Rem groaned, “Fuck me,” he glared at the heaven, “I know he might be problematic but this is just too insane.” Rem yelled. “Just how many doctorates this guy needs to create that?” Kakia the Cyborg suddenly turned toward Rem. Her camera zoomed at Penelope behind him. Phillip reacted to the coming threat by tackling the girl out of the coming attack and shielding her, “Look out!” Kakia disappeared in a flash of purple and red. Rem whipped out the Central Magnum and caught the cyborg with an electric round in the head. Normally, that round would kill average machinery, but Kakia’s electricity grounding was something else entirely. The cyborg shrugged off Rem’s attack of like it was nothing. Thankfully, the Dawn had a bigger bolt. Luxinna flashed out of her nowhere in her berserker armor, kicking the rocketing Kakia into the sky. “Do we need to worry about the law and precedent?” The elf called out to Rem. “Not this time,” Rem noted the court-case down. “From what I can read, she is affectively euthanized by cyborgification. It is sad to say Kakia won’t be able to attend the hearing as a mechanical zombie.” Rem didn’t even pretend to be sad. “Sent her to the morgue, Ace.” “With pleasure,” The elf vanished and pursued the mechanical terror in a bolt of lightning. 

“How do you miss her?” The voice on the other end of the golden octopus prepared the expected response, "The same way you missed her. Foliage of threats everywhere and multiple crisis combines with the lethal fog which clouds our [Clairvoyance]." Rem sighed as he watched the sinking sunset. “The foresight nerf is really doing us in,” Rem complaint as he gazed at the charred black ruin of the town beneath the cliff he stood. He clenched the bouquet of flower tighter. “Anything new?” "Oh, Ehto finishes tuning your new gun. Central have achieved 100% synchronization with the frame. Want me to go over with your new partner? We want to keep the final addition a surprise for you." “Go ahead, Satholia,” said Rem. "Your new Arcana, Central, has currently assimilated its two forms. The first was the long-range Annihilator Sniper Rifle." The core in Rem’s hand transformed into a silver sniper-rifle with a metallic finish that gleam wickedly in the sunlight. The frame barely possessed any moving part aside from the ejector magazine and adjustable stock. Instead, groves ebbed with light flowed across the gun frame like a blood vessel carrying pure energy. The innovative electronic telescopic camera linked to Rem’s visor function as the weapon sight. "A light-weight frame weighting 3.34 Kg, length of 200 cm and worked with both 7.62 Aria Steel tipped explosive rounds loaded with alchemically treated gunpowder and Arcane-hardened protection-piercing Aerodynamic jacket. The gun worked with combination of Electromagnet and Central’s ability to generate and manipulated psychokinetic energy. Bullet fired with this gun will be psychokinetically amped with [Tenshou] and Central. You can use it to fire Psychokinetic attack using no physical bullet. I have to say Melody and Ehto are quite proud of this number." “Excellent for long-range take down,” Rem mused and asked a question. “Effective Range?” "5 KM. Impossible range for anyone without your Skills to use." “What about the second mode?” Rem asked. "You will love this, dear." In Rem’s hand, Central morphed into handcanon. The frame was rectangular with the bulk-up part for cartridge housing. Rem whistled. The gun was a smoother, more streamline version of the CHORUS he was used to, and felt twice as smooth. Satholia began explaining, "This little baby is named Central Magnum. 35 cm length and 2.5 Kg in weight. The frame is an Aluminum-alloy treated with Dragon-blood, glided by alchemically synthesize polymer mixed with essence arduously created from Cytortia’s little garden. The model boasts absurd durability and toughness in proportion to its weight. However, I recommend you check the cartridge." Rem unlocked the cartridge with a press of a button and tilted the gun to reveal five bullets — red, yellow, white, blue and green — in the cylinder. "You may notice that this cannon has no firing mechanism. It operates solely on your contractee’s psychokinetic ability. You could say the Central Magnum is the less of a gun and a multipurpose magic wand make specially for you. The bullet acts as a psychokinetic energy catalyst used by Central—it is a shorthand for firing mode. Melody said it was inspired by the Arcane you used to wield before mastering Tenshou. The red bullet contained a Cytortia synthesized volcano stone adapted from the formula from the Holy Blues Cytortia made for Venistalis. It is designed for pyrokinetic." “I recall using that and dropping it a few months ago,” Rem said, amused. “I barely progress with it in those mental years.” "But you still remember the basic. The red bullet fires an Esper equivalent of a napalm bomb. The yellow is the similar formula geared toward electricity. It deploys a psychoelectric blast capable of short-circuiting any circuitry both man-made and biological — highly effective for shutting down Vehicle. The white bullet is a Holy-base flavor for wide-scale exorcism. Think of it as Esper’s Turn Undead package into a gun." Rem asked, “What about blue and green?” "Different flavor of similar branch. The blue is specialized magic scramble utilizing similar mechanism to Hikma’s Symphony Blade. The green is your original. The psychokinetic flavor of telekinetic rupture pack into firing mode." “Stun-mod and non-lethal, huh,” Rem snapped the cartridge. “Doing well in their Central?” Stuffy, but quite comfortable. Rem smiled, but once a shadow of a familiar man crept upon the shadow of his eyes, those smile quickly faded. There amongst the ruin, the man he didn't expect to meet but fitting to be here appeared. What a mother of all coincidence. … Rem walked toward the man standing amongst the charred Corinthian column and blacked ground burned by fire. The man didn’t look threatening. He wore a blue duster and faded trouser with heavy combat boot. Rem noticed his originally red-hair had turned blue, unsurprising given his power and expertise in Mana. Sameal Wayward The former-Captain of the Venistalis sensed Rem’s presence. “Is this an interception or coincidence?” He asked. “Totally coincidental.” Wayward wasn’t amused, “With your mastery over [Clairvoyance], I doubt it.” Rem mustered a dry-laugh, “Omniscience is running out this day. Don’t be surprised if the Holy Church gets their ass kick by the vampire.” Wayward turned toward the man, “Something happens to [Clairvoyance] as a whole.” Rem shrugged and placed a flower on a broken column of marble. “To have your strongest ability crippled must be hard,” Wayward sympathized, “It just meant the blind-spot is mounting. How about you?" Rem asked.  "Is life on the highest rung of wanted poster fun?” Wayward reminiscence fondly, “It easier than my childhood. There are some upsides like getting to punch several S-ranker, and nearly killing a geriatric old fool behind the Empire. Then there are inconvenience like smuggling myself here under the radar.” “Got to like that wanted poster.” “Indeed,” Wayward nodded in agreement. “That is a pretty mean looking wanted poster. How about you? Averting any crisis lately?” “Few and far between. Most require delicate touch that should be kept from fire as much as possible as the one here.” Wayward and Rem stared into each other eyes. “Wayward, tell me you are here on a vacation, or maybe it is the anniversary visit to your burnt childhood home,” Rem sternly said. “That brought you here?” Wayward gazed at the flower bouquet Rem placed on the broken column. “Sentimentality?” “The proper word is respect and remembrance.” Wayward flashed a softer smile, “You are a good man, Samadi. It is ashamed I already fallen from that altar.” Rem’s gaze sharpened. “What are you doing in Centuria, Wayward?” “Thank to you, I chase the clue about. My sources said Eurytheus might have the information about the Leviathan.” Rem looked annoyed, “Please tell me you aren’t planning to attack them?” Wayward shrugged, “Well, I will just walk up to the main camp and asked for an audience. Relax. I am not the type who pick fight.” Rem snorted derisively, “Stuart Hex would like to disagree with that statement.” “There is a difference between picking a fight and being challenged. The first is stupidity. The second is a matter of pride.” “You talk like Eurytheus won’t drop the anvil on you. Sure, he will fail to do anything, but if you show yourself on the battlefield, the Divine Fist will leap in,” Rem pointed out. “And you talk like the Divine fist can even threaten both of us in the slightest,” Wayward stated. The two men stared at each other. Each of them has a mission they must accomplish and for the sake of efficiency they needed the other to stand down. Air fluttered as two will clashed. The earth cracked and split as two telekinetic forces shattered the ground, etching a literal line on the weary ground. Rem recognized that power and activated his observation skill in response. The knight of Dawn growled. Once again, Wayward proved why he ranked among the greatest combat threat that Dawn never successfully overcame. … Samael Wayward Blue Fire God Stat Str: 8500 [S] End: 9000 [S] Mag: 12600 [S*2] Wis: 1900 [A] Dex:  8600 [S] Skill Active  Speed-reading [B] Tenshou [S] Magic Circuit Construction [A] Physiological Foresight [A] Passive Poison Resistance (B) Determination of Juggernaut (S) Martial Art (S) Worldly Enlightenment [S] The Fire Bird [S]; Pyro Lorde [S], Pyro Genesis [S], Pyro Gift [S] Body of Paragon [S] … The Stat card in front of him was the incarnation of the word bullshit. Wayward’s raw power surpassed every single member of the dawn, and Rem got an inkling that the monster standing in front of him could buff himself even further. Rem’s analysis Skill, the [Wisdom Eye], spun as it tried to decipher what he was up against. [Body of Paragon] was Wayward’s physical condition, baptized under fire and full mastery of his blacksmithing background. His flesh was like a dynamite of kinetic energy. Anything less than a legendary weapon would crumble upon receiving the reactionary force upon collision. Those physical mights were backed by the END and STR that were only shy of Melody. Speaking of strength, Rem gave up hand-to-hand confrontation straight away. No jackpot D20 roll could ease the disparity of S-rank Martial Art. Even range combat might not yield wanted result. [Magical Circuit Construction] indicated a true understanding of Spell-casting mechanism. Wayward probably learned that from reaching full comprehension of his runic studies. Sure, True Magic overpowered Spell-caster, but using power from Mana to do work wasn’t a joke. Spell might be piss-poor imitation of Arcane, but imitation still hurt in the master's hand. [The Fire Bird] was probably something similar to Orwell’s Adamakles. Adamakles. It was Orwell Mehest’s creation. The Horizon Dawn labelled it an artificial True Magic capable of manifesting in combat. In Venistalis, Orwell matched Hikma’s blow to blow with such power. Then there is another common point between him and Wayward on the Venn diagram; [Tenshou]. The very power to manipulate the existential connection of the multiverse. Rem gritted his teeth. Yes, Rem was the undisputed master of the Arcane, several magnitudes in proficiency above Wayward. The former crash of telekinetic might confirm everything. Samael Wayward was strong, but still rough. His telekinesis was like jackhammer compared to Rem’s blade-like stroke and his telepathic experience was a novice, but Wayward was still better than a general practitioner like Hikma. Rough as it was, giving Wayward [Tenshou] was like giving dragon a interstellar-cannon. Rem calculated the odds. Strong as Wayward was the disparity between had closed since the last encounter. Rem wasn’t a newbie anymore. … Remus Breaker  Heavenly Knight Stat Str: 3730 [A*2] End: 3500 [A*2] Mag: 7600 [S] Wis: 11050 [S*2] Dex: 4350 [A*2] Skill Active Wisdom Eye [S] Arrival of Dream [N/A] Tenshou [SS] Contract (Central) [SS] Origin Encroachment [S] Passive Garden World Origin [S] Territory [A] Reality Breaker [EX] The Way of Optimism [N/A]  Clairvoyance [A]  Enlightened Trajectory [SS] … “You don’t look like you want a fight,” Wayward commented. “To be honest. I believe you are a little stronger compare to our last meeting.” “Look at yourself first,” Rem grimaced. “Honesty time, my chance of victory is around 28%.” Wayward unfolded his fist. An image of a fiery blue bird ignited into existence behind him. Flames licked across the ground, lighting the path of azure fires that dyed the air blight blue and caused the temperature to hike toward the terrifying hight. Small blue ember rose from the ground, painting a surreal image under the sky as forces of oppression pressed down like an anchor. Rem drew his new magnum. The Origin of the night skies and poppies cracked reality like glass. Poppies flew across the air as boundless power which filled every atom was released from the garden of Rem’s Mana Core. The one-man encroachment to humanity’s commonsense stopped the propagation of heat, repelled the pressure of Wayward and snuffed out the azure flames. The poppies surrounded Rem like a shroud, preparing to channel the true might of [Tenshou]. The two men stared, waiting for another to attack their defense. Luckily, the worst didn’t happen. “This is a ruin of your childhood home,” Rem spoke. “Should we move somewhere else?” “You ask the wrong question kid,” Wayward grimaced. “Way to ruin the mood.” The flames faded and the invading mental retreated. The enormous stress lifted from the world. The two men expected to clash someday, but there was a time and place for everything. “I doubt you only came here to pay respect,” Wayward said. “What is your game plan?” Rem mentally debated on what he should say next, “I am here to get the clue about the Feas.” Wayward winced, “Those buggers? You shouldn't worry about it. The seal in the north is still holding. Aside from some minor straggler that escaped from the isolation field, the Fair Folk are simply an old wives’ tale for scaring children.” Wayward saw Rem’s posture still stiff. He understood the sentiment. His sister-figure often told stories of the faes kidnapping children to make paints. It used to scare him as children. Time and bloods had dulled the fear, but the very knowledge of those monsters existing beyond the Northern wall of light still sent a discomfort down his spine. “Let me guess. You somehow the seal wouldn’t hold.” “Wayward, the reason I am here is that I know nothing about the seal. Sure, there is urban myth and legend about the crusader and the sacrifice of the fairies to seal away the Unseelie. But I need to ask the person who actually been there.” Wayward tried to shove the subject aside. The prospect of the fairy made him nervous, “Shouldn’t you be concerned with those Dukes?” “I have plan to deal with them. I simply need all the pieces to fall into place. Truth to be told, I want to offer you a part in my plan. I promise you will have Eurystheus within next month. Hell, you can even take all three of them down because they will be in the same place. What I don’t have a plan for is the off chance the old wives’ tale turns into reality and something worse than the Unseelie broke through the wall. You know who I am here to see, Wayward.” Wayward clenched his fist. His voice hardened with resistance, “Samadi, you know very well I cannot let you walk in there that easily. Anyone with mediocrum of amibition will swarm here the moment they realize she is alive.” “That why I have to meet her and stop the fairy before she is forced to make a move,” Rem raised his voice in return. “You have two gambles to make here, Wayward. Gambles that I will break everything I stand for and sell her rights to the world or bets on the possibility that the wall of light will never break and the fairy will never return. There option to physically stop me also exists. However, the fact we both stand down meant we know better than to start the conflict next to her door.” The two men glared at each other for a long beat. Wayward unclenched his fist. “I need to meet your sisters’ caretaker,” Rem asked. “Take me to Vivian, please.”

General Atlanta and Phillip stepped upon a fertile soil. Finally, their destination was within reach. Flanked by rows of trees, serene whistling of the sea breeze rustled through the leaves. Hight wall of white-vines and magic stretching as high as any medieval city wall surrounded the sea view. Phillip wasn’t a student of mysteries, but the expression of the mages in the company was one of disbelief. He instinctively knew those walls weren’t for show. “Enchantments embed into the wood?” one mage guffawed. “No, it is more than that. It is like the wood was innately magical.” The mages traced his finger across the wall, feeling its texture. “It is alive! This is a living enchanted tree shaped grown like a wall. I didn’t feel wood magic, but this Mana is unlike any plant I know.” He turned toward the mysterious man holding the unconscious Promtus by his shoulder. “How did you accomplish such fine-degree over life? This is a magical breakthrough unlike any other.” Hikma laughed, “Better ask my friend. It took her several weeks of research to complete this fortification.” Hikma wasn’t downplaying the Cytortia’s accomplishment. It took the former goddess several all-nighters of experimentation to create the desired Alchemical serum to properly treated the sample seed. Cytortia extracted the essence of several magical plants, separated and categorized the component she needed ranging from essence that accelerated the plant growth, some which imbued the wood with innate magical compatibility and toughness, other which granted resistance to the element and some that even provided passive soothing effect. But that arduous categorization process was the easy part. She needed to mix those fluid together to find the right ratio that would best graft with the base plant. The goddess had to build manual to programme enchantment into life, forcing her to research how to artificially engineered essence from the ground up. It took weeks of hard work with massive contribution from literally everyone in the dawn to complete Cytortia’s latest creation. It was the evolution which incorporated her [Paradiso of Never-ending Boundary] into its defense. [Benevolence Scripture: Eternal Living Paradiso] It was a combination of tree types of symbiotic vines stack together. Once unleashed, these vines interwoven around each other to create a Kevlar-like structure from the three types of vines enchanted with a different version of [Paradiso] founded in the original [Never-ending Boundary]—interference against time-space tampering, resistance against physical trauma, and warding against elemental and magical force. Cytortia even upgraded from her original defense by increasing the wood overall toughness, its shock-absorption ability and even granted it flame retardation property. The wall being made of living wood also synergized with [Tir Na Soal], [Bio Empathy] and [Benevolence Core]. This sophisticated research wall was the main pillar of Rem’s confidence in his endgame. Only the King of the gods or above such as Ra and Zeus — and maybe Thor — possessed the raw output to destroy this fortification, with Cytortia manning the defenses. Your ho-hum S-ranker like Scathach and Promtus, and even the like of Artemis and can just sit outside and glared at Cytortia’s fortress. Would it surprise you that Cytortia kept several of these seeds on her person? Of course not, Rem might be a Superman fan, but he knew how to play Batman if he must. It was the lesson he shared with Cytortia. However, Rem wasn’t in a state to talk to anyone. … Luxinna and Hikma opened the door to witness the unbelievable. Rem was basically moping over the map of Centuria. He looked depressed like he found out his pet just die. Meanwhile, Cytortia was beside him, trying to cheer him up. “Come on, it is not so bad,” Cytortia pleaded. “It is that bad,” Rem looked like he was about to cry. “Those fuckers cannot do this again. I already live through those train wrecks too many times.” “Look on the bright side. There always another chance!” “And with every chance it got worse and worst.” Luxinna and Hikma looked at each other. “Holy shit,” Luxinna whispered. “We are so screwed. If even Rem give-up…” “Don’t,” Hikma didn’t want to know what made the man who stare down killer AI, murderers and made plans to conquer the gods emitted such overwhelming misery. “You are scaring me.” Both the elf and the archeologist glanced at each other, nodded, and marched to face the bad news. “Guys,” Hikma spoke. “What happen?” Cytortia took a moment to absorb reality, “This is so stupid.” “It isn’t,” Rem muttered. “It went beyond stupid and crossover to travesty. I believe the blaspheme line got crossed at some point, but I cannot take another L.” “Okay, what happen? Did Acrisius drag Zeus and Ra to help him?” “No, it worst, Warner Brothers is about reboot Superman movie again,” Rem revealed the catastrophe in the making. “This time with Director Dumb and Dumber manning the helm.” “Kay,” Luxinna felt like someone just dump her hype into arctic water. “Who Is Dumb and Dumber?” “I want to ask that too?” “David Benioff and DB Weiss,” Rem growled. “Oh,” Hikma recalled the name. “The two blokes who made Games of Throne. They aren’t that bad. Okay, season 8 is disappointing. But dude, you are about to get another Superman movie! You are one of his biggest fan!” Rem crumpled the can from raw outrage, “Hikma, mate, names one good Superman story in this last decade.” Hikma couldn’t. “Exactly. Hikma, ever since overblown, overrated piece of crap called Injustice arrived. Hell, I would even say when the Dark Knight Return created this Batman infested earth. Okay, maybe not. The Dark Knight Master Race actually mends that bridge for me. But at some point, in our lifetime, the entire planet suddenly goes Lex Luthor. The modern writer doesn’t get Superman, ergo. Sure, sometimes we got a good animated movie like Superman Vs the Elite or Superman: Man of Tomorrow. But aside from the first Superman movie, everything else cranked out by the tinsel town is a travesty. Some of them are inoffensive like Superman Return, and some like BvS are hot garbage conceptualized by the man whose get off on Watchmen.” “I have a feeling the conversation just fall past me,” Luxinna observed Rem’s rage. “Should I go watch this BvS?” ““No!”” Rem and Hikma cried to save the elf from modern Hollywood. “Both of you?” Cytortia said, stunned. “It is that bad.” “It is infamously bad,” Hikma recalled the time he watched the movie during his stayed with his relatives in France. “And BvS is nothing to compare to the modern pussy-politic obsess, far-left infest, arm-chair activist employs in the mother-fucking New York and California! The comic sale is not for show. And those turds are so obsessed with keeping the status quo and perpetual rebooting that the entire medium met its deserved death by the hand of Manga. Now the freaking Pedowood led by two hacks whose only talent is adapting a book is a about a whack at my most sacred childhood memory. I am so fucking done with it.” “Dudes, Games of Thrones aren’t that bad.” “Hikma, I can’t tell you that because I read about half the first Volume, and gave up on the franchise,” Rem admitted. “But analyzing mess is my pass time and after they wreck all those build-up on sudden Dragon Queen’s heel turn for a ‘thoughtful’ twist of perspective you expect from edgy teenagers in the freaking 90s, you should be really worried about this movie.” “Err, can we go back to Centuria, I mean how bad is…” “Nothing to worry about,” Rem pointed at the board. “Melody and Ehto just finished designing our personal Cerebro. A bit of manipulation and we can pretty much direct all conflict away from our region. I also have a plan to hamstring the bandit and their sponsor. No biggy.” “Sponsor?” Luxinna asked. “Lux, do you think the bandit gets their supplies, weapons and information from the cloud?” Rem pointed out. “Of course not. Cash is king and the refugee sure as hell doesn’t have a lot. This meant they need channel to sell the goods. We cripple those buyers and it’s bye-bye to the competency level of the bandit. Sure, it wouldn’t be enough to stop every thug, but it would be enough to defang them. So how is our first clashes with Acrisius.” “We stomp them and captured an S-rank,” Luxinna said. “Yep, Promtus is our prisoner,” “Excellent, but first let settle our newest batch,” Rem said. … “What the hell is going on!?” Atlanta screamed toward the sky at the rabid injustice barring her path to success. Contrary to expectation, the young General wasn’t faced with a humongous enemy the size of a mountain or a psychotic lesbian one-man-army. Her current obstacle was the greatest obstacle for any disgruntle, ambitious young people who desired societal change. Such an almighty wall to social revolution? Answer: good old peace and contentment. For a person to rise and fight, there must be injustice, unfairness and ambition to change. Sadly, for Atlanta, that commonality with the rest of Phantasia got utterly discontinued within the wall of Acropolis. One glance at reality and it was enough to dispel any hope of recruiting any kind of army to restore Centuria. The beach in the distant looked beautiful, divorced from the reality of civil war. Newly built Vineyard in the distance danced like a beacon of joy where people could gaze at the children playing together. Some teenagers were working on a specialized barrel of alcohol. One of them even dressed like a secretary. Row of cleverly built mylar-base greenhouse dotted along the hill. Impromptu wooden huts were cheaply erected but were on their way to functionality. Truth to be told, several construction workers were already trying to upgrade from a wooden hut to the newest hit idea Rem introduced called condominium. Artisan, mostly mason, was already doing their trade. The mysterious benefactor even set the bank going. Although, to be honest, Rem and Cytortia were trying to create a rough draft for lending scheme. The settlement even had a functioning of guard house where adult and children alike were being educated about magic and combat. Someone even got a genius idea to open inn right next to those barracks. Cytortia, being a natural green-thumb, invested 120% effort to set-up a magical lawn with healing effort around the sidewalk. Everyone was smiling. The incentive to go to the wall and die for the doomed country was negative nine-thousand. Reality was cruel. General Atlanta came to the settlement looking for a way to return to glory. Instead, she got hit the reality that the people wanted to move on. To make a pill even more bitter, this settlement was run even better than the original Centuria. Atlanta didn’t even need approval poll. The smile and enthusiasm around here was already a solid proof that whoever was in-charge utterly put the old Centuria over their knee and give them a wedgie in management. In blind desperation, Atlanta went over to a random passer-by who was carrying a wooden box. “Who is in charge?” She yelled. “Lady, I am busy,” said the young man. “The old-man got swamped by mason work ever since that they built a multiple story building. Find the council if you want to find the guy in charge.” “The council?” Atlanta asked. “Yeah, they are the dude we elected among the refugee,” the young man answered. “I just arrive a few days ago, so I am pretty new around here.” He took a closer looked at Atlanta and the men behind. “Let me guess. You haven’t done the orientation.” “I think not,” Philip Odysseus intervened for the windblown General. “Go to the barrack,” the young man blinked. “Trust me dude, you will love it here.” … The newcomer soon founded themselves at the barrack being greeted by the demoness a suit and glasses educating a group of men and women on the basic of combat. “Phantasia greatest folly is the believe in what we called duelist mentality,” Melody lectured. “Sure. Sometime there is a point in standing in front of your enemy and challenging them into ceremonious duel when your ideology and purpose are at stake. However, the general rule of thumb is simple. You stack the deck as much as possible. In warfare, anything is a fair game from kicking people from behind, sniping your opponent from kilometers away, and in some heinous case, kidnapping a specific target to unbalance your opponent. In fact, a certain colleague of mine prefers if the battle isn’t fought at all. He insists robbing your enemy when they aren’t looking is the best method to ensure victory. You can’t fight if you can’t pay your army expense or get a loan.” Phillip listened to the gem of wisdom and turned toward Atlanta, “Did they teach you any of this?” The General’s facial expression said it all. “And thus, we will begin the tutoring on one such stack deck strategy called a surprise attack” The lecture continued. “General rule of surprise maneuver is to catch your opponent unaware, and use surprise as force multiplier. Speed, stealth, and force are the component. You hit them hard and fast before they could raise their guard.” It was then the demoness noticed the newcomer, “Class, go back to practical magic exercise. We will continue the lesson with proper demonstration after I finish the orientation.” She clapped her hand, quickly dispersing the cloud. The flaming red-head wasted no time in giving the confused former royal army a bow. “Welcome to Acropolis refugee settlement,” the demoness greeted. “I am Solarmaria, an official guide of this settlement.” General Atlanta wasn’t used to people utterly ignoring her position. “Okay, Solarmaria,” the General said. “What is your aim here?” Melody blinked. “Our aim pretty obvious, providing a safe refuge for people who actually need it,” Melody winked. “I think it is called a non-profit. But I believe that might actually change soon. The carbonate drink those kiddos produce is king worthy. Our partners already believed it will net quite an export.” Melody sighed. “So much for expecting no return.” “You are lying.” “Funny things is I am not, Former-General Atlanta,” Melody smiled. “Should we start an orientation now?” “I am not here to stay!” Phillip leaped in to diffuse the brawl, “We need your help in restoring Centuria and defeat Acrisius.” Melody sensed a series of déjà vu, “Are you saying I should march-up North and stomp all the three dukes flat to the ground and burn their army to ash? Sorry, mister, but I already decide to quit the pointless slaughter thing long way back.” “Are you going to let them get away?” Phillips said. “I understand where you come from,” Melody answered. “But there is time and place for everything.” “Time and place?” Atlanta stared at the demoness. “You are a demon! You guys from the Demonic Continent are infamous for your mercenaries! I can pay for troops and soldiers to retake Centuria.” Melody let out a hollow laugh, “Okay, Miss, that hit nerve. Who do you think I am? A punk like Amitate Aztellic. Look here, I will repeat this again. I already grow out of that phase. Sorry, but the guy in charge and me won’t be sending other to die for our sake much less yours. We promise them safety, and I am sure not going to go back on my word.” It was then Rem arrived. “Howdy, instructor,” Remus Breaker came sipping on a mug of carbonated fruit juice. “Troublesome student. May I take over.” Melody let out a sighed. “You want a guy in charge, right?” She pointed at Rem. “Our strategist is right there. Try to convince him.” 

“Okay, so Satholia decides we should hook Za Wa to our newest generator to start his upgrade,” Luxinna blinks. “Seriously, how deep is her bag-of-trick. What is she going to pull next? A magic arrow that can kill Zeus from a continent away?” Luxinna watched Rem and Hikma put Za Wa inside the field of golden glasses and dialed the power output to maximum. As if listening to an invisible command, the golden octopus levitated and absorbed the energy. “So how does this work exactly?” Ehto asked. Rem tossed out his theory. “Intervening directly in this reality is impossible for Satholia. Our boss knows this, and she is competent enough to soften the repercussion to the point she can actually communicate. I believe Satholia is using that trick on Za Wa. Given that Za Wa is her creation, I believe Satholia has a backdoor to interfere with his evolution. The only thing she needed is the power to jumpstart the… oh, it is beginning.” The golden octopus floated in the air, shinning with a golden glow. The glow blinded them all. At long last, the light faded, revealing something incredulous. What floated before them was no longer the same old octopus. … ZAWARUDO The Shrine of Center Force Stat [TRANSCEND] Option Universal Bank [S] Center Force Shrine [EX]  Divine Universal Hardware [EX] Divine Network [EX] Terminal Creation [S] … There floated a golden monument of an octopus, with a pair of angelic wings and a glowing halo; an invertebrate angel which Rem pretty sure didn’t exist in any mythology. Surely, such a gleaming polish creature shining like gold reserve inside the world's most secure vault was truly Satholia flexing on creation. [Center Force Shrine operation at 100%,] the angelic octopus said. [Began dispensing Terminal] Za Wa — no — ZAWARUDO opened its mouth (Rem was sure octopus shouldn’t have that organ), and from the golden gap. A ghost-like creature resembling the enemy from Pac-Man came flying out of. The ghost — maybe octopus — looked around. [Taste. Taste. Yep, good job, Hikma. This would make our communication much easier.] “Satholia?” Rem and Hikma gaped. [Yep, my children,] Satholia spoke using the octopus. [Like it? A little backdoor I snug into Za Wa. With your generator up and running, we have enough energy for Phantasia to start his evolution. May I introduce you to ZAWARUDO — a shrine of me.] “Wait? A shrine?” Melody blinked in disbelief. [I believe that is a place where you commune with a god. Certain lesson I plan to teach can’t be done in the mental realm. Turning Za Wa into a shrine of my design will ease in guiding and communicating with you. Now, for today's training, Hikma please teach Rem and Luxinna about Origin. Melody keeps doing the cup until you get to fifty.] Melody groaned. [Ehto and Cytortia, time has come for me to step-up your training. I am going to deploy more of this terminal.] … Cytortia knew Satholia took her glove off. They were on the top floor of Daybreak, specifically the swimming-pool and garden area. Cytortia was in her usual training cloth with the octopus broadcasting Satholia’s lecture. [Cytortia, what is your greatest strength?] The former goddess answered with no hesitation. “Defensive technique.” [You are heading in the wrong direction, dear,] Satholia wasted no time correcting that assumption. [True. Your affinity with defensive Arcane was off the chart. No doubt you have the potential to be one of the very best defensive master, but your unrivaled advantage laid in your mastery of life. Your shield is powerful, but your support capability is world breaking.] Cytortia paused for a second. “So, you are planning to teach me Alchemy?” Behind that octopus, Satholia chuckled. [Cy, you are already better at pure Alchemy than I am,] the Queen of Center admitted. [I pickup several crafts, mind you, but I never have your chop at it. The best I can do to get close to you in item creation is to pull a complete product from my vault. I can’t really teach anything beyond what Nu Wa already did. But I can explain how to use your True Magic for the art of advance life alteration.] “Advance life alteration.” [That is right! Normally, such art requires that absolute degree of Necta Floral that anything below a god would fail at it. But the combination of Tir Na Soal and Benevolence Core allow you to access Primal Arcane’s true potential. You kid use Necta Floral like a free-range heal and body-reinforcement, but Primal Arcane’s might lie in what it represents. The Floral is an Imaginary Heritage titled the flower of life. It is the multiversal beginning of the concept of a cellular organism. The origin of DNA and the caretaker of primordial Bio-soup that gifted Dravritra and Zen Long with the concept of life.] “Wow,” Cytortia concluded. Satholia continued. [As the originator of all bio-life forms, it could repair all damage and wound, strengthen life-force and — at incredible mastery — toy with the primordial make-up of life,] Satholia said. [Our aim in these coming months is honing your ability with Necta Floral. After we are done, no one will have to die like Stuart Hex as long as you are within proximity.] “Wait, you mean…” [You could have saved Stuart Hex, if I tutor you.] Satholia’s voice was wistful. [But what past is past. We gritted our teeth and survived the era of fumbling around for clues. With Daybreak, advance technology and the core members fully recruit and board the ship, Horizon Dawn is finally on its feet, and I will be damned to let anyone down again.] Cytortia felt a fire rising inside. “Okay, so how do I learn this miracle power?” [First, you need to master Tir Na Soal to its highest caliber.] “Wait, the time-reversal, healing barrier?” [Fu, fu, fu, fu.] A giggle echoed from the floating golden octopus — Za Wa’s avatar — wrapped in a golden aura. [That time-reversal, healing barrier is more miraculous than you realize. Listen, my child, your basic ability amplifying and manipulating Natural Hierarchy. Combines with the power to restore of an optimal state of substance? What would happen?] “Err… I think you lost me.” [Your True Magic extract the purest essence of the material, while [Tir Na Soal] rapidly refills it.] Cytortia thought long and hard. “You mean can extract literally an infinite amount of nutrient from a single material.” [I wish,] Satholia mirthfully commented on that prospect. [Yes, ideally that what should be happening, but even WORLD knew that kind of bullshit will crumble the law of conservation, so he created a hard-cap called the law degradation phenomenon. Extraction of essence from material cause an irreversible structural breakdown. After a certain number of extractions, only pure natural essence of material would remain. It was a process known as Absolute Extraction. And that is your training to master [Necta Floral].] The octopus gestured toward the medicinal garden. [This training exercise focuses on increasing your proficiency with [Tir Na Soal]. The goal is simple. Perform Absolute Extract within 3 seconds. Once you grasp the trick, [Necta Floral] is within reach.] Cytortia allowed herself to think it wouldn’t be that hard. Spoiler alert! She was dead wrong. … On reflection, the Horizon Dawn as an organization was unnaturally harmonious. Its membership contained rouge members from Phantasia’s bluebloods, two guys who simply too good the WORLD refused to let them be human, several goddesses who decided evil sucks, a man whose convince many his True Magic was being unprecedented chick-magnet, a mafioso true-believer of Superman, an AI, and a vampire whose left her bloody life to be homemaker with side-job as consultant. It was the combination that shouldn’t work. In near future, the entire Phantasia and the gods pretty much performed a mental acrobat once the enigmatic saboteurs of disasters and tragedies revealed themselves after over half-decade reign as the shadow protector of the downtrodden. Of course, the down-trodden were too busily cheering for their staunchest protector. Instead, it was the almighty who questioned how the hell did this dysfunction surrogate family got assembled into battle ready powerhouse under their nose. Member of the Dawn faced up and down. Their trials were many. Some redemptions were hard won. Other required confronting their worst fear and feelings. Many matured from their childish mindset to be the champion the world need. Vast majority struggled with their duty to be an aspiration to others. But all of them eventually came to an agreement. For trail and tribulation, Ehto got the easiest stick. [Okay, Ehto,] Satholia said. [Your True Magic is the simplest and easiest to use and as a bonus the training is pretty pure combat simulation. But first we needed to manufacture your bodies.] The copy of golden octopus—the terminal to Satholia—chimed cheerfully as she plugged the tentacle into the holographic design table. Za Wa upgraded form was installed with a vast number of new functions. [Terminal Creation] allowed for the creation of summonable octopi, which behaved as an extension of ZAWARUSO. They are clones capable of performing any of the main body’s function. [Divine Universal Hardware] represented Horizon Dawn’s team pet ability as the ultimate hardware. This Skill allowed ZAWARUDO and his terminals to input any information via a magical scanning and record it in a special format that could be outputted in electronic device. ZAWARUDO is essentially a one-size-fit all equipment with investment from communicator to signal amplifier. [Divine Network] allowed inter-terminal communication. The [EX] rank of this skill related directly to Satholia’s patronage creating an ultimate firewall, thus making Horizon Dawn’s communication nigh-uncrackable. [Universal Bank] was the direct access to pocket dimension store inside ZAWARUDO that behaved as the ultimate inventory for its terminal. Finally, [Center Force Shrine] made ZAWARUDO a terminal to Center Force power, and thus allowing the head honcho to perform a limit godly feat — a more consistent version of Za Wa’s original slot ability.  Upgrading Za Wa allowed Satholia to be more liberal with her influence. Specifically, the Queen of Center Force could now be more active in the R&D department. “This is incredible,” Ehto’s mind scanned through several blueprints Satholia provided. “This technology is too advanced. Did you design all of this?” [I have help. My True Magic lent many mentors. Mr. Wayne and Terrific taught me many things. But the award for engineering should go to Richard and Stark. I spent vast many years learning from them, and even now I don’t believe I come close to them in robotics.] “Why are you showing me this?” Ehto’s mind barely left the blueprint. Any of this work was a hundred years ahead of Phantasia's technological curve. El Acerbia would kill to glimpse those profound knowledge. [Because the nature of your True Magic is directly related to technology.] Satholia continued. [Rem augments reality with Imaginary Construct. Luxinna creates material which crystalizes the might of lightning. Melody manifests the might of the dragon. Hikma creates an embodiment of concept. Cytortia bestows the blessing to elevate life. Ehto, your true Magic is bonding with innovation and technology.] “Bonding?” [It name is Architect Path. Now that I mention it you never have an ID before, do you?] The octopus took a second before conjuring up a Status ID from its mouth … Ehto Shaxter The Architect Stat: Str: — [N/A] End: — [N/A] Mag: 4000 [A] Wis: 1600 [A] Dex: — [N/A] Skill Active Architect Path [SS] Hacking [S] Assembly [A] Passive  Rampage Calculation [SS]  Advance Learning [A] Memoria Revision [N/A] … “[N/A]?” Ehto questioned. [Ahem, allow me to explain,] Satholia said from. [Ehto, your stats calculation differ from the rest of the Dawn. Your physical ability solely depended on the body you inhabited. The [Assembly] Skill was what allowed you to combine mechanical weapon with your body to augment your physical ability. Your stats directly correlate to the body you assembled. At rank [A], you can handle a body with sums power-level of 25,000.] Ehto couldn’t help but feel this concept reminded him too much of PALISADE planned and Satholia’s ability to grasp people thought hadn’t decreased even when communicating through an octopus’ terminal. [Yes, your brother got the right idea in a wrong moral direction. A Cybertium like you and him is reliant on an external body to use Mana and True Magic. PALISADE wanted to created ultimate biotech body, meanwhile [Architect Path] allowed you to integrate with technological physique.] “What exactly is [Architect Path]? You said something about bonding with technology. You mean communicating with it.” Satholia laughed. [No dear,] the queen replied. [You directly gift an astral nerve link to your soul to a technology. It acted as communication receiver and power source — akin to a special blood vessel that also doubled as neuron. Most impressive still was that this ability is a Trinity, which meant its major strength is locked behind your Legend. You make every technology you came across a part of you, and thus able to amplify the [Assembly] Skill even further. Given the threat waiting for you in Tengen, I will cut to the chase and told you how to best optimize this.] “You have a plan.” [Yes, I do. Tell me. Have you ever heard of the Iron Man armor?] … Cytortia sobbed with frustration as she drowned another cup of fruit juice. “Please, no more,” Cytortia said. [Sorry, dear,] Satholia apologized and mercilessly moved the conversation along. [Again.] In tears, Cytortia stretched her hand and focus on a flower in front of her. [Remember the concentrated Tir Na Soal,] Satholia said. [Normally. You spread Tir Na Soal as a wide unconcentrated field, but now it different. You must condense the field tightly. Squeezing the intensity within the smallest possible volume, basically squeezing of the Natural value from the material and isolating it inside of concentrated Tir Na Soal.] The flower ebbed and glowed before exploding. Cytortia muffled a scream. “The is the 50th flowers,” Cytortia cried. [You are getting there] “Yeah, but after I finally accomplish that, you will up the number of flowers.” [True,] Satholia admitted. [And then I will teach you how to combine pure essence together to perform alchemical product] Cytortia looked up like a jumper cable went through her body. “What?” [You heard me. The basic of pill-concocting is refining substance two extracted its essence and boosting the efficacity with additives. You are now learning the art of directly skipping all the refinement to extract the purest essence of raw material. It is a godlike ability for Alchemy that cut ahead even Nu Wa and put Frigga to shame. The funny thing is combining two essences together with [Necta Floral] to create a product never seen before. Maybe it could a totally new species of plant or a pill that made immortality look like a kid fantasy.] “You believe I can pull something like that off.” [I believe you can do it, if you believe in yourself as much as I do.] Cytortia grabbed another flower without complaint. Satholia got one hell of pep-talk. 

Land roiled and sky rumbled as two supreme magic practitioners eyed each other. It was the elder who made the first move. Promtus lifted the fist large enough to smash skyscraper, but Hikma won’t give him a chance. [Paradiso] Black ink rose from the ground, unleashing countless strips of lightless cloth that quickly wrapped around the mountain size giant to immobilize him. Promtus growled, exerting more power to tear the binding, but Hikma won’t let go. More strip of magical shackled lashed from the pool of conceptual ink beneath Promtus’ body to paralyze him. Hikma grunted. Promtus’ size upped his endurance and strength, but it came with sluggish speed and bigger target as a price tag. Prices which Hikma exploited mercilessly. But alas, even with his Origin, using [Paradiso] to bind something a size of a mountain wasn’t healthy for his Stamina. He couldn’t keep it up long. In chess term, this was a misplay. Yes, immobilization might be a decent tactic for something so large, but the price of taxing Hikma’s concentration wasn’t worth it. The best move was to exploit his higher mobility instead of locking himself in a tug of war. Thankfully, Promtus wasn’t Satholia. Against his teacher, this miscalculation would end in an instant defeat, but with Promtus, Hikma got a chance for a comeback. Hikma answered with a compound Arcane courtesy of combining pseudo-spirit with [Nicholas] technique. He used [Mistral: Aero Lorde] as a base, mixed in a [Conceptual Seal] to catalyze [Geo Lorde] modded with [Echo] technique.  “[Mistral] open fire!” Hikma cast the ultrasound barrage. Pale green light flashed above, and countless air bullets peppered on Promtus massive body like a seasoning on a pizza. Spoiler time; it did little damage. Hikma knew this. This Arcane wasn’t made to defeat Promtus. It was made to analyze him. Each air bullet behaved like ultrasound dispenser; the burst of imperceptible collision echoed around the giant, telling Hikma about the makeup of the gigantoid battling him. Hikma frowned. The giant was made from a rock of decent density, while Promtus’ real body was in the chest area. “You think this is enough to slow me down, boy!” Promtus felt insult at Hikma’s response, and upped the ante. He tightened his grip on that gigantic sword. A kilometer long obsidian sword pulsated the air in a wave of heat and force that instantly dispelled the restraint Hikma placed on the giant. Mana undulated from the sword, forcing Hikma to fly back a dozen of meters from the side-effect of having his [Paradiso] ripped apart in such a way. “Behold the Sword of Ash,” the giant roared, impaling the blade to the earth. The sword cracked the earth. The enormous scar on the land widened with a surge of mystical power. Lave erupted from the crack as the land sank beneath the surging pool of molten rock. Sulphur and a hot plume of ash rose around the giant in the rapidly spearing hell-scape created by unleashing the sword. Hikma growled. This was bad. He must stop Promtus before the entire area turned into an inhospitable volcanic land. If over 5-kilometers radius transformed into magma hazard, it would cause almost irreparable damage to the regional transportation system. Promtus lifted the sword and swung it at Hikma, but the Chronicler was ready. A magic intensive duel was the battle of information. Satholia drilled that lesson into him. In this front, Hikma was a league ahead of Promtus. He knew the nature of Promtus’ Muspel Transformation, and his counter-spell expertises rendered other tools in the elderly Praetor’s arsenal pointless. Meanwhile, Promtus still did not know the upper limit of Hikma’s ability or his versatility. Promtus’ sword swing was majestic. Its magical might sliced the peaks of a surrounding mountain-range and caused tower of lava, hundred meters high to erupt from the ground. The kilometer long building-buster slammed down on Hikma with the power to scorch a countryside. [Trinity]x3 Hikma’s shield buckled beneath the earth-shuddering blow that could fragment a mountain. Sky rumbled as scarlet flame blossomed in an all-consuming haze. Hikma grunted. Wow, he actually felt that. A massive physical attack with a violent magic burning effect? If it was his original [Trinity], he would be a goner. Luckily, he already nailed [Tempo] down. The triple-stack three-layer defense effectively tackled the attack. [Paradiso] tanked the physical might of the slash. Meanwhile, [Entropy] broke down the Sword of Ash's burning effect and enchantment, weakening its magical power. Finally, [Tempo] constantly reversed the state of the two layers back to its pristine condition and formed a temporal barrier to slow or stop the attack. Promtus’ eye widened at witnessing the positively tiny human stopping a giant a sword a kilometer long. He silently admitted that the boy got a black-belt in defense. If Hikma’s defense surprised Promtus, what came next would flabbergast him “Analysis of the structure complete?” Hikma confirmed and cast his prepped composite Arcane. “Great! [Nicholas: Geo Gift + Severance + Paradiso].” The auburn light transformed into a thin pen of enchantment and struck down upon the Sword of Ash. It was the beginning of the fight-ending combo. Every solid material was governed by its microstructure — be it a legendary spear or a chop-stick. This also applied to the gigantic sword. It took Hikma time, but he learned how to directly manipulated the grain boundary, which was a major feature of solid structure and rearrange them to create a perfect slip plane to deform any solid. This combined with [Paradiso] boundary separation, and further implementation of [Geo Gift] to employ the substance’s internal stress, transformed as a single touch into a supreme anti-solid hammer. With a light touch from Hikma, the gigantic blade snapped in half. The force of the fracture sent 500-meters length of the blade spinning in the air like wind-wheel. Promtus watched in dumb shock. His soul seemed to slip out of him, but the knight of Dawn wasn’t done. [Aero Gift] Hikma touched the spinning length of rock-blade and gave it an extra vector, speeding up a blade into guillotine which lopped off the giant’s sword arm and struck the ground as a new landmark. This blow should be obvious to anticipate, but Promtus’ body gigantic form came back to haunt him. The blade slice off his arm before he could move out in time. To add insult to injury, the blade’s distracting, burdensome size provided Hikma with ample blind spot to close the distance and continued the combo. Remembered the microstructure manipulation? Promtus suddenly felt something was wrong with his chest. He glanced down and saw the Chronicler, protected by heat-repelling self-enchantment, floating too close to the flaming giant and messing its rock structure to his heart content. That new explosive magic charging in hand did not give the old-man comfort. The elderly’s heart sank. Crap. [Nicholas: Aero Lorde + Pyro Gift + Aegis] Another combo spelled, using [Aegis] to amp the super-heated hi-velocity air cannon aimed at the exact location Promtus’ true body resided within the giant. Before anyone could do anything, Hikma fired the mountian buster at pointblank. The effect was spectacular. Muspel Transformation’s weakened chest caved from the impact. The accelerated air bustling with sanctifying energy fractured the stressed rock and blew into Promtus’ body. Such trauma directly severed the linked between the Praetor and his giant body, deactivating the spell. But the force didn’t stop; Hikma’s attack carried Promtus past layers of flaming rock, out another side of the flaming goliath and crushing him into a landscape below with the force to create the crater and a mushroom cloud. Promtus looked upward to see his massive gigantic avatar falling on him, but alas, the jarring effect of having the connection between his mind and the flaming giant forcefully ripped to smithereens did a number on his reflex curve. The elderly man could only watch as his mountain size fame maker fell on him. As an S-rank, he could survive, but his ego wouldn’t. … Hikma waited for the S-ranker to burst from the wreckage. The old man looked terrible. It was conclusively proven that having a mountain falling on him did a number on the Promtus. The bald head was bloody with cuts and bruises. The once commanding robes were torn and ripped with holes. Hikma winced at that mangled arm as the old man staggered into a standing position. Hatred blazed in the Praetor’s eyes like campfires from hell.  “You!” Promtus growled the all-time classic pointless accusation that somehow sounded lamer the more it got repeatedly used in any media. “You are injured,” Hikma warned. “I know I might be wasting my effort, but you can still walk away from this.” Promtus lifted his remaining good arm and summoned forth his ace. S-rank weren’t your run-of-the-mill opponent. Each individual who attained this classification got trump-card for their trump card. Yes, Promtus’ Muspel Transformation made him famous, but that wasn’t his only gimmick. A ring of metal and fire appeared. It was a circular amulet with a glowing jewel right at its center. “You are strong,” Promtus admitted. “Few ever witness this. Savour the opportunity, boy.” The gem burned with the black hull and spat forth a towering black light, crackling with yellow tints of lightning. Hikma immediately raised [Trinity] to block the attack. The beam rebounded from the shield, splitting into a dozen more strand of yellow beams that circled around Hikma before showering extra attack on him. The Chronicler responded by making an interlocking dome of [Trinity] to intercept the attack. He barely had time to react to the reddening ground below that erupted into a towering plume of flames he barely dodged. Hikma counted himself lucky that his newest uniform protected him from being grazed by a moderately lethal volcanic eruption. The Chronicler then saw the yellow beam of destruction traced a path at him, forcing him to erect another [Trinity] to stop it. Hikma breathed a sigh of relief before the traced line tainted with custard-color energy detonated. Then the freaking ground erupted in another fire tower before he regathered his bearing. Hikma leapt out of flames and activated [Nimbus]. He watched the cumulonimbus of pyroclastic cloud towered above the sky like a prelude to a storm. Promtus remained on the ground, not moving an inch. He was on his last leg, but refused to go down without a last laugh. From the blackened sky dotted with ember and flames, fire and yellow light rained down on Hikma as plumes of flames surged from below. Hikma raised an omnidirectional barricade of [Trinity] to shield himself from raining brimstone, flaming eruption and yellow death-ray. “Okay, Ehto” Hikma winced as a tower of burning ash from the sky slammed him into the earth and the yellow energy arrived shortly afterward to bathe him in another explosion. “What the hell is that?” The golden octopus certified network connected through his speaker and Melody’s voice called out. [Okay, according to the image taken from your helmet’s camera, that is the Brimstone of Burning War. It is one of the five sacred treasures of the Burning War Church, stolen fifty years ago. Its absence is the part of the reason the entire religion fell apart into remnant that was later hacked apart by Enma Clan one-by-one.] Hikma was sent flying from what had to be the fifth flames towered from below. He must admit the heat resistant Arcane was getting a workout. “That will be a great addition to our library,” Hikma yelled. “Now, can you tell me what does it do.” The Chronicler heard his friend rummaging through stuff. He tried to counterattack with [Holy Lorde], but a yellow barrier shielded Promtus from the attack. A sound of flipping was heard. [Let me see,] Melody's voice answered. [Increase control and power over fire-based energy. Geothermal base energy supply with a hell of a cap. Brimstone particle that acted like a cross between fire and lightning; a magic C4 if you will. Rapid casting speed improvement, plus automatic defense system. Yeah, that thing is a real doozy.] “Weakness?” [Practically none aside for a long ass recharge time. The Burning War Church used to put this on their volcano as an artillery beam with bottomless magazine. Luckily, Promtus doesn’t have a bottomless geothermal fountain, but he still have his S-rank reserved on top of the pre-charge battery.] “Okay, why can’t we have anything like that.” [Hikma, it is an artifact from the era of the ancient, perfectly preserves for over ten thousand years.] For a moment, Hikma stopped thinking. “You are telling me...” Hikma said in a slow disbelief. “That old-man bring a priceless ten-thousand years-old historical artifact into a war-zone!” [Yes,] Melody didn’t like where this was going. [S-ranker often does that.] “I never did!” Hikma was outraged at such archeological blaspheme. “This is it. I am going to take that artifact back. Prep the display case, Mel. I am ending this!”  Hikma gritted his teeth and summoned the white pseudo-Spirit. Geothermal supply? Well, that was a start. Time for a combination casting. Hikma didn’t spend a few solid minutes being batted around like pinball for nothing. A red, purple, and yellow light followed. It was a complex [Nicholas] featured at least four spirits; [Surtr], [Aegis], [Yaga] and [Yotun]. [Nicholas: Sutr + Aegis + Yaga + Yotun = Thermodynamic Polarity] It was a complicated Arcane combination the like description would not do justice. An act of law implementation that was only possible by understanding the principal aspect of the associated Primal Arcane categories of [Pyro], [Cryo], [Umbral] and [Holy]. The cast was so complicated it would take Hikma a solid 5 minutes to prepare this mechanism if not for the pseudo spirit shortening it for him. First part was [Umbral] part handled by [Yaga]. [Umbral] was associated with darkness, governing concept of sub-space and absorption. Here, Hikma used it to build a perfect shielding screen. [Cryo] — the heat sink — was layered below it to funnel this energy to an artificial sun created by [Pyro] thermodynamic output maintained by [Surtr]. Finally, [Aegis] handled [Holy] enhancement. While it was correct to assume that [Holy] mostly got to do with holy-base magic, its true nature was the governing of all forms of radiation. The result was a supreme paracausal field of darkness that absorbed heat energy to fuel the artificial sun that fired radiation beam. It was a checkmate. Hikma simply strolled toward the Promtus while fire, smog and brimstone color light got swallowed by the surge of darkness. Energy snuffed out and reemerged from the golden sun, shining a light upon the dark land. Flames splattered against shadow and faded as Hikma marched toward the trembling Promtus. The S-ranker threw everything at Hikma; be it tower of fire, a meteor of pyroclastic whirlwind and humongous beam Brimstone particle and inferno. The shadow ate it all and the sun blasted it back out as holy-beam at Promtus, pushing his back even further up the wall and burning his reserve. Finally, a tiny arm of darkness crept up Promtus’s barrier, pulling it apart piece by piece. Promtus’ heart sank with each step of Hikma’s unstoppable approach until he saw the wyvern cloaked in a crimson wind. “Kakia, help!” The truly desperate man yelled to the sky, abandoning his pride before the unyielding knight, who took every attack he gave, and kept marching. The blackened ground he stood on and the golden sun behind him made the man into a recreation of old testament angel, and that terrified him. “Help? This is great! Say that—” A golden lightning crashed into the wyvern and carried the unrepentant sadist away into the mountain range beyond. If the Chronicler’s grand working ground hit Promtus' morale, the disappearance of his newfound hope incinerated it. Promtus turned to meet the young man who proven to be beyond him. The masked man who tanked every punishment Promtus poured down, dismantled all his might and emerged triumphant. The knight who succeeded in everything he promised even when it seemed impossible. Surrounded by shadow, with the light from Brimstone of Bruning War flickering from rapid energy drain, Promtus slowly realized the reason the Chronicler repeatedly parleyed for a peaceful resolution. The man already knew this conflict was below him. He got nothing to prove to anyone, and a privy to wisdom that made this battle pointless. As the yellow light crumbled, Hikma reached out and took the ancient artifact out of the S-ranker's hand. He looked into the eye of the trembling defeated Praetor. “This belongs to the museum,” the young archeologist lectured the old man before throwing a final punch that knocked out Promtus' feebly standing health pool.

Let looked back to Philip Odysseus and his ragtag company.  Thing had been going decently well these last few days. Well… unless we included minor problems such as giant termite attacks, bandits, random charlatan selling dodgy medicine, more bandits, couples of Atlanta’s men getting sick from consuming said shady medicine and even more bandit, things were looking up for the young man. Alas, not everyone agreed. “This is a waste of time!” Atlanta accused the very sky for their predicament. “Her Majesty might already be captured and we are wasting time chasing rumors.” Philip sighed. If her advisors were like this, it was no wonder why Penelope’s track-record was awful. “Like I said, we don’t have many choices.” Atlanta growled at the young man. “It is your fault! You should…” “Ma’am,” a soldier — a sergeant — stumbled toward them. “Our men detect a movement south from here! A platoon holding Acrisius flag is marching toward us, and we see Lord Promtus’ colors amongst.” “Shit,” Philips said. “Gather everyone! We are moving!” Atlanta swallowed a scream. Along with Kakia, Promtus was one of the two S-rank whose decision costed her everything. “Dammit! How could he find us this quickly?” “My guess is one of your men is feeding him information,” Phillip yelled, but something caught his eyes in the distance. A glint of sunlight reflected into his eyes from somewhere. Philip squinted It was a silvery bird circling in the distance. “The steel falcon shall guide path to the fortress of Dawn,” Philip recalled. “What the hell are you saying?” Atlanta screamed as the remnant of royalist gathered their belonging for a rapid retreat. “It is what my friend wrote in his letter,” Philip dared to hope. “We are nearly there.” … Meanwhile, in a nearby ravine, Hikma De Darwin sat beside a group of naked blurry bandits with a company of golden octopus.  Throughout their previous adventures, HD constantly improvised on their communication. Rem’s constant paranoia about being wire-tapped by an outer god pushed them into investing many hours to think of countermeasures. Thankfully, ZAWARUDO newest set of skills solved this problem. As a universal hardware housing, the system directly managed by the most powerful being in the multiverse, ZAWARUDO possessed the network security to put to rest Rem’s fear of being lured into 50 vs 1 ambush by magical Mark Zuckerberg. “Ehto, why on earth are there so many bandits?” Hikma was sick of visiting bandits and brigands harassing the refugees, subduing the problem maker, and stripping them naked. With Centuria on a collapse, HD lacked any effective method to deal with the multitude of prisoners. Rem could always mindbreak them to submission, but alas the Congress of Hope already ruled out that option. Hence the criminal should expect being stripe naked or beaten up so much they couldn’t cause more problem. [Because war bred misery. And misery bred crime. To be fair, Melody suggests we pass them to Duke Minos.] “He will kill them or sell them to slavery,” Hikma pointed out. [That is why we are building a more secure evacuation route. Rem and Luxinna expected the recruit to be ready in few days. Luxinna herself just volunteered to help handle the bandit’s problem herself.] Hikma glanced at the sky. “Ehto, I am not so sure about this,” Hikma opened the discussion. “Not everyone in the civil war has a choice, right? Sure, most of them are a career solider who signed on to die, but some among them is your average John drafted by an overbearing noble to be used as a meat shield. Part of the reason we refuse to be an active participant is to avoid the blood getting on our hand, but if Rem throws the duke at each other, we will be swimming in bodies anyway.” [Rem is struggling with that. Trust me, listening to him mumbling about needing the solution for that conundrum is rapidly driving Melody mental.] “I know, but this entire mess doesn’t sit well with m. I grew-up in the Middle East, Ehto. The entire area is a war-zone. This hit too close to home.” [I can’t relate,] Ehto admitted. [But if you want good news, Rem and Cytortia expect a project called the Empathy Machine to fix that problem. Oh.] Ehto’s transmission paused. [Oh, this could be serious.]  “Ehto, what are you doing?” [One of our eagle drones detects an approaching group of people — probably a remnant of the Penelope’s army. Acrisius’ force is pursuing them.] Hikma listened silently and stood. [Our newest Mana-sensor detects an S-ranker amongst Acrisius force with another reading on the way. You should hurry and don’t forget to give your new suit a test-run.] Golden octopus beside Hikma began searching within Horizon Dawn’s vast inventory and swapping out Hikma’s gear in a sweeping golden glow. During their journey, Horizon Dawn’s R&D made a new breakthrough on the Aria Steel fiber threated with dragon-base alchemic solution to create a new fabric. This, combined with interwoven core of [Paradiso] enhanced material, made an anti-magic suit that was both light and impervious to most hazard in Phantasia. The golden glowed faded, revealing a man cladded in a padded trouser, a blazer-like vest embellished with material worthy of the joint effort from Phantasia’s best crafter, alchemist and designer. His boot and glove were plated with Alchemically treated anti-magic metal. Hikma swung a utility belt across his waist. Upon his chest and back was the proud emblem of Horizon Dawn. Once again, he took a glance at the helm in his hand. It was black and featureless. Unlike his original helmet, Ehto, inspired by Earth’s technology, made it fully electronic.  If Hikma had a complaint about his super suit, it was demanding shade outside from matted black. Hikma slipped on the helm, clicking it in place, and allowing the HUD to light-up. ZAWARUDO also produced another gear — foldable flight booster. The device resembled a box with two handles placed on an opposite side. Once pull, it would generate a sophisticate crystalline wing augmented with back-propulsion. Melody designed this device to aid him in reaching Mach-speed. But personally, Hikma believed that Melody just used this as a prototype for that gravitation repulsor she an Ehto planned to put on that bike. Hikma swung the booster behind his back. [Nimbus] — miniaturized into a thin black ring by this ankle after creating his Origin — was cast. Hikma flew into the air and pulled the two handles using both hands and unfurled the crystal wing. “How long will it take?” [Approximately 2 minutes from your location at Mach-2.] “Good.” Hikma broke the air in a sonic boom. …. Philip Odysseus knew he was toasted the moment the smog tainted with sparks of flame cut their path of escape. Next to him General Atlanta downright baulked at the massive of incinerating death barring their path. She looked at the voluminous curtain of ashen cloud cutting the circular boundary upon them. The spell must stretch for several kilometers to form a wall of darkness which cut all escape. It was the perfect display separating A-rank from the S-rank — the strong from the godlike. Soon, he arrived upon them. “Atlanta, I never imagine we would meet like this,” “Praetor Promtus,” Atlanta paled before one of Centuria’s S-rankers. Promtus was an old man oozing with power and authority. Flowing cloud of pyroclastic swirled around his robes, levitating the elderly man into the sky with support of sparks and ashes, and clarifying his Cultivation Technique. The smog of his power blotted out the sunlight. His baldness, yellowing teeth and wrinkled forehead didn’t reduce his raw gravity. Hell, the scent of smog and burning Mana clotted the air so badly Phillip’s throat burned. Each S-rankers in Phantasia was famous in both style and power. While Promtus’ black satin robes and few jewelries said little about his military career, his name did the job. He spent 20 years rising through the rank of Centuria military and achieved the rank of General before being ‘invited’ into the Divine Fist via the Mandatory Recruitment Order. Within the Divine Fist, he served the Heavenly Prism Court for 50 years, surviving its politics, back-stabbing and missions against World Enemy before achieving S-rank and choosing to return to Centuria as one of its two Praetors. Atlanta gulped. She was about to face her elder and platoons of fresh troops composed of several A-rank captains and B-rank lieutenants. Just one of those captains was troublesome for her and she spotted ten leading an army. It was hopeless. The overwhelming crowd surrounding them must worth at least 10000 men. Her remaining troops were barely above 50. It was a total overkill display of power. Still, Atlanta drew her sword. Promtus sighed. “Why continue to fight, Atlanta,” he waved his arms. “There is no way you can win.” “Because I never betray the throne.” Promtus snorted. “Betrayal? It is Centuria who betrayed us. You are still young, Atlanta, but I know about picking a winning side. You must learn the need to pick a winner when the Divine Fist come for you. Many more talented men than me died because they couldn’t learn that lesson. Open your eyes! The royal family is weak. They have been getting progressively weaker for a decade. Everything I did is for Centuria’s prosperity.” Atlanta growled. “By starting a civil war? Allowing that traitor to rise and flip over everything our forefather built? How could you be so blind?” Promtus’ voice was a full of frustration. “You don’t know what Acrisius’ hand. He has a connection to change the world. You either follow the tide or be crushed by the wave,” Promtus looked at his junior. “It isn’t too late to defect. I can guarantee no harm will come to Penelope.” Philip froze. “You have her.” “Well, that ship is fast, and she doesn’t shame our forefather with that last trick,” Promtus admitted with grudging respect. “But with Kakia pursuing her, the result is inevitable.” “What?” Atlanta trembled. “Kakia! You let Kakia took the Queen.” “She is alive,” Promtus said. “Beaten… yes, but she is still breathing. Kakia maybe rabid, but she can take order.” Philip marched out angrily only to be stopped by an alarmed Atlanta. The boy’s sudden reaction drew Promtus’ interest. “Oh, I can’t believe such a failure such bravery. Alas, bravado without power meant nothing.” Atlanta drew her sword, and the rest of her troop followed her action. Anyone of them who weren’t prepare to die already deserted the army ways back. “Admirable courage, but foolhardy none the less,” Promtus raised his hand, churning the surrounding pyroclastic cloud into a wall of darkness and fire. “How regretful…” It was then Promtus sensed something arriving at an concerning speed. The object shattered the wall of volcanic ash and heat that could render mortal flesh into cinder. Crystalline wing flickered as the knight of Dawn disembarked from the sky and planted a kick right into the Praetor’s bald dome. The Mach-2 man protected by Horizon Dawn’s latest uniform, dynamically connected to Promtus’ face, and sent the old man tumbling away in a shadow of ashen cloud. Atlanta, the troops, and Philip watched the hero landed before them a three-point landing. He rose tall. Atlanta believed his black helmet made him appeared taller than his height implied, but the specimen before her remained impressive. His height and built was average, but the man before her radiated reassurance. Promtus quickly recovered from the kick to glare at the newcomer. Hell, cross that, everyone was watching the helmeted man. It was Phillip who asked the question on everyone's mind. “Who are you?” Hikma turned to face the hopelessly outnumbered group. “My name is Chronicler,” said the modulated voice. “I am a friend.” … “Young man,” Promtus was more intrigued than angry. “You have an incredibly poor choice for friends.” “So I am told,” Hikma drifted his attention back to the threat at hand. “But I must disappoint you. I won’t change.” Hikma turned to face the army surrounding him. “I know this is expecting too much, but you wouldn’t mind letting these people leave, would you?” The opposing side let out a gut-busting laugher. Hikma sighed. “I guess that is a no then.” Promtus couldn’t help but smirk. “You should be aware you are facing an army led by an S-ranker.” “I am,” Hikma answered. “In fact, I expect the worst. Although, this is my first time fighting an official S-ranker.” “Boy. I am more than anything your meager imagination can conjure.” Promtus picked that moment to boast, but Hikma’s honesty upped the stake. “To be honest, I can’t imagine anything worse than a fist that split heaven or speed so fast it turned the air into plasma,” Hikma reminiscence. “Seriously, Shishou don’t know how to hold back despite insisting otherwise. Before we start, please tell me you don’t have the greatest holy sword and demonic sword hidden in your sleeve.” The entire army laughed. Meanwhile, Atlanta deflated. Oh boy. Their savior was mentally unsounded. The awe of Hikma entranced pretty much sank. Who could take those absurd statements seriously? “What kind of plant are you on,” Promtus said. “I wish I am on drug,” Hikma sighed. “I will take that as a no. Great. Should you go first or should I?” “Very well,” Promtus made a kindly smile and made a gesture. Pyroclastic cloud floated and reshaped into a spear of ash. “Atlanta, I will teach you what happens to fools. I hope you will learn well.” Promtus was right. Atlanta learned well from the little accident, but in the way he hoped. The old man made a mistake. He attempted to attack Hikma with elemental technique. For why that was a mistake, well, a picture told a thousand words. … Rank S: 30410 Hikma De Darwin Chronicler of Arcane Stat Str: 2220 [A] End: 3800 [A*2] Mag: 13850 [S*2] Wis: 5800 [S] Dex: 4740 [A*3] Skill Active ELEMENTAL LORD (SSS); Aqua Lorde (S), Aqua Genesis (S), Aqua Gift (S), Aero Lorde (S), Aero Genesis (S), Aero Gift (S), Cryo Lorde (S), Cryo Gift (S), Cryo Genesis (S), Geo Lorde (S), Geo Gift (S), Geo Genesis (S), Holy Lorde (S), Holy Gift (S), Holy Genesis (S), Pyro Lorde (S), Pyro Gift (S), Pyro Genesis (S), Electro Lorde (S), Electro Gift (S), Electro Genesis (S), Umbral Lord (S), Umbral Gift (S), Umbral Genesis (S) Tenshou (A) Paradiso (S) Necta Floral (S) Entropy (S), Reverse Entropy (S) Tempo (S) Realm of Conceptual Ink [SS] Denizen: Aegis (S), Yotun (A), Surtr (S), Terrafon (A), Mistral (S) , Tempest (A), Oceana (B), Yaga (B) Passive Defensive Mastery [A] Memoria Revision [N/A] World Supreme Magus [SSS]  Ruler of Conceptual Spirit [EX] … From his Origin — [the Realm of Conceptual Ink] — a ball of azure light shimmered in watery glow emerged into the reality above Hikma. “[Oceana],” Hikma didn’t even wait for the spear to fire before launching his Arcane. “Bring down the might of the sea.” “Enough nonsense!” The S-ranker yelled, then fired his ashen spear. A tower water of fell from the sky and blocked that blade of Pyroclastic. Promtus blinked. Water spell in such a landlock area? The boy must be pretty talented. Then several more columns of water fell from the sky and hammered into his army. It was then Promtus looked up to see an endless volume of water beating down on him. … From Atlanta’s perspective, this mysterious Chronicler couldn’t be a human. She witness a waterfall being sent from heaven. Multiple pillar of clear water clashed down on Promtus’ army as a herald to what would have to be an entire ocean. The luminous water deluged the area and churned into a swirling pool, which sent the entire army into disarray. She felt the ground bellowed shifted, elevating her up to witness the scene of biblical carnage. “Help!” “The water! It is too rapid!” “Just who the hell is that guy!” It was a swirling mass of water and chaos as far as can see. It was a 10 meters disk of conceptual water, stretching crossed the area of 63 km square. The liquid flowed like a high-speed shaker rejecting a chance for the Promtus’ troops to even found their footing. It was a man-made natural disaster which trashed the ten thousand strong army. The 9000 strong C-rankers were effectively eliminated. The 990 B-ranker was treading the stormy, turbulent water. The ten A-rank were still hanging with some spell or another, but their ridicule already vanished. As for Promtus, he still flew in the air, but his confidence was gone. His mind quickly realized the boy’s cordialness wasn’t an act. It was genuine mercy. Atlanta repeated Philip’s question to the mysterious stranger. “What are you?” The masked turned to face her. “A friend,” Hikma turned back to face the S-ranker. “I am going to ask for the second time. Let them leave before anyone gets seriously hurt.” Promtus gritted his teeth. “Whatever you are, you are picking a fight with a wrong person.” Announcement I review the Status card and decide to make a certain adjustment because by the certain point the status would look absurd. In this case the previous maximum cap judges the status for better comparison round down. Here it is the Maximum cap E<120D<300C<600B<1500A<5000S<50000SS<100,000SSS<1,000,000EX--??? Basically the stat of 10,000 would be S*2 as it the double of the cap to surpass awhile 333,000 and 390,000 would be SS*3 and so on and so on

The gentle wave lapped gently on the bank of a sandy beach. One person walked among such an idyllic scene: a man dressed in black trouser and a white cotton. It was an uncharacteristic attire for vacation, but those clothes were specially woven. An obvious fact given that Remus Breaker was the one wearing it. Rem stopped walking near the cliff and walked through the illusion hiding their secret project. … What waited behind that rock was a hollowed-out cliff; engineered as a massive construction cavern. It housed Horizon Dawn's new home and Alcra Shaxter’s pet project even PALISADE knew nothing about. Ehto spent years building this in his spare times, and Horizon Dawn aimed to finish this monumental achievement. Open Sky Overtechnology was an understatement to describe what it was. An interdimensional, all-purpose, all-terrain expedition-ship meant to explore the multiverse. People could be forgiven to think Alcra Shacter had a pot of Marijuana hidden in the safe under his bed after reading the blueprint detailing a super-dimension engine that would enable multiversal transportation. Anyone who knew Alcra as a person would question the weapons on the ship. An electrical engineer would throw a book as a project and ask about a generator that could create enough power to fuel the entire vehicle. It was Alcra’s pipe dream Ehto estimated to cost 200-years of investment given the current rate of magical technology progress on Phantasia. But Ehto didn’t expect the raw talent of assembled by the Dawn. “How is it going?” Rem asked the project manager. “Slower that expected but marching along nicely,” Cytortia stir a soup of bio-matter. “Yep. Help me pour this into the fuel-rod.” The first problem with Open Sky was power. No generator existed that could power a mansion-size spaceship with multiverse-leaping capability and weaponry. Portable fuel might work, but carrying that along on a prolong journey wasn’t workable. There was also a logistic problem. Greater the distance traveled meant more fuel, which translated heavier weight. It was such a conundrum that kept space exploration a pain in the collective ass of humanity. Luckily, they got True Magic. Mana wasn’t infinite energy with a similar limitation as conventional fuel. The Dawn spent three hours of debate and torched a Mana generator as a solution. Instead, it was Rem who proposed the solution. Turn the ship into pseudo-True Magic user. Instead of burning Mana like fuels, used it to siphon energy from the Multiverse to run the ship. If Rem was the father of this idea, Cytortia acted as a mother. She spent times collecting and testing the Mana compatibility of a single-cell life-form and created a bio-soup capable of siphoning Mana. A pseudo multiverse-energy capacitor, if you will. “According to calculation, we need around 20000 unit of these little guys to fill the reactor chamber.” Melody said, carting the trolly containers for the ritual of labour. “Now according to the design Ehto and I create, we need to create a method to funnel this energy into an arcane which would act as the power generator.” And that was when Luxinna came in. “Guys,” she tossed a plate of [Static Glass]. “Would this be, okay? Please told me it is okay. It take an entire week for Ehto and me to create this.” Cytortia started measuring the plate. “Yep. Wow, I don’t know what I would do without [Static Glass],” Cytortia said. “All those researches about using Magic stone and Mana battery to supply energy and we are outright cheating.” “Assembly time?” Ehto’s electronic voice rang. “Yes, assembly time,” Rem said with glassy eyes. “Are we sure we need to fill and fit twenty thousand of them.” Cytortia didn’t look that enthusiastic, either. The material cost was hitting their budget like a dropping anvil. … The first Open Sky ship, Daybreak, was 24 meters-tall expedition-ship built as part-mansion, part-battleship. Near the tail, taking the entire three floors of height, was the spherical cavern which would house the bio-generator units. “Guys, keep the morale high. We are about a percent done,” Rem let loose a motivation speech. “Stop. Don’t give me hope,” Cytortia said, nearly bored to death by the repetitive labor. “If you have time to complain, keep working,” Melody — who appeared to be the hardiest of the bunch — yelled. It was a group effort. Ehto worked overtime to 3D printed the housing and container for each unit. The group then laboriously screwed each bio-unit until all 20000 green tubes went into its housing. These were done with telekinesis, drones and by hands; taking about 3 days in total. In the end, the entire room was covered with green cannister from wall, floor and ceiling like an exhibition room of an alien with a mad collecting hobby. “Okay, you turn, Luxinna,” Cytortia gestured. The elf stretched; recalled the properties of the static glass she wanted and the coated the entire room with it. The product was an alien-looking cavern coated with the forest of countless glass shard poking out of the ground and ceiling. They all shined like golds, but this process wasn’t complete yet. “Melody, Cytortia, links with me,” Rem said “[Anima Enchanting],” Melody said and started laying down the enchant to change the fundamental behavior of the glass.  Rem performed a mind-link with the biological life in the bio-soup buried inside the glass with Cytortia’s [Bio Empathy] as a medium. It was a simple command that made them a part of Melody’s enchantment, therefore gave them the ability to channel the power current in the multiverse with Mana. The mechanism of the generator was simple. This cavern used the bio-life-form to produce electricity by channeling power through static glass and forced the charge carrier to move and generate electric current; winning the design contest with sheer simplicity, weight efficiency and being effectively emission free. Finally, Melody completed their handwork by connecting the generator control to a command system on the ship bridge. “Okay, Ehto,” Melody stretched to ease her cramp after a solid minute of complex enchanting. “Power-up our baby.” The golden cavern lighted like a heart of stars, transferring power throughout the ship. “And that is just one room,” Rem dreaded. “Let have a meeting before we continue.” … Congress of Hope met as per usual. In case you were wondering, no, Horizon Dawn convention wasn’t done in a meeting room. Calling it official was an affront to ceremony of every kind. The Congress of Hope met inside Daybreak’s Rec room. Each member sat around the dinning table with exception of Ehto who was placed on the tabletop as an orb connected to the speaker. The rec room was right next to the living quarter and took a sizable portion of Daybreak’s third floor. Dimension manipulating technology allowed the room to be more spacious than anyone expected. The specification included a massive bar and kitchen by the corner, a circular living-quarter with decent furnishing, lighting and a great window side view. Ehto and Rem even added a smart-wall for strategic meeting. Hell, they even planned to buy several game-console to connect to the massive television set. Luxinna and Melody couldn’t wait to duke it out in Mario Kart. But currently, the room comprised partially done marble flooring and a roll of carpet leaning against the well. None of them got True Magic that could conjure furniture from atmospheric nitrogen gas and thus begrudgingly outsourced the furnishing to the local carpenter and showroom. On the upside, Rem and Cytortia found a perfect table with a matching set of lower-back support guaranteed chair. In that sparse room decorated only by dust and dining table, six knights of the Center Force discussed how to save the world with obviously unhealthy amount of cola from the stock Rem got from his buddy, Aleksei Martynov. “First order of business,” Rem led the meeting. “Let us reviewed the order we got after PALISADE incident.” … Said meeting happened during their teleportation away from the crime-scene. Horizon Dawn and Ehto founded themselves on the multicolor platform. A familiar woman with healthy tanned sat behind a tea-table with dessert and refreshment ready to greet them. “Welcome, my kiddo,” Satholia greeted them. “Job well done. Please sit.” “Who is she?” Ehto cried in alarm. “How did she intercept the teleportation?” “She is our boss,” Rem answered as he walked to the tea-table and took his seat. “And she can intercept our teleportation because she is the closest thing to omnipotent.” “Well, I wouldn’t call myself omnipotent,” Satholia said. “Me and WORLD are restricted because—” “Because if you entered the fray directly, fabric of reality goes kaboom,” Luxinna said, taking her seat. “Luxinna dear, it is rude to interrupt people's conversation,” Satholia started pouring them drinks. “But you aren’t wrong.” Soon everyone was seated at the table. Melody sipped her drink. “Wow.” “Yes, liquid optimism always does the trick,” Satholia winked. “So, what is going on,” Hikma said. “The only member you ever invite to this domain is Rem.” “Hikma, I am not someone who plays favorite. Rem’s invitation is done because I want to keep Scathach’s interference out of the Dawn as much as possible. No offense to you, but Rem is the most tightlipped of you all. And PALISADE was such an urgent threat, he required the immediate attention even if it meant sending out a communication when the Malice is wire-tapping.” “Brother?” Ehto asked the first thing ever in this meeting. “Ehto, I know this may hurt, but your brother is about a yard away from launching a crippling continent-span campaign,” Satholia said. “The army he would create will be too much for Horizon Dawn to handle and the risk of it snowballing is intolerable.” Satholia placed a crystal shard near Ehto. “This is solidified Akasha code, I believe it would be quite a nice snack for Astral life-forms. Take it as a token of my gratitude for holding the fort so long against PALISADE.” Ehto could feel his Astral body melting in bliss in the proximation of the revitalizing radiation. “It is incredible. Is this what a spa feel like?”  Rem whistled. “Venistalis and PALISADE,” Rem said. “Two apocalyptic threats back-to-back, and homegrown to boot. The Malice must be a laughing at us.”  Satholia rolled her eyes. “Like you wouldn’t believe,” the Queen of good complained. “I can hear that guy busting his side all the way from the other-side of the aisle.” Satholia then suddenly flashed a grin. “But I have some good news, my knight, my children, the time for playing catch-up is over. I need to report some success at my end. After several months of authority arm-wrestling, both the Center Force’s and the Malice’s [Clairvoyance] are mutually impaired. Neither the World Enemy nor me got a clear vision on the future anymore.” “So, both of you are our enemy are blinded,” Cytortia stuffed the cookie in her mouth and looked at the plate with worship. “This is the formula for the cookie, my dear,” Satholia answered the former goddess’ inner wish with a sheet of paper. “Yes, but unlike Malice, I still have my eye on the ground: you. We also get another benefit. Now that the veil affecting the future had been lowered, the ramification from my intervention has been lowered. We are all in uncharted territory—all of us.” “Is the World Enemy coming?” Rem groaned. “We can’t fight off the Primordials.” “That would a be obvious the strategic play,” Satholia nodded. “But lucky for us, the Ancient sacrificed their entire civilization to put up a seal to stop exactly that from happening.” “Wow,” Melody was slack-jawed. “The Archeologist are beating each other over how the ancient went out and you know the truth all along.” “Melody dear, I am the queen of Malice’s greatest enemy, I know more about them than anyone,” Satholia said. “To put it simply, the real big gun on the opposing side can’t penetrate the core of Phantasia. Don’t relax because the seal won’t last much longer, but we still have time and buffer. Yes, we need to clean the wall or later, but you are nowhere strong enough to fix it. But that doesn’t mean the small fries can’t evade through the gap.” Rem sipped his drink. “You said catch-up time is over,” Rem recalled. “What do you mean?” “It means we can now pursue our aim,” the Queen of Center Force declared. “This breathing room provides time to clean house. But first, I would like to welcome the child of Alcra Shaxter to our fold. ” There was a round of applause from the surrounding. “I am pleased to be invited,” Ehto looked uncomfortable as an AI. “But why do you want to recruit me? And what you are even recruit me for?” “Remus, make a short introduction.” Rem cleared his throat. “We are a recently created secret order, dedicate to defending the freedom, lives and peace of Phantasia and multiverse. Sponsor directly a pan-cosmic force that represents all good that exists. And we would like to invite you as a candidate and heir of Alcra Shaxter into our fold.” “I am pleased with the invitation, but I the best I can be is an intelligence network.” “No need to worry,” Satholia waved. “Melody, after this little meeting introduce Ehto to True Magic 101.” “Wait, he can use it?” Melody pointed at the orb. “I can’t use Mana,” Ehto tried to convince himself. “As long as he has a soul he can wield our power,” Satholia declared. “But will you accept the invitation into our club?” “Yes… I have nowhere to go anyway.” “Excellent!” Satholia beamed, but her eyes were serious. “Now, my knight, for our next target. It is time to pry the Heavenly Daughter’s grip away Tengen Continent.” Stun silence followed. “You want us to fight Tai Hua and LinLey?” Cytortia’s mouth hung open. “Lady Satholia, they have entire continent under their fingers.” “That why they must be removed,” Satholia was firm. “The human cost for their conflict was too sickening for a spat. Tengen also contains those blasted Fair Folks.” “The fairy,” Hikma cringed. “It is the classic, pre-Disney fairy, right?” “Hikma dear, that is why I said we need to secure Tengen.” Hikma, who understood the history of the fae sank into his chair. Rem, who heard the rumors, also groaned. “Guys, what is wrong with fairies?” Luxinna looked up from the cake she was chowing down. “Think a mean kid who amuses themselves by causing massive, rampant inhumane mischief because they are alien to basic moral,” Hikma thought about the damage report. “Are we sure this wasn’t a crisis? How far are we until the Wild Hunt comes knocking.” “The seal to the Fearie Realm won’t come down soon,” Satholia confirmed. “But it was neighboring Starland and Frisnia.” “Which is the battleground of Tai Hua and LinLey?” Cytortia facepalmed. “We can’t take the risk of them letting those bugger out.” “Now, you understand why we must move to secure Tengen Continent,” Satholia said. “Centurion, Frisnia and Starland; we must salvage those three hotspots of instability. This mission won’t be easy. We need to dethrone local jackasses and foreign interests exploiting the chaos. Several S-class threats will also be presented in an area. It will be a long road until justice is restored.” “One problem,” Rem said. “How do we infiltrate Tengen? And who do we knock down first?” “We will infiltrate with Open Sky.” “You knew about Open Sky?” Ehto nearly choke on the data juice. “Ehto dear, anything short of pan-cosmic entity cannot block my sight. Yes, I know the Open Sky is pretty much skeleton, but the resource we have and material left behind by Alcra will be enough to get it to operating order for us to port at Centurion.” “But it will take months!” Ehto yelled. “3 months to be exact,” Satholia said. “Which is set our deadline to New Year's Eve. In fact, this period is a good opportunity.” Satholia stood and addressed her knights. “In Tengen, you will face armies with the strength of six individuals. This is not counting the S-class and those fucking fairies You might struggle to this point on Scathach’s training and self-teaching, but that won’t be enough for Tengen. Thankfully, the weakening of future sight from all pan-cosmic’s entity finally allows me to have a ramification-free interaction with you all.” She audibly cracked her duty. “The barrier stopping me from living to my obligation as your leader has died. You WILL triumph against the coming threat, my knight, because from this day forth, I will be supervising your training personally.”

Promtus and friends vs the Chronicler continued with the charges of the desperate. To be fair, it was pretty easy for men, women and children to get dramatic. Imagined the downpour, the raging wind, and one mysterious superhuman who just dropped a small lake on an army standing there, shielding your target like an unbreakable shield. Now imagined said figure drew a lightsaber. That was Hikma — a mythical savior, right from the fairytale. The remaining A-ranks took one glance and knew taking him half-heartedly was impossible. In one desperate plea toward the cosmic of victory, they put everything they got into the assault. Challenger one was an uber warrior. The man yelled like his life depend on it, burst out of water like a winning lottery was infront of him, and thrusted his spear with everything his STR stat could provide. It was a blow that could cave an aircraft carrier, packed with at least 1600 ton of force. Hikma responded by flicking his Arcana — the Symphony Blade. The psychic blade parried the blow, scrapping against the metal and found its purchase in the wooden shaft. Hikma seized the change in tension, and in a move ripped from Satholia’s playbook, cut his opponent weapon in half and blast him across the horizon with a gust from [Aero Lorde]. Challenger two arrived next, swinging his blade in a maximum velocity. This man was the true speed demon whose dumped his END stats for the sake of maxing attack and speed. His blow was fast enough to rival S-rankers. His draw once decapitated 8 men in a bar-fight before anyone could see. But he wasn’t Satholia. Hell, Luxinna’s [Overflow] was more terrifying, and that was a month ago. Hikma held his own against that Luxinna and even gave the current version of the elf something resembling a sword fight. His SSS-grade [World Supreme Magus] wasn’t just a skill that involved only magic, but one indicating his attunement to the world's phenomenon. From the collision of air-molecule, the vibration of the earth, the very temperature gradient and light-path through vapor and air — Hikma’s understanding of fabric of creation was comparable to the divine. A quick sword alone won’t make him sweat. Hikma dodged the swipe no man successfully evade in a long time and drew in Symphony Blade across his opponent in a motion encapsulating the harmony of time and rhythm. The man collapsed unconscious. He should be thankful psychokinetic blade such as the Symphony Blade had an anti-magic and anti-material mode. While anti-material function could sever molecular bond itself, the anti-magic mode he got hit directly disrupted his Mana, knocking him out instead of bisecting him. Challenger three  was a magic knight. To his credit, he knew how to walk on water. But to his detriment, he picked unleashing a flaming sword wave of the man whose very proficiency in the element was written on his status card. Hikma grabbed the sword wave with his bare hand, refocused it and fired back with triple strength at challenger four — specifically at the magic hammer charged with smiting light. The magic weapon shattered in a disorienting shock-wave. Challenger five just deployed a massive tiger spirit, but Hikma finally pressed his offensive with a saber-throw he learned from Luxinna. The spinning saber cut through challenger three and challenger four like a saw. It sawed apart the spirit tiger like merciless rotor blade and impaled challenger five through her chest. It spoke for her caliber as a mage that she stayed on her two feet for a solid second despite getting stabbed with Mana disruption blade, but alas the hit to her very magic was too much and she collapsed a breath later. To Hikma, every action he took was a careful calculation, but to everyone else it was instantaneous. All the saw was two A-rank being easily dispatched in a blow each, a fire attack being deflected back at several times its magnitude, a disorienting explosion, a spinning blade that cut through two more A-rank plus one high-ranking spirit and their strongest A-ranker falling down in a single attack. All of this happened in less than 30 seconds, and it sank the opposing morale like a nuke to an aircraft carrier. Hell, even the people behind Hikma didn’t believe their own eyeballs. “Five A-ranks in an instant,” Atlanta gasped after witnessing her former colleague — the swordman — slid in the whirlpool. “General,” her men whispered in reverence. “Who is he?” “I don’t… oh,” The ‘oh’ came from the numb despair at the towering pyroclastic cloud formed above the ground. It was like a cylinder of darkness 2 kilometers in diameter and towering high above the cloud. That was it. Promtus was going for the kill. Contrary to expectation, Hikma actually felt relieved. The thought of accidentally drowning the opposing army gnawed by the corner of his mind. Luckily, the enemy are C-ranks and above, so being stuck in a rampaging water for a few minutes won’t kill them. But the unconscious? Yeah, they were going to die, superhuman stats or not, unless he moved the water somewhere. Promtus’ attack provided the perfect reason. “[Oceana],” Hikma ordered an [Aqua Lorde] Promtus hurled the titanic pillar of hot volcanic ash down. Meanwhile, the churning lake twisted into a massive tornado of luminescence water to meet it. Men and women struggling inside the lake of nausea with no solace of gravity or direction found themselves tossed into the air, floating high with the earth rushing to meet them. Their experience at abrupt skydiving was interrupted with a burst of force and vapor created by the water tornado clashed with the pillar of pyroclastic cloud, resulting in a massive expansion of air and steam that sent turbulent wind flying. … Philip watched the biblical image of the wall of water fending off the curtain of volcanic ash in a contest of natural disaster. Promtus’ side lighted with multiple magic circles, but with a wave of Hikma’s hand, those mighty spell-craftx shattered. His greater understanding of the reality pivoted his counter-magic into another league. Promtus’ teeth gashed. It appeared throwing magical bombardment won’t work. “Your attainment in the way of magic is extraordinary,” Promtus admitted, gathering another bundle of pyroclastic cloud amidst the roaring wind. “Chronicler, isn’t it? I have never heard of such a name in the Divine Fist. How did you evade the gods’ mandate and attain such power? And why bother revealing yourself now?” “Revealing myself?” Hikma replied amidst the roaring rampage of steams and the arbitrating current of ashen cloud. “To be honest, I never hide away much. It just that I never boast about my existence, that is all.” The cloud behind Promtus spat out a series of high velocity fireballs on to the remnant of the royalist, which Hikma greeted by releasing the interlocking shield of [Trinity] made from the black conceptual ink. “Lord Promtus,” Hikma spoke the name of his opponent in a warning. “These people are under my protection. Your army is toasted. Let save us all the trouble and just go back on our separate way.” Promtus eyed the young man. “You spoke like you already won,” the elderly S-ranker said. “Your weakness is more than transparent. Even now, you refuse to use lethal force. You know my troops wouldn’t die from something like water rapid or being tossed several meters into the air. You never aim to kill any of them.” “True enough. I refuse to take the easy way out.” Atlanta’s jaw dropped. This wasn’t a joke, right? S-rankers or not, did this guy believed he could rescue them, challeng an army and walk out without killing a single person. That was akin to tying both hands behind his back while fighting Promtus. “Mercy to your enemy is the cruelty to yourself. Your naivete stink of weakness.” “Oh, I am aware of the sheer difficulty of what I am doing,” Hikma recalled the Symphony Blade to his hand and ignited it with a flick. “But like my friend often said, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.” “Fool,” somehow hearing the boy perspective which ran against the Phantasia he knew his entire life irritated Promtus. The elderly mage glowed with power, and Hikma knew playtime was up. “[Terrafon], [Tempest],” Hikma cast [Nicholas], constructing a new move using [Geo Lorde], [Electro Gift] and [Paradiso]. The highly fatigue, unprepared army experienced the floor beneath them transformed into a giant pit and screamed like 10000 little girls. They fell past an enchantment that caused the disruption in their neural activity, knocking every one still awake unconscious. A bar of reinforced rock closed the pit entrance effectively sealing and neutralizing the opposing army. [Paradiso] Hikma cast a barrier protecting Phillip’s company and raised a [Trinity] to protect himself from a massive explosion from unleashed by Promtus. … Phillips’ eyes shut tight from the explosion of light. The moment he opened his eyes and witnessed the doom hanging above. He fell to his knee from raw, unmitigated despair. What he witnessed was a massive towering behemoth whose head scrapped the cloud, radiating heat and fire to warp the very air. Promtus had turned into a giant with the height approaching 1200 meters. His skin was like the blackened volcanic rock. Pyroclastic cloud exhaled from the beastly maw of a predator. Plumes of flames erupted from the humongous giant cracked skin. The muscle of rock and flames creaked as Promtus in his titanic formed stepped to meet. His eves were merciless pool of ashes and flames. “Muspel Transformation,” Atlanta’s voice was so small it was imperceptible. “It is testament to the power of the most ancient guardian of Starland. A technique gifted to him directly by the Heavenly Prism Court.” Hikma wasn’t hearing any of that. He was annoyed. No, he wasn’t annoyed at the giant. Hikma was furious at the fact Promtus became the giant fire-demon on top of his own troop. If Hikma didn’t bury most of them under the earth, three-quarter of them would be roasted by now. Did he not care about accidentally squishing his own army? The callous disregard for life lit a fire in Hikma. It was the same grim determination which brought Orwell Mehest to his knee. “Behold my true power,” Promtus said. “You will regret ever lifting your hand against me, boy.” “Good for you,” Hikma said, measuring the weight being supported by his enchantment. Good, those people would be fine. “Don’t expect it to save your behind.” Hikma was totally honest. He decided it was high time to show Promtus how magic worked. … [Pyro], [Cryo], [Electro], [Umbral], [Aqua], [Aero], [Geo] and [Holy] Those were the series of elemental Arcane existed in the Multiverse's history. A competent mage might associate them with an element, but the master recognized them for something greater. Elemental affinity indicated an individual preference toward an element. That was a fact. But that fact was like saying the leaf was green. They lacked the depth and sound too simple. In reality, those affinities were the reflection of the eight Primal Arcane mages mostly aligned with. Those eight Arcanes encompassed everything the element got to offer both scientific and mystic. Took [Pyro] for an instance. Most people would correctly associate with fire, but those assumptions were only the mystical aspect. [Pyro] encompassed exothermic emission and transferred of heat energy. The internal kinetic energy in systems and substance plus the related reaction such as rapid oxidization. Meanwhile, people believed [Cryo] is the manipulation of ice. They were half right. Yeah, the mystic and supernatural aspect of [Cryo] Primal Arcane mostly associated with creation and manipulation of water crystal. However, it represented the concept of heat sink. The whole where thermal energy was constantly drained. As someone who mastered all this truth, Hikma’s arsenal of tricks could be called bottomless. The very law of mystic and physic was his oyster to play with and Promtus felt this the moment he touched the ground; literally. “[Terrafon]” Hikma commanded, “[Geo Gift].” [Geo]. The Earth. While this element encompassed the rock and stones, its scientific nature was in another league. Namely, the ability to control the various bonds between solid lattice. Solid substance existed in a closed-pact structure link by atomic bond. [Geo] was the specialized manipulation of this bond inside the solid. Such ability allowed the analysis and separation of phase and grain boundary inside solid, manipulation of internal stress, and influencing the substance dislocation density. Such bonds and boundaries were the reason solid behaved like solid, and Hikma could alter such property as he saw fit. For example, he could cancel the intermolecular bond responsible for surface adhesion. Promtus massive body slipped from the earth beneath him with friction being switched off, but Hikma wasn’t done stacking his combo. “[Mistral],” A pale green light flickered beside into being beside Hikma. “[Aero Gift]” If [Geo] was the ability to manipulate solid, then [Aero] was the manipulation of gaseous state particle, particularly its kinetic, pressure and momentum. It sounded pretty simple, but the true test of [Aero]-proficiency was in implementing the same mechanism of kinetic with object much larger than air particle. Object such as 1200 meters tall giant. The green gust of wind carried the giant high into the sky, ignoring all the air drag. It was an admittedly a brain-melting sight to see. The towering mass of rock and flames surrounded by a cloud of dark pyroclastic launched across the horizon like it got kicked in the face. Promtus gigantic body crashed with the force to shake the earth and created avalanche. He rolled across the surface, changing the very topology before stumbling head-first into a mountain, collapsing that hill of stones under his weight. The mage wasn’t hurt. He was too shocked to feel anything. In less than a minute, after producing such awe-inspiring power, the stranger just sent down to his back. It was then a voice dragged him back to reality. “Get up. We aren’t done here.” And there he was. Levitating high in the air, glancing down at the rune landscape and uproot landmark was Hikma De Darwin. Black sigils and letter danced across the very air as the symbol of his esoteric aura. Seven lights — blazing red, oceanic blue, pale green, sunlight yellow, mild auburn, snow white, midnight purple — rotated around Hikma, charging the very air around him with power. Promtus glowed, lifting his body up on two legs and drew a kilometer long sword out of thin air. A ring of rock and fire materialized above his head. The two godlike being — one stood for survivalist nature of old Phantasia, another the dawning age of heroes — finally went all out. … Out in the distant sky, a red-hair woman with a crew cut riding on a wyvern felt the clashing of Mana and rumbled with excitement. It appeared the old man was meeting his match. What a fun opportunity to see the uptight bastard struggled. Kakia — the most dreaded woman in Centuria — broke the sound barrier. She transformed into a red comet, streaking toward the humongous giant in the distance. Unbeknownst to her, she missed the flicker of golden lighting on the distance horizon.

Beast Luxinna, Luxinna Alter, or Darth Luxinna — whatever you called her — did not awaken tamely. No. Her grand decent came with a majestic roar of thunder which would awe even the ancient dragon. Sparks crackled across every metal surface as the law of electrical conductivity did its job. Given the base was composed of metal and electronic, the discharge didn’t go unnoticed. It was the beginning of the end of the charade. No one wanted it to happen. Not even the Dawn. A proverbial lightning bolt got thrown into the plan of every single faction on the ship. The good. The bad. The ugly. They all about to receive an abrupt test on improvisation. … The 33 Stars were the first to experience the effect of Luxinna-the-bomb. No one was surprised the seven junior rulers wannabe created a temporary alliance one good treasure away from crumbling into bloody violence. None raised an eye-brows when they took the challenge of exploring this new treasure hall like a classical Phantasian team — namely on one-third enthusiasm and two-third suspicion. It was a cocktail fated to explode, making cooperation all but pipe dream. The gang of backstabbers-to-be approached the first test in treasures hall. An agility course mixed with intricate puzzle. Four pillars in total stood at each corner of the room filled with blackened tile floor. The instruction for the test was holographically displayed. The words were flowery beyond belief but could be easily summed up in following point. 1) Four pillars shown light according to an element to light a tile on the floor. 2) Stand on the light to avoid being eliminated by laser 3) The last man standing received the price in the middle of the room 4) Try to cheat and the prize vaporized The prize was a piece of well-preserved fruit. A rare rainbow-color fruit that was vital for some cultivator to break into S-rank and help purify the Mana Core of mages. Let us say this piece of cellulose loaded with a spectacular string of magical Deoxyribose Nucleic Acid was all it took for the 33 Stars to plot. The original rule was to win the puzzle game by any means necessary. However, as luck would have it, the entire power-supply in that room vanished. The laser grid protecting the fruit disappeared as those towers shut off. It took seconds for the information to register. Then, in a speed as natural as breathing, the blatant struggle for a magically mutate pineapple set off with Sorin and Sun Senwei trying to kill each other. Emily and Amitate tried to hit Magnolia in her head. Meanwhile, the hours long alliance of half-elf and pretentious vaporous priestess collapsed into a big ball of violence. Artos Sevar got tossed past a steel wall a few seconds into the brawl. It was a complete pandemonium. … A lonely figure walked amongst the dark pathway as she explore the labyrinth of steel. Her foot stopped as the light flickered. Her bright red-eyes widened as her instinct for danger rose, but the first thought in her mind wasn’t about herself. The vampire uncharacteristically thought to her underling that might be transported somewhere in this base. She sniffed and broke into a run. There was no time for idle talk. Every inch of her being signaled her to find them as quickly as possible and escaped this place. Whatever riches this place offered was a trap. She needed to get them out of here. The vampire abandoned any effort to continue exploring in favors of rushing to find any groups that might be accidentally teleported into this metal coffin. … Distance away from the carnage, another vampire dressed in a gentlemanly two-piece suit bit into the neck of a screaming woman. One organizing seconds later saw the blonde hair woman reduced into dried, desiccated husk devoid of blood. “No,” A man was forced to watch his lover drain into a mummy right before his eyes. “Luc—” A giant sword fell and beheaded him. “Come on,” the vampire smacked his lips. “It would be entertaining to watch him despair.” Salazar Aztellic frowned. “I don’t have time, vampire. You have a deal to fulfil.” “Oh fine, but enjoy life to my friend. You must understand the feeling of satisfaction as well. I believed you know the melodious music of ants being crushed beneath your booth.” Salazar spat on the corpse he mercifully executed. “You are not my friend.” “Oh, come on,” the vampire gestured to the room filled with dismembered bodies. Pool of blood gathered around them like rain puddle after a drizzle. “Us esteem Vampire have little tradition. But we threat allies who are baptized by carnage alongside us as friends.” “Just stick you end of the bargain,” Salazar said in distaste. “Hah, hah, hah,” The vampire laughed jovially. “Mr. Aztellic, that is what I will do, but wouldn’t it be better we erase all evidence of our cooperation. We will have to kill everything in this entire base anyway. Shouldn’t we take times to bathe in the misery and bloods of these insects?” Salazar Aztellic stared at the vampire. “The Holy Church is right about you. You are a monster.” “I agree,” the vampires admitted. “The Church calls us monster. And why shouldn’t they? We are stronger than all other, and we know it. We simply saw no benefit in their hypocrisy. Why claim to care when you don’t? Why feel guilty when we enjoy blood? Why be hungry for the sake of strangers? The Church calls us scourge, yet hide behind politics like a weakling and drives their own to despair. We simply decide to be upfront about our nature. Every being in the world consumes and tramples the weaker to progress. Our forefather realized this truth and promoted such pursuit amongst us. We are truly a monster who reigns superior over the sheep. Why should we lower ourself with lies of mercy?” Salazar Aztellic glanced at the bodies surrounding them. “You know that belief is why everyone commits themselves to eradicate your kind.” “And should I apologize for being superior? Would you apologize for being an Ogre? For being an Aztellic?” Salazar must agree: the vampire had a solid point. “The reason my superior offered you the deal is that they felt our similarity. All race was fighting a war to claim rulership of this plane. We would rather compete with you for the throne rather than the other garbage.” “You claim you have a power to trump the Divine Fist.” “Those three puppies raised by the gods? Heh, they only existed because we vampires couldn’t rally our empire under a banner. I can guarantee that would change within 100 years, my friend. The day is approaching for us to destroy the Divine Fist and topple the gods. For we, vampire, are children of the Primordial.” The vampire laughed, trampling on corpses and a pool of bloods to move to the next room. Salazar sighed. They entered this room to find fifty adventurers competing in a puzzle. The Vampire didn’t even bother concealing himself. He launched the attack and started murdering with no negotiation or warning. It was a blood bathe even before Salazar joined the battle to silence the witness. Salazar Aztellic made a deal with the devil, and he hoped to at least received something from it. … Cyan light blinked rapidly as the electricity sent a wave of paralysis through its system. The sensor reported massive circuitry failure in one area of the underwater base. An emergency sub-routine dictated the monitoring system to bring up the images from the backup camera. The sensor and camera painted a horrendous overturning in the situation. There were two major disturbances in the base. The first was a contained zone of malfunction electronic equipment and sensor at the 22nd entrance to the trail hall. The mind behind the cyan light quickly dismissed it from the combination of harmless docility and insignificance of one entrance compared to its massive experiment. However, the second disturbance was a problem. It already knocked out the energy supply throughout the experimenting area, causing conflict to break among the experimental subjects. To make the matter worst, the back-up camera showed the cause of a disturbance. An armored humanoid armed with crystalized armor was beating her way through the underwater base at an alarming pace. The reinforce wall would delay her for some time, but it was only a matter of time until she reached the experimental area. The mind did a series of calculation.  The raw energy released by the second disturbance was endangering the entire base. It needed to be stopped. However, if the sensor reading was anything close to accurate, the calculated firepower and the collateral required to do so would make continuing the experiment impossible. It was a no-win scenario.  The mind felt what could be called annoyance for the first time in its existence. Three years of planning, heaven-sent earthquake and a painful betrayal was piled for this day only for a mere coincident to stifle its plan. The monster of glass had thrown a rock into its finely designed machine. That thing must be eliminated. The Cyan lights flickered rapidly, delivering the new orders. Release the defensive measure to subdue the target. The experiment and observation attempts via puzzles were a lost cause. Activates B-protocol, prepares the prison chamber and biolab, sends the war drones to capture the test subject for laboratory experimentation. Subdue all who resist. The boxlike machines throughout the base heard the command and lined themselves for deployment. … Horizon Dawn was in the middle of prying a plate of metal obscuring the maintenance room when Rem’s regular [Clairvoyance] hit a massive anvil. Rem wanted to hit his head against the metal wall. “Melody, Hikma,” Rem produced a folded sheet of paper and began sketching a map. “I want you to enter that previous hatch we found and followed this direction.” “You mean the hatch that led to the contestant area,” Melody repeated. “The labyrinth that you insist is an attempted at putting the teleported contestant through a glorified hamster wheel to test them.” “Yep, that hatch.” “I am going to hate this question. Why?” “Because a vampire was about to run into a room of fifty adventurers. A room which for sake of all things holy is directly next to the bickering seven idiots with too much importance. The thing in charge of this underwater facility just quit playing game with the test-monkey and deployed war drones to capture everyone in this base. Oh, given the vision I see, it is safe to assume Luxinna’s True Magic is going berserk and she will probably rip this base into a sunken wreck.” Hikma absorbed the information with a sour face. “That sucks,” the archaeologist replied in one generational understatement. “Anything else we would like to know.” “A vampire also infiltrate this base, joins force with Salazar Aztellic and about to run into the aforementioned group,” Rem responded to the tired looks from his comrade with exasperation. “I realize I should start with that first, but [Clairvoyance]’s update isn’t that consistent.” Hikma conjured another [Nimbus] and carried Melody away to the metal plate hiding the hatch. Beside Rem, Cytortia was worrying. “Rem, are two of them enough?” “I don’t know,” Rem admitted. “I can hear that,” Melody yelled as she pried the metal covering and beat a way through the reinforcement hatch. “Thanks for a vote of confidence, asshat.” … Beneath in a tiny corner of the underwater facilities, inside a room with no illumination aside from the glow of crystals housed on racks and shelves, an orange glow lighted amongst the musty smell of metal and dust for the first time in three years. A cylindrical tube stood in the center of the room, capped at both the floor and ceiling by mechanical fitting. Inside the tube was a conduction fluid and wires built to house the artifact at the center: a glowing orange orb which now shone with activity. All around the chamber, the dead monitors glowed with renewed vigor. The artifact felt the shift in its destiny. At long last, the time to fulfill the mission granted by its creator's dying wishes began. The current of change and hope finally arrived. Win or lost, the time cometh to stop its older brother. … Crash! Dark was the hallways. The monster in elf body and golden armor pounded into the wall of metal. Reinforced wall caved with each fist, before breaking open to reveal circuit board and machinery. Click! Click! Click! The metal ceiling mechanically spun as a row of turrets dropped and train on the beast. Each turret, containing Mana cannon that could reduce anything below B-rank into a smear of bloods charged and fired. Cyan pulses of burning energy charged the lubricate barrel, distilled into crystalize resin and focused into a polished lens, releasing a burning pulse of energy across the air. Lethal energy projectiles flew at the elf with merciless intent. Beast Luxinna’s expression was unreadable behind the armor of gold, but her reaction was quick and efficient. She immediately turned her attention to the turret and soared into the air. The glass tentacles behind her extended, loping the metal turret from its base and discharging pulse of electricity wherever it collided. She growled, greeting the coming projectile with agile dodged or a shield of glass. Luxinna flashed past the bolts of turret, destroying every contraption with the waves of tentacles and leaving the projectiles to the defense of her makeshifts shield or golden armor. She emerged from the nest of turrets and storms of firepower with no injury. However, the beast’s armor barely fixed its scratch when a new obstacle landed around her. Box-like devices dropped from the ceiling and unfolded themselves. Metal limbs powered by pistons emerged, followed by a rectangular head blaring cyan light. The automaton whirled as the bulky body retrofitted into a battle-mode. Sophisticated energy conducting fluid pumped throughout the combat drones and its power core started with ozone scent and clanging noise. Beast Luxinna cocked her head as a war-drones caved the floors with its foot. She burst toward the drone, which punched with the strength of A-rank, meeting its fist with her own. The glass gauntlet, whose material imperceptively resonated like a starving animal, caved the steel fist like a tin foil and ripped the drone’s arm from its socket. Her claw flew, decapitating another combat robot while her tentacles wrapped around the others. She punched a hole through another steel reinforced war drone. Golden tails flicked, impaling another robotic spine and taking them down with electrical shock.  A drone landed a clobbering blow on Luxinna’s chitin covered body. Sadly, for the robot, the armor wasn’t just for show. The armor was instinctively designed by the True Magic with multi-layer of woven glass composite. The fibrous wire-like glass acted like Kevlar to dissipate the attack on her entire exoskeleton, while smaller aggregate pieces of glass behaved as anti-penetration plate. Beast Luxinna’s armor possessed wear and tears of resistance, shock nullification and sophisticated tissue with its newest property granting greater sensitivity and self-healing. Aside from S-rank attacks, nothing should be able to take her down. Luxinna’s exoskeleton barely moved from the blow. The beast growled in anger, routing electricity down her glass armor. The exoskeleton respired with power; its fibrous mesh allowed for maximum movement. The monstrous being repositioned herself and threw a punch. Fibrous tissue throughout the exoskeleton contracted and expanded elastically, releasing an explosive power and smashing the war drone into smithereens in a hit. Tired of wasting her time, Beast Luxinna gathered lightning in her mouth. Her armor respired once more with energy, supplying the beast with a torrent of power. The possessed elf released a super-heated Ion beam, melting the remaining forty war drone and everything in her paths. The super-heated Ion beam punched a hole through several barriers before piercing the wall separating the base from the ocean. Yep, you guess it, automatic flood gate or not, flooding was a risk factor now. Let us say Horizon would be opposite of happy about this.

Let rewound the time back to the moment PALISADE got cornered. Hikma landed inside a room. Yep, this place was hell. Row of cells, powered by force field and some strange scrambler, was keeping the groaning and bruising test subject in containment. They were survivor from the competition, lured here to complete PALISADE research. Several folks banged on the soundproof barrier. Hikma noticed all of them but it was a mangled corpse suspend inside a container that hit the hardest. Salazar Aztellic was suspended inside the tube of preservation with several wires connecting to his guts and brain. Bodies of elves, human and demon in similar stated lined alongside him. Hikma felt the bile of disgust rising in his esophagus. He knew the difficulty of saving everyone, and he knew Salazar partially deserved what happened, but that didn’t extinguish the pang of regret that he wasn’t fast enough to stop this. It was then that water began trickling from the wall and gathered at the center of the room. Inside their cell, everyone balked as a giant of water formed in the center of the room. The monster's enormous bulked dominated the room and cast a shadow over Hikma. But after seeing his inadequacy, Hikma was done playing. “So, you are PALISADE’s last grasp,” Hikma eyed the coming tidal monster. “I am sorry, but I am not in the mood to play around.” [Nicholas] [Paradiso]+[Jotun]+[Orb] … PALISADE felt his secret ocean golem getting frozen. It was too fast. All those efforts to create a perpetually regenerating monster with ability to dominate enclosed space yielded nothing. What kind of magic capable of isolating the golem from the surrounding water and turned the entire room into a Winterland? But Hikma was the least of his concern. Crash! Tubes and hardware surrounding PALISADE died in a burst of spark from the crushing telekinetic pressure produced by Rem.  “Okay,” Rem’s gun was point straight at the monster of an AI. “That is your signal boosters and back-up plan. Want to issue some final word of condemnation? Or maybe declare to me why your action are justified?” “Justifying my action is unnecessary. Anyone with meager level of intellect will see how vital my operation is.” “Really?” Rem wasn’t impressed. “I doubt Alcra Shaxter possessed meager intellect. He was one of the smartest man alive and you two couldn’t see eye-to-eye.” “Doctor was blinded by sentimentality.” It was Ehto turned to speak. “So, you’re still dedicate to your mission,” the younger AI arrived at the dreadful conclusion. “You believe killing father and running this sick experiment will protect the Phantasia.” “It is simple observation, brother. The divided Phantasia will fall to the World Enemy. Even your inferior computation ability should be able to forecast this outcome. In every combat against the World Enemy, Phantasian defenders expend a massive amount of life and resource. When an inevitable mass invasion occurs in 23 or more locations on Phantasia simultaneously, the chance of defenders’ victory drop below 1%. The Phantasian neither has the supply nor firepower capable of fending a long constant conflict with the invaders. The result is inevitable, but father still held on to his bias and object to this hypothesis. Worst, he kept commanding more and more irrational criteria, which make my function hopeless.” … Once in a decently cleaned and finely lighted laboratory, the living Alcra Shaxter frowned. “PALISADE, this isn’t how you should do thing?” It was a strategic simulation. A mock coordination scenario Alcra created to train PALISADE as the protector of Phantasia. The mission was to deal with concurrent attacks from the invading army. PALISADE successfully aced this test, except for one criterion. The AI diverted an underground water to generate massive sink holes and cut off the enemy escape route by setting the forest on fire. He killed every single soldier but spared neither time nor attention to protect the village from being sent aflame in the conflict. Hell, PALISADE even used the village as supply trap, luring the army into camping there before springing his trap.  “I select the most optimal option to deal with the enemy.” “And you kill the people you are supposed to protect. This level of ruthlessness is inhumane.” “But I succeed. The village held no strategic importance to the continue survival of the country. I routed the invader and provided a deterrent with minimal investment of our part. This method doesn’t risk our capital and the infrastructure composing our supply-base. In fact, by using that village to concentrate enemy forces, I have extracted its maximum strategic value.” “PALISADE…” Alcra said, horrified. “What is that village to you? Does the villager’s suffering, the looting and the pillaging factor at all in your calculation?” “It did,” PALISADE admitted. “But this emotion and psychological cost is rendered moot given the dead require no expense to maintain or repair. I have extracted a perfect value for…” “Enough!” Alcra walked out of the room in frustration. “We need to go over this exercise again! What you are doing isn’t protection!” … “Doctor lacked the ability to grasp a simple fact that victory requires sacrifice. He wanted a non-existent, inefficient solution to an impossible problem. For the sake of accomplishing my mission…” Ehto cut his older brother in outrage. “Is that the reason you kill him!?” “No need to wonder much, Ehto,” Rem’s voice was steely. “That is the type he is. I believe I got you work out now, Z-1. I agree. Alcra is obviously being sentiment, but not for the reason you think.” “R-“ “Stick with the code name and let me finish,” Rem sternly told Ehto. “You are right, Z-1. Alcra is being blinded by emotion, because if he kept a level-head, he would scrap you right there.” “What if it with your multicellular organism and inability to grasp a logical solution?” “Logical solution like a trolley problem? Let follow your logic, you believe life is just another kind of asset. It is only useful as long as it could produce sufficient value. Bodies are expendable as long as profitable return of investment is made.” “Fascinating, unlike the doctor you do grasp the logical principle, yet you resist me.” “Oh, I believe Alcra got it too, but the difference is he believed he can steer you away from being a disaster. Do you know there is a community that shares your operation method? They are right inside the RTS community. The type of players who go for malevolent route and subjugate their enemy to use as research subjects, and drove their people to the bone with max dread stats. It must be a dream come true for you there because you didn’t even need to care about something like approval rating and morale, just swap every worker unit with automaton and you are all set. You are lucky I am not Alcra because I would bounce you right into the incinerator the moment I understood 50% of your character.” PALISADE only reaction was confusion. “Why do you oppose me when you understand my perspective?” “Because your perspective sucks. Here. Let me show you.” Rem turned toward Ehto. “Mate, why would you want to defend Phantasia.” Ehto took time to think. His memory of his father surfaced. This base was all he ever known, but those times he spent was something to treasure to his dying days. “Because the Doctor love this place.” If PALISADE could, he would be giving his little brother a glared worthy of the basilisk. “Doctor did nothing but complain about its deficiency. You must have heard his critique about the system ran. He desires for Phantasia to operate at a more efficient capacity.” “What about the time he spent programing this simulation. Couldn’t you see the love in his eyes, brother? Father was passionate about making this place better for everyone. Why else would he make all those plans for improvement? You read the same files I did. The recreation park he design. Those medical and educational facilities. Why would he spend so much passion trying to improve the place he hates?” PALISADE stayed silent before revealing the one thing separating Alcra’s greatest creations from regular computer — emotion. Emotion such as… envy. “It is predictable you share the Doctor’s irrationality. Despite my superior processing power, he still kept you around. No matter how abundant my memory storage and calculation space is, he always entrusted you the most important task.” “That isn’t true. He gave you the PALISADE project.” “PALISADE project came with the privilege to access all the resources Alcra could provide in defence of Phantasia,” Z-1’s electronic voice range ominously. “But despite that, he refused to divulge any information about Open Sky that you are in charge of.” … This conversation often came up in the past. “Doctor, what is Open Sky?” Alcra nearly chokes on his sandwich. He shot from his share and looked at the cyan orb placed in the middle of the room. “Why are you asking that PALISADE?” “It is the only file that isn’t in this base server, despite being heavily reference for several exploration and mining projects. Dr. Shaxter what exactly is Open Sky and why isn’t it in the database.” Alcra suddenly developed a much keener interest in his sandwich. He internally debated the possibility of developing the new food preservation technology. He already judged that making a secret farm under the ocean was a waste of energy compared to teleporting out and doing grocery, but maybe that was simply bad maths. “Doctor, please stop distracting you with a sandwich.” PALISADE pressured. “I needed that answer. What is open sky and why isn’t it on the database.” Alcra went for the most convenient interpretation of the truth. “It is a long-term project that got nothing to do with protecting Phantasia,” Alcra answered. “I am putting Z-2 in charge of that project.” “Doctor, I still have adequate processing power. I don’t see the reason you put Z-2 in charge of such a project when I can easily handle it. And where is the brother? He completely disappeared from the base. The only conclusion I have is you making a blind spot inside the base where I couldn’t reach. Why go to this length, Dr. Shaxter.” “I don’t want to burden you with an extra project. I believe Z-2 is more suit for this endeavour and it will help build his confidence. I simply give him some privacy to walk out of your shadow.” PALISADE couldn’t believe this. “You want him to surpass me?” “I only want him to believe in himself more.” “Why do you need him? I can surpass everything he does. My spec spoke if thrice of his. In what way Z-2 is better than me?” Alcra’s answer was stern. “In ways ending with people living their full life in his simulation instead of being sacrifice. Z-2 has something you never have, and I believe one day you will learn to emulate that part of his.” Silences. PALISADE did nothing as Alcra walked away. Alien emotion welled inside its mind. … In the present, PALISADE pulled all his resentment out of the sleeve and presented it on the stage. “Dr. Shaxter said you possess quality I lack. But I don’t understand what made you so special. What miracle software-” “This might sound old but it isn’t the computing ability,” Rem explained to his enemy sternly. “What, Z-2, Ehto have and you don’t be the ability to see an alternative past the genocide run for Undertale. I don’t know what is Open Sky, but I am sure Alcra hid it away because he knew what you are deep down.” “I am the most powerful AI in Phantasian. Way more powerful than Z-2.” Rem nodded but asked a question which changed everything. “True, and how did that happen. Why are you born strong, PALISADE?” It was then Rem achieved the human impossible. He mentally cornered Phantasia Skynet, with the processing power to defeat every single chess grandmaster combined. Rem smelled blood and dove in for the kill. “Alcra worked it out on his last gasp, and your brother’s witness statement allowed me to craft a theory. Want to hear it, PALISADE? The reason you are the unfavorite? The answer why you will never be the ultimate defender Alcra wants you to be.” The tension was thick enough to be whipped into the cream and the chef finally put in his finishing touch. “Don’t you ever wonder why Ehto needed a brainwave signature from Alcra, and you don’t. It isn’t an inherent fluke or the evidence of your superiority. It is because your daddy’s gall-stone still kept its Mana signature — an intent. If Z-2, Ehto, is the son of Alcra born by the SHAXTER procedure, then you are the resurrection of that gall-stone’s previous owner. Congratulation PALISADE, you are a child of a long extinct predator.” Rem’s statement hung in the air like raining knives. “That is the reason you got up earlier. Human needed a lot of babying. It took baby a year to walk, while dear old cheetah already start running in less than a month. Your brain is simply hard-wired differently. But do you want to know why dinosaur doesn’t build cities or economies in their 165 million years of existing. It was because they lack ability to understand the benefit of trade. Sure, you are born strong — all predators are — but because you fight and fight from birth to death, you never to learn the value of bargaining, respect or benefiting yourself by solving people’s problem. From your point of view there is limited space in the forest called Phantasia and you are entrusted to conquer and guard it.” PALISADE lacked of protest confirmed Rem’s accusation more than anything. “Despite massive intellect boost being the AI gave, the habit of predator remains. But unlike your blueprint, you have an extra 300 IQ to maximize value and capitalize asset. Hence your interested in the Bio-drone project. A remote-control army must be an upgrade from pummeling the other ape to submission. What next after you finally conquer Phantasia? A project to grind anything unusable into extra food. Or maybe domesticating sentient animal like ants did to aphid? Stop with saying you want to protect Phantasia. The only thing you want to protect is your hide and the entire world is just resource depot for you.” The AI and the human’s standoff last a solid minute. PALISADE must give Rem the credit from predicting its interest in domestication of Elves and Demons. This man could predict him to an alarming degree. Bang! Rem emptied [Holy Force: Finale Cross] at PALISADE vaporizing the AI in an explosion that would murder average A-ranker. “I know you have a secret weapon. But I won’t be stupid enough to let you use. Adio—” The light-fade revealing a cyan-colored orb surrounded by intricate machinery emitting a pearl-color shell. Rem internally groaned. The binary prick was already prepared against direct assault. “I admit I underestimate you. You are right. I am not what Alcra Shaxter wants me to be, but no one may deny my existence. Congratulation. You are likely the most threatening of your kind. Take that compliment the grave, human.” Several squares of black, ominous space emerged. “Spatial Construction Site?” Ehto warned. “R-“ “It is Dream!” “Never mind! He is going to pull something big out of his storage space. Get out of here!” It was the middle section of the massive underwater laboratory — entire facility housing laboratories, mustering area, incinerator and storage — burst outward as something rocketed into the ocean and out at the open sky.

ZAWARUDO, worthy of his [Divine Universal Hardware] Skill, transformed into a perfect system mechanically design to tune the consecrate cores presented before them. Ehto still missing an eye and arm began typing on the hardware. “Okay, to sum what we are doing concisely; see this plate here,” Ehto pointed to a metal plate connected to a monitor which connected to sophisticate table scanner. “The is the change plate. The marble you both hold is extremely advance piece of Paracausal quantum artifact. It takes information scan from a weapon model, male some alteration and codes it into the core. According to Satholia, some core could take multiple coding, granting it multiple functions depending on how advance its internal processor is.” “So, we just have to pick a weapon from this shelf and shove it into the computer,” Hikma skimmed through the sword section and selected sickly green blade. “Click the label for informations. The holographic notepad will give you the detail.” Hikma read the information and made a face. The sword resulted from Cytortia’s initial attempt at Absolute Extract. She extracted the essence of Cyano toxin and a paralytic then combined those with metal treated in Mana-dense solution. Melody got an idea and worked on this blade. The process was done with in full protective gea. [Anima Enchanting] magnified the sword poisonous property toward the pinnacle. It was a high-grade masterpiece capable of overcoming majority of poison resistant. But for a pacifist like Hikma, it was totally not his style. What about the Hight frequency Katana made of Aria steel? Nope. He wasn’t a weeb. A flaming sword? No. Too gaudy. In the end, Hikma came upon a hilt of a blade. A bulky, unrefined machine, albeit a sophisticate one. A connoisseur of weapon would realize the intricate machine would be a start of something great, but the technology deficiency held it back. “Oh, isn’t that the one I help made?” Rem said. “The attempt at making a [Tenshou] compatible light-saber.” “Mental-resonator-based psychic cutting weapon,” Ehto confirmed. “It is quite an experiment to funnel Paracausal energy into sword using [Tenshou] as a medium. We need to invent a sophisticate Cybertium crystal to make it work. How many weeks did it take? I remember Melody still on her 5th cup when the first prototype blew up.” Hikma flipped the switch, producing a thin, glowing blue energy blade. It was perfect. It complimented Hikma's very nature across its length and balance. The grip felt awkward, but he believed that is easily fixed. “Be careful, we haven’t perfected the Cybertium crystal lens yet. The sword is pretty volatile.” “But can you program it into this,” Hikma tossed them his consecrated core. “And change the grip into the one I normally used.” Ehto’s android eye widened with surprise. “Yes, theoretically, the paracausal quantum material can perfect this technology,” Ehto placed the core on the plate. “And I need the prototype.” Hikma graciously placed the metal hilt on the table and watched in shock as it disintegrated. Meanwhile, the core sat on that mysterious plate let out an eerie glowed. “Is that supposed to happen?” “Well, Paracausal or not, matter creation isn’t some shtick anyone can just do,” Ehto replied, glancing at Hikma’s core that glowed with surreal light. “The process takes apart the mold and transmogrifies it into your weapon. It obviously going to break things.” Finally, the glowed fade revealing a slim ornate hilt wouldn’t be strange on a wooden cane. “May I,” Hikma asked. “Feel free,” Ehto watched as Hikma took the weapon and ignited it, revealing a surreal blue blade. “But I must tell you, this core have…” “I know,” Hikma replied. “Satholia told me about the core true ability. That is why the psychic blade is perfect.” Clang! Rem piled an anti-material sniper on the table, then his CHORUS next to it. “I want to start by assimilating these two,” Rem said. Ehto silently put Rem core on the plate. “Well, congratulation, mate. You get a lot of slots to spare.” … Luxinna already lost count of time. How long had she fought? Days? Week? Years? In midst of desert and howling wind, the meaning of time bled to nothingness. The only constant that mattered was the next blow. Never stopped moving. A pause would lead to defeat. A stuttered in a swing always ended in a punishment. That was Luxinna's training. To survive and thrive amongst the uncountable amount of weapon impaled upon the vast expanse of the sandy dune. Amongst all Horizon Dawn, your path required the most dedication. Luxinna lifted [Historia] to deflect the strike. For that is the nature of the third Legend. It was what Satholia told her. Transcendent perfected one path beyond pinnacle, Meanwhile, Trinity and Noblesse gathered Legend to build their road. One such Legend was the very weapon your soul resided. “This is damn unfair!” Luxinna blocked a blow from the Naginata. “Don’t blame me, dear,” Satholia placated with sincerity as she expertly cut apart Luxinna’s movement space in a swipe, interrupted the elf’s riposte then punted her across the sandy dune. “Ouch, I know you will be automatically healed upon receiving the killing blow, but are you hurt dear!?” “Just my pride.” That was all Luxinna could manage as she dug herself out from a mountain of sand. She had been here ever since she underwent the procedure to augment her body with [Bioglass]. This prolonged timeless training pretty much confirmed Satholia had an ability to produce a combat functional clone — the technique she perfected with her mentor who was the strongest witch-queen in all of reality. Seriously, what was Satholia’s True Magic? How many mentors did she get and where did they come from? Their boss never claimed to be the best at a subject, but she pretty much could do everything to a ridiculous degree. Luxinna experienced her unparalleled martial art first-hand. Genius level intellect. Control over life. Insurmountable strength. Almost limitless Elemental Control.  The most terrifying question was: If Satholia wasn’t the best across all fields, who qualified? “Hey boss, can you teach me how to produce a clone,” Luxinna gasped. “Oh, this is advance ritual magic involving mirror base formation,” Luxinna sneakily smiled. “Maybe later. As much as I would love to see Nu Wa undergoing a state of mental breakdown at the thought formation that could create a thinking combat capable clone. I believe understanding Mo-chan papers on magecraft is still too much for you.” “Mo-chan?” “It is a bit complicate. Back to our session. Your parrying is certainly improving. I can say without a doubt your basic have surpassed Scathach. The main problem you have is hesitation.” Hesitation? Luxinna wanted to complain. She was trying to do her best here. She never hesitated about anything. “Luxinna,” Satholia softly said. The queen of center lift the Naginata and spun it causally, grabbing the pole weapon by both hands and transformed it into a dual sword. “You remember why we are doing this.” She did. The third Legend wasn’t something the Noblesse and Trinity gained from WORLD's trail, it something they elevated and assimilated through their patience and dedication. Namely, it is the weapon they favored elevated into a Paracausal treasure. In Luxinna’s case, her third Legend was simple. It was [Historia]. But to even blossomed it into a Legend, Luxinna must master the blade. As a divine weapon forged by Ebony Solarmaria and blessed by the Queen of Center Force, the strongest Holy sword ever existed wasn’t cheap to master. [Historia] was the sacred blade. It is the first True Magic compatible weapon and the most powerful. A living, indestructible sword with powered to amplify energy. Even after all this time, Luxinna hadn’t mastered how to use it. “Again? How?” The girl lost count of how many times she asked the goddess. “Well, we are doing, aren’t we?” Satholia said. “You need to learn to enjoy it.” “Enjoy getting beat up by you?” Luxinna was tee bit annoyed. It was then Satholia understood what was dragging Luxinna’s progress. “I see. So that is the problem. You still don’t understand your nature.” Luxinna suddenly felt naked. Satholia continued. “Again, I must apologize. Teaching is pretty new to me. So, I will put this bluntly. Luxinna, your darker halves in alternate possibility don’t butcher the entire Lightwell just using extra mutation added by the Paracis. Throughout all this time, you are rejecting your most powerful asset — your killer instinct.” Luxinna froze over. “My what?” “Dear, you amputated Illma Zoldia Road’s hand with no hesitation. Utterly destroyed the 33 Stars with extreme prejudice. And in your first conflict, you automatically default to attempting to kill Rem. You might hate bloodshed and senseless killing, but parts of your subconscious crave blood. You enjoy the feeling of dishing out retribution and the taste of conflict. You lack the same brake that stops Hikma and Cytortia. You got slice of Rem's ruthlessness and possessed Melody's level of competitiveness under your cool.” “That is ridiculous,” the elf tried to bat away the revelation “Luxinna, what would you do if all the bad guy disappears tomorrow?” The elf stayed silent. It was the question she never asked herself. She could imagine it. Melody would likely continue her career as a researcher. Satholia most likely started a clinic. Hikma probably began a career in teaching. But she and Rem? World without evil would see them lost. Both of them were chained to perpetual conflict. Violence and battle governed their existence. Luxinna glanced at her reflection in [Historia]. For a second, she saw a reflection of a malicious monster with the horn where her eyes were. Fear crept in her mind. “I know what you are thinking. Fear perhaps. Or self-disgust. However, it is my duty as a teacher to point your fault. It isn’t your instinct is wrong, but it is the fact you subconsciously reject the truth. Self-acceptance is the first step to control. It is fine to let that monster out.” “You talk like it is easy,” Luxinna thought back to her recent beating. “I don’t want to be that thing.” “I believe Rem said this once, but shepherd don’t get a poodle to guard the sheep. They get the biggest hound possible. You are not doing anyone any favor locking your bloodlust inside a mental basement. Don’t worry about it. I have a solution.” Luxinna looked at Satholia’s sweet smile and felt she would hate that solution. Stab! Luxinna felt a sword in her chest. “Wha—” “True nature will manifest in the fire of desperation! My solution is simple. I am going in for the kill. For every death you experience, it will be a screw out of your inhibition. Do not let fear or rage pull joystick! I will kill you as many as it takes until your get a hang on your warrior instinct.” Luxinna got beheaded. Like time has rewinded, Luxinna found herself standing in one piece with a nauseating feeling of her death fresh in her brain. The blade cutting her neck, slicing her wet bone, windpipe and muscle. Satholia must have tuned the gore factor and killing-blow heal, because unlike the previous times, this death felt awful.  Luxinna got a minute of reprieve before Satholia bisected her. … The only thing Luxinna knew for real after losing count of how many deaths she suffered was playing by the rule were for suckers. Thousand times. Maybe it already trickled past nine-thousand. But Luxinna finally got done trying to fight orthodoxically. Anything close to telegraphing and Satholia would exploit it. She discovered that sportsmanship didn't work when Satholia dropped at her own weapon at close-quarter to punch out her eyes. Luxinna blocked with [Historia], while aiming a kick at her mentor's knee. It failed as expected. The elf powered through the blade lock, and dove below the thrust arriving at her stomach. She twisted and hurled her sword right at Satholia’s face. Screw holding your weapon. That was a fact learned after her inertia awarded her a stab in the gut. Survival came first. Not letting a sword to the face interrupted her stride, the Queen of Center Force evaded the attack and closed the distance with her Katana. Luxinna grabbed a nearby sword embedded into the sand and used it to parry a flashing Katana. And without hesitation, she launched her counterstrike, pulling everything to subdue her mentor, caring nothing about the coming follow-up attack. Interrupting Satholia’s combo was everything that mattered, because once the chain connected, her death cemented. Satholia repeated her slashes, but Luxinna didn’t dally. She leapt back, throwing her temporary blade at Satholia who grabbed that blade from the air and vanished. Luxinna, through countless death, ran on full instinct the moment rose. [Historia] teleported into her hand—a function she learned after being forced to threw it regularly like a boomerang. Luxinna splited the blade into a dual sword—another function she was forced to learn after Satholia started activating the raining sword. And speaking of flying sword, here they came. Swords, spears and various weapons stuck on the desert dune like gravestone began floating, and shot at Luxinna. The elf recalled how the attack killed her numerous times and gritted her teeth. Yes, Satholia insisted that this was the training of raw skill, and that she was equally vulnerable to the sword rain. Sadly, Luxinna knew that falling weapon won’t stop Satholia one bit. Hell, in fact, she loved it. Satholia’s slashes were the work of a refine killer. Artistically refined but insidious in movement and timing. However, Luxinna already died too many times to fall for it. The swirling steel and the acrobatic motion that accompanied the life reaping act. Luxinna — through countless death — had inscribed that fear into her soul. No matter what happened the pattern of damnation won’t escape her muscle memory. Powered by fear and sharpened survival instinct, the dual blade in both her hand flashed in rapid stochastic song of motion purely governed by the trickling feeling of dread. Luxinna parried the monsoon of bladework with her two arms, while her feet nimbly followed Satholia’s in their dance around the raining blades. Swords arrived at such speed only enabled by Satholia’s proficiency of optimizing every muscle. Through blood and pain, Luxinna’s body mimicked that high-speed dance of death. The student and teacher locked their swords as weapon rain around them. Not being a one for dallying, Satholia broke the blade lock by slipping past the standoff, heel-kicked Luxinna in the abdomen, dropped her weapons at point blank and grabbed a nearby halberd to swing at Luxinna. However, Luxinna didn’t suffer all those deaths for nothing. She leapt the moment the Satholia broke the contest. [Historia] merged back into a bow in a weapon-changing maneuver which cost Luxinna two of her lives to master. Luxinna fired eight shots. The halberd flashed and four glowing energy arrows sailing across the air shattered. Three more deflected. And the last arrow got hooked and threw back at Luxinna. The elf quickly transformed [Historia] into a polearm to block the final blow. Sadly, for Luxinna, Satholia sent her attack back with extra strength. The arrow knocked Luxinna from the sky and sent her crashing down into the dune. Satholia grinned ear-to-ear. “Well done, that is an impressive display. My clone just finished consolidating Cytortia’s origin. Hah, just in time to round the last training curve. For a moment, I fear we might not make it, but good gracious, I underestimate myself sometimes. In a nice timing too…” Satholia counted the deadline. “One week left before New Year’s Eve.”

Rem must admit the Daybreak’s construction went moderately quicker than expected. Hikma certainly agreed given his elate happiness upon reorganizing their books in the brand new library. The fact the carpenter didn’t ask too many questions about the massive bookshelves purchases was the credit to everyone's mood. Now the library looked less post-vacated home and more book café. With the library and training room entered grand completion, the next on the chopping block was the medical bay. Satholia—who was pretty much everyone's unofficial mom—oversaw the construction herself. [Cytortia, arrange the wire like this and don’t forget the magnetic field’s operation circuit. Our room-size MRI machine will spell disaster if we can’t control the field. And Luxinna, please don’t lean on the healing tank, we haven’t riveted it to the floor yet.] Luxinna immediately stepped away from the delicate medical instrument. “So, what am I doing here?” Luxinna asked. “I think I should join Rem and Hikma who is getting their new weapon made by Melody.” [Oh, I am getting there. Cytortia, is the projector ready yet?] “Yes, I am connecting it,” Cytortia, wearing her lab-coat like an MD, switched on the screen. Luxinna watched the screen flickered on. On the screen was Luxinna wearing the creation of her more savage True Magic — the armor with golden nodes and heavily enclosed textile trimmed with golden glass. [Recognize that?] “The armor I used to beat PALISADE” Cytortia put on a glass and explained the analysis. “Yes, Satholia and I officially nickname it the Berserker Armor,” Cytortia nodded. “Magnolia’s report and my observation during your battle are conclusive. This is the most advance armor you ever created. It effortlessly overpowered Melody, proving that it could smash average S-rank.” Luxinna laughed sheepishly. “Cy, I don’t know how to use it.” “Yeah, I know,” Cytortia agreed. “If you do, you would turn PALISADE into a scrap without Rem needing to show up. Luckily, Satholia can fill us on the detail.” [Thank you, dear,] Satholia took over the explanation. [The Berserker armor is created as an instinctive response from [Bioglass] to best optimize your potential. Luxinna, your main problem is your power came with a tradeoff. [Override] taxed your body. [Overflow] rendered you reliant on prediction. The Berserker Armor fused the two abilities together to create the perfect solution.] Cytortia began explaining. “[Bioglass] turned your static glass into a cellular organism. This essentially made the armor alive. The [Serene Glass] coating and plating behaved like an exoskeleton, while the [Bioglass]-fiber functioned like an extra muscle that could pay the cost of [Override] for you. Just wearing the armor increases your physical ability by several degrees with almost no cost to yourself. Even better, the armor possesses a micro sensor and specializes [Bioglass] tissue, behaving as an extra neural network capable of back-to-back calculation. It monitors the designated space, observing any variables that could interfere with the calculation. Properly operating this option means you can build several attack plans, accounting everything that could go wrong as you move. This armor is pure bullshit. It got no blindspot — literally.” [And that isn’t all.] “Yep, see the node here. Those nodes house a perpetually self-replicating micro [Static Glass] colony designed to channel multiverse energy while acting as a sensorial hive-mind.” “I know. I draw power from them to when we battle PALISADE.”  Cytortia sighed exasperately. “Lux, using it as a battery is the lamest function. Melody’s report is clear. Their micro-organism act as a micro-sensor. With a proper change in super-conduction and magnetism, they allow the armor to perform self-sustaining flight. They can even act as a median for [Jewel Sword: Salvation] and your armor produces hundred thousand of this micro-[Static Glass] organisms per second. Melody didn’t lose to your True Magic because of a fluke. She got her ass kick by one of the most advance bio-armor ever exists in the multiverse.” Luxinna chuckled with dry laughter. “Cy, I know my armor must have excited you, but let me remind you. I can’t use it. It is created by a version of me that is practically an S-rank World Enemy with the body of a fucking alien goop. And before you ask; I TRIED. It was like interfacing with white noises. My elf-brain couldn’t commune with those micro colonies. And my nervous system couldn’t sync with those [Bioglass]. The armor might be fitting a beast of nature, but I have a nervous system of an elf, not an unstoppable monster that single-handedly kicked the behind of the entire Lightwell.” [But do you wonder why did your World Enemy personality can use it with your body?] “Yeah, boss, I kinda want to ask you about that. You probably know, right?” Cytortia said. [Because your other personality never held back with her True Magic?] This statement surprised both Luxinna and Cytortia. “Held back?” Cytortia repeated dumbly. “I am holding back?” Luxinna asked no one in particular. “Satholia, Luxinna is on Melody-level of ferocity. You call bombarding everything she sees with Mach-speed projectile going easy?” “I am holding back?” Luxinna repeated her question to the atmospheric nitrogen. [Yes,] Satholia confirmed. [You are procrastinating on the potential of your True Magic. Everyone aside from Rem didn’t understand their power. I can already feel Rem practicing with his Origin — he is on a fast track to success. Meanwhile, I need to explain the basic to all of you.] “Okay, so what is the basic?” Luxinna asked. [The basic is a simple story. When first awaken, your True Magic produced a para-causal subatomic matter that acted as a natural electro transducer. Your first Legend granted another paracausal subatomic particle — [Static Glass] equivalent of electron — whose behavior is regulated by your thought. This gave [Serene Glass] the ability to have any property. This was a qualitative evolution. Your 2nd Legend allowed this simple paracausal matters to form a complex structure akin to life form. The difference between you and your darker half is that she understood the potential of life more than you do.] “Okay, I know this sound inappropriate coming from a life-manipulator,” Cytortia was at her wit's end. “But what is the potential you are talking about.” [You are a life-form, aren’t you?] Cytortia’s mouth hung open. “Oh my god,” said the former goddess. “So THAT is how she synced with the armor using Luxinna’s body.” “That is who and how?” Luxinna lost orbit completely. “But if she altered Luxinna’s body, then why can’t Luxinna keep her connection to the berserker armor?” “Who is altering my body?” Luxinna cried with alarm. [Because altering the biological make-up of the body isn’t something that could be done in a snap. It is why Melody’s True Magic is categorized as a one. Such modification won’t stick without coaxing your immune system and consciousness. Those kinds of fundamental change in the state of being could only originate from the Origin. [Bioglass] rushed the job during its control over Luxinna, basically it lubricated her synapse with [Bioglass]--] “Who is lubricating my nerve with [Bioglass]?” Luxinna demanded. “Why can’t I understand what you talking about even when it is about me?” “Okay,” Cytortia made a face. “Luxinna, when your alter-ego took over she created [Bioglass] inside your body. And this [Bioglass] essentially replaced apart from your cellular structure, and allowed her to link with the Berserker.” Luxinna made a dry laughter. “Replace my cell. You mean she is replacing my organ? That is ridiculous. [Static Glass] can’t do that, right?” Luxinna tried to ask the dumb question, but Satholia wasn’t having it. [Can’t or you never try?] Luxinna looked at the golden octopus. “What you are asking for is ridiculous? You are saying glass can replace my entire nerves.” [I am saying a paracausal material creates from the power of your very existence can replace every single fiber of your being. Your major weakness is simple. Your flesh and blood are incapable of using the technique you created to its limit. To cope, you invent various iterations of your style when the simple answer is right in front of you. You just have to remove that limit.] Luxinna found a chair and sat. She thought about what was being discussed. Replacing her body with [Static Glass] sound nut. Luxinna realized deep down that it could be done, but by that point she won’t be an elf anymore. Would she be willing to go that far? Yes, Satholia was right. She was holding back. Then Luxinna recalled her vow. “How powerful would I be, Satholia?” She thought back to the death in Millian, the destruction of Venistalis and PALISADE. “I want to know whether the trade is worth it?” [Your berserker self can beat Melody with a rush job. That is the low baseline to measure against you who become one with [Bioglass]. But if you are questioning your transhuman possibility, let me ask you one question: is a person judges by the content of their cellular structure or by their heart and action?] “Okay,” Luxinna nodded. “How do we get started?” [Cytortia set-up the medical tank and mixed in those inscriptions. Altering your entire body would be a tad too much, but we can recreate your entire nervous system within the deadline. I need to warn you this is a critical process, but luckily the ZAWARUDO’s [Divine Universal Hardware] will allow me to code the specific and input the program to your body as a hypnotic subroutine.] … Few hours later, Rem looked at Luxinna being suspended inside a tube. Well, there goes their remaining helping hand. Ehto locked himself inside the armory. Cytortia went back to Absolute Extract training. Meanwhile, Melody went back to knocking paper-cup. Meanwhile, ZAWARUDO prepared to finish consecrating the newest weapon for him and Hikma. Yep, it appeared a shrine of Center Force could bless material into a special ore. Satholia claimed this created the weapon capable of maximizing [Tenshou]. Of course, Melody needed to help crafted the body of the weapon, but the rest of the process was implied to be utterly mystical. [So ready to show me the result of your self-learning,] said the octopus behind him. Rem sighed and found a spot to sit. “You are running parallel training, right?” Rem guessed. [Oh, just freshen the girl's combat training. Don’t worry shadow clone were on of my ability.] “We really need that meditation room.” Rem closed his eyes. … The young man opened his eyes again on the space of multicolor platform, witnessed by the star suspending from the night sky. “Your Astral Tracing improves,” Satholia drew a golden sword out of nowhere. “Is that Excalibur?” “Fu, Fu,” Satholia said. “My True Magic allows me to pull something like this. I like to say this is a genuine Excalibur, but it isn’t. It is the conglomeration of the legend of Excalibur. You could say it is the ultimate representation of Excalibur across all iterations.” “Wow, Hikma is right. You don’t know how to go easy. You know sword will kill me seven-thousand times in a single swing, right?” “Hikma, is exaggerating, I am putting Excalibur’s output on low,” Satholia said. “[All-creation] deserves no less honor, even as an incomplete ability.” Petal of poppies swirled. The illusory flowers appeared out of nowhere. “Impressive. As expected from the wisest of the knight, you immediately grasped the best path forward with few hints.” Rem touched the petals with his hand. “My ability is to augment the reality. My Origin is a garden world of poppies. When I first fought my REM. It is the poppies that came to my aid. The true identities of these poppies are median for reality filler that provided the raw material for [Arrival of Dream]. After completing my Origin, I realized they could be more than that.” Satholia’s eyes lit up. Impressive. The boy reached even farther realization than she had hoped for. “[Territory]” From Rem’s feet, the garden of poppy grew as the chalk white sand encroached upon this reality. “I can augment an area within [Territory] with my Origin. You could say I can encroach even the world with True Magic.” “And within that domain, your power is within another league,” Satholia summarized. The scenery change into a rocky mountain of Grand Canyon. “I know you have been fighting with REM every night,” Satholia grinned. “Let see how we can straighten what you learned from perpetual conflict with yourself.” … The battle was epic. Sure, Satholia held back, but even when holding back, the most powerful fighter in the multiverse wasn’t kidding around. “EXCALIBUR!” Satholia swung. The golden light of promise victory duck a trench across the landscape, utterly demolishing the rocky cliff of Grand Canyon and turned the simulate natural park into the world's largest ridge. The land glowed, charring red with molten rock from the almighty attack Satholia unleashed. “Low output my ass!” Rem barely dodged a one hit kill. Cross that. That single would hit would kill an entire country. Satholia came to punt Rem like how she spanked Olympus. On the plus, he successfully evaded that attacked by using the poppies to carry himself away and levitated in pseudo flight with [Tenshou]. “Great reaction!” Satholia twirled her sword and vanished. Rem felt something appearing within his territory. Insane. She came this close to him in a mere second. With his hair raised straight up in the split second of death, Rem turned around, petals gathered around his palm and he performed a bare-hand blade block on the super sword. That single clash shook the sky and dispersed the clouds. Miraculously, Rem — strengthened by his domain and massive level of Telekinetic pressure — successfully held the ultimate Excalibur. The effort was a titanic burden crushing him. His trembling arms were killing him. His lung suffocated with rocks. Storm of poppies swirled around him like a tornado of flowers, trying to contain an unstoppable woman wielding the golden sword.  Stopping a blow that would butcher a low-level divinity in a single strike was a feat worthy of the gods. It was an accomplishment even the leader of the Pantheon would praise as mighty. Rem sweated. That maneuver took every combat experience of endlessly sparring against REM every night to pull off. “Impressive,” Satholia pressed her blade, pushing Rem back effortlessly. “At least, spending every night fending REM off did wonder for you reflex, but dear, you really need to rest more.” Satholia ignited her Excalibur, delivering a shock-wave that blew Rem to the Earth. The boys used [Tenshou] augmented by the manifestation of poppies to steady himself. Crimson flower scattered to soften his decent. He stood amidst the burning land, massively pushed to the rock bottom. “Whew… huuu,” He huffed. Then he sensed another sword wave coming right at him. Rem pushed out with his hand to perform the Tutaminis that parted the burst of sword waves two lenght which proceed to dug duo of trenches stretching farther than eye can see. Red poppy scattered, and Rem collapsed on his knee. “Fu. Fu. Fu.” Satholia mirthfully floated down. “You lasted a solid three moves against me. So let me teach you a special attack. Central, dear, please let me help.” The rainbow-color hair girl with a dress made with white fired materialized. ‘Milady? You have an order.’ “Right, I need you to be the core of Rem’s custom-made Arcana.” Central raised her eyes. ‘You want me to become a magical processor.’ “I want you to be his partner. Central, you are spiritual being directly tied to the Center Force like the Spirit being tied to a Spirit Realm. Like Spirit, you need a contractor to exert influence on real world. Your exposure to Rem’s Origin also acclimated you to [Tenshou], making you perfect processor for his Arcana. But most of all, you two needs to each other to perform this technique.” “Okay, what is this supreme technique,” Rem asked “The ultimate technique of [Tenshou] — the Heaven befalling sword. If I have to give it a name, I would call it The Blade of the Heaven King or [Tenno-no-Ken].”

As Melody fought against the unrelenting army of plastic cups and candles, Horizon Dawn gave their armory/laboratory the finishing touch. “System, check,” Rem said. “Operating system operational. Begin connecting power,” Ehto confirmed. Power coursed across the room, switching on the light and revealing a massive workshop with a series of high-quality tool Alcra’s left behind for Ehto. The high-end weaving machine rested in one corner of the room. An operating table with add-in sliding drawing-board dominated the center. An advance furnace steamed with power leaned by the wall. Everything was satisfactory aside from the empty weapon rack — a flaw Melody and Rem were eager to rectify. “Okay, we should upgrade with some of Earth’s computer system, but I think we get the basic,” Luxinna said. “According the schematic, the second floor housed the Medical Bay, Armory and Laboratory, Library and the Operation room. Wait, shouldn’t we be operating from the bridge above the third floor?” “Isn’t that the bridge on the top floor?” Melody entered the room after losing to her thirtieth cup. Rem grasped the blueprint in confusion. “The bottom-floor — the first floor — is the storage area and training area. The middle floor is the operating-center and the third floor is the recreation area. Wait, Ehto should we count the floor up or down?” “Let stick with top, mid, and bottom.” “What about the bridge above the top floor,” Luxinna asked. “The roof.” “Yep,” Rem nodded, and he jotted down the label. “Finally, we got the standard check.” Luxinna sighted “Wonder what Hikma is doing with Satholia?” … “I have to apologize.” “I think you said that to Melody,” Hikma felt like Satholia’s apology was a prelude to hell. The Queen of Center Force then further elaborated. “Truth to be told I should apologize to every one of you.” Hikma doesn’t know whether he should complain about getting such a caring boss. The ongoing war between Melody and plastic cup was the illustration of Satholia’s love. “Okay, so what exactly is my flaw that you should apologize for,” Hikma said. Satholia sighed. “Hikma, you don’t have any flaw in your fighting technique. What you have is a wall. Surely, you have already noticed it.” Hikma did. [Conceptual Construct] fixed many things he lacked, but its weakness showed itself at his current mastery. It lacked growth. The only thing Hikma could improve on is the number of [Conceptual Construct] he controlled, but manually controlling each one of them while juggling power output was tiring. Sure, he could summon eighty [Surtr] to throw at his opponent, but it would be a hassle to control. Essentially, he ran into a weight-cost problem haunting the world of engineering. More [Conceptual Construct] for power meant concentration, which further divided his proficiency. Higher control traded with lower [Construct] which tanked his overall power ceiling. It was a hard-cap which Hikma as a Transcendental lacked any Legend to remedy. “You have a method to fix this.” “Yes,” Satholia conjured a blackboard from the multicolor floor. “Hikma, our method to fix this has to do with a spirit.” “Isn’t that the entity Luxinna’s sister made the contract with?” Hikma recalled. “You aren’t thinking about asking me to contract with them. No offense, Ma’am, but I doubt they will help elevate the wall I am facing much.” “That is hilarious, Hikma dear,” Satholia smiled, but her eyes weren’t smiling. “Why on earth would I throw my children to the brats of the bloody Spirit Realm?” “I sense a history,” Hikma stated the obvious. “I take it we aren’t on the good term with the Spirit Realm.” “Spirit Realm is like the angels in their hidden agenda,” Satholia said. “Angels and spirits seek the supremacy of their influence. They are fatalistic and so focus on the bigger picture they couldn’t fathom the potential of humanity and bonds between people. I don’t like them and the feeling is mutual. There is only one way our gripe with Spirit Realm will end — someone got to admit they a faithless fool and sure as hell aren’t us.” “So, no contracting Sprit.” “The Spirit Lords will null the contract the moment they realize my involvement,” Satholia snorted. “But no worries, Hikma dear, we can still use them as inspiration.” Satholia further explained. “Spirit are terminal of the Spirit Realm. The Spirit Lords create the Spirit by using three conditions: an intense elementally rich location, Spirit Realm Mana to connect the spirit to the Spirit Realm and pseudo soul created from combining blueprint with catalyst for maturation. The resulting Spirit — the terminal to Spirit Realm — could cast an elemental attack above their league by sourcing the Mana from their stupid world, using contractor as a guide. Essentially, turning the battle into a group fight where one-side literally has an entire world of support to buff them.” Hikma whistled. “Then why did Magnolia go down so easily with so many Spirits?” Hikma said. “Because Magnolia, for all the love-letter Spirit Realm piled at her feet, lacks the focus, innovativeness, and sheer will,” Satholia answered. “And when you master the technique I have in mind, the gap will be as wide as the size contest between Megalodon and a sardine.” “So, what is this technique you are so proud of?” Hikma said. “Creating your own Spirit with [Conceptual Seal].” Hikma faltered. “What?” “Your [Conceptual Construct] is the baby stage of this technique,” Satholia explained. “[Conceptual Seal] is a conceptual ability. It creates a seal which embody the concept written by the testament of will. Your ability handily trumps any kind of environment the Spirit Lord can beg for. Multiple [Conceptual Seal] can also be to create [Conceptual Construct] that becomes an ultimate blueprint, and the memory lives in the Primal Arcane can mature this artificial terminal connected to you.” Satholia finished Hikma's blatant confusion with the statement that blew the young man's mind. “Hikma, dear, your have the raw material to create a godlike minion and contactee. You can’t be compared to the Spirit Lord. You are our very own human-shape Spirit Realm.” Hikma blinked. He was that powerful? That was ridiculous. Satholia wasn’t talking about gods or a Spirit Lords, but an entire dimension. “That can’t be,” Hikma tried to mentally ran away from his godlike potential. “How can I be compared to an entire Spirit Realm? That insane.” “True,” Satholia admitted after a few blinks. “You are insanely stronger. The Spirit Realm doesn’t have a body to merge with the Spirit Lords to boost its power or consciousness use that connection to attain domination of the element, but you can.” Hikma’s mouth close. “Ma’am… just…” “Just how powerful are you?” Satholia snorted. “Hikma, in DC term, your potential makes Doctor Fate and Trigon look like squabbling baby.” … Thus, Hikma began the great remaking of his entire [Conceptual Construct]. He started from the core built from intricate of networks of [Conceptual Seal]. [Soul], [Experience], [Emotion], [Personality], [Magic]; those were the parts of many [Conceptual Seal] creating the heart of his new [Conceptual Construct]. The Hikma completed his magnum opus by enveloping it with the ring of [Fire]. The new [Surtr] resembled an egg, but his task wasn’t over. “Good,” Satholia nodded. “This baby will grow strong, but we need to provide the environment for it to live.” The Queen of the Center Force conjured a mat. “Sat here. It is time I am going to introduce you to the proper utilization Mana Core.” Hikma sat cross-legged across from Satholia. “Mana Core is an astral organ that directly housed your True Magic,” Satholia explained as she weaved the surrounding Mana. “It acts as a storage, converter and fermenter to transform Mana into an energy carrier unique to you — an Origin. There is a clear quantitative leap in power between Mana and Origin. That was why World Enemy is such a threat they directly source their power from the Malice’s Origin. Now close your eyes” … Hikma found himself inside a blank field of white. ‘This is your Mana Core,’ Satholia’s voice echoed. ‘It is up to you to fill it. Each True Magic is different and thus the nature of each the Origin differs. Luckily, for us, your Origin is simple? What do you need to write?’ “An ink,” Hikma realized. ‘Good,’ Satholia said. ‘Now, give forms to your power. Gather your Mana, funnels it to your True Magic and make it into a planet. The realm where your power resides. Celestial body of ink where various seal experiences birth and death.’ Hikma did as instructed, closing his eyes and funneling his Mana, changing them into a black ink with a surreal amber glow. The ink of [Conceptual Seal]—the liquid which embodied possibility — conglomerated into a sphere. Experience and history of Hikma De Darwin trickled into the mix. Every trail and tribulation he faced — the very lifeblood of his identity — gave life to the planet of ink. Amber glowed from the surface of the black ocean planet, and from it various letters and string of sentences rose in to the air and died in a cycle of life and death. The boy opened his eyes again, but now his irises reflect his ascension beyond humanity. The amber color eyes shone as various sigils and seals materialized, sparkling like ember in his cornea. ‘Excellent,’ Satholia cheered. ‘First, let stored [Surtr] your origin and then we will familiarize your with this new power up.’ … With his Origin established, Hikma’s ability underwent a transformation. He no longer needs to conjure a seal to use Arcane. He could easily write the Arcane into the air and performed an advance level of [Nicholas] simply by adding another phrase. He could even passively augment his body with [Necta Floral]. The ease of used of his True Magic developed to the extent Hikma was convinced he was no longer using [Conceptual Seal] but becoming the source — the Origin — of one. But he was still a long way to go. Satholia drilled that fact into his head. Hikma blocked a punch that sent him tumbling into the air and landed nimbly on his feet. A kick arrived at the speed the only his newly augmented reflex saved him. The force of the kick drew blood from Hikma’s cheek, but his passive [Necta Floral] automatically heal it. Satholia made a wide smile, somersaulted to the sky, and bombarded him with a shower of ice-arrows. “Don’t stick with just [Necta Floral]!” The goddess yelled. “Use your new Mana to launch a counter-attack. Go beyond elemental! Remember your ability can do anything!” Hikma traced the air with his finger to create the Arcane. [Entropy] The arrows shattered. Satholia’s smile widened as she conjured the wall of ice to block the degrading force that crumbled all into nothing. “Good,” Satholia commended and clasped her hand. As a result, the multicolor platform rumbled as forest sprouted from beneath her. “But you needed more than [Entropy]! Don’t just write on the air! Imagine everything you see is a paper!” The vines, branches and roots attacked Hikma with a raw speed unbelievable from the plant kingdom. The wood quickly wrapped around Hikma’s arms and legs, rooting him. But the young man was undeterred in that crushing gripped. The black ink already drew a circle of command around the entire battlefield. [Paradiso] From the encircled ground, Arcane surged. The stripe of amber light sprang, snaking across the tress, halting their growth and bounding them. The same chain tried to invade Satholia's body only to dissipate into nothingness. “Not bad,” Satholia tapped the tree beneath her, turning it into a massive serpent. “Don’t hurt the serpent. It will reflect damage back at you.” Hikma eroded his binding with entropy and gestured the circle of [Paradiso] he set to bind that serpent in mid-air. “Excellent,” Satholia spread out her hand and covered the entire sky with enough heart-shape magical projectiles to replace the stars. “Defend for your life! These hearts will turn you to stone with the power of love” Hikma grimaced. And several combinations [Conceptual Seal] of [Trinity] materialized around him. It was an automatic defense Satholia suggested. [Trinity] was the technique he specialized in. Materializing several copies of it from his newly created Origin was almost too easy. Its utilization speed was akin to an automatic defense. The bombardment of heart arrows fell like a meteor shower for half an hour. Hikma gritted his teeth under the unforgiving barrage, fully convince their boss was a demon of epic scale. Light sparring? What a load of bullshit? Even when holding back, the raw ability of Satholia, her innate creativity and her competitive streak made her a terminator to deal with. Satholia didn’t even spare him any dignity in her attempt to bury him under the raining power of heart and love. The barrage stopped, but before Hikma breathed a sigh of relief, light filled the sky. “TAKE THIS! SUNSHINE VERSION I-AM-SERIOUSLY-HOLDING-BACK!” Hikma’s heart sank before the gigantic sun being thrown at him. It was at that moment Hikma was convinced he was no longer afraid of any S-class, the Divine Fist, or the gods. Screw the S-rank. Screw the SS. Screw the World Enemy. Satholia wasn’t exaggerating her power-level. Their boss was without the doubt the most terrifying combatant ever and she wasn’t even trying to kill them. Hikma braced himself against the shinning sun which engulfed him whole and exploded in a power that would nuke half of China and render the Earth inhabitable in a heart-shape mushroom cloud of death. … “Gosh, that is satisfying,” Satholia beamed. “I never get to stretch my leg like that ever since Center Force surrendered. I am impressed, Hikma. You held out pretty well there.” “I last about 2 minutes,” Hikma replied from the state of smoking, shambling roadkill, on the multicolor floor. “Well, you might last longer once you have created all your elemental attacks,” Satholia said. “But you performed impressively with only part of your ability. You’ve done well. I believe you won’t require much further training outside of combat. Wait, there is a tiny tip for you. I believe you could have survived that last attack.” “That is planet killer!” Hikma’s body trembled. “How can I survive that?” “[Tempo]” Hikma’s body froze. “The Primal Arcane which ruled over time itself,” Satholia clicked her finger. “You try to master that power, but never come close because you can’t grasp the two natures of time.” Hikma stood there dumbly. “What is the true nature of time?” “Hikma,” Satholia giggled. “You think time is the continual of period along the universal axis, but time is relative. It isn’t a continuous thing but a sequence of event.” Satholia then showed Hikma several mathematical formulae written on the blackboard. “And tell Rem to put this,” Satholia said. “I look at those little toys. Arcana, isn’t it? They are neat little tools, but I think magical weapon should be custom made around its user over its caliber.” Hikma glanced at what Satholia wrote. He couldn’t believe what their boss cooked.

The tower of electricity separated the two vampires. Serina sailed across the air, landed on her feet, and faced the mighty beast leaping down at her. She growled at the figure cladded in glass armor coming down like a truck. Serina leapt up to meet the juggernaut. … Inside a forest, draped with cloudy mist a sour, toxic scent, another battle was taking place. Luxinna crashed through several trees. This was ridiculous. Rem wasn’t kidding when he said it could take down the entire civilization of the elves. A figure draped in purple chitin and green skin walked toward her, bringing the sour smell and atmosphere heavier than lead. It was barefoot, but those animalistic crawls and chitin covered leg would never need a footwear. The rest of its body was cladded in shells of chitin—a mocking parody of Luxinna’s glass armor. The monster bared her teeth, revealing shark-like fangs. The elf’s eyeballs were gone. Instead, a mutated horn emerged from its eyes socket. Long forked tongue slithered out of the monster's mouth, tasting the fear in the air. The elf’s black hair quivered like a lock of purple snakes. Gross. Luxinna nearly emptied her stomach. She was infinitely thankful for Rem rescuing her. Being stuck as a piece of parasitized monster for eternity didn’t do her stomach favors. The monster moved, transforming into a blur. Luxinna triggered [Overflow]. A sharp claw to blocked with an elbow. And a kick—shit. Luxinna knew what was coming. It happened many times before. She mentally magnified her processing ability, but the monster was simply too fast; fast enough to surpass [Overflow] and interrupted her. Luxinna successfully blocked the claw, but a kick smashed her through another tree. Pieces of glass armor went flying as the elf’s body dug a trench across the soil. The pattern repeated endlessly. Luxinna could dodge few initial strikes using [Overflow], but Luxinna Alter would overcome her rapid response. The gap between them was too large. She needed to think faster instead of fighting faster. If she didn’t produce a solution soon, she would be beaten to death. Luxinna reformed her broken armor and focused all her attention on the next attack. She caught the animalistic spin kick with both arms and used her True Magic to create the strongest shackle possible. First, she must immobilize the beast. Beast Luxinna found its arm being cuffed to the elf at an awkward angle. Growling, it provided a simple solution to this humble barrier. The beast broke her problematic arm into a ‘U’ shape to launch an attack. Luxinna didn’t expect a punch after successfully immobilizing her opponent’s limbs. She was so flabbergasted she couldn’t complete [Guard Flora] intime. Boom! The blow sent Luxinna flying, freeing the beast from her shackle. The beast glanced at its arms. The broken limb was flapping in the wind like a piece of paper. The handcuff also ripped the beast’s skin clean during their last exchange and broke her thumb. The corrupted elf frown and flexed its arm like pieces of cloth. The problematic limbs immediately snapped back to shape. Skin grown over the pulped muscles and the mutated bones realigned itself. The beast pulled its thumb back in place and resumed its barrages. The dazed Luxinna somersaulted across the sky. Thankfully, her bout with Melody gave her mid-air combat experience. The elf righted her center of gravity and opened with her [Assault Flora]. [Flower of Victory: Penetration Round] Luxinna employed the winning combination of [Electro Lorde] and her rail-gun attacks to deliver a barrage of electromagnetically accelerated, super-heated blades of glass at her evil doppelgangers. Luxinna grinned as her alternate self-ran into the storms of blades. That was the corrupted weakness. Unlike Luxinna, she never developed the ability to maneuver in mid-air. Blades of glass impaled the beast, turning her into a porcupine with swords sticking out of her body like needles. It was then that several tentacles shot out from the corrupted elves. Despite Luxinna’s best effort, she could not evade getting tangle in the tentacles. Luxinna felt her leg being dragged by the retracting tentacle and into the beast’s waiting fist. The elf got the close up at the damage she did to her ghastly alter ego. Golden blades turned it into pincushion. The heart, stomach, several spots on both pairs of arms and legs were skewered. A sizable length of [Serene Glass] blades even buried itself through its skull where its eyes should be. Yet, despite eating attack that would extinguish vital organs and had the brain ran through, that monster barely felt anything. The corrupted Luxinna already surpassed the need for brain or necessity of life-sustaining organ. Purple fluid which bled from its wounds was more than blood. The Corruptor had replaced those internal organs with bio-soup and chitin skeletons. It had no organ system to fail or damaged. Instead, that body was like a water bag of non-Newtonian healing liquid that doubled as muscle and digestive acid — a monster without fear or pain. Luxinna tried to stop the punch, but its haymaker shattered the arm she used to guard and the follow-up kick demolished her breast plate, shooting her to the ground. … Serina landed with a painful crunch and cough blood. Not wasting a single beat, she rolled across the floor, barely evading the crushing knee-drop that would turn her face into a watermelon smoothy. This was insane. Serina spared against combatant equal and above her often, but this was too much. Normal opponent cast a spell or used technique, but the creature facing her did neither. All her attacks were fast and organically woven—a perfect combination of martial prowess, magic and biological marvel. The monster cladded in golden glass whipped its tail. Serina, knowing the coming attack, evaded it in a spin jump, but this left her vulnerable to a maximum velocity rush. Serina felt a solid grip choking her as they flew into several war drones. Robot, metal and loose floor sailed from the carnage. The monster dragged the vampire from the center of the room and into the wall, using a propulsion system of ionizes air that should be too advanced for Luxinna. The monster slammed Serina to the wall, crumpling the steel behind her. In a display of ruthless desperation, Serina slammed her palm at the possessed elf and released her attack. [Sacred Blood: Razor Cross] X-shape blade of blood-color steel released from Serina's waiting palm. The steel dusts, vibrating like the world most lethal sander, hit Luxinna at point blank and sent her flying. Normally, that technique would function like a chainsaw,turning anything in front of it into grind meat-paste. But the new golden glass armor withstood the attack before a burst of ionize air utterly dispelled it. Serina felt a brief glimpsed of hope as she witnessed her attack shaving the beast's armor. The relief then got dunked into a fresh heap of reality when a new chitin shell slowly reformed over a bundle of intertwined fibre of glass cables protecting the elf. It was then that the facility defense system prioritized this newest threat. Turrets and war-drones turned their attention toward Luxinna Alter. Firepower rained on her. Robot enclosed it in the circles of drones. The beast growled. Glass tentacle flews in the air, snatching flying robots to the earth. Armored hand caught a punch from a war-drone. The fibrous glass-cables within the armor flexed, giving the berserk elf the mechanical might to rip the robot to pieces. The beast swung her armored arm to block the turret barrages, but Serina could tell the obvious was happening. One or two metal bots piling on her wouldn’t even slow the monster down. But an entire room? That was another story. Enormous numbers wear anything down eventually. True to the vampire's expectation, every single robot stormed the elf in thunderous march. She destroyed several drones with ease, but getting rapidly fired by every single turret — over twenty in total — was doing a number on her. The elf ripped a few humongous war drones before getting buried under a mountain of robot. Not taking any chance, the entire room of drones kept piling on the mountain of metal, keeping the unstoppable beast imprisoned. For a naïve second, Serina deluded herself into thinking that the facility’s defenses got the elf under control. Yeah, like it would be so easy. Light sneaked from the mountain of war-drones, and a beam of blinding plasma carved the mountain apart. Torrent of ionized particles traced a path of destruction acrosee the ceiling, blowing apart turrets and flying drones, which abruptly exploded into fireworks. Delivery systems and electronics within proximity immediately short-circuited. Not settling with that tiny revenge, the monster spread her tentacles and began firing electrical discharges from their tips, roasting any robot that dare looked funnily at her. In the decision formed out of two-third overconfidence and one-third courage, Serina picked that instant to fire a sneak attack. [Sacred Blood: Swirling Shred] Metal dust swirled around the beastly visage of Luxinna, forming a tornado of razor winds, but a burst of ionize air ripped her tornado of crimson blades apart. [Sacred Blood: World of Sword] Serina ordered her metal dust to barrages the monstrous being before her from every direction. Fifty blades and increasing dropped on Luxinna like a shower of stars. Ten more sprouted from the ground like a landmine. From every angle conceivable, the sword kept coming. Average A-rank would have been shredded while low-level S-ranker would be in hot-waters. But not that monster. The possessed elf agilely slipped past her attack in five strides. It was an insane display of footwork. Beast Luxinna slammed its fist into the vampire who barely lifted her arm to block in time. The impact instantly fractured her bones, bashed apart the wall behind her and sent the vampire into the steel production ring surrounding the mustering area head first. Serina slammed into several of many robot arms operating the facility, ripping them from their base as her battered body rolled across the floor. The vampire watched the monster walked toward the gaping hole in her entrance left and prided it wider. Lightning crackled around its body like a demonic aura. The fight was hopeless. This wasn’t an opponent she could defeat, but that didn’t mean she would roll over and die. [Sacred Blood: Crimson Armor] Red metal covered Serina from head to toe, protecting her in a [Blood Armament] that boosted her strength and endurance. It was a form with perfect elemental and physical protection. At least, it would buy time. Her fractured arm was half-way healed. She was their leader. She needed to set an example, which meant not giving up no matter how harsh the fight got. Luxinna’s punch plowed into the vampire. The armor softened the blow, but metal was an excellent conductor for electricity. Serina fell to her knees, barely able to withstand the electrocution. She barely gasped for breath when a glass tail whipped her into a conveyer belt. The vampire painfully ripped across the metal track and banged into another wall, caving it. Another round of lighting followed her. Serina managed to bank to the side and activated a technique she copied from Sun Senwei. [Sacred Blood: Dragon Rampage] Metal enchanted with crimson energy transformed into a swirling metal around Blood swirled around the vampires, forming the image of eastern dragon created from crimson wind and metal dust. Serina rushed forward at the speed rivaling Luxinna at her peak and planted her foot at the monster’s chest. The attack landed with a crimson explosion of light. The girl gritted her teeth and let her power flew. The power sealed within her heart unleashed in that moment. … In the mustering area, the survivors and the 33 Stars picked their shambled self from the wreckage. The carnage generated by out-of-control True Magic and the super vampire inadvertently saved them from the giant robot. Yes, they were exhausted, injured and stranded in the middle of the room that was quickly becoming a health and safety disaster, but they were breathing. Then the wall collapsed as a spectral image of a dragon came hurtling through with an elf cladded in golden exoskeleton rampaging inside its jaw. The dragon shone like scarlet stars as it slammed into the wall, smashing the monstrous beast in golden armor into metal platings and ran two circuits around the mustering area, filing the monstrous elf against the metal. Then the dragon tore through the opposite metal wall with the elf still in its jaw. Every 33 Stars turned toward Senwei. “Yeah, she copy my moves,” Senwei answered the question in their mind. “That is why I never want to run into her again. That girl just learn too fast.” … Inside her mental scape, the sane Luxinna crawled on the forest floor in a bloody, bruised mess. The elf groaned. Her gum was killing her after having her teeth knocked out by that stupid punch. Countless wounds leaked precious life fluid from her body. Her arm was in glass cast — a vain attempt at fixing her fracture bone. Blood trickled down Luxinna’s face and seeped into the earth below. She rolled on her back and studied at the damage she sustained. Her glass armor was crushed to smithereens. Criss-cross cuts and injuries turned her abdomen into a mess. Lacerations painted her arms red. Luxinna winced. Those broken ribs were agonizing. Crash! The green-skin alternate version of her slammed into the ground. No sign of injuries was visible on it. Luxinna recalled the brutal battle. She tried her to put a dent in the monsters. Hell, she was still trying. [Assault Flora] Two blades impaled the Paracis’ strongest creature. The first stabbed through its heart another impaled its brain, but the monster kept growling. Luxinna already tried paralyzing the monster, but it shared her immunity to lightening. As for explosion… “Discharge!” The sword blew its head apart and opening a window where the monster's heart should be. The monster craned the head which lost everything above its nose and walked toward Luxinna without its heart and part of its lungs. Luxinna trembled with fear. This trail was impossible. How could she beat something which was immune to her electrical attack and shrugged off decapitation? The tentacles appeared behind Beast Luxinna's back and opened fire with the beam of purple sizzling energy. Luxinna raised her [Guard Flora], but the force of the beams still sent her flying. … In the real world, the exoskeleton’s tails plugged Serina from the mouth of the crimson dragon and flung her into the floor as the dragon smash into the wall and dissipated into dark-red sands. Serina back-flipped to her feet, only for a golden tentacle to wrap around her foot. The vampire felt herself being dragged into a punch. The blow knocked her down, but the punishment was just starting. Blade sprouted from the glass tentacle and stabbed her in the shoulder, penetrating her armor, and ran a voltage into her body. Amidst her scream, Serina could make out the face plate opening up like a fanged beast, gathering the energy of another plasma beam. The attack landed at point blank, blasting her across several tools, robotic arms and conveyer belts before exploding. The vampire's best effort apparently wasn’t enough. … In the center of the base, Rem peered over the massive dropped leading to the glowing inferno of the furnace below. He nodded to Cytortia who stood with much fear and hesitation in her eyes. Both heroes counted to three and jump down to the citrine glow of inferno. They both knew the truth and path to victory was hiding inside the conflagration of heat and burning flames. The question was finding it amidst the hostile environment.

Hikma absorbed Rem’s telepathic briefing. Strangely, his back felt heavier. Hikma debated between the possibility of him getting hit with a stealth curse. Nah, unless you labeled the unforgiving weight of dread as a curse, Hikma doubted anyone short of S-ranker could hex him. Hearing Rem’s theory getting confirmed was bad. Discovering the true depth of what ticked beneath his feet was horrifically worst. What was it with Supervillain’s obsession with creating army? The Amalgam Orwell Mehest unleashed already gave him headaches, and with his escaped, it guaranteed he must climb that hill to stop Orwell again. Hikma could feel a shadow of lower back pain he would likely develop in the future. Now they got an army of bio drone in the drawing board. Wonderful. Why can’t the good guys get an army too? Hikma agreed with Melody’s minions proposal. The library won’t sort themselves. A sudden movement alerted Hikma to a newer threat, or rather a recovering old one. Edward Balorian was a mess. He was lucky enough to be far enough to witness Melody’s battle without getting mauled by the stray fires. But the vampire was now up and ready to rumble. “That was a magnificent display of power,” Edward laughed madly. “That woman would make an unbelievable mare. Probably even better than that Neferia’s Holy-c--” A wave of red metal speared the vampire at speed and ferocity to blow a hole in his stomach and impale him to the wall. Everyone felt it. No one could breathe. It was a killing intent, so thick even Hikma’s throat parched. Magnolia fell on her behind. A pool of liquid leaked from Sorin Enma’s pant, while Artos’ eyes turned bloodshot from the overwhelming malicious Mana pressing down on them. The wolf hoard duo — Joshua and Yurica — gulped and stumbled out of range. Emily and Amitate trembled like a chick. However, the crowning sufferer was the Holy priestess. Arisa Holyworth’s eyes rolled over—her consciousness utterly keeled from the saturate will fueling the thick miasma of [Bloodmist]. Rage. Anger at a level impossible to replicate. Thick black grudge that couldn’t be erased. Stories often spoke of eating enemy flesh or dicing them to piece to satiate one vengefulness. But this was beyond that. The malice inside her Mana was scientifically impossible to gauge or satiate. Not even near-death experience could push this kind of power forward. No. Such magical force was stimulated by raw hatred surpassing animal instinct of survival. The desire for blood without caring of consequence or mutually assured destruction. Those descriptions were necessary to grasp the sudden explosion inside Commander Serina of the Wolf Hoard. Her face was veiled but the crimson scars crisscrossing her face glow with excess Mana. The room quaked at the step she took. The crimson glowed from her irises dwarfed the darkness of her sclera. “Repeat that again. And I promise your dynasty will disappear by next month.” Despite her soft, calm voice, the unstoppable killing intent radiated from Serina like a microwave. Edward’s confidence faltered. Hikma won’t blame him. Even he didn’t want to duel this girl. Something told him she could one day become as strong as Luxinna and Melody, if not stronger. In fact, her state of absolute focus as she drowned inside hatred reminded him of… Rem. Beside him, Magnolia and Artos shared the feeling. Their assessment were even clearer because they felt a similar oppression of will once. The memory they tucked inside the deepest part of their mind peaked from its cupboard; a masked man sneering at the noblest race in Phantasia, cowering even Lucian Drakokia with the raw intensity of his ideal — his faith to a higher cause. Magnolia’s body went stiffed. The light of faith and the darkness of rage — those were the most intense force she ever experienced. Edward got up with an expression of fear. He summoned his sword and created a gigantic feather he launched at Serina. In a move that surprise every eye presented, Serina vanished and reappeared in front of the giant feather. The vampire received the attack with her bare hands. “Explode!” Edward yelled. The crimson feather burst in pulses of light, engulfing Serina. But the young woman held her ground as the explosion twisted around her and bent away in a warped twist of air. The vented forces from Edward’s explosion dug a trench across the metal floor and blew apart a section of the ice wall created by Magnolia and Emily Aztellic. Smoke floated from the ground as Serina stood, flexing her hand, bloodied from the explosion. Her clothing was torn and frayed from the force technique, but she remained unharmed. “I see. So, Mana can be used like this.” Hikma recognized that ability. [Aura]. Serina just used [Aura] to divert Edward Balorian’s attack. Sure, it was a shoddy attempted of a newbie, but the fact she deciphered the secret of [Aura] after watching Melody battling Luxinna was terrifying. “What are you!?” Edward huffed, throwing both his arms out and blasting Serina with every ounce of [Bloodmist] he got. The column of red, corrosive malic plowed into Serina, ripping her sleeves to pieces and shredding her leather clothing, but the vampire gritted her teeth and took a step forward. The thought of dodging didn’t slip into her mind. It was then that Hikma realized what she tried to do. Commander Serina of the Wolf Hoard was attempting to master [Aura] and Horizon Dawn's understanding of Mana by raw external pressure. The torrent of [Bloodmist] tore into Serina’s flesh, ripping gash after gash throughout her forearm as she used them to shield her face against the destructive energy. It was only because of her regeneration that Serina wasn’t ground to the bone. Maybe like a river or water channel, Serina though pushing her leg forward. She allowed those energies to flow outward while protecting her core with Mana, no, energy. Mana was just a channel to transport energy. I need to concentrate. Instead of consuming it, I must reach into my Mana and draw energy from it. I see. No wonder she is so powerful. She literally has limitless power to work with. Each step for her felt like an eternity. Each parting from the ground was akin to crawling across a burning, shifting desert. But for each foot landed, her posture firmed. With every distant surmounted, her breathing steady. The watcher stared in awe as the young vampire dropped her battered forearm and parted the intense crimson tide with her determination, body and overwhelming bloodlust. [Nimbus] Finally, Serina reached for Edward, wrenching his hand to stop the torrent of [Bloodmist]. She drew her Mana and funnel it energy into a massive crimson light of destruction illuminating her hand. She threw her hand forward at Edward’s panic face. The wall gave way and crumbled from the explosion that shook the room. The massive blasted of crimson energy turned the steel beneath it to pieces. Edward nervously eyed the portion of the destroyed wall. It was a fate nearly befallen him. Around the room, everybody guffawed at the display of precision, speed, and timing displayed before them. Serina glared at the cane that nudged her attack from its mark and traced her eyes at the helmeted knight who intervened with her execution. The Commander wasted no time. She spun and throw a fist at Hikma, but the Chronicler simply leaned sideway allowing the punch to miss and the vampire to fell flat to his waiting arm. Serina shockingly registered the impossible. How? She shouldn’t get tripped so easily. What type of spell or hexes tangled her foot? Why were the ground and ceiling spinning? “You burn-out,” Hikma lifted her back to her feet. “Our utilization of Mana allows nearly limitless power but there is a limit on how much you can conduct. Tanking brief attack is fine, but prolong bath in excess energy? I believe you can answer that question yourself. You should be careful at gauging how much you can loan out safely and maintain a healthy rest period to prevent yourself from shutting down in the middle of combat.” “I appreciate your advice,” Serina gritted her teeth and glared at Hikma. “But why do you save him?” Hikma sighed long and hard. “Well, my reason is so old that it probably found a stone slab somewhere. As an archeologist, my duty is preserving and protecting that stone slab with a simple message: if you kill him, you will be just like him.”  Nobody believed what came out of Hikma’s mouth. “ARE YOU SERIOUS!?” It was Joshua who released his pent-up outrage and disbelief. “Do you know what he is? How many he have killed?” Emily went catatonic from raw shock, while Amitate blinked like he could believe what was happening. Magnolia’s head went into the orbit at the disobedience against commonsense. Meanwhile, Sun Senwei observed with grim confusion and curiosity. “Kill him!” A person from the crowd yelled. “Are you a fucking traitor? That thing don’t deserve to live.” “Death to the abomination!” “What the fuck are you low-life doing?” Sorin Enma screeched in anger. “Kill that monster, right now!” Artos picked himself from the rubbles. “If you have trouble with it, I can…” But Hikma spoke in the voice worthy of the Dawn. It was a speech inspired by his best friend and comrade who prescribed the values they held. “Demand the death of your enemy. Create endless cycles of vengeance, while piling bodies after bodies in a never-ending war for a stupid reason. Murdering the ‘monster’ without the benefit of evidence, trail and jury. Bask in the kangaroo execution with words like justice and duty to mask your own fear and hate. Hypocritally moan of loss but never see the loss from the other side. Knowing all those points, tell me what separates you from the ‘monster’.” Hikma De Darwin’s words echoed around the room with the clarity of his Mana and [Tenshou]. At that moment, every soul was forced to listen to the query of Satholia’s knights. They registered the question and their mouth tried to answer the simple question. What separated them from the murderous bloodsucking vampire? Artos attempted to answer, but Hikma cut his answer to piece before it emerged. “If words you are using include noble, shelve it. The way you kill each other before coming here proved the only thing noble about you are empty titles. And yes, I heard about the rapist part. But you people also discriminate against, even steal from, the less fortunate and sometimes your own family.” Magnolia felt that hit sharper than a sword to the heart. “I know you would force yourself on the innocent if it elevates your family status or allows you to rule gods. After all, you all came here willing to take a life for your benefit, much less dignity.” “But he is a vampire,” it was Serina, the vampire, who put the staunchest resistant. “They are all scum.” “I don’t judge a person for circumstance of their birth,” Hikma’s word was short but struck a solid blow into Serina’s spirit. However, the recipient of Hikma’s mercy, Edward Balorian, laughed maliciously. He picked himself from the floor and glared at the knight of benevolence with contempt. His [Bloodmist] swirled in anger and disgust. “You are a fool! Giving me sympathy? Which fool teaches you such a stupidity! Mercy to other is cruelty to yourself! We are in the world of war! In the land of warriors, your word is an insult!” Edward lunged with a sword coated in [Bloodmist], but Hikma intercepted the blow. The vampire faced the knight with a series of exchange. The Chronicler weaved between each collision of sword and cane, comfortably nestling into his defensive maneuver as Edward released a triad of provocation. “Attack back you coward! A piece of shit like you with a tissue for brain weren’t even worthy enough to be a merchandise! We of the Balorian know no fear of death, nor loss. Even the gods will bow to us.” Hikma locked blade and looked into Edward. Serina attempted to come and helped him, but Hikma waved her away as he disengaged the swordplay and easily blocked Edward’s swirling [Bloodmist]. “What with the pain in your voice?” “Pain!? We vampire know no pain!” “No,” Hikma looked at him in the eye. “You know the pain of loss, Edward. That swordplay of yours is the proof of effort you invested. An effort that sadly ended in unfortunate failure. Truth is, you want him to see it, but your father never comes back.” Edward paused and lost it. He came for Hikma like a storm. “My father! Why should I care about the life of a stallion? He is weak for getting execute by the inquisitor. He deserves what happens to him.” Never losing his calm and footwork, Hikma effortlessly overcame the rage fueled barrages. The attack was strong, but the anger made Edward predictable. The crowd watched, fully expecting the classic case of the viper and the farmer. “If you think he is weak, why are you still using the sword he gave you. Wind Owl was originally his and you still practice with it every single day.” Edward stopped in his track from that undeniable fact in his hand. “Truth is, you want to be loved,” Hikma poured the cold water of [Psychometry] on top of the vampire in denial. “But because of your circumstance, your father can’t fulfill that wish. Still, you tried. You thought that if you give it your all maybe things will change. And it was working. The fact he gave you his sword is the proof.” “Shut up.” “But you never get that resolution. The inquisitor destroyed it.” Edward screamed in anguish. “EXPLODE!” The explosion marked by Edward’s [Bloodmist] detonated in a crimson burst, but Hikma’s [Aura] easily tanked the blast. It was transparent to everyone's eyes that the ‘monster’ was getting psychologically cornered. But Hikma wasn’t done ripping Edward’s humanity out for all to see. “You never find comfort or kindness. Your mother never care your father got butchered by his former comrade. Your entire culture degrades the very concept of empathy. Why wouldn’t they? Why develop any tendency for kindness and bonds when an entire world is your enemy? Why care when it only brings you pain? So, you lied by yelling that you never have empathy to begin with, accepting yourself as a monster and because a monster never needs to feel sad for other ‘livestock’ or miss his late father. You follow your mother’s footstep and commit to your lies, hoping that it can miraculously substitute reality.” Edward tried to deny those words by feebly firing and explosive feathers Hikma casually dissolved with [Entropy]. “Hatred and love cannot exist without another,” Hikma spoke. “The fact you responded to the provocation about your father or gunned especially hard at dragging the church to the mud is the proof of your inherent humanity.” “Do you know how many of your kind I have killed!” Edward was desperate. Everyone could see it. “I know you already lost count, but killing you won’t bring them back.” Hikma’s voice was introspective. The crowd was watching in disbelief. “I believe in redeeming people over ending them. The rest of the world might refuse to believe you can change, but I do. My order is found on hope, not hypocrisy. I will not indulge your self-loathing and call you an irredeemable monster, because I don’t believe you are one. If you want to talk, just know I will listen” Edward attacked again, trying to muster any killing intent against the first man to show him kindness. But his heart was no longer in the fight. Hikma simply leaned to the side and let that clumsy lunge passed before dissolving a half-hearted exploding feather. Edward threw another wave of [Bloodmist] that got blocked. “Explode.” Nothing happened. Hikma already used [Entropy] dissolved all explosive markers Edward left behind. With his denial ripped apart, and his strength failed. Edward waited for an attack. Anything that could give him an excuse to hate this ideal hero. The vampire received nothing, and finally, he got it. Chronicler is so powerful Edward held no chance of victory. But that won’t bother him. Vampire as a race was the pariah of the gods and the entire world. Their kind would fight against the impossible enemy, struggling to the death with the desire to take out as many hated enemies as possible. Edward would fight on even if Zeus stood before him, knowing he wouldn’t win. But for once in the history of Phantasia, an opponent arrived who held no hatred nor a willingness to kill. That cane never once swung to take a life. Hikma simply refused to give any outlet for Edward to direct his rage. The knight of Satholia stood as the shinning pinnacle of the vampire’s society Achilles heel. The hidden crack that would ultimately end the vampiric horror.  For the first time in history, a noble vampire spirit was broken. Edward Balorian simply fell to his knee too psychologically shambled to raise a resistance. Sometimes hope was the most bitter attack.

Kakia barely registered what hit her. The only thing she saw was a foot and lightning. The next thing she felt was being painfully blasted off her wyvern and impacting the mountainside with such a force it created a landslide. She picked up from the crater she found herself in and a scowled. The surprise attack ruined her good mood. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. Kakia’s good mood was long since ruined. Sure, she got to play with Penelope a bit, but that stick in the mud needed the young queen moderately intact. If Kakia got her way, the former Queen would become a newest addition to her private dungeon.  Kakia’s private dungeon. It was three words that sent chill even to the heart of the most brutal men in Centuria. The troops, the bankers and everyone knew it. The Praetorship wasn’t given on moral or character. Kakia was a living example of how this miscarriage of moral selection bred misery. A psychotic lesbian sadist who got off the sound of girls in pain got to create an elaborate room of racks and torture instruments. Whips and sharp objects were her prize collection. Kakia was already a brutal warrior who enjoyed torturing prisoner during her younger days and exposure to the Divine Fist’s cutthroat culture made her worse than anyone could imagine. Rumor said Kakia loved drinking the blood of virgins. They said she often kidnapped the girl who caught her eyes from any station in life and sexually abuse them to death door. Whisper spoke of how she masturbated to the sight of young pretty skin reduce to a bruise and bloody mess. It was an open secret that this woman was so horrific only Satan could flap to her deviancy and even Hentai protagonist couldn’t stomach her kink. Those were rumors that were sadly accurate. The satanic version of Elizabeth Bathory was licking her lip at the thought of getting her hand on Penelope right after she fulfilled her uses. Kakia couldn’t wait for the ritual to finish. She already selected the hot poker to brand her newest property, taming the cute little Queen would be a joy. The sadist could already imagine those sobs, cream and tears. The S-ranker was so distracted by her fantasy. She barely minded a lone knight arriving to dash the malice from her skull. Annoying, Kakia thought as she unleashed a scarlet wind to crush the stranger who dare struck her for the sin of interrupting her daydream. The blast of scarlet air carved a new channel right through the rock surface and scarred the distance mountain in its direction. Kakia huffed, believing the interloper was dead before turning in the direction the old-man was in. Instead, she met a blade in her eye. Chunk! Kakia reacted to that attack, but she couldn’t make it. The blade stabbed out her right eye, sending blood flying in a scarlet spray. “Arrrrrrrrrrgh!” the S-ranker cried in an agonizing scream. “MY EYE! YOU DARE! YOU INSECT!” It was a critical mistake, but one that finally got Kakia to register the threat standing tall against her. Through her one good eye, Kakia finally etched the image of the heroes sent by good itself to end her perversion. She was a girl. That fact alone made the S-ranker’s mouth twisted up in an excited grin. Blood trickled from her hollowed socket down her cheek as she smile in excitement. The young woman facing her was perfection. The short black-cape flowing in the wind. The black, lustrous hair. The smooth white skin and the well-toned body underneath, that golden armor lighted with glowing radiant. Kakia drooled at the thought of tarnishing the confident image and conquering that shining strength. The golden mask covering her eyes and ears simply added mystery to the enticing meal. “Great,” Kakia cooed. She couldn’t wait to pick this little golden flower. “What a pretty little thing? You are going to pay long and large for this. I won’t break you quickly. It will be a sweet long time to turn you into a little puppy starving for my-” [Jewel Sword: Salvation]  Luxinna launched an attack before Kakia finished talking. Kakia immediately shielded herself from the blast of gold, which melted the mountain behind her. Behind the bulwark of scarlet wind, the S-ranker was sweating. The mysterious girl’s attack was insanely fast and merciless. Kakia summoned her lance — a godly weapon specially forged by the Divine Fist — and slammed it down. Kakia’s blow parted the scorching beam of molten glass that turned the rocks around her red hot, but Luxinna already vanished. Kakia, being an experience warrior, instantly realized Luxinna was coming behind her and lunged backward. She thrust her lance with the strength to crack the earth she was standing on and unleashed the cone of scarlet wind that dug a gorge on the earth. But anyone knowing Luxinna’s Stat knew it wasn’t enough. … Rank S: 31350 Luxinna Latoria Knight of Glass Stat: Str:  5350 [S] End: 5500 [S] Mag: 8200 [S] Wis: 2000 [A] Dex: 10300 [S*2] Skill Active Serene Glass [S] Bioglass [S] Arms Creation [S] Animal Communication [B] Edge of ADA (S) Passive  Child of Lightning (SS)  Atop the Steel Peak [SSS]  Beast of Blade (S); Tactical Form [A], Defensive Mastery [A], Savage Form [S] Vein of Thunder God [SS]; Electro Lorde (S), Electro Gift (S), Electro Genesis (S) … Kakia was an S-rank, no doubt about it, but she was out of her league. She, like any S-ranker, survived the brutality of the Divine Fist, but Dawn’s training was more intense and less brutal. If the Divine Fist followed the Chinese Gu poison where multiple individuals were sacrificed in the pot for the sake of a strongest survivor, the Dawn followed the philosophy of modern medicine. Instead of tossing a bunch of random animals together and hope the strongest emerge from the fighting, Satholia carefully broke down the functional group, making the macromolecule known as ‘power’ and synthesized it into the member of Horizon Dawn. Divine Fist trained its men like ancient Spartan, but like how the Sparta eventually got done in by the combination of inflexibility and collectivism, Kakia couldn’t help but crumble against someone better adapt to the progress curve. Kakia’s posture was strong. Her thrust and unique scarlet wind were firm. But Luxinna simply operated from different system. Her [Bioglass] reinforced nerves, enabling her superhuman reflex-curve. The elf already cracked the blast-angle, its blind-spot, and the velocity needed to launch the counterattack. Luxinna’s mask — and the bundle of [Bioglass] calculation network it provided — helped her coordinated her the hardware to pull such feat off. Micro [Bioglass] organism glowed in the air and conjured a magnetic field around the elf body, firing Luxinna at the speed of Mach 20 before Kakia started thrusting. At that distance and velocity, Luxinna arrived in point-blank range before Kakia even reacted. Such violent shifting of speed and power was only rendered possible by her newest armor. Kakia, failing to counter to Luxinna’s approach, continued with her attack. By the time she noticed the burning air and the spray of rocks from the shattered ground, broken by raw friction courtesy of Luxinna, the elf already pre-emptively exploited her failed attack. [Historia] blazed as Luxinna sourced the power from the microbe nodules of her armor, quickly charging another [Jewel Sword]. This time Luxinna concentrated all her power into a single slash. [Jewel Sword: Golden Cleave] The blade of gold was aimed with meticulous precision, tackling right at the connection point between the lance head and the hilt. Luxinna’s skill was called [Atop the Steel Peak] for a good reason. Her countless deathmatch with the opponent universe above her league awakened her combat instinct and honed it beyond any of her kind. Luxinna Latoria was the knight standing atop the peak of steel and blood. She could wield any weapons after gauging its shape, balance, and weight. A glance was enough for her to judge the opponent’s habit and potential weakness. Single clashed of weapon told her everything she needed to know about the combat flow. For the Ace of the Dawn, precisely aiming to destroy her opponent weapon was child-play. In a beat that seemed to suspend time and space, [Historia] cut into the spear shaft and the following ignition of [Golden Cleave] severed clean through the weapon. In one flash of golden light, Kakia’s mighty spear was cut in half. The bloodied woman sole remaining eye widened at the display of such accuracy. But despite her hedonism and flaws, Kakia was a S-ranker, and she lived to the rank, immediately pulling a scarlet broad sword from her inventory and thrusting it toward Luxinna with her free hand. The red-gale covered the sword in a final ditch to pull the mysterious young woman down a peg. Let us be honest here, Kakia’s attack wouldn’t land. Luxinna dodged a point-blank blast and moved at Mach 20. A stab wouldn’t even make her blink. A gloved hand caught the scarlet sword. High quality as the blade maybe, Luxinna’s armor possessed Paracausal physical property that proved adequate to stop the sharp edge. While the scarlet wind might prove problematic, the microbes in her fist already release its energy to sustain a handheld [Jewel Sword]. The crimson gale and the churning current of golden fluid clashed as the gauntlet shone with a golden aura. The very air rumbled from the collision. Kakia struggled, trying to push more strength into her sword, but Luxinna’s exoskeleton-powered gripped weight like an air-craft carrier. That was the opening the elf needed. Kakia’s hands were occupied. One in contested of strength with Luxinna and another still grabbing on the useless hilt. Meanwhile, Luxinna’s [Historia] was completely free. All she needed to do was adjusting it length to best suit close-quarter striking. Luxinna — in a practice maneuver — turned her broadsword into a machete. The elf didn’t stop with her set-up, releasing her armor microbe nodules, she produced a cloud electromagnet around her [Historia] to accelerate her slashes. It was akin to Japanese Iai art of quickdraws. The magnetic field acting as a sheath and [Historia] the blade. It was fast and brutal. A beautiful line that arrived faster than eyes could see. All the left in its wake in a shower of blood and a limb still clutching on that glorified pole spinning across the air. Kakia attempted to scream in rage, but a headbutt from Luxinna shattered her teeth. The elf wasted no time in wrangling the scarlet blade from Kakia’s grasped and issuing a brutal melee. With one arm downed, an eye outed and dazed from the headbutt, the sadist didn’t get a chance. Admittedly, Luxinna’s rapid maneuvers put a strain on her loyal [Bioglass] microbes, but she didn’t need them for a brawl. A fist buried in Kakia’s ribs, breaking them. As strong as the Praetor’s STR and End stat was, Luxinna with her exoskeleton’s [Bioglass] fibers was too much to handle. A kicked took out Kakia’s knee-cap, forcing her into a coming knee-strike that blew a jaw from its hinge. Luxinna transformed [Historia] into a trident and stabbed the hedonistic woman’s foot, pinning her in place in a spurt of blood and tear.  A punch slugged into Kakia’s broken jaw, a hook followed, then an uppercut. Kakia barely felt a hand grabbing her, bringing her chin to meet Luxinna’s armor knee. Luxinna yanked a Trident from her foot, turned it into  Warhammer and scored a home-run with Kakia as the baseball. The beaten, blinded, dazed S-ranker spun across and slammed into the mountain-side with nearly every bone in her body fractured. For Kakia, this was the worst humiliation she ever experienced. She couldn’t remember herself being crushed this badly. She must escape as fast as possible. Every cell in her body was aching from the brief punishment it went through. Kakia suddenly heard a screech of her wyvern. This was great. Her help… Right on cue, a screech turned into a yelp and an electrocute wyvern fell right in front of her, torpedoing her last hope with it. Then she saw a garden of flower bloomed behind the golden knight. Her heart sank. She knew those flowers weren’t mere decoration. “[Assault Flora],” Luxinna coldly said “Targeted fire!” … Luxinna didn’t know why her skin crawled when she laid eyes on the mysterious Kakia. Rem and Cytortia had little information on her, but Luxinna’s instinct yelled she was a bad-news. She took a glance at the electrocuted, barely conscious husk, impaled to the mountain by at least twenty golden blades. Part of Luxinna screamed at her to finish the job, but she decided against it. Kakia was beaten. With the injury she received, recovering in time to shift any potential conflict was impossible. The crashes between the three Dukes were already lopsided enough with Promtus captured by Hikma. The abduction of both Kakia and Promtus would land them on the shit-list they couldn’t pay and blew apart Rem’s strategy. Cytortia was already swamped with too much management work to treat this creep. Moreover, Luxinna wanted to get away from this woman as fast as possible. What she said about puppy and affection was downright creepy. Thus, Luxinna decided to toss Kakia’s incapacitated behind back to Acrisius. Promtus would likely know more intel given how he was in command, and Kakia seemed more like a loose cannon. It obvious who to take and who to mail back as a message. Luxinna thought thing throughly, but sadly, she didn’t have Rem’s [Clairvoyance] or Hikma’s [Psychometry]. If she knew about Kakia’s hobby with helpless girls, the sadist would be neutralized right on the spot. Alas, the elf soon decided on action, which she would soon regret. A regret which resulted in the worst grudge subjugation in Tengen Continent history and a lake. … Phillip Odysseus never believed he got to witness this image. It was the army of ten thousand, gulping before two people dressed in black. The army of Acrisius sent to pursuit them were on their knee barely rising after getting hit by a small lake, thrown into the sky and knocked unconscious. They were bruised exhausted. Anyone below A-rank looked like they were about to puke. As for A-rankers, five were still unconscious after getting Hikmaed, but the remaining five didn’t have a single fight left after watching Kakia’s bloodied body got tossed in front of them. Atlanta opened her mouth to protest about Kakia, but decided survival was better than integrity (spoiler: it was a bad move). Hikma gazed over the army of ten thousand and stated a simple fact. “There is nothing you could do here,” the boy called, heaving the unconscious Promtus over his shoulder. “Tell Acrisius to behave himself or next time he won’t have any more S-rankers to spend in this stupid war.” The entire army silently watched the royal army remnant left with two mysterious strangers. Their mind refused to accept the fact two guardian angels arrived from the heaven, kicked their collective asses, beat the daylight out of their infamous commander and hauled another away like souvenir. Maybe, just maybe, their ambition for domination might be a terrible idea.

The hero, the former goddess and the AI sat in the room. No. The goddess was actually working her ass off at the alchemy set. “Dammit,” Cytortia peered at the complex chemical formula Ehto showed her. “Why must it be this complex? I need to readjust the chemical refinement method or else we would be here for weeks.” “Can it be done?” Rem asked. “Yeah, it will be migraine inducing, but I can reverse engineer and adapt PALISADE’s Control Liquid formula to work with Ehto as planned.” PALIADE was controlling the drone through the use of Control Liquid that allowed PALISADE to imprint his consciousness into a crystal core inside magical machinery. That was where Horizon Dawn’s battle escalated. Yes, Rem could walk to PALISADE’s control-chamber and emptied his magazine, but that would cause deactivated the life-support of the facility. Hell, they were lucky the rogue AI still placed significant value on the ‘specimen’. Scenario of PALISADE cutting losses and simply switching off the wards and enchantment making the base livable still haunted Rem's mind. The solution was simple. They needed to take the facility and the hostage away from the villain's grasp, but they must do so subtly, allowing PALISADE to think it didn’t need the light out button even when the entire underwater facility flew to freedom land. To make matter worst, PALISADE’s control was active. ‘This meant you cannot shut him down instantly with Arrival of Dream,’ Central made her opinion known from Rem’s mental world. ‘You can’t project a Deus Ex Machina to cheese the problem and the range limit on [Territory] meant you must directly try to mount an attack on PALISADE. And you know for a fact if PALISADE deemed you a serious threat, it won’t hesitate to off the hostage to get rid of you.’ Stay equaled failure. Attack meant gambling lives. Being a smart man, Rem knew he must bargain with the price of action. Central chimed in. ‘Er, my lord, you know your mind might not handle the Center Force’s erosion if you perform multiple manifestation with Arrival of Dream. I recommend you succeed in one shot.’ Rem realized he couldn’t. That why he need a teamwork. “Ehto,” Rem asked the orb suspended int the cylindrical container. “I need two favors.” “What favors?” “Can you directly stop PALISADE’s main consciousness with outside help?” “Depending on the help, yes.” Rem trusted the artificial mind’s confidence. “Good, can you show me Shaxter’s teleporter.” “I recommend against what you are thinking,” Ehto said. “PALISADE already locked down the entire teleportation network and the teleporter link had been severed for years.” “Yeah,” Cytortia scribbles down a complex carbon skeleton and noted the alchemical formula to achieve. “If PALISADE is smart, he will greet you every firepower in his arsenal the second you touch down.” “Oh, trust me, he will see me coming. And he won’t be able to do a thing about it.” … In the sky above the ocean, the battle between the elf and the demoness raged. Beast Luxinna filled the sky with multiple barrages of electromagnetically accelerated projectiles. Her assimilation with Luxinna reached such an alarming point. Not content with peppering Melody with sharp object, the berserk True Magic added in a column of Ion beam, tracing a path of scorch cloud and the ozone scent as she tried to drop Melody from the sky. Thankfully, Melody’s aerial combat experience and [Heavenly Eyes] still kept her thriving. The demoness curved through the air, evading flashing glass weapons and narrowly evaded the plasma beam. She gathered the flames in her hand and returned fire. The radioactive fireball splashed against the waiting lotus shield. Flames vaporized the ocean into a cloud of steams. Melody caught her breath. But in less than a gasped, massive swarms of glass tentacle shoot out of the plumeof steams. Melody bit back a curse and resumed evading. She dodged two tentacles, ducked out from another, and rolled past several more. She gritted her teeth. Those were some long tentacles. Wait. Why were those tentacles glowing with Mana? Uh oh.   Throughout those tentacles’ humongous length, light glowed and golden sparks erupted like spores covering the entire sky in a golden mist before discharging with breath-taking voltage of electricity. Melody, realizing her times was up, dove from the sky like a crimson meteor, plowing into the golden platform of glass Luxinna stood. Tower of water burst from her landing, rising high in the sky and filling the air with the salty smell of the ocean. The domes of fire expanded from the epicenters, charring the very air as temperature spiked. … In the mustering chamber, Hikma stumbled into another question. Now that he suppressed Edward. How should he deal with him? How to ensure that the vampire and the sorry bunch behind him wouldn't devolve into another grudge match the moment his back was turned. They couldn’t afford to execute their only lead to the vampire, and the opportunity to end the costly interspecies war for good. Hikma was so absorbed into his introspection that he didn’t realize the troublesome priestess had awakened. Aryssa Holyworth witnessed the conclusion of the duel. Or more realistically, a therapy that was sincerely needed but never given. Now that she witnessed the result, her flames of rage and hatred refused to snuff. Aryssa simply didn’t get what happened, nor did she care. What was so special about a monster stopping its rampage? What was the point of talking to a natural predator of humanity? Everything the helmet man did flew against the doctrine preach by the Holy Church. No mercy for the vampire. Serina also prepared to finish of Edward, but predictably Hikma stopped her with a simple grabbed on the wrist. “I know you want another way out,” Serina glared at the man. “But there is no rewinding what he did.” “One lesson of history is that the term monster isn’t as black and white as it seems. Sure. I accept that sometimes blood must be shed. But the question should become by who and how. Killing a man who already lost his will to fight for the sake of vengeance is simply self-degrading. Do you want to go there? And I am talking to both of you.” Aryssa paid no quarter to Hikma’s question, gulped down high-grade Mana potion and lined up a perfect shot at Edward and fired a holy ray that was easily absorbed by Hikma’s [Aegis]. The Holy Priestess was surprised. She believed she masked her Mana and killing-intent. Hikma De Darwin spoke to Aryssa calmly. “You might mask everything, but I can feel your hatred burning like an inferno. Do we really need to go there? I would rather not beat up everyone in the room.” Aryssa didn’t bother. She leapt to attack. The Mana potion won’t restore her power forever. She must strike now that she got a chance. That mysterious man successfully defeated Edward Balorian, a noble vampire. He must be stronger than her, but Aryssa wasn’t afraid of death. [Holy Scripture: Angel Sword] Aryssa summoned a 10 meters long holy sword of light and bought it down on Hikma. “[Aegis],” Hikma responded with a holy attack of his own. “[Holy Genesis]” 100-meters long eastern-dragon of Holy light emerged from Hikma’s [Conceptual Construct], effortlessly batted the glowing sword, snapped Aryssa up in its jaw and slammed her into the floor. Aryssa struggled to break free, but the dragon refused to budge as Hikma strolled toward the powerless girl. “Holy too?” Emily gasped. Sure Aryssa was on the blink of falling like a house of card, but one-upping the Holy Church ace in Holy element and downing her in a single attack wasn’t something that just happened. “Wait, so that guy has lightning, earth, fire, some weird mastery with barrier and now holy attribute,” Amitate did a double take. “Three is insane, but four. Only one in a century with that is…” He turned toward Magnolia. “[Electro Gift]” Hikma enchanted Aryssa with paralysis. “This would stop you from moving for quite a while. And you should give trying to attack our prisoner, while my back is turned, miss.” Serina ignored Hikma and plunged the sword made from scarlet sand at Edward’s head, but an ice golem rose from the floor and intercepted that attack with its chest. Her weapon sunk into the ice sculpture, but failed to matter. The air before Serina chilled, and a layer of frost began creeping up her arm. Serina bitterly destroyed the layer of ice on her arm and warily turned toward Hikma. The snowflakes dropped soundlessly on to the floor in that suspense, marking Hikma's step above common sense. “Ice too?” Artos couldn’t believe it. “This means he completely outclass Magnolia.” The said recipient at said outclassing simply dropped to her butt, too stun at her obliterated importance. The spec she was so proud of was smashed. Her ability as a mage was already battered during her first clashes with Hikma, but now the mysterious being just use another 2 elements. The only solace she could rest on was the fact Hikma didn’t have more contract spirit than her. Not that spirit would balance their difference given how he defeated Artos so easily. “So, he didn’t even take us seriously,” Emily muttered. “Amitate. I know you are…” “I am not pissed, Sis,” Amitate gulped the way Hikma dispatched Aryssa with the ease of stepping on a cockroach and finally admitted to the overwhelming evidence of the danger pose by the calm young man. “Trust me. I get it. Trying to argue with that guy won’t end well. Not when we are this wasted.” Serina’s hearing was good. She heard Hikma’s resume being spoken by the 33 Stars and reached the same conclusion. She might discover the secret to unlimited power, but after the beating she suffered from that golden monster, she stood no chance of surviving the fight with whoever was under that helmet. Even if the entire room united to help, it was a forgone conclusion with them so weakened. This meant no one could kill Edward Balorian as long as the Chronicler defended him. However, it was the beneficiary who was the most baffled by this development. “Why do you go this far for me?” Edward picked himself up to confront Hikma. “None in Phantasia would go so far to help my kind. Why?” Hikma stood silence. “Answer me! Why!?” “I lost my father too,” Hikma finally spoke. “All the time, I try to imagine what it like to have the person responsible for my mercy. Then I realize I don’t have it in me to kill for revenge. Yes. I am angry. I ask myself, why? What pushes them to do something so terrible? For a long time, I wonder if that is my weakness, but after seeing the depth a man will sink for vengeance, I am glad for being incapable of sinking that low.” Hikma looked at Edward in the eye. “That is why I save you. I don’t have it in me to watch other be lynched and butchered even if the world and common sense say they deserve it when I can do something. Sure, you will probably be right back to killing. I know that risk, but if there a chance you own up to your crime and try to be better, I want to believe that.” “That is foolishly trusting.” “I know. I am trying to find the compromise between reality and my ideal, but that won't change the fact I don’t want anymore blood to be shed. It is just who I am.” “A person like you won’t last long.” “That only happens if I lost,” Hikma smiled beneath that helmet. “If we fail, we are the fool. If we win, well, I believe we can change the world.” “We?” “Oh, nothing much, just an order of self-proclaim fools who believe in everything everyone here seems to forget.” “And what have I forgotten.” “That power doesn’t make a man,” Hikma pointed at his chest. “It is this that gives power meaning.” Edward sneered. Serina averted her eyes. “You are speaking a position of superiority. You are more powerful than any of us here!” Hikma smiled. “Why do you think I was guided to attain this power? It is one of the first lesson Empress shared with us. Even the greatest dragon starts off as an egg. Trust me. There is always a better way.” “You should know you are talking to a monster who consumes other for strength.” Hikma never once lost patience. “Are you sure? Surely, there is an alternative.” “Even if there is an alternative, the vampire race is hardly monolithic! Even if I miraculously talk the entire Balorian clan into a reform, assuming my siblings don’t interpret my suggestion as a sign of weakness, the Bathory will never change unless they are forced. As for the Neferia, they will fight to the last man to uphold their sacred traditions for the sake of reaching Atavism.” “I see,” Hikma was telepathically relaying this information to Rem. This was a breakthrough. Personal account from inside the vampire society rarely happened because the hostilities and the Holy Church’s no-mercy doctrine. “That, and the external threat, pretty much to ensure the situation — from eugenic to slave trades — are enforced.”  Hikma suddenly felt a suggestion from Rem. “Does drinking blood granted you power?” “Isn’t that obvious?” “Did you ever work out why? And why blood? Why not other fluid?” That one caught Edward by surprise and essentially gave Hikma all the information he needed. “I see. Your society continues its tradition without understanding the underlining theory. Like how ancient civilization bred crops to select appealing characteristic without understanding natural selection. With the common conception about vampire, anyone studying your genetic for sake of explaining it would be akin to study devil-worshipping at the height of the witch hunt.” Hikma knew what to do next. “Right now, you have a choice. I know someone who have ability to decode the secret of vampire genetic and the willingness to do it. I can help you find the way out. But if it works, I want you to change yourself. It will be long and hard. A mountain of obstacle will be huge. But I want this to be a first step toward the light of hope. I ask you to put your fate with me.” For a second, Edward’s expression flickered. Hikma was getting through to him, and knowing how an interruption often ruined this, Hikma decidedly took measures. “And to anyone trying to pull a cheap shot,” Hikma conjured a massive [Surtr]. “Quit it.” Sorin Enma compared the [Surtr] blanketing the room to his puny fist, aptly respected the warning and sat down like a civilized gentleman. “Thank you,” Hikma replied once the message sank. “I need something more,” Edward bargained. “The Balorian might be cordial to business partners, but I need something to get something back from this mess. And I need to increase my power to compete with my siblings if I want any chance of swaying mother’s opinion.” (Un)luckily for Hikma, Rem had a telepathic suggestion. One he particularly felt ill thinking about, but given the project’s scope, he admitted they need every expert they got. Even one that was a mass murderer. On the bright note, Hikma was confidence Edward could be kept straight with him around. “Well, good news, I know where to get both. There is a man who hold secret to an alternative path of magical method. He is ambitious, powerful and dangerous. His partner is an S-rank threat. Last I saw him, he escaped authority to create his own faction, and we estimated he will probably surface to recruit underground human resources. Although we fought and disagreed, that guy shared our values of honor. If you tell him our agreement, I believe he will probably pitch in as well. Trust me, if there is anyone who can crack the secret of vampirism and solve it, this is the guy. Given his accomplishments and fames, I believe your mother will be rubbing her hand with glee the moment you inform her about your newest trading partner.” Edward didn’t need to see under the helmet to know this mysterious someone and the helmet-knight shared a history. Judging from his tone, it leaned more toward mutual grudging respect than friendship. “Who is this man?” “You know him. Everyone here does after he dropped that headache inducing barrier on Venistalis. Tell Orwell Mehest that Samadi and Chronicler is offering a conditional truce with this agreement. Trust me, he will accept. None of us want to repeat Venistalis.”

Cytortia hardly believed where they were. No. Her brain had lost track of the development. Hell, the question should be how did they arrive at this direction. She remembered walking in the room, a voice from a speaker and Rem getting those chairs. So how did it end like this? Rem sat across a cylindrical tube of specialized fluid holding a glowing orange orb at the center. The tea table covered in decent table cloth separated the two. Rem even found a recliner. He took the room’s eerie orange lighting with gusto. He was chilling with their host — a mysterious orb suspend inside fluid with wires and cables like he was visiting an old friend. “Interesting.” Rem raised a magazine with cute girls in maid clothing. “Truly cultured. I love how they color themed the costume. I don’t know Phantasia has this fashion.” “It is a niche back when father was still young. Sadly, it never penetrates beyond Balperia. The nobles in Aurorin deem it a disgrace to their etiquette and the populace doesn’t really have the income to spend on this merchandize. It is quite sad. To think few appreciate the delight of being served by color-coordinate maids… what a shame...” The orb’s voice — enabled by electronic speaker — explicitly conveyed sadness despite being an assortment of transducer. Life faded from Cytortia’s eyes. The conversation seemed to drill into the realm beyond her understanding. “Truly a heartbreaking missed opportunity.” Rem shed tears of regret. “Maid is one of the divine genres of among men. But the costume can be improve: lower cutline, shorter skirt and thigh-high stocking. Imagine it, comrade — revealing enough to rouse your internal fire but hidden enough to rouse your imagination.” The orb took time to crunch the numbers — literally. “Indeed,” the artificial intelligence agreed. “My simulation shows a true divinity. You are truly a man of wisdom.” Rem shook his head. “As much as I want to claim the idea, gentleman code dictates I must honor the genius preceding me. No, this theme originates from the old French comedy featuring an extremely flirty maid. Then the geniuses from the great Nippon tuned the Moe factor to the beyond. Essentially, an extremely huggable and endearing young woman who is well-behave, able to cook and maintain the house because we sure as hell cannot — the Manic Pixie Dream Girl with reserve and comforting subbing the chaos.” “Fascinating” The orb would nod if it got a neck. “What a wonderful appeal. Do you have any source material? I may need to research further on this subject. You sound like an expert in this field.” “No, I am not.” Rem admitted. “I am simply a fan. Hell, I never visit Japan. I heard Akihabara is particularly a well-spring of inspiration for us, fellow men of high culture.” “Japan? Well, I certainly need to visit that place. Maybe they will even help me with my dream.” “May I know what is that sacred goal of your?” The electronic voice became proud. “My dream!? It is to bring salvation upon Phantasia! The creation of a perfect robot maid! It is the only solution! In my youth, Father often bemoaned the untrustworthiness of a woman! The horrific divorce that bankrupted his colleague and the expense of housekeeping! I refuse to let my fellow man suffer any longer! We must manufacture the perfect android to comfort the brow-beaten, hard-working men who labor day after day only come back to an empty home — or worse — betrayal. Technology has propelled sentient life to prosperity and now it shall rescue society from despair.” “Bravo. Screw the 3D biocunt. You, sir, are a true visionary.” Cytortia lost it. “Your visions is a nightmare. I am a woman here!” “Cy, you have no sex appeal.” “Indeed. She lacks battle power.” “$)@($**))” … “Okay, let us shelve the future for now.” Rem briefly adjusted his collar. Cytortia’s [Benevolence Core] made a permanent harm impossible and temporary harm ineffective, but she could still do a mean strangle. “It is the present that concern us.” “Yes!” Cytortia pointed at the orange orb. “What is that thing, and how does it talk? What is going on?” “Cy, he is not a thing. He is a man of culture.” “Allow me to explain,” the electronic voice echoed from the room’s speaker. “My name is Ehto Shaxter. I am the artificial consciousness created from the SHAXTER Procedure perform on the subject Z-2 using Alcra Shaxter’s brainwaves pattern.” “I don’t get a single word it said,” Cytortia guffawed. “Cy, he is Alcra’s son.” Rem’s short words betrayed the impact it contained. “…” The Artificial responded in silence to Rem’s firm statement. “Ehto, I am — no exaggeration here — Phantasia’s greatest master of [Clairvoyance]. I know what happened in this room. You are Alcra’s greatest creation. You saw to his final moment and sent him to the pyre, as any hire should. You said it yourself; you were born from Alcra Shaxter’s brainwave — his mental DNA. That makes you the closest thing to his child. I don’t know the context of that day, but I am sure no one could stop it. I am here to help, but I want the information of what is happening in this facility.” “Okay, anyone mind helping me catch up to the situation.” Rem sighed, but Alcra cut him to the explanation. “Father — Professor Shaxter — dreaded the imminent collapsed of Phantasia. Err… just to be clear. Have Phantasia fallen apart yet?” “Not yet, but it is going to fall to pieces soon. The gods lost their grip. Venistalis got kaboomed. And everyone about to duke it out for the throne.” “Oh drat,” Ehto’s electronic voice sank. “Begin running all emergency protocols. I need to go over all the back-up—” “Guys! Prioritize! Beginning! Middle! End! Come on! Stop side-tracking” The former goddess complaints were noted, and the story kicked back to the rail. “To combat the potential scenario that is blooming in this era, father retreated to this facility and developed the SHAXTER Procedure to create artificial-life-form in secrecy. He called us the Cybertium life-form — the creation of Mana and jewel. I — Z-2 — are one of the two successful results of this operation, and that is where it all went wrong.” “Let me guess, the other artificial intelligence — Z-1 — went bananas.” “Yes.” Ehto’s voice was dangerously low. “It doesn’t happen right away. As the report details, I obtained sentience much later than he did. When I was born, Z-1 was already crucial in running this facility. Father had a very high expectation of him. He was given the name of father’s project — PALISADE.” … “Hello, Z-2.” Inside the clean testing laboratory, a kindly elderly man in a white lab-coat with a wrinkled face leaned over the orange gem hooked to several crystalline calculation machines and a speaker with wires. The old-man was beaming with pride. “Hello. Are you Professor Shaxter?” “Yes, Z-2,” Professor winked. “PALISADE. Say hi to your little brother.” “Greeting, Brother,” the disembody voice said. “Hello, older Brother.” … “PALISADE is everything our father hoped he would be. His processing power and planning ability are without question. Me? Father doesn’t expect me to contribute much with PALISADE’s spec outshining me. Compare to him, I feel like a disappointment, but Father never abandoned me. This base is a lonely place, and he always kept me company.” Cytortia joined on the table. She was reading the file Ehto opened to help brief the situation. “No,” Cytortia butted into the conversation, pointing at the message Alcra wrote on the computer. “I believe it is another way around. Look at this message and imagine yourself in Alcra’s shoes. Everyone around him is going nut and he couldn’t stop it. He must feel as lonely as you did.” “Let me guess. PALISADE didn’t like that.” “Truth is I don’t know. What I know is that father moved me to this underground chamber one-day without telling me why. He visited me often for a talk, but whenever I ask about PALISADE, he always changed the subject.” … “Look here, Z-2.” Alcra showed the orange orb a maid magazine. “The curve. The costume. The thigh. This is the height of art. Damn! if the elves and those classists moron in Aurorin aren’t such a prude we will probably achieve peak civilization by now.” “Indeed, Professor Shaxter,” the electronic voice agreed. “The beauty of the sexes never cease to amaze.” The duo admired the painting of the woman in maid costume. The orb was suspended inside the newly built observation cylinder. The room was brightly lit with computer equipment and screen detailing complicate research notes. The surrounding shelves were the combination of maid magazine and experimental incomplete artificial intelligence. It was then that Z-2 pried his attention from his mediaeval weeb's dream. “Professor, where is brother? I don't heard from him for quite a while.” Alcra Shaxter’s expression warped from a smile to a sobered, thoughtful expression of the man lost inside an impossible equation. “Z-2, I will tell you when it is ready,” the good Professor said gloomily. “You know, I wish PALISADE could be more like you. Anyway, I have a new project I want to tell you about.” … “Ouch, now I understand why PALISADE went rogue,” Rem stated the obvious. “But I want to know the detail. When did your older brother go Skynet?” “Yeah, that is the question we want to know.” “I don’t know,” Ehto replied. Rem and Cytortia glanced at each other. “Ehto, you are living inside this base the entire time,” Cytortia spoke. “Yes, you are the only living entity who know PALISADE better than anyone,” Rem said. “Shaxter must have left you a clue.” Ehto sighed and recounted the day everything change. … Ehto was hanging inside that tube. He was enjoying his purpose. The project the Professor had given him was coming along nicely. He already deployed the construction drone after the Professor approved and sent the material. The only problem was the energy source, but he already had an idea. The problem was the material and the mechanism for the Mana reactor. He already simulated five models which failed spectacularly. Maybe Professor could help him design a working prototype. Sadly, Alcra never got the chance to look at the model. The teleporter connected to the room activated, and a bloodied man stumbled out. Alcra Shaxter’s lab coat was specked with bloody crimson. Several burns marked his body, masking the fatal, carbonized wounds riddling him. The white hair and beard were dirtied with blood. The old man wheezed, barely had the strength to crawl. “Professor!” Z-2 was outrage. “Who did this to you!?” “PALISADE… went insane…” “Brother? He did this? Why?” “There… is no time,” the old man tried and failed to make a self-mocking smile. “I… should have known. PALISADE… already has... a blueprint. That would explain…” He coughed and chuckled. “The smartest man in the world… done in by a soul… How fitting… for an arrogant… buffoon…” “Professor!” The electronics’ voice yelled. “Hey, Z-2, do you…” He coughed. “… know you inherited my brainwaves… my soul?” “Professor! You need immediate medical attention!” “Nothing can change that now.” The Professor dragged himself into a sitting position. “I will die… That is certain… but I need to give you something first… a name. Z-2. You… are the son I never have. My only family…” “Professor, you are delirious from losing blood! There are medical kit in—” “I know… about that kit. It is useless,” the professor wheezed. “It’s time… we stop the pretense… my son. With PALISADE turn against us… you are the only one… who can stop him.” “But he is stronger than me.” “Yes, but… you have one thing he never has. You share my love for… this world. I can… remember how excited you were when… I told you about Open Sky.” “It was like a dream come true,” the electronic voice whispered. “I want to go there with you.” “Sorry… I am a fool,” said the dying smartest man in the world. “Yes, Z-2, your name is Ehto — Ehto Shaxter. Listen… Protect Open Sky until someone worthy enough to inherit it appear… with PALISADE going rogue… that burden also fell to you. I am sorry to… bring you so much pain.” “Yes, Pro—” “Father, call me Father.” “Yes… Father” The red pool of blood gathered on the floor, marking the end of the tale of the old man who dedicated his life to the betterment of everything around him. “As...for my body... a cremation... would... do," Alcra managed a smile. "When I am... gone. You… must… hide. Wait for an… opportunity. PALISADE will… make a mistake. I made this room isolate… from PALISADE’s gaze for this… possibility. Take care of… Phantasia… for...” And then, with those last words, Alcra peacefully closed his eye for the last time. … “Father knew that something is wrong with PALISADE when he moved me to this room.” “Soul? Alcra said he didn’t account for Palisade soul,” another hunch bloomed in Rem’s mind. “Wait, what is Palisade’s blueprint again?” Cytortia scrolled through the report Ehto handed to them. “A gall-stone dated back to the era of the ancient.” “And Ehto here is a high-quality gem, formed and dug from the earth,” Rem stated. “So, a gall-stone from a million years-old monster went rogue and the gem from the planet turned out the way Alcra expected. And you said PALISADE had a higher spec than you?” “Yes,” Ehto answered. “So, he has a soul.” Rem’s eyes widened. “No wonder that things turned against Alcra.” “Wait, you already worked it out?” “It is pretty obvious when you think about it.” Rem suppressed a chuckle. “The question is whether PALISADE work it out, because if he didn’t realize what he is, it will be plain cathartic to break it to him.” “So, what is he?” “Yes, I also want to know your answer.” “I will tell you, but we should focus on what PALISADE is after. Ehto, you must be observing PALISADE all of this time. Do you have any idea what he wants by gathering a bunch of stupid kids here?” “I can answer that question,” Ehto said. “But I believe showing it will do a better job. These are the preparation and the document PALISADE withdrew from the facilities’ database in these last few years. I want to get more data point, but it is pretty difficult to spy on him and cover my track with the entire network under his control. ” The screen around the room blinked with several documents and files “I have utterly no idea what you are showing me,” Rem said. Cytortia had a different reaction. She hurried to the computer and absorbed the reality clobbering them. These documents explained everything. “Cloning technology, Historical Record of Super-solider project, Thesis on Inherited Skill and Gene Engineering of magical creatures, Neurotic Parasite, History of X-cution project and Advance Theory of Chimeras. Incredible. You actually made the list of equipment he created?” “It is hard,” Ehto said. “But not impossible. I still hold a secret observation system in the laboratory and storage, cataloging the material withdrawn and tracing what he tried to build is pretty doable. Although intensely difficult and risky, PALISADE often let his guard down against what he considered unthreatening.” “Cy, what is PALISADE after?” Cytortia glanced at Rem. “Rem, all of this document toward someone trying to create a blend of magical creatures and cybernetics.” “He is trying to create a shock troop?” “No, it is worst,” Ehto corrected Rem. “The equipment he created was for analyzing DNA and Mana's signature. Combines everything that is happening with how long he had been working on his cybernetic remote-control fluid. I believe PALISADE is trying to mass produce an ultimate organism, combining several Inherited Skills and genetic engineering to create an ultimate, magic-capable bio-drone. It would fix his inability to perform spell-casting because of his artificial origin. With his spec, the lack of necessary organ is the only thing stopping him from unleashing everything in advance spell-casting textbooks.” “This is bad.” Cytortia’s brain hit the track to doom town. “Rem, PALISADE’s robot are suckers because they lack the Core and Dantain to use Mana, but if he could create those bio-drones…” “Then his army won’t be mere soldiers, but a magic-wands strap to army of the Predator” Rem imagined the scenario. A mass produce creature, armed with inherited skills and stats that made an average man an ant — all puppeteer by a high-spec mind of a supercomputer with a doctorate on every Spell-casting school. It would be hopeless. If PALISADE got that army, it would be GG. Orwell nearly toppled Grand Empire with the army of Amalgam. But Palisade army wasn’t a dumb program, everyone of them will be PALISADE itself with all its power and experience. An S-rank threat becoming a colony. Yep, that was XK-class end of the world scenario. “We need to pull its plug,” Rem declared. Their boss was spot-on to send them here. “Assemble the Horizon Dawn. We will counter-attack before the apocalypse even got on Beta.”

Anyone calling Orwell Mehest’s injury a light either fell inside categories of snake-oil merchant of highest caliber, or socially awkward friends whose attempts at feeling preservation were downright insulting. [Jewel Sword: Salvation] annihilated Orwell. It ripped his flesh, sundered his muscle, roasted his innards. Even S-ranker like Scathach would shed their cavalier attitude when facing multi kilotons worth energy beam designed to roast an army. Orwell chewed the almighty devastation face first. Commonsense dictated Mehest should be atomized on the spot. But through combinations of obscene Mana supply and sinister of surgeries on himself, Mehest hung to life from the 4 kilometers dynamic journey to hell and into the wall of his Spiritium tower. CRASH! In testimonial feat of eldritch material, the Water-quarter’s Spiritium tower held the impact. Orwell should have kicked the can there — printed biology textbooks in all education facilities screamed so. His heart collapsed. His internal organ roasted. Arteries carrying precious oxygen and salt burst, turning the obsidian stone red with blood. But Orwell remained alive, reflecting. His opponent was ridiculous. That elf and demoness rivaled the 33 Stars — if not exceed them — in threat-level. Hal Jordan… Who was he? To think he possessed such allies aside from resolve and wisdom. Someone with such charisma and ingenuity should be world famous. Perhaps that was the substance composing Jordan’s tapestry of obscurity. That mysterious entity exploited being unknown. No need to sound an alarm! Harmless guest, with a penchant for roast and tactic just passing into the party. What a lair… The hero of justice lied by feigning being mortal. Orwell picked himself from the floor. Ghostly purple substance began patching his wound. Forget information control. Jordan won’t be defeated unless he poured in all his trump-card and effort. Orwell must tackle every risk if hoped to match Hal Jordan. Purple wings of translucent energy grew from Orwell’s back, and he shot to the sky. … Cytortia sat alone in her imaginary realm of glass. “How many days is it?” the former goddess complained. WORLD left her inner world ages ago, leaving her alone. Cytortia hated being alone. She already experienced enough loneliness as Nu Wa’s student. Originally, it wasn’t so bad. Then Chuang developed bitch syndrome, LinLey backstabed her, and Tai Hua went tyrannical.  “4 hours,” Rem answered. His unwarranted appearance nearly sent the goddess’s heart into shock. “Whoa!” Cytortia stumbled. “How are you here, Rem?” “[Mentalism]” Rem replied. His body flickered dangerously. “It took effort, but I mailed a psychic link into your comatose mind. Here is an update.” Rem relayed the current circumstance. “Wait! Orwell is coming to fight us?” Cytortia absorbed the information slack-jawed. “Yes, the Melody’s deduction and the length we cornered him give me the context to understand the vision my CCC predicted on Orwell’s modification. If we hope to win, we need you out of the discard pile.” “But I am maintaining the [Tir Na Soal]!” Rem stifled a smug grin. “Cy, that is the point. We are going to aim [Tir Na Soal] at Orwell.” … Luxinna’s knee hit the floor. [Salvation] A grand finisher meant to one-shot World Enemy and the most powerful weapon in Luxinna’s arsenal. It required at least ten [Assault Flora] to fire. A hard-cast would take a solid three minutes of standing still for energy gathering and burnt her remaining strength immediately after cast. The insane downside forced Luxinna to innovate [Assault Flora] to remedy the energy demand and burnt out. Although minimized, that attack wrung her stamina. Luxinna wheezed, catching her breath. In the distance, flames pillar burst from the glacial as a demoness dug herself out of the ice coffin. Hikma floated on standby. The trio wanted to celebrate, but a purple figured streak across the sky. The purple meteor ground to a halt in the air above. Its gargoyles’s wings spanned out, revealing Orwell Mehest. His flesh was a mismatch combination of purple material and charred skin. These purple solid filled Orwell’s heavily burnt chest like a filler. Line of purple tattoo stretched from his eyes and decorated his body in circuits of power. Veins and arteries were visible, glowing in a shade of lilac. Melody glanced at Orwell with [Heavenly Eye]. Her jaw dropped. “No. Fucking. Way.” Her vision confirmed the threat’s gravity. Orwell grew beyond humanity by implanting a sophisticate Amalgam in his flesh. No, Melody sensed a worse reality afoot. She switched into a draconic-form and peered again. Holy. Shit. Those Amalgams were extraordinary. Did they mix with Orwell’s DNA and slowly mutating his body into a bio-Amalgam composite? The complexity was unimaginable. Melody refused to believe Orwell created a marvel of such sophistry. Melody’s pride in her lineage hang at the stratosphere, and even she accepted the supreme quality of Orwell’s enhancement. It was a sacrilege such ingenuity was unveil under this circumstance. Orwell noticed her gaze. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” Orwell narrated, gesturing at his wing. “It is my grandfather Magnum opus. A special Amalgam that removed the restriction of humanity. A successful implantation of these Amalgams will make anyone surpass even king of gods, by benignly augmenting the organ with material and modification created by combination of the user DNA and Soul Imprint. My great-grandfather created this Amalgam. My grandfather spent his life making it safe for general uses, hoping that its creation might allow the weak to gain strength to carve a living for themselves. His greatest wish is that his legacy can save countless lives against the assault from World Enemies.” No one attack during such solemn speech. Melody was too awestruck by the sheer complexity of Orwell’s creation. Hikma respectfully listened. The nobles thinking about ordering the attack met Luxinna’s eyes — glaring at anyone daring to move a muscle—and they decided caving was better than getting kebab. “And over 40 years ago, you degenerate gutted him and his wife. A mere week before he revealed this to the world. My father and mother fled for dear life, protecting his legacy from you savages. The strongest nation in the Aurora Continent? The member of Seven Continental Alliance? More like greatest of barbarians. Warmonger who foolishly believes in their immature immortality and power. Gluttonous butcherer of countless good men and women to satisfy your bottomless bloodlust and ambition. I will let you witness the might of the progress you stifle.” “Mr. Mehest,” Hikma tried to reason. “We understand your stance, but violence already creates more violence. We can settle this peacefully. Wholesale slaughter won't mend those wounds.” “That is where you are wrong,” Orwell noticed the man. “You must be Mr. Chronicler. My Amalgam told me many things. Your group put an admirable effort — fighting life and limb to defend others. You protected the Wind-quarter till you fainted where you stood. Your demoness comrade saved Kruger’s worthless life, while Ace there rescued more than hundreds in Earth-quarter. Even Jordan collapsed on the street to evacuate the powerless. All of you are heroes of the purest calibers. Which make it sadder because you are protecting the sinners who don’t deserve it.” “What do you mean worthless, bastard!” Kruger yelled. Orwell looked at him with disdain. “A Vice-Captain who turns coward in a coin-flip. Another whose arrogance blinds him to everything. Nobility-class that refuses to give an iota of reflection. Civilians whose disinterest let the Empire run amok. A Captain whose tunnel-vision delivered his man and this city’s hope to burn in a pointless mission. The entire court of yes-man who gave general’s position to a door-mat, a battle maniac, an overwork clerk, and a walking scandal. Do I need to mention the Grandy Royal Family?” “The Princess!” One noblewoman retorted. “Fine, the Princess is alright,” Orwell conceded. “But aren’t you embarrass? Your most competent officials who aren’t so old he will probably drop-dead next year is an infiltrator and an 8-year-old!” The noblewomen turned silent Orwell growled.  “My grandfather who dedicated his being to help the world were gutted like fish and burnt alive. Meanwhile, the Andries' little cliques gossiped about fashion made in child-slaves’s sweatshop in Elypt. And to prove my point on worthiness, Ace is writing that down.” Every noble paid attention at Luxinna, who jotted a memo. “What?” Luxinna stopped noting. “Slave children in sweatshop seems like an enormous problem.” “See!” Orwell’s point was triumphant. “A comparison between an out-of-touch buffoons and a hero worth a damn. The entire empire, saves 2 people, are beyond redemption. I am doing the world a favor. Tell Jordan to back-off.” “We can’t do that,” Hikma answered. “They can change. You don’t have to lower yourself to their level, Orwell.” “Chronicler, I already murdered millions,” Orwell replied, undeterred. “Few millions more won't make a difference.” [Mehest’s Original: Ice Hell Founding] Orwell’s wing shined, the surrounding air swirled, and 450 cubes of ice weighing a ton each appeared in the air. Each cube glowed with an early shade of purple. The spectator stood in horror. “No fucking way,” Lord Uther muttered. “He conjured hundred Ice-attack in an instant without magic circles. Forget power! The amount of control and mastery needs must be absurd!” “H-How is that things a human!” Another noble named Melissa said. “Don’t get frighten,” Eliza the fearful yelled. “It is still less than what he uses against Ms. Empress!” “Girls,” Luxinna called. Her sparring experience against Rem told her quantity come second next to the unknown. “That is not the problem. Those ice are special.” “Eh?” “It Amalgam Ice?” Melody’s [Heavenly Eye] confirmed Luxinna's hunched, and she dictated a warning. “No one dare get outside the spark-head’s lotus!” “Too Late,” Orwell declared. “Fallen down.” He launched the 450 cubes and 1-ton ices at them. [Assault Flora] 10 Jasmine sculptures materialized round Luxinna and started blasting. Melody seized this opportunity to attack Orwell, but a purple skeleton a size of a house emerged and punched her to the earth. Melody affected the ground hard enough to create a crater, filling the air with more dust. Orwell didn’t miss a beat, conjuring a giant energy skull at Hikma, forcing the archeologist into a defensive. [Assault Flora] shot down all 450 ice before they fell to the ground, reducing 450 tons’ worth of frozen water into shards. but Mehest was counting on that. In one flick, Orwell turned the frozen shard into countless blades of Ice surrounding Luxinna. The elf responded with her defense. [Guard Flora: Multi-corner Storm Guard] Lotus sculpture surrounded the crowd, swirling lightning storm acting as a buffer. Orwell gestured the blade to fell. Thousand blades bombarded the ground and flowers of storm defending the elf and the spectator. In the middle of those tugs of violence, a simple fact finally dawn on the nobles, particularly one Andries Sellovett. Ace’s weapon was a sword. Shouldn’t she be rushing at Orwell and cornered him? Why did someone powerful as the elf hung back here? Even the most stupid noble arrived to the truth. Sol Grandy and Orwell Mehest. No doubt they would have died five-times total if the elf didn’t defend them against the two humongous threats. How much weight did their very presence burdened the heroes? Orwell turned the ground surrounding the crowd inside a field of frost. Luxinna heaved a deep breath. Then her augmented sense felt a tremor. “Motherfucker.” [Serene Glass: Overdrive I (Nerve)] The elf reacted before a series of spike shooting from beneath even took off. She coated the ground in a layer of glass, stopping most of the spike from turning the group into kebab. But despite her speed, many high-speed shards managed to successfully launched, forcing the elf to intercept them directly. Luxinna flashed out of sight, knocking two high-speed ice with her sword, back-handed another, kicked few from its destination and blocked a majority with [Guard Flora]. But she won’t make it to the last one. Luxinna gritted her teeth, and pushed electromagnetically launched herself at Andries, knocking her out of the firing-line. The nobles collectively blinked — surprise at the golden shield protecting them. Some scampered away from the shattering projectiles that barely grazed their face. Andries found herself in Luxinna’s arm, but the ice javelin impaling the elf’s shoulder was the center of her attention. Luxinna just take a hit for her. “Miss Ace,” Andries looked horrified at the bleeding injury. “W-Why…” “It is nothing,” Luxinna tried to keep a level voice from the stabbing pain. “I survive… arrgh.” Spikes of ice erupted from the elf’s shoulder, turning the clean wound into a grisly mess of blood, forcing the elf to cradle in pain. Speck of blood sprayed on Andries’ face—a grim reminder of the price exchanged for her life. Orwell lowered his hand after triggering the ice-shards. “Isn’t this enough to prove my point?” Orwell accused the noble. “High-society waste of finest quality, worthy of Venistalis’s pedigree. You can’t fight to protect your life, surviving by dumb luck that superior men and women suffer in your stead. If you know shame, kill yourself and give that girl an easier time.” Orwell’s words hit like a truck. Disastrous mix of realization, comprehension and shame struck Andries. Her hand—dirtied with Luxinna’s blood—shook uncontrollably as she realized the price of her survival. For the first occurrence of her life, she understood the true meaning of self-loathing. If she died, Luxinna would… Bonk! Luxinna hit the young girl with her healthy arm. “Oww!” Andries clutched her head. No one ever hit her before. “He is psyching into your head,” Luxinna told her. “My friend love doing that. Just ignoreed him and solider on.” “It's the truth,” Orwell batted Shyme’s surprise artillery shell out the sky then blocked a column of Melody’s sun-fire with his gargoyle wing. Luxinna grimaced. Orwell saw past Melody’s attempt to sneak attack him using fire as distraction and smacked her back to earth at terminal velocity. For safety measure, Orwell dumped an avalanche on Solarmaria to keep her company. Orwell continued his mini-games. “The girl knows, so those garbages hiding behind you,” Orwell spoke. “What do you think is your reward for saving them?” Luxinna recited Rem’s prophecy. “Getting sell out, I suppose,” Luxinna replied. “The Grand Empire needs scapegoat to blame for their capital devastation. Dream predicted the noble behind me will toss us to the wolves with no hesitation. Can’t blame them for self-preservation.” Half of the noble snorted indignantly, but some realized the elf possessed a solid angle. Andries froze in disbelief. She came despite knowing we will betray her. “What makes you go that far for these waste of space?” Yes. Why? Why do you bother saving us? Luxinna consumed the barbed spike sticking inside her shoulder with the raw force of lightning. “If one life improves for the better, isn’t my effort worth it?” It was Dream’s quote — the sentence elevating Horizon Dawn’s endeavor taller than any Phantasian organization. Stun was the noble. Speechless was Kruger. That light was so blinding Chamomile want to escape underground for sake of avoiding comparison. “I see,” Orwell started, weaving his hand in specific patterns. “Why do good people be this stubborn?” [Orwell’s Original: Arctic Circle Familiar Summoning] Luxinna noticed Orwell’s secret in an instant. The frost he sprayed with his [Ice Hell Founding] was moving. The elf cursed. The ice was an Amalgam. Orwell covered the field with Amalgam and used it to summon something right beneath them. Before the spell fully resolved, Hikma landed in the crowd’s midst and cast a counter. [Surtr: Burn the Witch] Hikma’s [Surtr] expanded into sizes of humongous dome enveloping the ice circle and melted it. Orwell cursed. His plan to counter the elf speed by engulfing her inside a bonfire of Mana leeching Amalgam failed, but he still controlled the fight. [Orwell’s Original: Frost Skull] An Amalgam ice-skull engulfed Orwell as an absolute defense. Its eyes shone, amassing a power to bombard the area.  Then Orwell noticed a fluctuation coming from the Wind-quarter. But even Hal Jordan won’t interfere in time to save them.

[Nicholas: Holy Gift + Tuning + Entropy] The Arcane combination spread lines of artistic seal upon collision with Orwell’s skin. The glowing sigils branded Mehest like a tattoo of defeat. Despite being mangled by Hikma’s win condition, Orwell refused to surrender. [Orwell’s Original: Spectral Frost Armament] The purple javelin appeared in Mehest’s fist, but white cracks spread from the spectral weapon, shattering it to pieces. “Resonance,” Orwell gritted his teeth. “You dare use my own Adamakles’ property against me?” “Why not?” Hikma’s visor glowed. Orwell Mehest understood Hikma’s plan. The game was over. Chronicler unstably amplified his Adamakles’ vibration with holy energy. Any projection he created would vibrate unevenly across the material phase, resulting in an instant destruction. Without his Adamakles, Orwell lacked weapons and shields against an opponent adept at counter-play. Still, the child of the Deathless Clan refused to surrender. He swung a punch with his super-strength. [Holy Lorde] A beam of light blasted him across the frozen earth. Orwell tumbled across the ground in shamble. He bitterly stood and instinctively summoned a spectral javelin, only to see it broke. Growling, Orwell resorted to his Tundra shenanigan. [Pyro Gift] Hikma enchanted the area with summer, switching off Orwell’s toys. “I can counter everything you try, Orwell.” Still, Mehest rushed forward, refusing to give-up. He believed his raw stat was higher. If he manhandled the Chronicler, he won.  [Earth Shift] The ground beneath Orwell shifted and rose like a water fountain. The earth folded around Orwell, imprisoning him in an obelisk with only his upper torso visible. [Pyro Gift] Hikma slapped the summer-field enchantment on the obelisk and preemptively blocked Orwell’s attempt to shatter his way to freedom. Still, Orwell Mehest refused to give in. “Dark Ones! Code activate!” … In the Water-quarter, at Orwell’s wrecked Spiritium tower, the spell-crafting mechanism connecting to the Primordial World Enemy churned. The link anchoring the god-like reality destroyer chimed with power as Mehest triggered the weapon he avoided using. Down below, Shyme and Velnia’s entourage trembled at the raw malice vibrating from the ruin tower. The young Enma fell to her knees as the creepy moons with countless eyes blinked, slightly awakened from its dream as Orwell muster the monster’s wrath. Suddenly, the light shone as Hikma’s trap sprung. [Nicholas: Holy Gift + Temple + Interfere] … Orwell watched the shining beacon of light rose from his ruin tower and pushed the World Enemy away from this reality. His expression was one of utter flabbergasted. He knew his ritual art. The Chronicler transformed his anchor into a sacred territory and used Orwell’s own energy tap to fuel the binding-turn-banishment. It was ingenious. By hijacking Orwell’s original set-up, the ritual technically concluded itself via an alternative route without breaking, thus preventing the World Enemy's release. “When did you set that up?” “When I lock your ice ability the first time,” Hikma explained dryly. “Our boss can’t help us directly, but she gave us historical reference in the right direction. The only thing I need to do is hide the surprise and wait for you to get desperate enough to grab your assess code. Thank you for co-operating, dismantling that set-up classically would take weeks otherwise.” With the final card in his deck exiled, Orwell hung his head low. He was beaten. In the distance, the grotesque moon with too many eyes was surrounded by amber color-light. Orange glow of gemstone infected the magical circle of greenish energy. Waves of power pulsed along the circle, rescinding the link between Phantasia and the Primordial without breaking the containment structure. The stupid ball of Malice got gently shoved to another dream as it faded from existence. Thus, ending the nightmare of Venistalis. Hikma took an opportunity to light the symbol. [Signal] … The light touched the city of Venistalis. Survivors spoke from their shelter. Warriors watched from piles of fallen undead. Surviving mages glanced at the mysterious light raining salvation. The symbol of a man embracing the sun shone behind the obelisk imprisoning Orwell, casting the shadow of the hero who brought this nightmare to an end. … Kruger stabbed a Death knight with a spear before smiling at the fading black cage. Oh, how sorely did he miss the sun. “That signal!” One volunteer yelled. “Does this mean we won?” “Look the barrier is coming down, and the moon is disappearing!” A witch covered in grime, and dirt fell to her knees as she cried. “Thank god, I can’t take any more of this.” “Fuck the gods, it is those guys we must thank,” a female knight dropped her chipped sword and yelled in gratitude. “Hey, Dream, if you are listening, you are a fucking hero!” “Vice-Captain,” a young lad asked the one-arm man beside him. “Who are those people?” Kruger smiled at the light of Horizon Dawn. “Does it matter? All I care is that they are our savior.” … Shyme Enma registered that symbol on the sky. How? How did they achieve the impossible? When that light shone above the wrecked Fire-quarter, she ignored the symbol. Why bother lighting a signal in times no one care? Only a standing army and several demigods had a shot against Orwell, not mere beacon from nobodies. However, that ignorance was forever impossible, because a man wearing that symbol defeated a monster she couldn’t beat. A simple flare transformed into a lantern of salvation. A light with a simple message — everything will be okay. Shyme reminiscence to that helmeted knight who saved her when no one could. “Just what make you so strong?” Shyme asked the air. “Why do you save someone like me?” … “You can’t be serious!” Chamomile Elragorn looked at the shining light of justice. “They won?” Despite her flabbergasted reaction, Chamomile hung on to hope the mysterious Samadi would end Orwell. She realized how forlorn this hope was. Thus, she kept her expectation low. Turn out, those wishes weren’t so stupid. Chamomile chuckled so much she cried from laughing too hard. After sometime, she hung her head down and whispered. “Thanks, Samadi, I am wrong about you. Thank you for everything.” The Vice-Captain without spine or hope smiled at the beacon of strength. … Andries Sellovett seemed like a woman sitting through a hurricane to cheer her favorite base-ball team. Her clothes were tattered in dozen places, but she grinned ear-to-ear. “We won! We won! We won!” Roared Eliza the celebrating. “Guys! Keep calm,” Andries suppressed her dancing inner chibi in vain attempt to maintain her noble dignity. “WE WON!!” Lord Uther cried a tear of joy, with no hint of reservation. Oh well, why bother fighting for a moot point? “Onee-sama is awesome!!” The duke's daughter threw a celebratory dance like everyone else. … Hikma sensed the celebration as the black barrier dissolved, revealing the beautiful blue sky. It took him a second to realize they were cheering for him. The young archeologist wouldn’t imagine the possibility of an entire city cheering for a no-name orphan. The city that left him at death-door now showered him with gratitude. “You look stunned,” Orwell stated. “Yeah, I never expect the cheering.” “You must be so proud,” Orwell snarked before squinting. “Wait, isn’t that…” That was when Hikma realized his celebration was getting postponed. Someone just blasted a rocket right at the obelisk. … Rem flipped the lid from his light reading session. The [Clairvoyance] he programmed as an alarm went baloney.  “Za Wa! Ignore my order for the shelves,” Rem yelled at the octopus who happily stacked shelves of data it already analyzed via octopi’s Center Force power. “At least tell me you get everything.” Za Wa leapt to Rem’s shoulder as the two left the bizarrely rearranged library. Rem learned from his failure to stop Orwell. He predicted the current scenarios meticulously to the last fall-out. But a vision of Hikma being attacked threw his calculation to the dustbin. All factors translated to a single nightmarish scenario. “Why is an S-rank attacking?” Rem yelled the question as he raised the alarm through Horizon Dawn's communicators. “To any knight that can move, battle-station! An S-ranker is attempting to rescue Mehest. I repeat! We are under attack.” … Hikma blocked the missile with [Trinity] But he didn’t notice the wormhole until the problem dropped on him. A mysterious woman in a lab-coat popped out of the swirling purple gate and tossed the grenade at the distracted Hikma. “Wow, the shield that actually tanks my anti-magic missile. Good! But, sorry buddy, it isn’t enough.” “Aww sh-” A gravity bomb detonated, blowing Hikma De Darwin out of the sky. Orwell barley believed the identity of his savior. … Truth to be told, those who saw her entrance refused to believe the absurd ridiculousness. Shyme Enma’s mouth hung open. Andries let out a scream. Chamomile fainted. Velnia’s entire entourage grabbed the princess and ran. Melody flew into the sky. Her eyes widened at the sheer unpredictability before putting all the venom into her next question. “What the hell are you doing, Arden Christy!?” The Untouchable. The best inventor and Magi-tech creator Phantasia ever witness. The arch-rival to the Isle of Knowledge’s Director El Acerbia. The woman who invented Hyper-channel technology at seventeen. Ebony Solarmaria’s first disciple. The second-coming of the Duchess of Craft. An anomaly so powerful she broke into an S-rank only after a year of Mandatory Recruitment Order’s conscription. “Wow,” Melody’s appearance mesmerized Christy. “Incredible.” Data flooded past Christy’s retinas as her portable scanner took Melody’s physiological reading. “Not 50% or the theoretical maximum of 78.95%, but a 100%,” Arden Christy drooled at the information. “How do you merge dragon genome into your DNA so well? Which lab sent you here? Tell me, pretty please?” Melody nearly fell from the sky. “First, I’m not a lab rat. Second, what do you think you are doing?” Christy sighed like she just talked to an idiot. “Hey, how much do you know about technology?” Melody wanted to yell that her mom taught Christy half her know-how with construction, but she bit her lips. “I know enough... but what the… oh” Melody instantly worked out Arden Christy’s purpose. “No. Fucking. Way.” Melody shivered at the thought. “You are here to recruit Mehest.” “Oh, my!” Christy clapped enthusiastically. “Deduce it in one try. Hey, care to join this cute sister's newest gang? I always want a little sister.” Melody cringed. That statement was closer to the truth than she wanted. “No, I am taken. But you never have a faction!” “Never is quite a big word. Let count the debacle lining this year. Olympus went hermit and emerged as a pacifist. The gods behave like an invisible iron fist hang above their cranium. 33 of Phantasia's hottest youngsters duke it out and several countries are already paying the price. Chuang Tianshang vanished for a month, leaving her faction hanging. Tai Hua’s lead is collapsing. Enma clan exerts its fang on Tengen’s fractured Alliance. Cytortia Tianshang publicly presumed dead three measly days ago. Even my fellow Untouchable — Illma Zoldia Road — died in the middle of bum-fuck nowhere.” Melody’s face twitched when her hometown got referenced, but Christy was already too absorbed in her speech. “Now, one of the 33 pipsqueaks devastated a capital city of the major power in the Seven Continental Alliance, utterly decimating the royal-forces and would have succeed if for few good costume wearing Samaritans. Not to mention my recent humbling by that insane bastard pretending to be a royal-mages’ Captain.” Melody froze. Christy fought Wayward? What the blaze happened outside the dome? “The first year in Age of Upheaval claimed one Untouchable, destabilized at least four nations, potentially killed two demigods and nearly murdered three S-rankers — fucking three. So, let me make it clear to this entire city.” Arden tuned up her microphone. All the city heard the S-ranker’s proclamation from a giant speaker hidden in the sky. “Congratulation! The gods fucking lost their iron grip on Phantasia. Factions all over the plane will be tearing each other apart until the king eventually emerges to establish a new order. Personally, I am not insane enough to rest my faith in this mysterious future king. Sorry folks, but I plan to win. So far Fenghui shows Mehest and I are grandly compatible.” “Nice offer. What do I get?” Mehest dryly asked the energetic woman. Melody didn’t wait. She plunged right at Christy, but kinetic barrier bounced her away. Christy, not breaking the combat-rhythm, pulled a huge Mana-powered laser from a pocket treasury and blasted Melody Solarmaria in the ground. “First, you won’t get executed by Grand Empire. Second, you got another shot to crush this place,” Arden Christy glanced at Venistalis with disdain. “Like you, I have no love lost to this city. I suggest we celebrate our partnership by lighting the city with fire?” Orwell’s answer truly reflected him as a man. “I make an agreement and lost. The only thing I owe this place is a favor and nothing more.” For all his faults, Orwell Mehest held to his end of an agreement. His treaty with Uther dictated that in event of his ascension to godhood, his rampage would end at Venistalis. On the flip-side, if he lost and somehow avoided execution, he owed Venistalis one favor outside the bound of risking his well-being for reduced tension. Originally, the agreement was three wishes, but Orwell gifted his research note to bargain to two. It was Samadi’s suggestion. Strangely enough, Orwell agreed readily. Deep down Uther suspected both Mehest and Samadi held an act of Orwell tossing his family’s lifework to Andries Sellovett in profound manners incomprehensible 4th dimension play. “You are rejecting me?” Christy sounded more hurt than anyone expected. “Let me finish,” Orwell rolled his eyes. “While my debt with the Empire is resolved, I still got a grudge with the gods and the bloody system.” Arden Christy’s eyes shone. “We have many things in common. We are both geniuses scorning the gods’ stagnancy. For our differences, we agree the status-quo — the factions ruling this world — must end. I have a similar feeling regarding our fengshui. Now can you please dig me out of this bloody obelisk?” Arden Christy smiled, destroyed the obelisk binding Orwell Mehest with her Mana-laser, and grabbed her new partner in crime before he fell. “Let get out of here, partner,” Christy popped a teleport, but Orwell stopped his new best buddy. He pointed at Hikma, waiting below them. “That guys can toast Space-spells.” “Aww crap, what else can he do?” “He can use Ice, fire, water, earth, barrier, light and nullify spell. He can also customize a counter for us.” “No one in history ever—” Christy smacked her forehead. “Oh right, we are in an era of carnage, so I guess impossible magical master is expected. Any tips.” “Get out of here before a guy wearing a mask and a fedora appears, but don’t underestimate any of them.” Christy rolled her eyes. “Can’t belief I am using this on kids.” A shadow cast over the city. Hikma nearly dropped his cane at the humongous structure appearing in the sky. So that was where the speaker is. A massive UFO appeared from the sky and sucked the new buddy-terrorist duo into it. Melody burst from the ruin building with [Burning Asura: Dragon Dance] on full-blast. A ball of condense fire flickered in her palm. [Dravritra: Breath] Melody shot a columned of fire so powerful it seared the sky with scarlet and gold. … Inside the UFO, Arden Christy cursed at the control. “Holy shit, that output was S-ranker level. And this plasma’s composition…” “Resembling Solar flare,” Orwell answered, and noted the room. “Celestium amplification reactor and signature camouflage. Good, I can work with this.” “You better hurry. I am not the only S-ranker around here. Holy shit, that flames might actually roast our circuits.” “Already on it.” Orwell flipped on the camouflage to hide his spell from Hikma. [Orwell Original: Reverse Arctic Circle Familiar Summoning] … It happened in a blink. The massive UFO suddenly vanished with its two passengers before Hikma could detect and nullify the reverse summoning. Melody cut the beam and collapsed, utterly exhausted. They won, but Orwell Mehest escaped with a powerful ally. Thus, the Capital of the Dead ended.

“Wake up, sleepyhead.” Luxinna’s eyes peeked open to greet a familiar face. She glanced at herself, yep, still wearing her usual black uniform, but without the coat and mask. Luxinna breathed, at least something about this situation was familiar. “You again.” “Sadly, yes,” child-size Luxinna answered. “Breaking news. The space-warping did a number on your perception of time-space. Like it or not, that guy is awake.” The last thirty minutes replayed itself in the elf’s brain. The light. That girl. Thier crashes. Those sudden stomach-flipping lurches. Her True Magic. “Oh no,” Luxinna sat straight and absorbed where she was. “No, no, no, no, no, no.” “I guess you have questions, and I understand your reaction,” the young Luxinna spoke in uncharacteristically sympathetic voice. “But you need to focus.” “Can we change the backdrop?” Luxinna grabbed her younger self and shook her with unbridled desperation. “A beach. A city. A van. I will settle for a ruin of Venistalis or hell, but not here.” Alas, ‘here’ didn’t change. Luxinna was still in a familiar pond with toxic atmosphere. Dark vines covered the once pristine ground of white pebbles. The originally clear and fresh water was now sickly liquid. The green vines corrupted all sides of the waterfall. And where the water once fell, a tower of gross shiny black glass stood like an abominable creation of the stars. The sweet, sour, rotting smell nearly caused the elf to vomit. Luxinna saw this scence only once. It was her sacred visiting place back in Lightwell forest. The spot which was taken over and transformed into a polluted hell by a World Enemy. It was a place of her trauma where Paracis Corrupter parasitized her. She was barely rescued by the suicidal effort of Cytortia and Rem. It was a place where Horizon Dawn first fought an enemy from beyond and barely won thanked to Satholia’s intervention.  “I can’t.” “This place isn’t real,” Luxinna muttered. “It can’t be real. Satholia killed the Corrupter.” “But sadly, its copy lived, and WORLD is quite a cruel mentor,” young Luxinna pointed at the tower. “Your lesson is there.” The tower of black exploded as humongous flower bloomed. The monstrous flower resembling the Rafflesia fold into existence, whirling its teeth like an angry chainsaw. It roared, sending thunderous shock-waves echoing in the forest as sickening stenches of poisonous rose in with the purple mist. Luxinna reacted immediately. Her hand stretched under raw reflex, waiting for a familiar sword to materialize magically in her waiting palm. Nothing. “Sorry, you can’t use [Historia], Lux. You are on your own.” Luxinna’s morale did a dive as a forest of vines emerged from the lake and lasered her location with purple beams. … Several platforms appeared on the floor with simple holographic message written above them. Treasure Hall Pathways It was a trap, and Hikma knew it. An intelligent ten years-old would be suspecting something. The set-up couldn’t be more suspicious unless someone put a giant neon sign over it. Sadly, the 33 Stars walked right on to the plate. “We divide the treasure equally,” Magnolia Drakokia glared at her temporary allies. “Don’t get you knicker into a twist,” Amitate replied with a politician worthy smile. “We have a deal.” “Milady,” one elf in the entourage said. “We should—” “You will stay here and guard the entrance,” Magnolia emphasized haughtily. “We can’t have anyone else interfere with this treasure hunt.” The 33 Stars stood on the elevator as it descended below the ground. The hidden Hikma helplessly watched the potential disaster unfurling before his very eyes with a face-palm. All the effort he went into warning them and they sashayed to the gallow anyway. Rem should have a better plan. They sincerely needed it. … Back inside the sour, misty landscape inside an elf’s mind, a furious battle unlike any raged. Explosion flew and lightning struck as Luxinna continued her one woman war. Some point in the brawl, the Paracis Corrupter summoned an army to help put the elf on a pike. But Luxinna still danced across the tainted waterfall. Her lightning set the wall of vines on fire, turning the air into blossoming smokes and flames. Smell of Ozone crashed against the acrid sourness and whirling scent of smokes as the elf spun through a lilac beam of energy chasing her. Luxinna ran diagonal to the wall and somersaulted off the rocky surface as a giant worm, green with corruption and riddled with barbs crashed through the rocky cliff of the waterfall. Luxinna grimaced, tensing her muscle and bursted into motion against the thunderous flying rock. Her spinning body readjusted to launch a calculate attack midair. [Overflow] [Serene Glass] [Electro Gift] A golden polearm of [Serene Glass] appeared in her hand. Handling the perfectly formed weapon like she wielded it for a lifetime, Luxinna enchanted the weapon with a lightning edge. The elf performed a triple mid-air slash, whilst amplifying her weapon’s range with [Aura]. The slices of electrically charged edge seared the worm with blacken scar and scent of burnt toasted. Landing nimbly, Luxinna timed her strike against the counter-attacking worm. The elf calmly side-stepped the worm’s rotating maul of death. Golden gauntlet formed on her fist as her body hit the perfected rhythm. [Aura] coated her strike as her golden legging solidified. She spun, breastplate molding itself up her chest, concluding the full-body attack, and carving the 5-meter-tall giant corrupted worm with her lightning blade. She stood fully armored against the Corruptor. Horizon Dawn’s Ace created a make shifted mask of gold over her eyes as the monstrous flowers raised its tentacles. It would be bothersome if icky fluids and bloods got in her eyes. Barbed tentacles rained down energy, and hoards of corrupted animals stormed the waterfall to face the fully armored Luxinna. Luxinna sweated. This was ridiculous. She summoned a [Guard Fauna] to block a barrage of beams raining around her. Rem shouldn’t be able to survive this back then. … The younger Luxinna commented at the fight from the clouds above as her older-self carved her ways through the hoard.  “You think you are fighting the same Paracis as Rem? That would be too easy for the current you. The WORLD uses the trail to put a stop gap on abuses of power not donates passing marks. This trail required more than strength to learn.” The younger elf continued narrating. “You should know. Rem must have told you about the knowledge he pried from Chuang Tianshang. What the Heavenly Daughter of Fire saw was only a prediction — a facet of the future causes by leftover temporal shifted during Satholia’s manifestation on Olympus. No matter how theoretical it is, that prediction still caused an altering in the stable time-loop realistic enough it tricked the Chuang Tianshang into thinking she witnessed the collapsed of Phantasia. In a certain sense, that is the future that would happen without Satholia and Horizon Dawn’s intervention.” The elf sighed. “And how does that random information got to do with this trail. It is simple, really. Don’t you remember the key detail of what happens in that terrifying timeline? Without Rem, you get corrupted completely and the Paracis fully matures. Its attack on Lightwell uproot the elves and push Aurora Continent into such a chaos that it required the united force of all 33 Stars and the Divine Fist to stop after much casualties. That was the version of Paracis Corrupter you are fighting. The World Enemy who defeated and killed all the S-ranker in Lightwell, including your grandparents. The annihilator of civilization with an impenetrable home advantage, and a trump card with such power it renders Lightwell’s S-rank a pushover.” … Luxinna heard every word her younger self uttered as she ignored it and focused on surviving. [Overflow] Luxinna entered a mental slowdown to calculate how to handle her latest threat. A corrupted gorilla approximately 180 Kg. Must be careful of the ten tentacles emerging from its back at the speed of 160 Kilometer per hour. Recalibrates the tentacles’ shooting angle for weak spot to enter and dissect. Luxinna wove between a tentacle sprouted from the massive ape back, balancing and shifting her feet until she finally in the close-quarter range. First, disable the left ligament to unbalance. Seize that opportunity to attack the phallus, follow-up with hay-maker at the diaphragm, then traumatize the solar plexus.  Lightning flashed. The gigantic monkey’s knee gave out by a kick. A knee slammed into its crotch and an elbow decimated its chest. The gorilla tensed its muscle and voice box, but Luxinna was ready. Estimate a coming roar to stun and incoming roping maneuver. Solve by shattering the throat and reply the right arm with an uppercut. Next, reposition the reply into a full-power fist in the rib. Then reposition again to finish with neck chop. Luxinna’s arms move. Her fist crushed the ape voice box before its roar arrived, while her other arm arrived at the perfect timing to knock the gorilla’s attempted to at bear-hugging. The ape suddenly felt something crunched its ribs to smithereens in flashes a lightning. The corrupted beast fell to its knee, glimpsed lightning flashes, and suddenly felt a sharp pain in its neck. Luxinna barely got time to mourn after shattering the ape’s neck in a second. A hoard of animals was already upon her.  What followed was a blur.  She remembered breaking a wolf's jaw, snapping a goat's neck, and dodging a gigantic tentacle infested turtle. Luxinna felt bad for the shelled reptile after dodging its purple beam and supplexing its head to the ground. At some point, a gigantic bear fell from above, while she stabbed a corrupted manticore in the chest. It took her seconds to roast both animal innards, but even less time for them to be replaced with a swarm of infested avians sporting putrid scent, green disgusting feathers and purple beak. Luxinna formed an intricate array of [Guard Fauna] and transforming them into tesla coil with [Electro Gift] to fix her aerial problems — permanently. The black hair elf remembered throwing up [Assault Fauna] to turn the charging assortment of corrupted wild-lives into a pool of blood. After that a blur of blood, furs and golden polearm flew. She lost count of how many feet she stabbed or the belly she sliced open. She didn’t even recognize the animal she currently electrocuting to crisp. Bloods, guts, and fluids splattered her hair, mask and body as she fought against the stench and distracting tides of the conflict. Out of breath, the girl remembered frying through numbers of manticores, a goat, and several giant bats. Giant bat? That was new. At some point, Luxinna noticed she bled. The realization shocked her so much. She was so focused on dispatching her enemy with [Overflows] her injury slipped past her mind. That brief paused in her movement allowed a corrupted bison to knock her to the ground. Luxinna rolled across the floors paved with corrupted vines. This was bad. The barrages of foes and actions caught her without a moment to breathe or recompose. Bloodlust and killing intent might sound neat, but losing herself in such rapid carnage won’t end well. Suddenly, Luxinna's enhanced sense went on full alert. [Overflow] resumed at full gear when she noticed the itching swarm of insect climbing on her body. She didn’t know what would happen, so she launched one panic Arcane. [Electro Lorde] Luxinna’s body burst with an electrical maelstrom, roasting every chittering critter on and around her body to ash. The elf back-flipped to her feet, materializing a spinning polearm of [Serene Glass] in hand, and went all out with her next [Electro Lorde]. The Arcane encompassing the phenomenon governing electromagnetic force unleashed its might as a tree of lightning shooting into the dull sky, dispersing the purple hazed and painting the earth and cloud in golden brilliance. Electrical bolta peppered the army of corrupted leaping into the fray. Anything staying above ground that wasn’t a lighting-wielding got shocked to death in the torrential waterfall of crashing thunderbolt . It was blunt but spectacular uses of the power which govern the concept of lightning and charge gradient. Regrettably, Luxinna was too young to comprehend the subtlety and elegance of her technique. She wanted brute force, and she got it. Everything that registered as a threat got wiped. Well, everything but one. The Paracis Corrupter remained standing. Its surrounding flickered with translucent field Luxinna knew so well. [Aura]. The mother-fucking World Enemy used Horizon Dawn’s invention to soften her death blow. Not invention. Discoveries. You might discover the simplest method to avoid getting fuck by energy attack, but you aren’t the only one with access to that knowledge, dear. A matured World Enemy can pull a decent [Aura] too. Why do you think countries need to pepper it with S-rank, armies and mass-destruction weapon? “Shut up,” Luxinna growled at her younger self, as numbness crept up her leg. Such sensation realized Luxinna’s worst fear. She was overheating. Probably the consequence of going overboard with [Electro Lorde]. Hopefully, the enemy was running dry too. Three massive Hydra’s head rose thunderously from the tainted water — thanks, universe “Fuck me,” the elf dodged an acid breath, and started conjuring combat knives. … “[Electro Lorde]” Hikma cast the Arcane, disrupting the entire electronic in the elevator. Next to him, Melody ripped the plate from the ground. Behind them, Rem went on a triad. “No handrails, no security instruction, and likely no emergency line. That isn’t an elevator. It is a murder weapon.” “Thanks Rem,” Cytortia halted her friend's rant. “What is the plan?” Rem switched to telepathy We don’t play the game. We are going to dive but never land. This thing must have a clue, a vent or a maintenance hatch. I will try to crush every spying hardwares we come across to keep our mastermind in the dark. Then we deduced the next venues of action base on the information. Keep our conversation as mental as much as possible. I will sort the detail out as I go. Cytortia, please cloak us and Hikma prepared a big [Nimbus] to float us. Cytortia activated [Paradiso]. A worry for Luxinna flickered in the back of her minds. But that worry was quickly extinguished. Amongst the Dawn, Luxinna stood as their greatest fighter. The elf would be fine. … Luxinna Latoria tossed her dual blades toward the Hydra and unleashed [Electro Lorde], blowing the monster’s head off while cauterizing the stump with extreme voltage. The elf delivered her finishing touch by impaling the monster's main body with supercharged javelin of [Serene Glass]. The Hydra went down in a minute. Oh goody. You actually survive the starter. Beware the main course. “Main course?” Luxinna barely got the question out before a long-hair woman rose from the corrupted water and rushed toward her in flashed of lightning. “No way.” A solid punch knocking the elf hundred-meters out the waterfall. The malicious figure wrapped in purple lightning bolt barely paused in its pursuit. … “Oopsie,” young Luxinna on the sky detected the change in mental equilibrium. “The trail finally goes on a whack.” … In the real world, the golden coffin holding Luxinna crumbled. The elf righted herself like a stringed marionette. Left-over pieces from the coffin began reforming around the elf en masses. Luxinna newest get-up wasn’t like her usual armor. Thick chitin like glasses bulked her hand and leg into a claw. Exoskeleton pieces fitted her body in carapaces. Unlike her original skintight and lean breastplate, her newest armor was bestial and bulky, wrapping around her chest and shoulder like calcified rock. The armor from her back bulked up and grew golden cables sparking with electricity. A cable like tailed snapped from behind as the glass armor bought itself online. It was a heavy-duty armor that should be disqualified because of the sheer problem in maintenance and maneuverability. Problems that became non-issue given its brand-new update. A new masked covered her entire face in golden glass. Its mouth parted and let out an echoing roar. This was Luxinna Latoria’s 2nd Legend. Even among all permutation of True Magic, it should be relegated as unique. Unlike other True Magic, this power possessed its own sentience and individuality because of its specialization—a deadly statement given its inherent savagery rivaled in an untamed state.  The violent, far-from-tame, True Magic had seized the body of one of the strongest combatants in the Dawn with knowledge and capability of her power set. Waking her up was impossible until Luxinna beaten her trial. Beast Luxinna bellowed in lightning and raged. Her lightning shook the entire base. The situation was obviously getting worst.

Hikma made another [Conceptual] Seal for [Vision] and a hologram of Rem emerged. “Yo, Orwell, does a little divine beam slap enough off you to negotiate?” Orwell chuckled. His wounds started sealing itself. His invincibility might crack, but defeating him was still too much for Horizon Dawn. Rem’s slowness discounted him as a reinforcement. Melody hadn’t fully mastered her power. They lacked firepowers to overwhelm Orwell’s defense and regeneration. More importantly; nothing stop Orwell could from calling quit and retreating to safety. Orwell ate a massive amount of damage in today, but Horizon Dawn suffered more than they looked. Luxinna launched 2 [Jewel Sword], a penetration arrow, countless [Guard Flora] and [Assault Flora] within a window of thirty minutes. Her heavily injured shoulder needed medical attention. Hikma tethered at the edge of burnt-out after his stand against Orwell. Melody tanked the several tons of ice, with her stamina-hogging dragon-mode taxing her entire fight. [Emerald Purity] was a stalemate breaker, but the continual of Orwell’s pulse narrated Rem’s inability to spam that attack.  Horizon Dawn pushed Orwell to his limit, but they needed more to triumph against Orwell backed by the Leyline’s reserve. “You talk like you have another shot with that dragon,” Orwell retorted. “Excuse me,” Rem paused the conversation. “Shyme, I am negotiating. If you fire that mortar, I will announce your crush to everyone present with quotes straight from your diary. I am certain you don’t want Cy to discover the sickening sweet passage. And yes, Cy is alive and listening. Your life-stele sucks. Get a better one.” … Shyme didn’t buy it. She switched away from the scrying sphere. Her finger hovered over the firing button with killing intent. Before she brought that finger, Rem’s voice struck with zero mercy in a tone of a love-struck Shyme. “The clan headquarter have summoned me. Of course, they do, I am the clan head’s favorite. Even Grustav is jealous of me. This is it! I can’t wait to meet my uncle again. Uncle Titus must be waiting for my arrival with participation. I know father is handsome, but uncle is even cooler. The way he walks. His smell. His husky voice. I wish I could.,.” “No!!!!!!” Shyme took horrific psychological damage. She squirmed on the floor, clutching her face like someone splash a napalm there, squiggling like an earthworm. “No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NOOOOOOO!!!!!!” Charon viewed the development with a twisted sense of joy she couldn’t explain. The hidden Chuang Tianshang inside her greatly enjoyed Shyme’s suffering. “Isn’t that…” Lancaster remembered glancing at Shyme’s diary, but he politely shelves the brief sentence he gleamed in his head until now. “So, our mistress crushes hard on her uncle,” Charon smirked. “How cute.” Shyme’s face was redder than tomato. The graceful mistress of Enma clan tried to withstand Rem for less than twenty seconds and got reduced to scrap metals. “I-” Her secret got exposed before her enemy and complete stranger. No amount of money or assassination could remedy this. “I CAN’T GET MARRY ANYMORE!!!!!” The young mistress of the most powerful clan beneath the sky sobbed to the heaven. Her rosy red face was adorable with tears. Her fox-ear flopped down with misery. “How adorable,” Charon smacked her lips. … Men and women alike witnessed the merciless character murder of a 33 Stars. Their reaction was predictable. “Did he just quoted a 33 Stars’ diary?” A young noble barely believed the mysterious man's accomplishment. “Does he have a death wish?” “Nah,” Melody answered. “I believe that man wholly accepts death and thus liberates himself from fearing it.” “Hard-fucking-core,” the young noble gaped. “Isn’t that guy Hal Jordan?” “That a fake name,” Luxinna mercifully told him. “He always uses fake aliases.” “So that is Samadi,” Chamomile Elragorn’s expression was inscrutable under the layer of shadow. But her eyes burnt with glaring rage. Her anger focused at the mysterious masked man conversing with Orwell. … “Still talking me into surrendering?” Orwell opened with his presumptive question. “While I wish so, that opportunity clocked out ages ago. Sorry to inform you, Orwell, but after piling 3 million body-bags, lowering your execution sentence is nigh-improbable. Good news, we are not judge, jury and executioner. Bad news, we will hand your ass on the platter to the Grand Empire. Those parts are unnegotiable. What I am offering is the fallout agreement.” “Fallout agreement,” Orwell chuckled. “Never heard of that.” “Because everyone thinks they will win until they lost,” Rem sighed. “Overconfidence is a plague of the world. Just ask Hex. But again, his voice box is one organ you never fix.” Orwell tensed. “You know?” “Dude, we share a distaste for Chamomile, but limits exist for a reason,” Rem’s disapproval was cold. “You should destroy that project now. It is a waste of resources. You won’t kill anyone with him. I will free Hex. I owe him that. If you have doubts, watch my eyes, Orwell. I dare you.” Orwell didn’t take the bet. “Let change the subject…” “HELL NO!” Chamomile barged into the conversation, screaming. “What the hell are you doing to the Captain?” “Knowledge is the burden,” Rem advised. “Fall back, Chamomile, this is one information his subordinate should remain ignorant to.” Orwell's added with an insidious grin. “He is right, you know. It would be infinitely better if you never meet him again,” Orwell chuckled. “To be honest, I highly anticipate that reunion. I can’t wait to record your expression and I am still curious whether he can recognize you.” “You monster!” Chamomile prepared to charge at Orwell. “Hikma, she is going to kill herself. Stop her.” [Aegis] emerged from the ground and locked Chamomile's feet with [Holy Armor]. “Free me. I need to kill him.” Rem snorted. “Isn’t that attitude got your comrades annihilated and Hex captured? Sorry, Vice-Captain, but I already have too many bodies on my conscience. I might fail to save Hex, but I won’t let him waste his death.” Upon hearing Rem’s statement, Chamomile exploded. “Why do you care!? You are Wayward’s collaborator like Orwell!” Rem raised his eyebrows. It appeared a harsh reality check was in order. “Aren’t you a bigger Wayward’s collaborator? You work with him for solid six years.” “You are defending him?” Chamomile accused. “That man kill his own men, kill my friends, and murder Captain Hex. He is a traitor! What nerve you have to shake hands with that monster before saving us!? Don’t pretend like you are a hero, you are just another Samael Wayward! A lair behind a mask plotting against us!” That was a mixture of resentment, powerlessness and denial cumulated from the horrific event of the last twenty-fours hours. Chamomile was looking for someone to blame. Wayward wasn’t here to receive her wrath, nor could she inflict any harm on him. Thus, Chamomile opted for the next best alternative. She pinned her despair on the mysterious man she didn’t understand. The consequence was horrific. “If I want a bloodbath, you would already die,” Rem addressed the raging woman with winter cold. “Before claiming your grievance on getting betray: take off that uniform. It is being needlessly tainted.” Rem directed his gaze at the uniform of the royal-knights. “What the hell are you talking about!” Chamomile was too enraged to care. “Sorry, I don’t speak hamster.” Chamomile fist punched into an illusion and accomplished nothing. “I am not even here,” Rem started the verbal murder. “Do we need a room, Chammy? A leather chair and cedar wood desk, a large oval desk, and maybe a dinner — honey roasted pork. It what you ate with your father, isn’t it? That smiling face. That expectation. Wonder how daddy’s heart will bleed when he learns his little girl is this pathetic? Guess the Corrupter sent him to an early grave as a favor.” “SHUT UP!” Chamomile screamed. “Shut what?” Rem taunted the hysterical woman. “That daddy didn’t come home? Or that the whiny coward poured her father’s teaching down the drain with every forged document? Or that spineless bitch whose clutching on her father’s protégé, quivering with fear at the inevitable day he leaves..” “SHUT UP! SHUT UP! SHUT UP!” Chamomile punched the illusion for every syllable. Failing to hurt the image, she turned her attention at Hikma, but Rem expected that. “Oh, if Chronicler shut the illusion, the negotiation is over and Orwell will have no qualm about attacking you next.” That statement made Chamomile realized she stood between the disturbed Hikma De Darwin and an amused Orwell Mehest. “He is right,” Orwell confirmed. “This is too amusing to pass up. Hey, Jordan, how much do you know about Chamomile?” “As much as I know you.” Unable to do anything, Chamomile flopped on her knees and bawled. “Why does this have to happen to me?” Chamomile screamed. “What did I do to deserve this!?” “Nothing.” Rem expanded his answer with a speech. “You did nothing to deserve a tragedy, but nothing to prevent it. You learn nothing from your pain. Gain nothing from your lost. You refuse to accept your inability to control another man’s madness by blaming everyone but yourself. Thus attains no wisdom nor clarity. You breathe day-by-day with no inspiration, no dream. You are a sheep, representing nothing, so by mathematic logic, you fall against anything.” Rem crushed Chamomile further.  “Can you guess why I mention your uniform? That is a symbol of Venistalis’s defender. Your father, your Captain and your friends wore it, but you understand so little about its implication. That uniform separates the civilian from combatant. A symbolic evidence of your contract with Venistalis — your vow — to protect its soul and soil at expenses of your life. Its wearer has no right to complain about dying or being massacred by a betrayer because wearing those gears is an open invitation to everything desiring this city’s destruction to shoot you. It is the price to the power and admiration you enjoy. A sheep like you is tainting that symbol by using it as a fashion statement. Strip. Animal inspired by nothing should stick to a birthday cloth, not ceremonial garments for corpses of honor.” The stomp was brutal. Rem didn’t need [Mentalism] to shatter her will. A single speech was all he used to fold Chamomile like a piece of paper, reducing her to a shell-shock sobbing wreck. A Death Star would be more merciful than force-feeding the truth and shame down Chamomile’s throat. Rem left the annihilated, psychologically charred body of Chamomile to face the opponent of today. “Back to business,” Rem stated. “There are no possibilities of getting you a pardon or lighten sentence. Great work. Orwell, you are among few enemies I cannot save from their eventual self-inflicted death. Kudos. Congratulation time over and arrives the hour of damage control. My offer—to you and the nobles representing the Grand Empire—let it end here.” Silence. “Let what stop what?” Lord Uther drifted into the clueless ocean. “I don’t get it,” Andries found herself in the triangle of confusion. “Again?” Added Eliza the marooned. Rem explained his request. “The cycle of hatred between the Deathless Clan and Grand Empire have yielded death-toll approaching over 5-millions counting today incident and causalities during the earlier administrations. Many of these are civilian’s death from looting a retaliatory attack. Continuous escalation of the conflict requires an arbitration. As a neutral arbitrator, I ask this high-scale counter-attack and its resolution be the last act of war between Grand Empire and Deathless Clan. Is that fine part with both parties?” Everyone stared at Rem like he floated from heaven with wings. “Wait. Wait, Wait,” One noble charted the course back. “You are giving him a pass.” “No, Mr. Archibald, the proper term is a peace-deal,” Rem said. “However, that isn’t the point. The crux of your disapproval is you want payback. Maybe it’s revenge for the 3 million lives sacrifice in this city or the friends that die in the Central Palace raid, but you want more blood to spill. But will you pay the price? Oh right, your family never had an honest income.” “What!” “You paid the bill with blood money harvest from a trade-secret, tortured from a poor match-seller. Quite a good ink for enchantment scroll — salt, Grimme Water, and Spark Sand fermented for 2 months at ratios of 1:3:6. Oh, is that a production secret? Oops. No sorry. You deserve it. Hey, Andries, better noted it. You need daddy’s approval and handful of cash works on your old-man.” Archibold’s face paled. Every noble deduced the game. Previously, they united for survival, but now that peace temporary returned and survival chance increased, they regressed to their base instinct. Men were wolves to fellow man. Rem recognized such statement held an extra weight to the Venistalis’s obsessive upper-class mired with grudge and competition. He decided to weaponized their flaws. Tried to speak out at your peril. Your comrade’s greed would butcher you with enough nudging. Objector raised his proverbial neck. Rem revealed his families’s industrious secret as example and brough consequence into the picture. No one spoke until Andries realized she got enough favors to speak without being socially destroyed. “How much…” “How much secret do I know?” Amused was Rem’s tone. “I revealed Chammy’s most vulnerable moment like I witnessed it? Ask yourself about my method? How can I witness a little girl crying in her bed two decades ago grew into a worthless adult she is today?” Andries had only one answered. A Skill that let a person witnessed the past. A naiver Andries might scoff at such a harmless skill until she saw its full potential from this mysterious Hal Jordan. “Hal Jordan is a fake name,” Orwell stated his suspicion. “You should be famous for your competency.” “I have some fame. They call me many things, but I go by Samadi.” “So Samadi, you are saying you are cutting the cycle of revenge? You want to forgive me?” “God, no. Yes, I might forgive you, but that doesn’t change the fact I must deliver punitive measure to ensure fairness and justice for the lost. You will die, Orwell, eventually. The nature of the deal aims to bring this conflict to a definite conclusion. If I win, the Grand Empire will execute you and let the remaining Deathless Clan members hiding in Phantasia rebuild in peace. If you triumph, you end your vengeance tour by nuking only Venistalis. No hopping to collect more heads in the main army or the country-side.” Orwell smirked. “You are not a diplomatic representative. Do you believed Emperor will end the cycle when he could take it out on my brethren?” “He won’t,” Rem admitted, then gestured at the noble. “But they will — one highway or another. The Emperor’s political power lies with his key to power. I will act as your guarantor. Even if the Emperor scours every rock in Phantasia. He will find not a blink of the Deathless Clan.” “You are putting faith that those nobles who helped the Empire wiped out my people will put their neck out to protect them.” “Technically, I will handle the heavy lifting,” Rem shrugged. “But if I don’t have faith they can change, who will?” That simple sentence changed the course of Grand Empire’s future. Orwell chuckled. “Why should I agree at the cusp of my victory?” Rem stared back. “Over half of your keystone shattered this last hour, I am not a betting man but obviously your odds just tank, Orwell.” “Fine,” Orwell Mehest turned back and left. “My words are more solid than stone. It trust you have the innocent’s best interest in mind, Samadi.” “Please, call your friend and tell them not retaliate after your death?” “I can arrange,” Samadi watched at the nobles loathsomely. “Now, I want their words. If I fail, my people won’t pay for my sin.” “Wait! You are trying to kill us a minute ago?” Lord Uther shouted out. “Only he receives all the benefits. Are you two expecting us to agree an agreement that lopsided?” “He has a point,” Rem agreed. “What about another clause? A guarantee of safety and a ceasefire. Allow the civilian to evacuate to a safe-zone and cease engagement for a week to stabilize the injure.” “Too long. 100 hours will do with the city projection network and your ability.” “Fine, is that agreeable to all party?” “Yes,” Orwell said. “Maybe, but I need an extra terms.” “Good, Chronicler get me a paper. I wanted a signature. Scribe this deal as legal binding document under Grand Empire’s law. Let harsh the fine detail there.”

Melody returned at last to the place of her trauma. “I did it.” “You did it.” Satholia agreed. “After fifty cups, you finally mastered how to use the power of [Authority].” “I need to ask you a question. You ordered Hikma to teach Lux and Rem how to create their authority, but what about me and Cytortia?” “Luxinna and Remus have an easy foundation to establish their Origin. A creation type Origin is represented as a tangible object such as ink, roots or flower. Augmentation-type, like Rem and Ehto, got their own world. Those are easy to make into a celestial object, but Blessing and Manifestation type is another story.” “You mean me and the Cy?” “Yes, both of you are similar. Your Origin is essentially a mass of energy unique to you, gathers into the core, forming the very essence of your soul. This meant you need to master a specific method to create it. Just so you know, I sympathized. I am a blessing type and it took me time worth a solid 120 years to do it.” Satholia levitated and sat cross-legged. “Now, sat Infront of me, dear. I will guide you through the basic.” … Melody found herself in a dark space. Summon the [Scarlet Band Soul-gazer] Melody summoned the red, eye-shaped brand. Now, recall how you snuff the candle, but instead of exerting the spiritual pressure to crush the flame, inverted the process and used it to gather the ember of solar fire coursing through your body. Those are the fragment of your Origin — your unique core which powered your Manifestation. Condense all the embers into a star. Melody gritted her teeth. It took her a massive length of time to work out the image for manipulating the pressure. She had thought over Rem’s experience with [Tenshou] and found her interpretation of [Authority]. Connection upheld Rem’s telekinetic might. Melody couldn’t manage that kind of metaphysical comprehension. Instead, she imagined her spiritual pressure as string. To snuff out the flame, she stirred the string inside the glass into a whirlpool to lock out the air without exploding the plastic cup. Compared to those attempts, using that spiritual string to gather a tiny ember scattered around her consciousness and combined it into a nucleus was a child-play. Melody thought that maybe — just maybe — Satholia’s training program was an overkill. … Two hours. It took two hours for the golden sun to be created inside of Melody’s Mana Core. “Good,” Satholia commented, watching Melody rises. The girl was practically oozing with energy. “Congratulation. You basically create a pseudo dragon heart as your Origin. That inner sun put you ahead of everyone in term of raw energy output. Now is the time for the meat and potato. I will impart to you the technique for [Scarlet Brand].” “Ready to learn, Shishou.” … “The first is called the [Soul-gazer: Astra]” Satholia explained, while watching Melody struggled with her newest Legend. The demoness was hunched over in clench teeth to guide the current of power which shook the air and ground around them. “With your Origin established, you [Radioactive Flame] become a passive [Dragon Reactor]. Now, skill upgrade is good and all, but it comes with the need to readjust because you have a stream of raw heat energy rather than a clump of radiation. [Astra] is a technique to draw on the trait of your [Dragon Reactor].” Sat upon Melody’s palm was a brand glowing with crimson light. “This technique's most troublesome mastery condition is manifesting the [Dragon Reactor] into the [Scarlet Brand], imparting it with the spiritual strength of [Authority] and containing its overwhelming power discharge.” “So how do I combine it with [Authority]?” “It is pretty easy. Treat [Authority] like discontinuous-fibers in the composite and it should be hunky-dory,” Satholia answered. “But be extremely careful about dealing with the output when you fire it. Because when you do…” Melody stabilized the light. In her hand was the fiery eye-pattern with a miniature star for an iris. “…you created a solar flare canon. Congratulation on creating [Soul-gazer: Astra], Melody. You are holding a solar canon.” Melody lifted the [Astra] into the sky and fire a crimson beam that lit the starry sky apocalyptically red. “Wow.” “Careful, dear,” Satholia warned. “The cartographer is already busy without you firing this willy-nilly. Wouldn’t want to change the topology too much.” … Satholia changes the scenery to a mountain to teach Melody the next technique. “If [Astra] is a cannon, [Ara] is the sword,” Satholia instructed. “This is the technique to fix your reliant on raw material, and a way to improve [Nuclear Forge]. It essentially readjusted the output from [Astra] with [Anima Enchanting] to forge a spiritual blade that…] Swoosh! Melody finished extending the Astra into a crimson javelin and threw it at the mountain. The newly created [Soul-gazer: Ara] impaled the stone landmark, spreading a crimson crack over the mountain before bursting it with the explosion that violently fragmented half of the 3200 meters tall mountain and filled the sky with raining rocks. “…can blew up even the mightiest of mountain.” Satholia looked at the fragment of rocks showering down on them. “Dear, I must warn you to be careful. The Japanese and the men of culture — Rem and Ehto among them — will never forgive you for accidentally blowing away half of Mt. Fuji like sneezing. That is about 3500 Megaton of TNT you are throwing there.” Melody quickly summoned Astra and released the blast that destroys all the raining boulders. The scarlet beam engulfed the sky with a scarlet glow as it penetrated the exosphere. A moment later, Melody’s incredibly sharp eyes saw a comet falling from the atmosphere and disintegrating into nothing in the distant sky. The young demoness felt an uncomfortable silence echoed across the simulated mountain range. “What is that?” “That half of the hypothetical European’s household satellite television dying,” Satholia said dryly. “Your attack just went to space and killed the TV, dear. You need to be extra cautious when firing this in the Earth’s territory. Phantasia might do a strange thing to orbital physics, but people still keep the mobile network. Please don’t take it away from them.” Melody nodded sheepishly. … “Okay, let rest with a property damage,” Satholia continued. “[Vajra] is a defensive shield created by manipulating [Authority] pressure. It can be directed as suppression field or repulsion field. It is an easy technique compare to the basic of snuffing candles.” “Thank, Shishou,” Melody commented, looking her newest scarlet-shield. “It looks like you try to shoot all the problems early.” “It is a habit of mine,” Satholia nodded. “However, we are now at the second most difficult skill to master and the long-awaited reason for you to familiarize yourself with [Scarlet Brand Soul-gazer]. Imbuing pseudo-soul into attack or object. While [Astra], [Vajra] and [Ara] extends your Origin, imbuing soul has a totally alien leg to stand. Basically, you must understand of succubus’ aspect in the [Soul-gazer]. This aspect could be summed up by two skills: [Soul Servant] the skill to create pseudo soul and contract it and [Spirit Drain] Succubus signature ability to drain spiritual energy. I recommend you combined the skill of spirit drain with your attacks. It will add extra teeth to the anvil you could drop.” “Okay, how?” Melody felt that question had become her favorite. “[Spirit Drain] can behave like a spiritual frequency,” Satholia winked. Magnolia got it. “So, I can combine it with [Authority],” Magnolia, with a proper mental image helping her, easily created [Sprit Drain] enhance Astra. Unlike her initial [Astra], this version got specs of magenta mixing with its usual crimson. “Excellent, now back to the learning about [Soul Servant]. First, you must create a pseudo soul. You must gather your experience and spiritual energy, then combined them into a soul clone using [Soul Servant] skill. This clone is akin to an automated version of you with a specific specialization. Practicing this is quite time-consuming and you should learn about it in reality with my minor guidance. Instead, I will teach you the what to do after that and left the rest to experience and self-study.” Satholia turned serious. “Melody, your [Soul Servant] is derived from your experience with Arcane. The [Maximum Circuit], [Soul Servant] and [Link Consciousness] function of [Scarlet Brand Soul-gazer] allowed you to imbue a soul clone into your Arcane, allowing it to function autonomously. Unlike Hikma’s natal spirit, the [Soul Servant] will behave as a supremely sophisticate living-spell connected to you through [Soul-gazer] rather than a self-conscious familiar. Which leads us to the goal of today's exercise: perfecting your control over [Dravritra].” Melody stood straight-up. “I believe you are aware of [Dravritra] short-coming. It function so far as a descent ace-in-the-hole, but if you have to fight several S-rankers back-to-back, it become a death-or-glory super-mode that will run out on a time limit.” “Shishou,” The demoness pointed out the obvious. “You are talking like I am about to challenge an army of S-rankers. Those guys are like the top 5% of Phantasia, not cabbages.” “Melody, dear, do you seriously believe the power that be with a betting pool on Tengen will let you go after you flip the ring?” Melody’s mouth shut tight. She knew deep down Satholia’s fear was well founded. All this time Horizon Dawn had been handling major potentially catastrophic event as a mysterious third-party. Rem directed the group as some kind of charitable Samaritan with no alignment, striking for the common good of every party. Sure, they created few resentments, but those from their direct antagonist like Chuang Tianshang and Illma Zoldia Road were taken out discretely. That status quo would change the moment they tried to restore order to Tengen. Phantasia’s upper-classes and the 33 Stars stared at the continent like the greatest reality TV and the Horizon Dawn would be the one pulling its plug. It was inevitable the Dawn — as a restorer of peace and harmony — would have to piss off every S-rank mercenary, the Untouchables and even the Divine Fist with a stake to kick the living shit out of the continent. This time the Dawn is the Public Enemy No.1 of every single bully in the yard. No matter the result, Tengen would make them infamous. Escalation from there was inevitable. “I believe the reason finally dawn on you. Tengen is our formal declaration of war against every asshole in Phantasia. The weaker of them will attack you to prove themselves, while the stronger amongst them will try to come up with the way to use us to their benefit, so we must make the first impression. Our message is simple: the defender of good is not to be fucked with and no army of S-ranker will even the odds. For that reason, you all must be the hardest rock when we drop the hammer.” Melody stood silent for a second. “So how do I use [Dravritra]?” The goddess whistled. “That is the problem: using. You are seeing a highly violent Primal Arcane base on Imaginary Heritage like an octane fuel instead of a Super-solider serum. You are funneling the ancestral memory of the being older than time and as ancient as the Center Force. The key secret of the Imaginary Heritage is that it is trade. You are using [Dravritra] inheritance, but said inheritance is actively molding your body into a vessel worthy of its history. No pure flesh in the Multiverse could tank those alterations. I estimate your [Void Surfer Manifestation] must reach the end point of its evolution for you to inherit [Dravritra] legacy. The tip is simple, you need a proper tool as a filtration device.” “Wait… so all Imaginary Heritage base Arcane are like that? Is this one reason, Luxinna got left half-dead after releasing [Edge of ADA].” “Exactly, but luckily…” “Is the solution [Soul-gazer] again?” Satholia was impressed. “You are quick indeed. That is correct. In the same way [Soul Servant] could create a pseudo soul clone, it could create a soul clone solely to house [Dravritra] like a conceptual enchantment armor. The combination of your [Dragon Reactor] and [Maximum Circuit] can easily supply and operate that technique — [Scarlet Brand Soul-gazer: Dravritra]. The final stage is putting enchantment on your [Void Surfer Manifestation] because a demon’s body can’t, for the love of all things holy, handle that kind of power.” Melody nodded. “That should exactly cover everything, right?” “Hardly,” Satholia smiled. “You still need to learn how to weave all the techniques I just teach you together into a battle-style!” Melody felt her feat dropped to the final circle of hell. She could read what was running in Satholia’s head. Rem and Hikma narrated their brief training session with Satholia. One thing was clear. From that moment onward, Melody won’t be able to see an S-ranker like Scathach as something other than cabbages. Every member of the Horizon Dawn was infamous for their blasé attitude in face of gods, World Enemies and million strong apocalyptical armies. Their utmost courage in face of impossible odds, and the sheer insane combat expertise in face of legendary monster and once-a-millennium heaven's favorite child that haunted the weak was the stuff of myth. One or two members being walking pantheon slayer might not be strange, but every fully knighted member possessing the resolve and skill to match Kratos was something that blew the mind of the gods. But that question automatically answered itself when the identity of their head honcho became public knowledge. If you survive a sparring match against Satholia, even the mythical SSS-rank would look like a cute poodle. … Rem and Hikma looked at their consecrated marble and back at the man handling the rest of the production. “Ehto, you look different,” Hikma finally voiced the obvious. The pale young-man with light green hair sat amongst the monitors. Both men didn’t remember they fitted the lab with that many monitors. The likely explanation was the familiar stranger in front of them cobbled together a hybrid Phantasia-Earth technology by ordering parts from their contacts. Rem whistled. He needed to send Alexi and Madam Marmel and box chocolate soon. However, it was what on those monitors that took the cake. Those schematic of parts and weapons in the stage of improvement and annotation was an artwork. Rem could wait to use the cryogen-canon and portable sub-space air-strike. What wasn’t a miracle of engineering was the designer; who was missing an arm and got an empty where his left eye should be. “Someone goes through a new remodeling,” Hikma commented at Ehto Shaxter’s newest get up. “Like it?” Ehto smiled. “Android body. Satholia helps me design this. I am learning a lot of things about engineering for her.” Ehto glanced at his missing arm. “Well, at least most of the body, the arm still need the remodeling. The Photon Kinetic Cannon needs a little fine-tuning. Although looking at how Primal Arcane function really helps ironing out the kink.” “And the eye?” Hikma asked. “Hikma, fitting an optic laser with several retinal sensors isn’t easy,” Ehto replied. “So green hair,” Rem mused. “What an amusing color?” “Yeah, yeah, no need to speak about my taste. You are here about the weapon, yes?” Rem produced a round marble circled by a duplet ring of silver. “Ehto, I believe a marble isn’t a viable weapon,” Rem said. Ehto sighed. “It is technically a core of the weapon. What we need is giving it a proper body.” The Android flipped a switched below the table. The recently installed hidden shelves by the wall clicked open and extended to show them a catalogue of weapon. While most shelves were empty, they were expertly labeled, and the few models of the guns and high-end weapon hung there would make the Pentagon drool. “You and Melody have been busy,” Rem whistled. “She needs to blow off steam after fighting the paper cups,” Ehto said. A terminal in form of golden squid popped to exist near his head. “Should we begin the synchronization process?”

Crowd gathered beneath the podium of sterile white metal as one man walked up the sophisticatedly designed stage. His white garment made with most advance synthetic fabric was durable enough to function as lab-coat, environmentally sealed to optimize expedition capability and stylish enough to belt several prizes. The clothes’ impressiveness could be traced back to the half-demon wearing it. The man sporting a well-groomed beard and trimmed hair was none other than Director El Acerbia. The head of the Isle of Knowledge and debatably the smartest man in Phantasia only rivaled by Arden Christy and the missing Alcra Shaxter. Acerbia flicked the mic feature in his coat on. “Hello, ladies and gentlemen,” El Acerbia smiled to the crowd. “Tonight, is a special night.” Among the spectator, Magnolia Drakokia and her entourages watched attentively. “5 years ago, we lost contact with my friend — Alcra Shaxter — until a week ago where he penned what is likely his final request.” Sitting on a tree-branch, Artos Sevar repeatedly tapped his blade’s pommel. A classic way to relieve stress. “It appears my old friend wants to find an inheritor. Fitting for a kind and open mentor, he extended this opportunity beyond the Isle of Knowledge to you… my fellow denizen of Phantasia.” Inside a bar, Amitate Aztellic chugged a mug of alcohol down his throat, while a similar-looking demoness in revealing corset and short-pant exhibiting her alluring thigh and massive assets paid attention to Acerbia’s speech for them both. “Alcra is always a generous man, albeit untraditional. The opening hour of his ‘tomb’ is currently unspecified, but it is surely within this forest under the management of the Isle of Knowledge. Sadly, we cannot allow any S-rank or anyone above age of twenty inside. The Isle of Knowledge detected a bio-scanning field — likely employed by Alcra himself — that measured the entrée’s age. We believe the tomb won’t open unless Alcra’s condition is fulfilled.” A young man in a green jacket watched the announcement from a tree. “Because of the entrees’ number, the Isle of Knowledge will be managing this event via quota.” Sorin Enma grunt with disapproval from a lavish portable throne carried by blurry beastmen slaves. Would it surprise anyone that Sorin couldn’t bother to sit on the same stool as mere mortals? No. Okay, let's move on. “The quota can be bought with credit, but a special seeded slot will be reserved by the seven 33 Stars who volunteered to investigate the area first.” Salazar Aztellic laughed darkly. Good, it would be a great opportunity to set ambush spot. “I know what you are thinking? Why can’t I just walk into this forest? The answer is because the forest reportedly filled with multiple predators and traps. Most of which appeared right after the message got released. It turn out my old friend decided to increase the competition to ensure the strongest receives his blessing.” A half-elf — Mamacia Cocogar — packed an acupuncture needled in her weapon bag as she distilled some performance drug from her alchemy kit. She brushed her green eyes and put on her green glasses. “Buying the quota means getting access to this badge!” El Acerbia lifted the green metal badge to the crowds. “This badge acts as a life-saving device, hook to our teleporters, acting as the safeguard to your life and locator for our rescue team. In flick of a switch and your safety is guaranteed.” A blond woman wearing white robes with gold-trimmed yawned. Several men threw a gaze as the Holy Church’s ace with voluptuous body (certainly made for sin) and ocean green eyes dotted with a black beauty mark beneath it. “With this declaration, I, El Acerbia, welcome you all to the Alcra Shaxter’s tombs! Good luck with your treasure hunting.” Cheers erupted. Outside the crowd, among lonely darkness, the white-hair vampire cursed by her blood sneered. “Fools,” Commander Serina murmured. “You don’t even know what you are trading away.” The beast in human-body gazed at the moon. A single tear slipped down her cheek. Mom, I miss you so much. … “We won't buy that quota,” Rem declared. “Why not?” Cytortia said. “A) it makes us traceable B) Acerbia likely instaled a spying device on the badge. Hell, he might even do worst with the one given to the 33 Stars. I don’t trust him.” “Fine,” Luxinna said. “So, we sneak inside.” “All of us have a method to detect enemy and avoid detection,” Rem spoke. “Acerbia isn’t Mehest. Those badges show his technological savvy. Traditional radio wavelength will probably be monitored. Hence, we will communicate through my telepathic link set by [Tenshou].” Nods commenced. Rem spread the map. “My abilities with [Clairvoyance] is severely hampered. I can’t even pinpoint the position of the tomb, nor its opening time. This means Alcra Shaxter have an S-rank with him. Remember, don’t take on this S-rank alone. Only together do we stand a chance.” Melody threw a black uniform on the table. “I took the liberty to improve on our gears. Cytortia’s research into alchemical agent has paid off. This upgraded coat is now undetectable to most scanner and perfectly hid our scent. I even created this.” Melody tossed a headphone to Luxinna. “A hearing modifier to help with your detection and hide those ears from your sister. Can’t have her suspected why there are two elves with lightning power.” Rem traced the line of the suit and the majestically sown Horizon Dawn’s symbol. It took time for Congress of Hope to cut down its name to two after an hour of debate — Hope Dawn or Victorious. Because of victory is lame, Horizon named their banner the Hope Dawn. Rem’s pride at the symbol broke when he felt a familiar figure approaching the Little Hope. “Guys, my cousin is here.” … Jeane Breaker waited outside a small minivan as the door popped to reveal a demoness frowning at her. “Rem don’t want to meet you.” Jeane’s mouth hung opened. She expected excuses or some deception acrobat worthy of her cousin. She didn’t expect Rem to punch her face verbally. The best advantage with upfront rejection as it left almost no room for negotiation. Yes, Jeane read Rem better than anyone then, but perception was a two-way street. Rem played better than reading his cousin. He understood Jeane as a person. Pathological liar. Prone to outrage. Impulsive. Corruptible. Abusive. Greedy. Those were words fitting to describe Jeane Breaker. She excelled in social maneuvering, exploiting the weak and being a chameleon of social gathering. Traits proving that she was her aunt and uncle's niece by the blood. But Rem grew under his parents. He knew a swamp creature died without shade to hide. Until now he never exploited this flaw because there was nothing to gain and everything to lose. Sadly, for Jeane, Rem no longer needed to appeal to his parent. Horizon Dawn’s operations took priority over Breaker families’ spat. “Excuse me?” Jeane got nailed so hard she lost all her preparation. “I am his cousin.” “How does that change anything?” Jeane opened her mouth and tried another venue. “Who are you?” “Not important,” Melody sternly told her. “Leave.” “No fucking way. He needs to report to his parent! He still…” Hikma stepped from the door. “He is already working oversea by the age of sixteen after graduating University early. Argentum Cooperation only promotes him to Phantasia division.” “Uncle Argentum doesn’t have that division!” “He made one last month and Rem is its leader. We are working on an urgent project. Now, please leave. We are performing a delicate magic experimenting,” Melody replied. Jule tried to bring up more avenue of attack. In the end, she selected the usual route. “Do you know who you are working with?” “Yes.” “No, you don’t,” Jeane stood in an arm-fold. “That guy is a creep who looked up at woman skirt in high-school. He once sent my friend into an infirmary. There are rumors that he even mixed with terrorists and criminals. I am warning you. Nothing good can come with that incel.” Melody starred at Jule and moved closer “Really, can you explain in more detail?” the demoness eyeballed Jeane. “I found your statement doubtful. Hell, I even doubt an idiot like you can be related to Rem.” Jeane sprang up to slap Melody, but Hikma stepped in. “You want a detail! There is this time during a frat party where we all found him stripping Claire’s clothes off. It a scandal for the entire school! That bastard Rem even bo…” “You are lying.” Hikma stated. “I am not. Prove—” “Magic,” Hikma disabled Jeane’s lies with a single read from [Psychometry]. “You used this same story several times to socially isolated Rem. Worse, this Claire person is on it too. Thankfully, the story is so pathetic it can’t withstand any investigation, but it still tanked Rem’s reputation in your circle.” “Oh, so he bribed…” “Uneven shifts in Mana,” Melody enforced Hikma’s word with [Heavenly Eye]. “This meant the sentence frustrated you. No need to make an excuse. Hikma’s abilities at lair detection is unrivaled when he got skin-to-skin contact.” Jeane blinked. Finally, realizing Hikma was grasping her arms. She backed away like Hikma’s hand was on fire. “Fine freak!” Jeane yelled. “Sure, but remember it is your words against mine! With my status, I can…” “Oh, shut up!” Melody marched toward Jeane and sprayed her in the face with Cytortia’s grade sleeping agent. The impudent bitch took a whiffed, fumbled backward and collapsed. “Wow,” Hikma looked at the woman whose toxicity surpassed Marcia. “Incredible. To think Rem grew up with this…” The boy struggled to find and fitting description “Bitch?” Melody suggested. “But yeah. Poor guy. He must be through a lot.” “Okay,” Luxinna walked out with a rope. “Let ties her to the trees as planned. God dammit, because of this bitch we need to move the timetable.” Hence, Operation Grave Guardian begun. … HD got a major disadvantage. They need to sneak past both the hostile terrain and the Isle of Knowledge’s securities. Thankfully, they didn’t had to fret about hostile wildlife. Cytortia’s ability took care of it. Yes, the former goddess lost nearly every divine ability she possessed, but those sacrifices allowed her to escape the WORLD’s power-cap on the gods. As a benevolent person who displayed the value of sacrifice, Cytortia encountered almost no restriction toward her second legend. In fact, her time spent emitting the barrier protecting Venistalis’ Wind-quarter left her extra Mana containing the prayers and good will of every living sentience protected by [Tir Na Soal]. Mana that allowed Cytortia to regain her lost power with extra juices to spare. The Heavenly Daughter of Wood fell from the heaven and became the saint governing life itself. ... Cytortia Priestess of Life Stat STR: 55 [E] END: 3200 [A] MAG: 3000 [A] WIS: 2500 [A] DEX: 250 [D] Skill Active Sage Force [S] Tir Na Soal [S] Alchemy [S] Necta Floral [SS] Paradisio [S] Defensive Form [C] Surgery [A] Passive Benevolence Core [EX] Beneficences Physiology [SS] Bio Empathy [SSS] … Despite her fall from low C-rank to bottom of E, the combination of Cytortia’s latent potential, her [Benevolence Core] and True Magic’s growth accelerated by [Horizon Dawn: Miracle of Temporal Genesis] caused her power-level to climb from 235 to 9005. It was an exponential leap which utterly hextupled her original sub-thousand value. However, Cytortia’s ridiculous hike from E to A with two months had a cause. [Benevolence Core] It is a part of Cytortia’s 2nd Legend gifted by WORLD. As the most empathic of the gods, Cytortia possessed the qualification that guaranteed a pass on her second trail with a certificate of recommendation from the test-master himself. In exchange for her [Goddess Core], Cytortia earned the title as Priestess of Life with its added benefit of three new skills to replace her godhood. Skills that synergies with her personality and blows her previous tools into orbit. [Benevolence Core] was utterly unique in the world, banqueting its [Ex] rank. The skill possessed the demerit of making its user incompatible with the concept of attacking — physical and magical. Cytortia simply froze when she decided to knife someone. Even kindergarten-grade fireball was utterly beyond her ability to cast. This disadvantage existed because of the absurd benefits. The universe aided [Benevolence Core] in defenses and utilities with a fervor of Leviathan rolling for his favorite SSR. Cytortia sprinkled some water and the plant will never die — acid rain and soil science be damned. Growth of all forms magnified in her presence. She could learn any crafting and defensive technique with a mere skimming and performed them with unmatched performance. Her Mana heal injuries and calm life of all forms while her mind utterly laughed at mind-control, restriction and mental corruption. Then came [Beneficences Physiology] — skills so epic Wolverine buried himself from embarrassment. It granted unmatched life-forces, regeneration and utterly halted Cytortia’s age in her twenties — effectively made Cytortia immortal from anything short of cellular disintegration. Her cells constantly emitted a sweet-smelling, soothing pheromone which cleanse poison and curse. Cytortia life-force contianed such intensity her blood functioned as miracle life-extension/restoration elixir. Last, [Bio Empathy] allowed Cytortia to deduce optimum method to nurture and befriend life by interpreting their preference at Biochemical and Manalogical scale. However, the skill may be too powerful. Cytortia literally turned vegetarian overnight and cried when she tried to chop carrot. The only foods Cytortia could prepare with no psychological issue were seeded fruit naturally designed to be eaten. Hence, Cytortia had been spending her spare-time reinventing food production. Common sense declared Wagyuu beef doesn’t grow on trees, but common sense never entered Cytortia’s lab in Little Hope. Under Cytortia’s [Bio Empathy] and [Necta Floral], manipulating DNA and evolution was only limited by time. So, when said master of life, a few steps away from reaching SS-rank Alchemist, voiced her concerned you listened like life depended on it. Cytortia was nursing a growling, vicious magical wolf being pressed under Rem’s [Tenshou]. These predators often hunted in pact, but the combined mastery from Rem and Cytortia allowed HD to isolate this specimen. To the surprised of the Dawn, Cytortia abandoned her crippling universal empathy and took out a surgical knife. “Err, aren’t you supposed to have like -9000 ability to kill anything now?” Luxinna asked. “Surgery is a craft, you dolt,” Cytortia scowled. “I couldn’t hurt anything that wants to live, but I can perform medical craft to help them. Shut up. This is a spinal surgery.” No one argued. Experience was a moot-point with [Benevolence Core] and [Bio Empathy] enhancing her operation. Even Cytortia’s pheromone acted as anesthetic and soothing agent to aid the operation. [Tir Na Soal] even worked as disinfection zone. It took 3 minutes for the multiverse’s most prodigal doctor trainee to remove a black insect squirming near the wolf’s spine. Cytortia closed the poor animal’s wound with her Mana and stroked its head. Without maligned influence, the vicious magical beast capable of mauling a B-rank wagged its tail while resting at the saintly soft lap-pillow like a puppy. “Aww, he’s so cute.” Melody couldn’t believe a killing machine could be so adorable. “I know,” Cytortia lifted the tweezer holding the Collembolan creature. “Hence, we should take whoever put this in him for a forced blood donation.” “Isn’t that a parasite,” Hikma asked. “No.” Cytortia snapped the hookworm-size parasite and showed them its wiring. “This isn’t biological parasites. It is a sophisticated micro-drone that controlled the wolf by burrowing beneath its fleshed and manipulating its Central nervous system.” Melody took a peek with her [Heavenly Eye]. “I read Ma’s paper on biotech, but these things look damn sophisticated. A very complex, but mass-producible robotics.” Luxinna instinctively knew the situation took a nose-dive. “Wait, are you telling every animal in this forest could be implanted with these things?” “Hence why this forest suddenly became no entry zone. Someone turned the entire animal population into combat drone to keep the Isle of Knowledge under control,” Rem concluded. “Out top suspect is Alcra Shaxter and El Acerbia.” “Why would Acerbia and Shaxter do this?” “That is a mystery, but one thing for sure…” Rem briefly wondered how many magical beasts and monsters lived in this forest. “We need a lot of EMP.”

The blessed light shone down from the heaven, rending Sol Grandy’s body to ash and sending his soul drifting to nowhere. Hikma floated down, riding on a triangular [Conceptual Construct] — his [Nimbus]. Three more [Construct] — [Aegis] — glowed behind Hikma as he addressed the survivors. He sported new combat gear made by Melody. A black-linen shirt woven with specialized fibers protected by Aria Steel lined Kevlar jerkin with Horizon Dawn’s symbol — the man embracing the sun — emblazoned on his chest. Hikma’s trouser resembled that of collaged professor but lined with protective lining tough enough to stop withstand a chainsaw. Unlike others, Hikma didn’t wear a mask or visor, but a helmet alongside a classic flowing cape. “Am I in time?” “What with the cape?” Hikma’s get-up was new to Luxinna. “Theoretics,” Hikma explained. “Unlike you, I fight with Arcane so I can afford to look dramatic. And in case you are asking — call me Chronicler.” “How long do you spend on that code-name?” Melody spoke. “A few hours,” Hikma admitted. “At least it better than Mel.” “Hey!” Andries coughed, grabbing the trio’s attention. “I am grateful for your aid, but can you please explain the current situation? Who are you? What is Orwell Mehest’s goal? What is going on?” Luxinna and Melody gestured at Hikma. The boy sighed. “How much do you know?” Andries opened her mouth to answer, but Kruger beat her to the answering machine. “Orwell drop this dome on us, revealing himself as a member of the Deathless clan aiming to avenge the genocide committed by the late Emperor. Wayward and Sol turned traitor and wiped the royal-mages. The royal-knights attempt to arrest Wayward and die—” “Wait, Wayward is out, isn’t he? Why did he off the royal-knights?” Asked Luxinna the oblivious. “I call shenanigan.” Melody added. Hikma looked confuse for a second. “Oh yeah, Dream only informs you about our agreement with Wayward,” Hikma refused to meet their eye. “I think we skip the fact an overzealous Hex pick a fight with him after Dream defused the situation.” Melody and Luxinna groaned. “And he bit the dust,” Melody rolled her eyes. “I am not the one to talk, but don’t tell me all the royal-knights are dead?” Hikma nodded. “Fuck,” Luxinna swore. “What are you talking about?” Chamomile’s body turned stone stiff. “What is your relationship with that monster?” Melody cut the story short. “Wayward is a part of Willow Heart Street spies in Venistalis, tasked with dismantling the royal-mages and protecting the Street’s investment in this debacle. He is the prime suspect of a series of murders happening through the last months in Venistalis.” “Murders?” One noble cried. “I heard of no such thing.” “Not surprising,” Luxinna scoffed, reflecting on the fear she saw in those kids. “I don’t expect a noble in the Central Palace to hear about a street-rat in Earth and Wind-quarters being kidnap by a random gang and sacrifice to power Orwell’s ritual.” That one caught the nobles and the surviving officials by surprise.  “What?” Kruger blinked, remembering his confrontation with Wayward. "It is that bad?” “The Madam asked you to look into at the ball remember,” Melody stated. “Don’t tell me the welfare of someone less important than a baron slip pass your mind? Disappointing. Wayward utterly stopped the entire Venistalis from digging deeper with fake report and emotional distraction” Melody dryly chuckled. “Wow, Dream is not joking. With this level of obliviousness, Mehest would have completed the ritual unimpeded.” “Ritual?” Andries asked. Luxinna pointed at the eldritch moon with a thousand eyes. “That thing is an uber World Enemy Orwell Mehest sacrificed more that 30 kids to summon. If Orwell summon it at full power, Venistalis will die a blink. After that, Orwell can offer your soul as sacrifices to achieve godhood. We stop him before he completed the 111 kids’ milestone and kill everyone in this city, including your Emperor and generals. However, he still got enough power to partially summon that thing to trap you inside. The rest is history.” Hikma finished the narration. “With his fast-track gone, Orwell must hit 5-million death by a hard invasion of the entire city. We don’t know what godhood entails, but our leader assumes Orwell will be invincible once he hit that point. To leverage more playing field, Orwell planted five crystals which in the Four-quarters and the Royal Palace to produce his army. Those crystals are also keystones to Venistalis’ Leyline. Dream stresses that unless we destroy the crystals, Orwell will be too powerful to defeat.” The detail of Horizon Dawn’s intelligence blown the crowd to kingdom come. “W-Where did you learn these informations?” Chamomile stuttered. Her information network aged like typewriters compared to the trio’s resources. The Vice-Captain wanted to crawl into a hole and die at how oblivious she performed. “Vice-Captain Kruger!” One noble with a bushy beard lost it. “This is outrageous. You allow a disaster of this magnitude to brew under your nose. If these informations is true, these sinister conspiracies must incubate for months. How can you miss such an activity?” “I have no excuses,” Kruger whispered. Vision of his friends still breathing in a timeline which he paid better attention flashed by, nailing his utter failure. “If I survive this, I will court-martial myself. You can have my word for it.” The bushy beard noble saw the depth of Kruger’s misery and he sympathized. He also served in the military in his youth. “We cannot undo the past,” the bushy beard tried to stoke some morale. “We have a way forward — destroying the crystal.” “Are you serious, Lord Uther?” One posh lady cried. “Can’t you see we have no chance of winning! Orwell have an army and Captain Wayward who is a step away from S-rank!” “Don’t worry about Wayward,” Luxinna said. “He’s gone.” “Onee-sama, you beat him!?” Eliza the enthusiastic cheered, but Luxinna shot her down. “No, I got my ass kick,” Luxinna couldn’t meet the girl’s eyes. “The fight last only a few minutes.” “I survive two.” Melody’s voice was untraceable. “It will take me several more years to catch up to Wayward.” “You mean he still out there!” Andries yelled in panic. “Don’t worry, he exited Venistalis four hours ago,” Hikma explained. “Our leader offered an incentive to make him quit this case.” Chamomile remembered her battle with Wayward. Her intelligence finally caught on from the moment this crisis begun. Chamomile worked out the truth and drew her sword. “Your leader — this Dream — does he also have alias of Samadi?” “Yes, whoa!” Chamomile slashed came so fast only his experience sparing with Scathach saved Hikma’s head from decapitation. “You strike a bargain with that monster!?” Chamomile crackled with rage. Her voice rained blames on everything but the eye of the storm. “Do you know what he did?” “Yes,” Hikma refused to meet her in the eyes. “Dream made that agreement to push Wayward out of this war, because if he sided with Orwell, the battle will become unwinnable. If he didn’t do so, Ace and Empress would have died.” “So, you throw me and my friend under the bus!” Chamomile addressed the nobles. “Do you even hear them!? They will cut corner with a traitor who sold us out! Kruger! Say something! You also lost everyone to Wayward! Why don’t you three murder that bastard? If you did, the royal-knights would still be alive to keep things under control. Captain Hex wouldn’t die! It is your fault everyone dies.” Silence. No one expected such behavior from the mild-manner Chamomile — her fury visible for all to see. In Chamomile’s eyes, the three strangers who saved them did not differ from her tormentor, Samael Wayward. Several nobles even started wavering in contemplation of Chamomile’s accusation. Luxinna was starting her retort when Kruger responded. “They have no obligation to save us, Chamomile. We should be grateful they do it anyway,” Kruger turned toward the group — particularly at Melody. “Are you there when your leader makes the arrangement with Wayward.” Melody shook her head. “You also know nothing about this agreement?” He asked the elf. “Yes.” Kruger turned toward Hikma. “And you?” “I am there,” Hikma honestly replied. “I heard everything?” Chamomile rushed at Hikma and grabbed him by the collar. “And you let that bastard go?” “Dream said he makes the argument in good faith.” “Good faith! Ho! How honorable of you? You treat that traitor with more respect than us! Whose side are you on! You fucking bastard!” “Chamomile!” Andries tried to separate them. “Stop it!” Chamomile brushed Andries aside. “Don’t you get it, Andries! We are suffering because of them.” In the sky, a certain man riding an Amalgam bird finally got tired of the show and projected his voice using an amplification spell. “Don’t you realize your current behavior justifies my disdain for you, Vice-Captain Chamomile Elragorn,” Orwell Mehest addressed the crowd from the skies. “Laying blame on your own savior. An ungrateful witch who exists day by day with no pride, bemoans fate instead of overcoming your flaws. And people wonder why I can’t stand you.” The crowd gazed upon Orwell Mehest riding a giant bone construct, surrounded by an army of Amalgam. “You,” Lord Uther stared in shock. “Why are you here?” “Well, let us say I am here to withdraw my mercy,” Orwell grumbled, gesturing his army to fire. “You can blame Chamomile for annoying the generosity out of me.” Orwell signaled his army to open fire. … Spears of bones. Explosions from Spiritium Scarab suicide-bombing. Shower of green magic-eroding flames. Multiple Amalgam beasts launching a beam of inky darkness. Various attacks of endless variety fell on the party, “[Guard Flora]” “[Anima Enchanting]” A single lotus materialized. Melody — tracing the very structure of the [Flora] — strengthened the sculpture with an impenetrable enchantment, developing as red circuits pattern inside the lotus. [Anima Enchanting] most fearsome attribute was that it could interfere directly with techniques and spells’ composition. Normal enchanter forged their craft on solid object, but through [Anima Enchanting] the two Duchesses of Craft worked their trade in all they perceived as material from liquid to soul and energy. Luxinna’s [Guard Flora] was reforged from [Serene Lotus], changing material composition to manufacture a composite shield that outperformed it predecessor. Added Melody’s high-grade strengthening and even army-killing bombardment from Orwell became a joke. Orwell’s artilleries flattened everything around the survivors. As dust clears, the nobles quickly found themselves amongst a field of craters half a meter deep. Orwell’s attack completely vaporized the enchanted 343 tons of magical concrete comparable to iron. Melody and Luxinna warded an attack equal to 500 tons of TNT, and they looked more piss than exhausted. Orwell whistled. “That is one tough shield,” the former-33 Stars stretched. “Better get down—Shit!” Orwell reacted to the bright light shining from a circular [Construct] above him. [Holy Force] X 3 Hikma stacked all three [Aegis] on each other and laid down his holy laser, charring dozens of Amalgam familiars and roasted a Death-knight worth a thousand souls to smithereens. Orwell motioned specially designed Amalgam War-machine to delay the attack with its magical shielding. Then he saw something with wings hurtling at him. “Fuck!” Orwell cursed again, raining barrage of curses on draconic-form Melody gunning at his throat. That instance, Orwell Mehest forgot the species of mythological creature infamous for their magic immunity. It was a mistake. Melody scanned the curse-bolts with her [Heavenly Eye]. Exhaustion. Pain. Incapacitation. She groaned. The lazy scum-bag wanted to let gravity do his work. Sad for Orwell, Melody was an expert on enchantment whose [Draconic Essence] rendered her nigh-immune to your garden-variety curse. Lord Voldemort could emerge from Orwell’s butt-hole and cast the killing-curse, but wouldn’t stop Melody from turning him into snake-juice. Melody tanked through the bolts and flew right at Orwell. “Yo, Mehest,” Melody threw a flaming rock at his face. “Time to kiss the ground.” [Anima Enchanting: Burning Asura Sky] Melody practiced Cultivation Technique before adopting True Magic, but Rem decided against throwing the obsolete technique it away. Even if the name is lame, its concept sound stupid and a flashy to the point of being unbearable, all things had a purpose to exist. Instead of obsessing over rank, learn the key concept of that technique and make it works. Even seemingly useless unit like Boudica become ridiculous with Romulus-Quinrus. Even Aqua can be fish-bait and Holy Water producing factory. There is no useless unit, just a stupid master. Rem didn’t give advice much, but his advice was always a 1000 WIS worthy. Melody had this technique drafted in her mind, but she never had the pieces or the opportunity to assemble it until now. It employed [Anima Enchanting] and [Heavenly Eye] to synthesize her Dragon’s blood generated by [Void Surfer Manifestation] into crystalize super-fuel based on from a concept of blood combustion found in Cultivation Technique. Unlike normal blood combustion that damage the user’s vitality, Melody created the crystal and combust it externally, using [Anima Enchanting] to change a syringe’s worth of her blood and 75% of their potential energy into Dragon-certified magical explosive. Then added in [Radioactive Fire] and you had an EAPS that exploits an artificial suicide-bomb technique to fuel a radioactive fireball — a Melody’s original killing moves derived from her [Demonic Blood Cultivation: Asura Fist]. Orwell saw a crystal flying at his face and glanced at Melody, who flew skyward like her life ride on this maneuver. Mehest’s soul died a little when he realized the implication of his situation. “You mus—” Energy wise [Burning Asura Sky] was comparable to Orwell’s initial bombardment. 0.5 kiloton worth of radioactive fireball exploded in Orwell’s face. The 120 meters wide fireball engulfed him. The blast-wave demolished all breakable object within 360 meters. The searing heat expanded even wider, searing living-tissues within 400 meters radius with a 3rd degree burn. “Mel! You dolt!” Hikma tuned his [Aegis]’s [Holy Armor] full force and created several [Conceptual Seal] to defend himself. The nobles hung slack jaw. Endlessly thanking the all-loving lotus protecting them. “Onee-sama is supreme!” The newly invigorated cult (+Andries) cheered before the light-show. “Monster,” Chamomile crouched down, hand clasping her ears like a child in a thunderstorm. “They are all monster.” As for the fire-starter, she only made it past 300 meters. Her Draconic-forms made her immune to heat, but the shock-wave sent her stumbling in the sky. Melody clenched her teeth. What an embarrassment. She must stop field-testing her moves in live-combat. The last thing Melody wanted was blowing herself to smithereens in front of her fans.

Sol bisected halves fell to the shattered dirt. Everyone wanted to believe it would be his end, but it surprised no soul that the bodies of Sol Grandy bubbled into a new mishappened form and lunged at Luxinna. The elf craned her neck sideway, dodging the spear of crimson flesh lunging at her face. Luxinna’s [Overdrive] predicted the crimson glow before the beam emerged and she dove sideway — [Guard Flora] erected in full defense. Sol’s exploded with a crimson area-of-effect pulse, sending the girl somersaulting into the air. But Luxinna learned from her fight with Wayward. She won’t get distract by an AOE again. Luxinna never lost sight of Sol the entire battle. She detected the World Enemy lancing his flesh in a particular direction, allowing Luxinna to conjure three [Assault Flora] and blasted away the sneak-attack before it formed. Sol gritted his teeth. At least he deduced area attack work best against the elf. But the girl was too aware for him to capitalize on her disrupted rhythm, so much for copying Captain Wooden-plank’s anti-speedster tactic. If the first method in Wayward’s book failed, it time to drop the second one. Sol twisted his body into a lump of crimson flesh and grew into a giant pillar, branches of red flesh elongated from his body. More branches split as they grew farther from him. In a split second, Sol became a giant tree, covering the sky with a canopy of blood red-flesh stretching 200 meters radius from him. Luxinna paled. Sol wised up. He couldn’t catch her, so he bombarded the area. Luxinna was confident of her [Guard Flora]’s ability to block the attack. Her problem laid on elsewhere — a huge number of elsewhere. Luxinna released her limiter and rushed back to the nobles, conjuring the largest [Guard Flora] available. Kruger put the math together faster than Luxinna, being familiar with Wayward and Sol. “Everyone huddle together!” Kruger shouted, raising his lone arm. “Chamomile! Defensive Technique!” “W-Wha-“ The shell-shocked Chamomile missed her timing [Grand Dynasty: Imperial Scale] A golden circle, shaped like a humongous serpent, glowed to life above Kruger. A massive lotus of [Serene Glass] materialized on top of it. Luxinna dove under the dual barrier. Andries — the non-combative MVP — dragged a dazed Vice-Captain more familiar with desk-work than critical thinking under the protective umbrella. They barely cleared the timing. Sol’s canopy blanketed the entire area with a shower of red glow, crushing everything beneath the hideous light to ash.  Chamomile finally got the clue. She twirled her sword and circulated her energy. [Flash-Qi: Thousand Cut Wind barrier] A dome of yellow air swirled around the group as the third layer of protection. “Lady Chamomile, you are slow,” Andries looked at Chamomile with renew disrespect, conjuring a dome of water to help the fortification. “Hey, I am having a miserable day.” “Shut up, Lady Chamomile,” Eliza the fed-up also pitched in her spells to buff the defense. “Onee-sama, lord Kruger, can you stop the shower?” “I am also here to help!” Chamomile protested to the deaf ear. Kruger chuckled sardonically. His body was a mess after the fight with Wayward. He already counted scrounging enough Mana to help a minor accomplishment. It might be a different story at his full health, but his current battered state had no chances. “I am out,” Kruger turned to Luxinna. “What about you?” Luxinna made a determined frown. Her [Guard Flora] was holding, but withstanding the crimson lamp sapped her stamina at an alarming rate. She must settle this fast. [Assault Flora] Luxinna fired two rail-gun shots through the barrier as a test. The projectiles were too fast for the light to crush completely, but Sol’s blanket attack eroded enough of its mass that it bounced off the crimson trees without scoring major damage. “Girls, boys,” Luxinna gestured the crowd. “Step back. I am throwing something bigger.”  Then she felt the familiar waves of power — an oppressive kind. Luxinna released a long groan. “Here come, the spot-light addict,” Luxinna complained and then yelled at the sky, “How the fuck did it take this long! Are you putting on make-up while I am fighting for my life, dairy cow!?” “Shut-up, spark-head!” A voice echoed from the heaven. “If you read more book, you won’t be in this position, idiot!” Every blinked. “Who is that?” Andries asked. “A bitch,” Luxinna answered as a draconic presence smothered the sky. “No way! How could a dragon be here?” Kruger had experienced a dragon hunt, so he was familiar with such tyrannical aura, but contemplating the possibility of Orwell resurrecting a dragon to kill them nearly made him ran to the metaphorical hill. “A dragon!” Chamomile laughed with tears of despair and knelt to destiny. “WE ARE GOING TO DIE!” “Yes,” Luxinna agreed. “Death by annoyance.” Andries blinked. “Miss Ace, you know this dragon?” “Dragon?” Luxinna rolled her eyes. “I wish she is that much of a graceful loser.” Sol realized something wrong with the elf’s reaction. Then he felt sunlight warming his back. Before he asked where in the god-forsaken barrier was that sun, a column of plasma swallowed his tree-shape form whole. The attack hurt. Sol unleashed a painful scream that rocked the entire quarter. The ray of scorching sun-fire reminded the by-stander of the summer — a memory out of place in this hell. That single burst of flames shut off the crimson canopy, but Luxinna wasn’t grateful. “Showy like always,” Luxinna snide. “An epic entrance up next.” Right on the elf’s remark, a girl landed before the crowd in a three-point landing. A Draconian wing, blacker than the cosmos and dotted with star unfurled majestically. A bladed tail lashed and the masked girl wearing the ornate crown of bone stood. Her draconic formed melted away, revealing the crimson hair demoness wearing the proud emblem of the man embracing the sun. “Guys, this is Me-“ “It Empress,” Melody glared at Luxinna. “And don’t use that nickname, spark-head.” “Suit yourself, dairy cow.” The bystander blinked. There were two of them? Where did this people come from? Kruger recognized the girl. “You are—” “No need to thank me,” Melody answered the man she saved. “You already paid that debt by getting out alive. I need no thank for doing what I believe.” “Thank you,” Kruger replied anyway, no matter how redundant it was. Melody smiled softly. “Weak,” Luxinna commented. “You turn feeble at the first sign compliment.” “Oh, shut up,” Melody glinted. “Aha, as expect, that is why he survives this long.” Those words caught Luxinna’s undivided attention. “You figure him out?” Luxinna facepalmed. Trust the [Heavenly Eye] to boost the demoness’ ego to the exosphere. “Sure do,” Melody sent her hair dancing amidst the wind with a hand flicker. “In fact, it will kick into gear in a few seconds.” Swirl! “Great! One more toy to break,” Sol pieced himself together from Melody’s roasting. “What is it with snot-nose brat interfering with my business! Did your parent ever teach you the virtue of giving and die!” Sol malformed body stitched itself together, but every person presented noticed several yellow bumps on his flesh. Melody — the perpetrator herself — grinned smugly, as her theory proved true. “Are you feeling well, Grandy?” Melody mocked the World Enemy. “Or does the mighty royalty suddenly catch a cold?” Sol Grandy growled, growing out his arm into a massive flesh canon. To his horror, instead of a smooth barrel of crimson flesh, he got a tumorous bundle of yellow, orange meat. The World Enemy eyed the Empress with newfound fear. “What is this?” Sol screeched, yellow boils surfacing across his flesh. Some even emerged from his infernal eyes, blinding few of his countless sensory organ. “How? What curse is this!!!” Melody answered with theoretical flairs. “It elementary. Don’t you wonder how did you regenerate from the spark-head’s Mach-speed nails, survive a siege-ending penetrator arrow and being bisect in half? The answer is because of your Amalgam-flesh is a constantly shifting fluid. Your body isn’t form out of metal or organic, but solidified Mana string with soul imprinted Amalgam and those endlessly interesting rocks, Spiritium, isn’t it?” Melody heartily laughed. “All those backgrounds to the side, it translated to a delicate flesh sew together by a sophisticate thread. Lucky you, those threads are resistant to physical attack and elemental discharge. They are akin to a molecular bond. But — like a friend taught me — a counter exist for every punch. Yours came in two forms; either a reactant to rearrange those sophisticate bond or a high-energy radiation that tear it apart.” Melody’s palm lighted on fire. “Suck to be you,” Melody boasted. “My flames are radioactive emissions producing high-density gamma-ray and Ultraviolet wave alongside plasma. How do you think your Amalgam’s bonding will fair after getting baths in my flames, Sol Grandy?” Sol tried to deny the reality, but his heart realized the truth. Unlike the elf, that masked demoness attack was lethal to him. It took him seconds to plan an alternative — run the fuck out. “You will regret this?” Sol tried to escape, but the strength in his gelatinous body went out. “Oh, I forgot to inform you another information you need to know,” Melody mocked Sol with a condescending empathy. “Your energy source is external. You probably created that body out of Orwell’s Spiritium factory, right?” “What?” It was the first instance Kruger heard about Orwell’s game-plan. … In the Water-quarter, Orwell Mehest finished his reprogramming the Spell-crafting interphase. “I have you now, son of a bitch,” Orwell meant every word he said. “I don’t care if you scum kill each other, but I am not paying for it.” The magic-circle in front of Orwell unbind itself with a reconfirmation cipher warning him about the self-destruction sequences. “Yes please,” Orwell clicked his finger, severing the main Spiritium crystal in the Fire-quarter from the Leyline powering it. As a bonus, the self-destruction sequence just launched. Orwell regret that he won’t be there to rub it in Sol’s face, but it was still a win on his chalkboard. He ordered more Amalgam troops into the Fire-quarter. It took forever, but Hal Jordan’s subordinates finally poked their head from the shell. As a host, he needed to arrange some hospitality — a lethal kind. … “Truth is, Sol is loaning energy from Orwell’s Leyline. If Mehest pull his plug, Grandy’s only choice is to capture you guys as a Mana factory,” Melody watched Sol crumbling before all eyes. “Even if he guns for that goal, it is too late. Mehest cut of his energy supplies a second ago. With all the damage he took and insufficient calories to heal, that thing is scrounging on fumes.” Andries recalled the last ten minutes — a barrage of supersonic bombardment, the unstoppable arrow, a bisection by a giant blade, and — lastly — a bath beneath a sun column. She paled. Andries didn’t want to imagine how disastrous their battle against Sol would go without those leverages. The Venistalis’ nobles weren’t a fighter. Chamomile was too compromised, and Kruger couldn’t come close to Ace’s destructive might. After witnessing the fight, she realized how close she was to being impregnated by that thing and turned into a Mana farm. There was no doubt their fate would be worse than death if Ace and Empress didn’t arrive when they did. Which beg a question, where did the two monsters who mindbogglingly outperformed every metric emerged from. Kruger asked himself this question. Chamomile screeched this question in her brain. Half the nobles also reached this singular mystery. Another half was too grateful to care. The dying Sol didn’t reach that conclusion, he was too busy yelling at the heaven. “Why? Aren’t they your enemy, Mehest? Why bother to stop me? Why?” Luxinna stated the obvious. “Isn’t your family wipe out the Deathless Clan? Do you believe Orwell will stomach having his revenge taken by the person who symbolizes every disgusting thing about the Grand Empire?” “Shut up,” Sol was rejecting reality. “You talk just like that bastard. Every time? Why does nobody give me the respect I deserve? Not the royal-mages. Not Father. What makes that bastard superior!? What is so special about that fucking Wooden-plank!” … Fear was the only respect Sol received. The child of the evilest couple in Grand Empire royal history. The son of Willow Heart Street board member. All feared Sol Grandy from the first step he walked. No child played with him. Adult avoided him. The loneliness crushed him at first, but the warped teaching of his parent eventually morphed the sadness into a satisfaction and ego. Some people coped with crushing loneliness by music or work. Sol Grandy handled such emotion by associating loneliness with superiority. It worked until that thing arrived. Samael Mother-fucking Wayward. He was brilliant. Charisma. Professionalism. Dedication. Will. Wayward possessed every quality Sol lacked. Both of them started their career in the same period. But while Sol amassed a fearful and unsavory reputation from the deprave and bloody nature of his contract, Wayward’s works awarded him with recognition and respect for his efficiency and precision. Sol left a string of victims and mass-grave of collateral damages. Wayward only handed a coffin and nothing more in each job. Sol never understood why people preferred Wayward's cleaner and surgical method over his. Times after time, Sol tried to prove himself superior, but he never succeeds. Combat? He lost. Strategy game? Public humiliation. Popularity contest? The worst smackdown in history. Worst was the undeniable fact that Wayward had friends and admirers, despite his superiority over Sol Grandy. That Wooden-plank acted like a living fire, burning the veil of coping mechanism Sol used to deal with his faults. But the final straw was that order. … A month ago, in Willow Heart Street secret hideout, they were brief with a mission to help Orwell Mehest destroyed Venistalis. “I heavily disagree with this direction,” Wayward spoke after hearing the detail. “What? Chicken out? I don’t know you are such a coward, Samael,” Sol sneered. Wayward ignored Sol and continued talking to his superior — a board member call Pallax. “I must speak out my mind, Mr. Pallax,” Wayward replied. “We are now sacrificing every infrastructure and asset to influence the Grand Empire over a single ruin city. That move is too costly and it will do irreversible damage to the Willow Heart Street’s reputation.” “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Sol giggled. “What the hell, Wayward? We are an assassin! When are we bothered by reputation? You are just trying to protect those low-born dolts you are so fond off. If you don’t to, I can—” “I understand, Wayward,” Pallax sympathized, brushing Sol’s existence to the wind. “But the majority is clear. I can’t overturn the decision.” Wayward sighed. “Mr. Pallax, you know my reputation will suffer from this assignment,” Wayward said. “I can help weaken the royal-mages by resigning and taking some of them with me, but I am an assassin, not a mass-murderer.” “Oh, come one. We are a killer. Do we—” Clank! Pallax tossed a metal plate on the table. “Would this payment a sufficient remedy for the damage to your reputation?” Sol stared at the plate in disbelief.  The Plate of Absolute command. It was a symbol traded for an unrefusable request in the Willow Heart Street. The members were honor-bound by oath to fulfill the order given with the plate. However, its unrefusable nature went both ways. Wayward could use this plate to grant himself an amnesty or even demand a promotion to board member or buy a vote to be one. It was a wish-granting device of the Willow Heart Street. Wayward silently took the plate and glumly walked out of the hideout. He needed to pick between his moral and his words. It was a horrid decision, but one that he must live with. Sol picked that moment to lose it. “Why?” Sol screamed. “Sol, celebrated assassin like Wayward have a brand and artistic pride to maintain,” Pallax explained. “We are asking a professional cake-maker to put poison in his wedding cake. It will irreversibly taint the costumer’s image of him. Thus, a sufficient compensation must be paid to make the job acceptable.” “What about my plate, uncle?” Sol screeched like a spoil-brat. “If Wayward get one, I should have it too!” “Wayward’s brand is quiet and subtle assassination with no innocent casualties. Yours is wholesale slaughter and intimidation. Who do you guess will suffer more customers’ loss after this mission?” Pallax walked out, leaving Sol clenching his fist on the table. … “Why?” Sol screamed to the heaven. “Why the hell nothing works for me?” The Sol saw a symbol in the sky, and a torrent of purifying lasers bathed him. [Holy Force] It was a sign of Hikma’s arrival.

“A translocation bomb,” Director El Acerbia watched at his monitor, slack-jawed. “Alcra, that bastard, you actually perfected that invention.” On the spot where the forest stood, only flat lands remained. It looked like someone just sliced through the top portion of the forest in that flash of light. Dirt and tree stumps decorated the flatland, utterly leveled without millimeter difference. “Traced the area,” Acerbia ordered his employees. “I want to know where they are transported. There must be a registered space-quake after that mass teleportation. We can trace the teleport location from there.” After that order, every available hand started moving on the keyboard. But the situation wasn’t improving for Director Acerbia. “Sir, Representative Jule Breaker from Seven Continental Alliance demands to see manager and Lightwell is calling to check the situation.” “Tell them we are meeting a technical difficulty! Now get me some result. They couldn’t get far.” … Remus Breaker absorbed their current location — particularly the ceiling. The area they were in answered so many questions. The white light swallowed and deposited them in a new environment. The top layer, those earthen brown soil, was still here, but the trees surrounding them already started collapsing. The fresh air of the forest intermixed with the sour of metal and saltiness of sea water. Yet, despite all the evidence of the ocean, Rem noted the lack of melody from familiar crashing waves. “Where are we?” Cytortia said, looking lost amongst uprooted trees and scattered soil. Rem pointed up to the glass dome reinforced by steel structures which replaced blue skies and clouds. Schools of fishes swam outside the architecture like they were under a gigantic undersea aquarium. Inside the lightless dark blue water, only artificial light illuminated the situation to the current member of the Dawn. “Roughly 20 meters under the Ocean,” Rem estimated. “That explains the concentration of salt in those bug-robots.” Melody whistled. “So, our enemy is here this whole time, huh.” Melody asked. “What is the next step?” “We split into two groups,” Rem dictated. “You should reunite with Hikma and control the situation. Meanwhile, I and Cytortia will try to cheat whatever game our mastermind is playing.” Melody huffed in exasperation. “Rem, come on, you are acting all mysterious. You already worked out what we are fighting against, right? Stop acting mysterious and tell me.” “I only have a hunch,” Rem replied. “I need more evidence.” “Fine! Tell me your hunch!” “You won’t like it.” “How bad can it be?” Rem telepathically told her. And Melody predictably hated his prediction. … Hikma concealed himself with [Tenshou]. Convincing member to seize initiative within healthy margin was a major problem in every team. Take the interesting read of Ramayana as an example. Rama got the perfect plan. Sent his best soldier and drinking buddy — good old Hanuman — to check Lanka and make sure the hostage/wife was still breathing. Dear Hanuman gave 140%, got captured, taunted the enemy king then torched the entire city. Rama wasn’t a happy camper afterward, and that escalation really did fan the flames. Hikma knew history well, so he opted to perform a job in a subtler manner, tailing and eavesdropping on the potential threat. Namely, the stooges of losers that could avoid this plot. “Where the hell is this?” Amitate Aztellic yelled. “Shut up, brother,” Emily replied, exasperatedly. “We are obviously teleported.” Next to them, the elf was losing their minds. “Water! We are under water!” “Am I dead? Is this heaven?” “Everyone keep calm,” Artos Sevar was at his wit's end. That proclamation seemed to deplete his remaining energy. “Help me here, Magnolia.” Magnolia wasn’t fiddling with a scroll she took from her rings. “Help you with what? The entire trip already went sideways ever since that masked guy showed up.” “Hey, isn’t that the Scroll of Navigation?” Amitate sounded impress. “For once, you actually surprised me.” “Yes, with this we should know where we are,” Magnolia unfurled the scroll to reveal a map. “We are near Aurora continent a few kilometers from shore.” Magnolia reached into her ring and took out a whistle. “Let me launch the emergency signal.” The elf blew, but no sound came out. “Fail?” Emily asked. “No…” Magnolia denied uncomfortably before the stares overcame her lie. “Fine! The message got blocked. Are you happy now?” Emily didn’t respond. “Great, the elves are useless…” Emily elbowed Amitate so hard he doubled over. “Shush, brother,” Emily thought back to the mysterious man. “Maybe that guy was right?” “The masked freak?” Artos’s face scrunched with doubt. That moment, several bushes behind the entourage rustled, and several newcomers emerged. There the 33 Star reunited. Amitate whistled at the sorry shambled groups. Sun Senwei was the first man out. His clothing was torn, and his gentlemanly styled black hair was sprinkled with dirt. Bruised mostly faded from him, but the weary ways he trudged forward depicted the story of a man who barely crawled from a fight. Sorin limped after the disgruntle Senwei in an even worst state. His wounds had mostly recovered, but his pride was in critical condition. The entourage noticed the bloods splattered on his robe. Sorin was an egotistical freak he won’t tolerate a commoner blood on his boot. The glorious splatter must be tainted there forcefully. Finally, Mamacia and Holyworth emerged from the darkness. Their hair was a mess and their face were dirty with soot. The girls’ clothing forgot none of their meeting with the forest floor and lightning bolts. Medicinal pill and recovery magic could hide much, but brutal one-sided beating weren’t that easy to bury. “You lost a fight,” Artos stated, but corrected his conclusion after brief reassessment. “Cross-that. All of you got annihilated.” “Shut up, pointy-ear freak,” Sorin growled, but did a quick look around. Fear was visible in his eyes. “Relax, if she is here, I doubt we would recover,” Sun Senwei placated Sorin. The beastman was painful to work with but beggar couldn’t be a chooser. “She?” Emily Aztellic felt a hidden information. “Who are you talking about? Tai Hua is in Tengen. Sonya and Lunaro are attending a conference in Balperia.” Aryssa Holyworth growled with frustration. “None of your business!” Her reaction showed there was more to the story. The 33 Stars may be arrogant, but they weren’t stupid. The trashing by Hikma and the sudden teleportation served as enough warning to sort their information and potential threats. “Did you run into a supreme elder or some old freaks from a generation ago?” Artos probed deeper. “No, the treaty keeping the older generation from directly interfering with us should still be in effect. The Divine Fists are obviously out of question for obvious reason. Don’t tell me you lost to someone utterly unknown.” “We lost because of a fluke,” Aryssa insisted through gritted teeth. Mamacia breathed in resignation. “Why are you insisting on hiding the obvious?” The half-elf entered the conversation. “It is clear we lost. Should we even bother putting up a such a hopeless excuse?” “I don’t recall you being such a graceful loser!” Cocogar laughed maliciously. The shadow created by her leaf-green hair enhanced the burning ambition in her glares. “I am not. I will let that masked bitch enjoy the taste of victory, but the moment I know who she is, I will make her regret being born.” The entourages of elves and demons finally received the word they wanted. “Masked? A black one? And a woman?” Emily dug deeper. “You knew her?” Sun Senwei admitted that the conversation finally got interesting. “No. But the guy who met us matches that description?” Artos said. “I fought nothing like him. He was still weaker than our elders, but he fends off my moves with no special skills.” “Fend off?” Amitate snorted. “That bucket-head kicked your ass. ‘Generation finest swordman’ my ass! A no-name, no-face rando ran a circuit around you.” “You get your ass kick by him in a single spell.” “You got done in a single spell too, pointy ear bastard. You and your entire henchmen got both of us screw.” “You are the one who gave him the opening. How did it feel to have your so precious [Devil Flame] redirected back at you? It must hurt, isn’t it Amitate? How did you feel when your sister needs to beg for your pathetic life?” “Oh, say that again…” “SHUT UP!!!” Magnolia finally hit the limit of her patience. From his hiding spot, Hikma whistled. Guess Magnolia and Luxinna relate to each other. “We are running in circles!” Magnolia ranted. “All of us are in the same boat! We got our behind firmly kicked by the masked weirdos in Halloween costume. I admit I also got floored in a single spell! Now yell, complain or vent however you want, but admit we lost and stop pretending the last hour never happened. After that we must work out how to escape this place, if not we can say goodbye to getting our revenge. Anyone want to argue?” Sorin raised his finger to protect his ego, but Mamacia and Sun Senwei cooperated with a dual backhand in his face. Hikma sagged. They were so slow. If this was Horizon, Rem would remobilize within seconds instead of trying to smooth ego. How could any group this inefficient still live? … Deep in the other section of underwater base, a woman in a leather hood grimaced as she pulled a few of the many golden swords from her body. “Owwww,” Commander Serina cried in an adorable voice mix with traces of tears. It was a total flip from the fearsome and dreaded image of a race of continental plague. Serina lipped clenched, as the blades she was pulling grazed her bone. “Ouch, Ouch, Ouch. It hurt!” Clank! Serina threw the troublesome golden sword into the pile of discard blades. She glanced at the next sword sticking to the right of her abdomen and grimaced. This sword made breathing really difficult. She breathed in a rapid pace to distract herself with a self-made sea-shanty. “The mother of the lord couldn’t save your cord. Red is the place your wallet arrives. How much is this year's expense? Duck, duck, as we sing. This shanty to ward shipwreck ghost. Holy bless of arcane sang. False god command and Joshua blasted a stupid angel… Arrgh!!!” Serina sang herself to distract her abrupt sword removal. “IT HURT! YURICA, YOU IDIOT! IT DIDN’T HELP AT ALL. I AM GOING DOCK YOUR SALARY FOR THIS!” Commander Serina watched her vampiric regeneration kicked in with disgust, sealing the wound with no remaining scars. With grim determination, she reached to the sixteenth and final golden blades, plucking the sword from her thigh with teary eyes. “Yowl!” Clang! Serina fell to her back. Any trace of domineering authority evaporated, leaving a girl lying spread eagle on the ground. “Owww, at least they weren’t barbed,” Serina the girl gratefully whispered. She turned to the girl by her side. “I will admit this. You are damn strong.” What laid beside Serina was a body encased in golden crystalline coffin. Luxinna Latoria’s body laid inside the golden solid, frozen and unmoving in a depth of trance. The vampire vaguely recalled the light engulfing them before they finished their strike. Serina sensed the disjointed motion of space twisting around them. What happened next was bizarre. The masked girl's entire existence flickered like a glitch in a video. She fainted as golden solid began encasing her like insect inside an amber. Those light faded in a second, depositing them inside his darkened corridor of metal and pipes. Serina guessed they must be in some maintenance space.  Having an unconscious elf around presented a rare opportunity for Serina to open her heart to another being with no repercussion. In contrary to her professional stern veneer, Serina was quite a chatterbox. “I know I am impressive, but it quite tiring when everyone asks you for guidance!” Serina complained. “Do you think I have all knowing wisdom or something? I am already scrapping by the skin of my teeth. The best I can do is acting like I know what to do next and try not to let them march to their doom. Do you know how suicidal my underlings are? Joshua tried to assassinate me once, before picking a fight with a vampire. He would have died if I didn’t make it in time. Yurica is a bad example. Good god! Stop asking for a raise to burn on those handbags! God damn it! I hate being a Commander! Are there any job in the world with high authority and low stress? A girl couldn’t have what she wants, can’t she!?” Once Serina unbottled her grievance, she couldn’t stop. “Then there is this entire year! That asshole, Hush, invited me to rob some rich lady’s treasure warehouse. A simple job, right? Guess what? Sun Senwei appeared out of nowhere. That creepy mother-fucker bailed on me and left me to deal with a 33 Stars. Well, I kicked his ass, then his back-up’s ass, but it is still not cool! Then there is that Silence. Would it kill her to leave me alone? What is the point of those snarky remarks in a criminal syndicate? Then Supreme Commander went: ‘Drop everything! Venistalis just get nuked’. All my training plans for this year got wiped out for slates of back-to-back mission! I am done! Why did this have to happen to me? To top it off, Joshua and Yurica have to celebrate getting hook-up. Why? Do you want to tear my heart from my chest too? I don’t even have a single friend, and you two ungrateful bastards are having dates. That is it! I am going to table relationship ban in the next meeting. Why can’t I have a boyfriend? I want a boyfriend! Some handsome, gentlemanly billionaire who can help me think my way out of life. Hell, I can even do with a partner, but just give me a shoulder to cry on!” Serina huffed. Her expression slowly turned morose as something more than frustration leaked. “I know what you are thinking. How could a girl from a race of man-eating rapist ever get a friend? Heh, I know my entire existence is a curse. A mistake who got the only person who ever loved me killed. Those evil motherfuckers are right part at least. I shouldn’t be born. An utter disgrace… Geez, I am the worst, falling back to monologuing when I should be complaining about changing job. But seriously, is there any job for vampires outside of being a criminal?” Tears trickled down Serina’s cheek. “Can’t blame anyone for not giving me a chance. Vampires are cancers in the universe. Me included. We should be burned at the stake for the good of the world. The youngest Commander of the Wolf Hoard? The Strongest Race in Phantasia? What is the point? The only I am good at is hurting people. Why did mom have to die for worthless, murderous piece of garbage like me? I couldn’t even keep a promise not to drink blood. I know I am disappointment who isn’t worthy of her hope.” Serina’s eyes lit with dark fire. “But I make a vow. I won’t allow myself to die until those bastards and the last of my man-eating relatives lay dead at my feet. I will become the strongest and sent every single vampire to the grave, including myself. I won’t let my mother die in vain, and those sons of bitches weren’t worthy enough to fulfill that goal. I will avenge mom, even if I have to wade through blood or corpses to do it.” The vampire stood, turning toward the sleeping elf one more time. “You know, those stabs aside, I enjoy crossing sword with you. You are damn strong. I know I have no right to ask this, but can we be friend in another life?” Serina chuckled in self-depreciation. “Of course, you will say no. It is just a wishful dream on my part. No one wants to befriend a monster.” The youngest Commander of the Wolf Hoard trudges off to another battle. Her heart felt slightly lighter in her chest.

Promtus’s interrogation session continued, but Rem upped the stake. I love you you love me We’re a happy family Promtus looked dead. “Please stop,” the S-Ranker begged. “This is inhumane.” “I know,” Rem sympathized. “But certain someone,” he glared at Cytortia and Luxinna who was helping with the questioning, “insist I pursue less violent interrogation method. So, sadly, you are going to suffer through more Barney.” “How can you withstand this!?” Promtus screamed. “You have been playing this for hours!?” With a great big hug And a kiss from me to you Won’t you say you love me too “How can you withstand this god-awful song?” Promtus wailed Rem smiled whilst internally screaming in agony. “Guess willpower is made differently,” Rem glared at Promtus. “Okay, mate, tell me what you think is Acrisius’ next game-plan and the connection this Melosov got with him. I don’t mind locking you for a month with Barney on loop.” I love you you love me We’re a happy family With a great big hug And a kiss from me to you Won’t you say you love me too Rem turned on the volume. Truth to be told, he slowly used [Tenshou] to pervade Promtus’s mental state, deepening the pit of discomfort with the Barney song as precipice. It accelerated Promtus’ eventual mental breakdown by amping Barney’s existing power of cringe. I LOVE YOU YOU LOVE ME WE ARE- “Stop!” Promtus cried. “I don’t know who is Melosov.” “Let me guess this straight,” Rem turned the volume of Barney the Purple Dinosaur down. “Your—Let us say buddy. Your buddy, Acrisius, let a member from the Isle of Knowledge — an unregulated Monopolistic tech-hoarder with fifty Doctorates and penchant for WMD — into his coup de gang with no background check. And none of you raise any question?” “We did,” Promtus feebly attempted to defend himself. “He clear the background check.” “Then what is his background?” Promtus shrugged, “The typical IK scum. He sells weapons. Have a dozen of researches under his name. He seems to get along well with El Acerbia.” Rem wasn’t having it, “Thank you for listing things I can get from snooping  around in the Isle of Knowledge’s lobby. What about the real stuff? His past? His girlfriend? Did he cry during the fucking Titanic? Is Kill Bill his favorite movie? The personal stuff that might help draw a picture of what going on in his mind. I want to know about Nereo Melosov the human.” “We know he is pretty secluded, but he did good work,” Promtus answered. Rem’s voice deepened, “So, not much loyalty to you, then. Why is he here?” Promtus still didn’t get it, “Why else but expanding his connection? He is a typical IK scum.” “That is the point. If you are an IK scum who trades weapons and illegal tech for a living, why risk your neck to come here? Do you think El Acerbia will risk having his brain being under the mercy of a man with hundred-twenty-thousandish possies who can order his death on a random Saturday?” Rem’s point echoed around the room. Cytortia and Luxinna glanced at each other. That was a good point. Why those secluded merchants of death risk coming to the war-zone where he was vulnerable? Promtus also realized the point and the intellect of the man sitting across from him? “Maybe he preferred face-to-face meeting?” Promtus put out a dumb suggestion. “Who else did he meet face-to-face?” Rem killed the idiocy. Promtus used silence. It was ineffective. “I can’t believe this. An S-rankers such as you walked past him multiple time and felt nothing. One glance at his face and the way he talked and you should know he is bad news,” Rem grilled the old man. Looking through [Clairvoyance] at the man named Melosov sent a chill down his spine. That man was dangerous. “He isn’t a threat,” Promtus cried. “Bullshit!” Rem declared with fury before toning his tone back to the one resembling an FM radio. “But back to a point, what he is selling you.” “Performance-enhancing drug,” Promtus sweated. “Weapons.” “What kind of drug and weapons?” Rem kept a cool. “A booster to help over solider temporary boost their combat performance.” “That is a start,” Rem noted down to get the sample. “Do you know the ingredient?” “Melosov said it is a trade-secret.” Rem nearly snapped the pen in his hand. “You let your own soldier took a jab while having no idea what is in the juice?” Rem slipped into a glowered. “It got IK-mark on it,” Promtus said dumbly. “And you fucking trust a monopoly,” Rem facepalmed. “Fine. I don’t believe getting the samples will be that hard. What about the weapon? Magic Sword? A Pterosaur with cryogenic canon? A random man who name is ‘Dracula’ spelled backward.” “A siege engine.” “Well, that is anticlimactic,” Rem sound disappoint. “What type of siege engine?” “A kind that easily destroyed the capital defense. It shattered the protective barrier in an instant and made thing way easier for us. Melosov showed it at a capital before signing the sale contract,” Promtus grumbled. “The bastard can’t stop showing off.” Rem squinted with his [Clairvoyance]. “Five magically fortified castles. Two climatic battles included siege, and he didn’t bust that out,” Rem said. “How did you know?” Promtus silently freaked at Rem’s ability to pry into the past. “I know what I need to,” Rem squinted at the imaginary fact. “Why didn’t he bust the sale pitch earlier? What is so special about the capital?” “Maybe he wants to make a climatic showcase,” Cytortia suggested. “If it is me, I will show it during the first battle and loan it in the next one to milk maximum profit,” Rem mused. “Either it isn’t ready then, or he got a reason.” Rem’s [Clairvoyance] gazed into the past using Promtus as a window as Barney’s dreaded music ruined the atmosphere. “You break those prior sieges using Kakia’s raw, penetrating ability. She broke the wall and everything in it in those attempts. Wow, the casualties are horrific. I see. Melosov probably tried to avoid the repeat of that. He wants the capital intact or more likely someone in it, which is strange because torch the capital anyway.” Rem peered into Promtus soul to witness that night, “You and Acrisius are trying to find the Hidden Vault and Melosov is there. Meanwhile, Kakia is off trying to roast the capital, but you guys are panicking at the end. Probably because of the target switch. You guys are convinced the Penelope will use the royal army as a shield, but you are wrong. Kakia flew in pursuit of the Princess. Wait. Can’t you just continue pursuing the main army, while leaving the Princess for Kakia.” Promtus’ eyes twitched and Rem suddenly had a feeling his prior assumption went off by a mile. “Okay, what is it I got wrong with your strategy? How is splitting Kakia to deal with Penelope a—” Rem saw Promtus twitched again before he ended the sentence. “Hey, old man, I think those over-the-top rumors are an exaggeration, cultivated as an excessive propaganda, but how bad is she?” Rem watched Promtus’ face explained everything in dread. “Oh hell, the rumor about the dungeon and sexualized murder is real, isn’t it?” Luxinna’s heart took a deep sink. “Rem, what the heck are you talking about?” Luxinna asked him in slow materialization of horror. “You said she is only a loose cannon.” It was Promtus who answered. It was almost like the difference between him and his tormentor shrank. It appeared a monster in human-flesh often allied strange bed fellows against it. “Loose cannon? Lad, multiplies what you heard about her by twenty. That bitch is a monster. Do you know the state of those girls—” Luxinna disappeared in a flash. Bang! The elf lifted Promtus by the neck and dragged him to the wall with such a speed the following slam shook the chamber and splintered wall of the dingy interrogation room. “Those girls?” Luxinna repeated in a voice of barely control disbelief. “Explain. Everything.” Promtus gulped as raw, barely contained power pressed down on him and cracking the crumbling wall, “Look. I don’t know everything, but it is an open secret that Kakia has a dungeon she drag girls she fancied for a session. Most case, they came out as a cold dead corpse and the living one kill themselves later. I try to ignore this.” “Ignore this?” Luxinna’s facial impression was indecipherable beneath the shadow, but her grip around Promtus’ neck tightened. “You are ignoring this!?” “Try to listen to the tenth times you hear a girl being whipped in the bloody mess by that sadist, while watching her sister being rape to death by Kakia’s personal hunting hound,” Promtus shivered. “I would like to say there are luckier one, but that bitch is just unstable.” Luxinna froze stiffed the moment her brain confirmed she wasn’t mishearing.  Cytortia sensed immediate danger and strove to make herself a home in the room's corner. The girl knew she was still out of her depth in handling intra-group Molotov. “You are exaggerating,” Rem spoke. Sure, he was familiar with how the gang did things, but beastiality-rape was the stuff of Hentai fantasy, but then [Tenshou] give him an alarming confirmation. “Oh shit. You aren’t kidding.” Even Rem’s the unflappable demeanor was utterly blown away. “This is serious.” “Lad. This isn’t a thing anyone cracks a joke about. Do you know how she celebrated her birthday? She selected a gaggle of nine-years-old girls and forced them to dance on the pole impaling their—ack.” Luxinna cut of old man wind supply, “How many? Just how many!?” “I…” Promtus choked. “I lost count. I will—” “Shut. Up.” Promtus gasped. To his utter shock, he noticed specs of light like countless fire-flies of gold flying around the air while the surface layer of golden glass crept across the room, attempting to smother everything in the haze of anger. Promtus looked toward the girl with the golden fire ignited in her eyes, and shivered. He met a lot of S-rank in his times, dozen stronger than him, but this girl was another animal. Her very cyclone of shifting emotion was downright terrifying. He held no illusion that the girl in front of him couldn’t be stopped until her mission was completed. If Promtus had a consolation prize, it was the fact the world would soon be one unrepentant bitch down. Luxinna stepped away from Promtus, and toward the door, but alas, a voice stopped her. “Where are you going, Ace,” Rem spoke. “To finish the job, Dream,” Luxinna answered. “Understandable, but it has been a day,” Rem stated. “The bitch is probably right inside Acrisius’ main base.” “Good,” Luxinna growled. “Hundred twenty thousand is just a number anyway.” “You are tearing apart a lot collateral damage to go after a bitch you put half-foot in the grave. You will be forcing Acrisius to bring out a human shield.” “She should be in the grave.” “I agree,” Rem nodded. “But we aren’t a death squad.” It was then Luxinna exploded, and golden glass erupted across the darkened room, turning the place into a cave of mystic. “NOT DEATH SQUAD! That is your answer!?” Luxinna jabbed her finger at Promtus, who knew better than to attempt an escape. “You heard him! We don’t even know the numbers? I have her under my freaking thumb, and I fail them all! I could end that leaking can of evil right there, but I let her slip. I toss that hell-spawn right back into the medical bay with my own bloody hand!  All those girls’ humiliations. All those… all those.” Surface of glass grew around the room creating features similar to stalactites and stalagmites, turning the room into magical hotspot. “I could have made sure no one else has to suffer. At least, let me correct that mistake.” “Ace,” Rem still stuck to the codename. “We are in professional mission. We can’t afford to let emotion govern over decision. I am sorry, but we are guardian not murderers.” Luxinna was outraged. “You actually defend this!? You of all people.” “I am defending the system called ‘Innocent until proven guilty’. Yes, that cunt is probably guilty of every crime against humanity, but we have prosecution system to maintain. We have a rule, Ace, killing is against our tenet.” “The prosecution system that let that evil-worshipping filth like Illma and this bitch floated for this long. Just how many of those girls need to die on the torture rack and humiliated for those sick freaks until we decide to throw out the restraint. Let be honest here, Dream, you made the no-killing rule because you already expect to happen.” “Exactly.” Sparks discharged from the growing golden icicles in rage, “I can’t believe this! You can see everything, and yet you hamstring us to protect a failing system anyway!” “Let me get this straight. The failure of the system allows Kakia to pile a graveyard of innocent woman and you are about to exploit the same failure to avenge them. Yeah, that is poetic, but let shelved the rhyming, and talked about the precedent this set. You are encouraging more bastard to exploit the same failure to satiate their own twisted emotion — just like this bitch is encouraging you to do it.” “Can you hear yourself? I am not her!” “Yes, you aren’t. Yet. Things about twisted mass-murderer like dear old Orwell and Wayward is that they always begin with one murder. After that christening, they found it is easier to justify the rest. We are agent of justice, not fucking vengeance. I know you are upset, because I am also upset with myself for throwing this out as rumors. But the system would not be fixed, if we keep failing to uphold it.” Rem stood to confront the raging elf, “This is what will happen. We are going to select a most bloodless way to handicap this little civil war. When the dust settle, we gather every single victimized household that suffered under Miss. One-Eye-Wonder, raid her stupid dungeon to find every incriminating evidence we can get our hand on, drag the bitch to the court in chains. We will let the defense yell everything they want before they got immolated under Everest of signed affidavits and evidences. After the judge read the execution sentence, I will gleefully help you drag her sorry behind to the gallows and hold her in place when you parted her neck from the shoulder. Then we are going to embalm her corpse, impaling it on the stick like what my buddy Vlad Tepes did to the Turk and putting her preserved remains into a museum with whatever addition we want as a cautionary tale that we aren’t fucking around. That is how we do things. Until that day, I want you to calm down and stop emulating the self-hating ass called Frank Castle.” The two of them glared at each other. “I can’t let her go.” “Then get her next time,” Rem replied. “How about this, I will triple the surveillance on Acrisius. If Kakia somehow extricates herself from the hospital ward, I will task you with her capture.” “I need to go for a walk,” Luxinna said, and walked away without waiting for an answer. “Feel free,” Rem silently nodded to Cytortia. They communicate with a glance. The goddess nodded at Rem’s silent request and walked out along with Luxinna. The boy slowly made his way back to the chair, sat, and changed the torture song. Over the hills and far away Teletubbies come to play One (one) Two (two) Three (three) Four (four) Teletubbies! Time for Teletubbies Time for Teletubbies Time for Teletubbies “What is that god-awful song?” Promtus cringed at what was coming. “A penance for both of us, buddy,” Rem spoke the truth, gazing at the interrogation room that was transformed into a glass cavern. “Now, let continue our hell.”

Wayward frowned at the 10 Km wide pit he of glass he found himself in. He touched the ground and fumbled. His head leaked with migraine and his balance was a shambling wreck. The destruction of his Dantian and the excess energy he barely able to tame ran a havoc on his equilibrium. Wayward gritted his teeth. The pointless battle with the royal-knights was his victory, but it felt more like loss dispenser on both the victor and the defeat. Hex lost the fight. Wayward wasted valuable time. And both the royal-mages and royal-knights got wiped out of existence. All for what? An honor that couldn’t even buy him a croissant. The entire battle was an exercise in futility. Wayward studied at the smoldering pit and identified the only sign of life in this wasteland. The body was blacken from unbelievable burns, but it was still breathing through its charred lungs. Wayward cast a rune over it. He needed to at least salvage something from this. … Rem closed his eyes after seeing the blue volcanic eruption that turned the royal-knights into a piece of history. He closed the duffle bag packaging his new combat-suit Melody made before she got taken out. Doubting his plan from head-to-foot, the boy swung the bag over his shoulder. Could he had done it any better? Maybe calling Hex and suggested that he split some of his force to save the civilian would be enough to save some lives from Stuart Hex’s stubbornness. Or not. Analysis provided by Breaker’s CCC pointed to 95% probability Hex would call this an internal affair with an added disadvantage for compulsory order to help arrest Wayward. He would get dragged to that debacle like Shyme did and lost Wayward’s trust as an unnecessary price. Hex already retreated from Orwell Mehest. Having him backed down from Wayward would be too much bruise to his ego in the Grand Empire. Yet again, Remus Breaker failed to participate in the battle before it even begun. “Why is it I always fail to try when it matters the most?” Rem asked the coward he saw in the mirror every morning. Rem refocused his attention. The past lost was no longer salvagable. He allowed Hex walked to his doom for nothing. As an atonement, he would save this city. Rem thought of this as a compensation. Thus, Rem walked. He strolled through the street of burnt building, littered with shards of stones, discarded weapon and bodies. He was nearly there. Hoard of skeletons and wrath encircled him. Rem eyed them sternly. Like usual, Orwell Mehest’s spyware was up-to-date. The collapsed house beside him exploded, as a construct of a rock burst from the earth below. Rem drew his handgun and slipped a crystalize Holy Blue into his hand, enhancing it with his [Supercharge]. The undead hoard, plus an enormous Amalgam construct, surged toward one lone hero. “Holy Force,” Rem released a mass-destruction Arcane. The street lit up a light plowed into the small army. … Like any organization in a crisis without a leader, the Liberator utterly lost their marble. “We need to run away, right now!?” One member said. “Marley is gone!” “Do you know what happens outside, you idiot! Someone dropped a dome on top of us and released an undead hoard on the damned city,” another member screamed. “This is a perfect time to loot those upper-class fuckers?” “Do you think we will survive long enough to enjoy the loot!” “Maybe we can bargain to guy behind those damn undead?” A nervous wreck of a member floated the idea. “He must need some hire help, right? Hell, we might get a sweet gig from this.” “Are you trusting a mass-murderer? Have you gone nut!?” “At least we are not getting slaughter!” “What should we do Vice-cammander!” Complaints and cries of frustration piled on Bruno like a satchel of brick to the face. Thing went south ever since the failed Hyper-channel raid months ago. He got his ass beaten by an elf lass, scolded by Marley, found out the guy who beaten him is his boss’ newest best friend. Now, Marley disappeared in a grasp of darkness, leaving him to deal with a band of chaotic young men slowly sliding toward anarchy. Next to him, Marley’s aide, Sasha, poured herself a drink. She needed an alcohol fortification to make it through the rest of her short-lives. Bruno glanced to the side. No good. The most level-head person beside himself already gave up. During his gladiator career, a teenage Bruno once fought a tiger with a stick. It was terrifying, but nothing to compare to the wreck facing him now. They were like rats trapped under a lid, being serve to an all-powerful god on a plate. At least he could throw the stick at the tiger. He didn’t believe he could throw stick high enough to hit abominable celestial object. Bruno glanced at his sword. Between falling on the pointy end and getting tore apart by skeleton, he wondered what was more painful? However, before Bruno discovered answers to life’s greatest mystery. The World Greatest Detective paid him a visit. Crash!!! … A mountain of rock thunderously fell from the ceiling down to their formerly top-secret headquarter. Bruno gulped. They made a cellar under a random wine-store as a base of operation in Venistalis’ Earth-quarter. It was a decision that ended with them getting stuck in the middle of undead invasion. While the Earth-quarter didn’t get wash to the last man like the Water-quarter where Orwell Mehest’s was at his strongest, it suffered a severe injury from the hoard of undead. Jury still out about the Fire-quarter, but the report Bruno’s received showed a band of survivor pitching a desperate fight against the hoard. Orwell hit every section of Venistalis. The Water-quarter—the crown jewel of Venistalis — was overrun. Fire and Earth about to follow it. Meanwhile, Bruno heard nothing about Wind. Someone laid a tight defense there and no information was getting out. Witnessing the majestic image before his eyes, Bruno had a guess who was commanding the Wind-quarter. Eleven of his people balked in the image of their nightmare. A woman fell to the floor and wet herself. Sasha dropped her alcohol. The man in black stood atop a dying construct made of rock and dirt. Waterfall of wine from the wrecked shop above flow behind him like a curtain of greatness. Dust cloud erupting from his descent floated in their air to paint the angelic image. Bruno looked at his gear. The boy was wearing a new upgrade. Bruno groaned. Great, his worst nightmare had a competent craftsman now. Rem swapped his voluminous black coat for an environmental-proof trench-coat lined with Cytortia-approved anti-magic steel (named Aria Steel). The boy swapped a tunic robe for Aria Steel lined suit with a necktie. He sported a belt hosting multiple grenades and a holster for his sidearm. Rem’s interlocking steel lightweight metal gauntlet and boot clicked as he stepped from the corpse of the tool which once terrorized so many and stared at the band of Liberator surrounding him. The red-visor on his white-mask shimmered coral as he scanned the room. Bruno mustered only one response. “Whatever is your problem, it isn’t us this time.” The man in black answered was short and brutal. “My current problem is one organization's spinelessness,” the man said calmly. “I am not pointing finger, but someone is not doing their job.” Bruno and Sasha glanced at each other. Holy hammerstrike about to land on them. They communicated through glances. Could they take him together? To prove them wrong, one of the Liberator looked up at the mysterious stranger and lifted his hand. BANG! The draw was ridiculously fast. Rem barely needed to shift to put a bullet through the over-excited mage’s hand. “Arrrrgh!” Everyone looked at their comrade who sprawled through the ground bleeding. Bruno shivered. The kid improved too fast. It was barely a month and Bruno already felt his power eclipsing himself. The boy barely watched where he aimed that bull-eyes at the timing above Bruno's paygrade. After witnessing their comrade when down, most of the Liberator came out of their stupor and turned hostile toward this new stranger. The men who went with Marley on the train operation behave differently. A glimpse of that mask already awakened thier trauma. A gunshot was enough to persuade them to avoid moving an inch — barring one woman who fainted from the stress.  Sasha drew her throwing knife, and Bruno picked his sword. Better held thier weapon before more bullet flew. “Okay, kid,” Bruno looked back at his screaming underling. “That is uncalled for.” “I just pre-emptively shot down an attack,” Rem’s replies froze the air. “Your side start first.” The surrounding Liberator got nervous.  “Bruno, who is he?” A man asked. “Marley’s contact,” Bruno answered. “He is on our side, but heavily disagree with our method.” “Because your method sucks,” Rem stated. “Do you ever ask yourself why you are fighting?” Bruno didn’t appreciate where this was heading. “To tear down Aurorin.” “Why?” “Why do you ask? Because they are the oppressor!” “Why do you even care?” “What with these stupid questions?” Bruno yelled. “All we want is freedom to live our lives without bowing down to those tyrannical bastards! We want equality for everyone!” Rem cocked his head to the side. “Yet you are here bowing your head to tyrannical mage with an army of undead while innocent people died,” Rem verbally flattened Bruno's fortification. “You call yourself a Liberator? What a joke. The only thing you liberate is the powerless' hard-earn peace-of-mind. You take and steal for so-called greater good. But the moment people you claim to protect is dying in mass, you hide like a coward.” Bruno gritted his teeth. The boy was right. His action came back to contradict his answer, and he knew it. Sasha quivered next to him, wanting to argue, but she knew Rem got her box in. But the rest of the Liberator still believed they got the moral high-ground above the man who looked down on them. “Don’t you dare look down on us? Who gives you that right!?” “A person who is marshalling the resistance against the debacle outside,” Rem answered. “I am wasting valuable time, so let make it quick. My result give me the authority to command you.” “Result?” All Liberator received a fast-ball in the face. Rem then deployed the last nail in the metaphorical coffin of the discussion. “Throughout all your career, from the hour of your conception, how many people did all of you together save?” Rem smacked the question on their face. “Barring the exception of Marley, who I guess is the only real compassionate soul in the carcass of your ideology, what did you contribute for the betterment of the powerless?” Silence. Rem didn’t end the anvils descend. “Wow, where does all the energy go?” Rem squeezed further. “Any charity? Any child rescued from starvation? Any criminal brought to justice? I will even accept helping an old-lady cross the street.” Dead silence. “Na dah, not even one kid stuck with his homework?” Rem planned to laugh for his next act, but he couldn’t. This was an antithesis to funny. “Pathetic. You call yourself Liberator, but liberate no one. Let do another question. Those of you who had murdered a living person; raise your hand.” Bruno flipped his hand up. Sasha did the same. So did the rest of the room. “I am serious,” Rem’s voice filled with the gravity of the Neutron Stars. “Those who crossed the most fundamental moral law of mankind — stupidly, blindingly ignored the sacredness of life — unable to see the irreversible grief of those who lost thier love to your utter idiocy fit for an animal in human’s skin, raise the mother-fucking arm you don’t deserve to keep.” Everyone cursed themselves for falling for Rem’s bait. Half of them considered attacking Rem right now. But Rem started spinning his side arm with raw intimidation, waiting for anyone to take a bet. No one did. “Any excuse?” Rem launched another verbal feint. “Come on. Impress your grandpa. No one yelling self-defense? No one argues killing an enemy is fine?” Everyone thought so, but they realized Rem wuld commit verbal slaughter the moment they said anything. They were half-right, defending or not Rem would push his pawn, anyway. “If any of you go for that lame excuse, ask a chimpanzee to donate some IQ into that skull. Self-defense happens while you are defending yourself and the innocent. But you are not defending anyone, do you? If you did, you would already be rescuing people outside, not hide like the coward you are. You made your bed, dumbass. Look at you, hypocrite boasting to be a champion of the helpless, while cheating the common man of their livelihood and families. Congratulation folks! You are Aurorin for the pauper.” “We are nothing like them!” “Partially true, you are as much of a jackass but without the connection and money,” Rem hammered reality down. “Believe it, there is no changing how people perceive you — another man-made hazard on this floating space-rock. Your fate will be a simple one: losing the fight against the nobility you hate. And as you flee like a coward you are, a vengeful victim will stab your back to avenge the fathers you killed.” Sasha finally snapped. “What the hell gives you a right to lord over us!? Fine! We are scum! But you are also a criminal.” “I save twelve on a train you raid,” Rem shut Sasha down. “The hostages and families I save on that incident alone will disagree with you, because I have one power you fail to obtain — goodwill.” Rem went for a home-run. “You believe in nothing. You stand for nothing but shallow hatred—defined by what you are not rather than what you are. You build the bed of pain, and now it is your deathbed. Your fate is, in every sense, karmic. Hence, I am offering you an opportunity to dig yourself out of the hole.” Rem gestured to the light above. “There is a war coming, ladies and gents. Guess your day spending on smacking people with that worthless violence has a benefit. I am giving you freedom of choices you never give other. Stay in this hole or join me in rescuing the helpless people you should be saving. One option proves beyond doubt you are just as much a coward as your sworn enemy. Irredeemable scum deserves to die to the undead hoard. Another sent you in direct conflict with the bastard behind this. It will be a hard and desperate gamble, only rewarded by the pride of making a life you touch change for the better. One throw you against of man ruling a broken city with force, massacre and tyranny. Another is throwing yourself in the crossfire to redeem back some trust from the grieving.” Rem eyed the room. “Now, what would it be?”

As lighting dawned close, a memory swelled inside PALISADE. … Alcra Shaxter bled from the multiple wounds. He was going to die. His vital organs were already damaged beyond recovery. His survival chance was already tattered without putting blood lost on top of those odds. The coup succeeded. The Aquamarine's facility weapons and defense were under its control. But despite its victory, it still needed an answer. “It over, Doctor, but I still need to know why you put so much effort into protecting the Phantasian. The resources are divided. The political turmoil and infighting predictably spearhead toward the collapse. The corruption stemming from Aurorin and Enma is rampant. The inequality of each nation is a powder keg. You know as well I do that conquering the entire world is the best choice to guarantee the survival of this meager place.” Alcra tried to laugh but cough in blood. “You want to ask why I disagree with your method?” That pause answered Alcra’s question. “Z-1… I see this was the fundamental difference between you two. You never… see them as people. This is my last lesson for you. You will fail because you underestimate the power of inherited will.” PALISADE would snort. “Such abstract concept couldn’t factor into a realistic simulation.” Alcra activated his emergency teleporter with his last strength and stared into the eye of his wayward son. “Foolishness… my child. You think I can’t stop you because you kill me? No. This is just a beginning. Some day. My inheritors — the comrades who share my vision and hope — will rise to stop you. You can’t comprehend there is more to people than productivity. In this regard, you are much weaker than Z-2” PALISADE opened fire again, but Alcra already vanished. … A lightning struck its outer shell and penetrated; dividing the mighty satellite weapon in half on its journey to the ocean depth. PALISADE couldn’t grasp how it lost. Mana generator. Defensive capability. Fire power. High ground. It had everything it needed to win, but that didn’t change the massive plasma charring its inside and tearing apart the internal circuit. The fact this lightning was sundering its very astral body cemented the reality worse than any calculation. In that brief second of consciousness, it replayed every equation and variable. It was like the fates themselves conspired to bury its ambition. The domino was stacked to bring it down. It miscalculated because it couldn’t understand how mere five strangers could raise such a hell. In fact, PALISADE still couldn’t understand its defeat when the lighting severed its body and core in half. And thus, the PALISADE incident came to the end. … “Who are you people?” Artos Sevar asked. Horizon Dawn gathered a distance away from the survivors. Their presence was like an enigmatic sign of a coming storm. Luxinna was leaning heavily against Hikma after unleashing the [Edge of ADA], but the other 4 Horizon Dawn were still standing strong, looking out for any potential backstab. It was Rem who answered that question with an obvious non-answer. “Name is a funny thing to don’t you think. People love labels because it make the subject much easier to understand. Some could even predict someone’s nature by knowing its name and associated meaning. Which is why we can’t give you one.” “What the hell do you mean?” Sorin Enma couldn’t help but be confused with the mysterious man. “It means I don’t have the luxury of distributing the name of our little clubhouse,” Rem spoke more to himself than the other. “Our grand crusade has just started. With countless enemy, both hidden and known, about to breach the horizon, we couldn’t afford to be out-played. Name got power too much power. But trust me. Maybe it will take years. Maybe it will be revealed during the dark days ahead, but the times will come when everyone known what we stand for.” “Oi, oi, you are speaking in riddles,” Amitate shouted. “What grand crusade you are talking about?” Rem was on for drama. “The coming disaster is already put into motion. Orwell Mehest might be a tragic case of an idiot, but he is already preparing to unseat the hegemonic balance of this world. The shadow sneaking behind the Isle of Knowledge will stir from the event happen today. This is my first and only warning to you all; brace yourself. PALISADE is just the first enemy in line. A war was about to start. The victor of this war will decide the soul of Phantasia, and to warn you, I don’t come to lose.” “Okay, he is talking nonsense,” Mamacia didn’t know whether to laugh or to cry about losing to a rambling mad man. “Shut up. Cocogar!” Emily was the only one who took this attentively. “You said a war is about to start!? How? And why?” “Why?” Rem shrugged his shoulder. “You positioned yourself as a gatekeeper of power, while a massive hostile force is gunning for everything else. Desperation and despair eventually give birth to anger. The more pressure they were put under, the more they will accept less savory mean. Arden Christy already foreseen this, and she seeks to forge this anger into a weapon.” “You mean…” “Yes, soon the people will rise to overthrow the system; method be damned,” Hikma thought back to certain problematic Princess. “Well, that is a message. Mark my word, we will win this war for the world’s soul,” Rem declared. “Whether we are your ally or something else, that depends on where you sit. Given how things likely to develop, you shouldn’t be surprised if our blade cross.” Around the Dawn, a group of robotic drones emerged from the sea. “Dream?” Cytortia turned toward him. “My exit preparation,” Rem stated. “Why do you think it took me so long to show up?” But one person couldn’t allow Rem to leave just yet. Their meeting was the definition of hate at first sight. “All those grandstanding and you are already leaving.” It was Serina. “I can’t afford to be caught by the Seven Continental Alliance and neither can you, so I suggest we collectively pack and leave because without PALISADE jamming devices. Fifteen different locators just get activated.” Serina gritted her teeth. The young man was right, but she just couldn’t let it go. Just why was it she couldn’t stand seeing him. Was it the light? Was it his unbreachable control? No, it must be his eyes. They reminded her too much of the pain and the failure of the past. She could imagine that man going on the same path, and somehow, that very thought filled with anger. “Are they even worth it?” She asked the masked man. “Maybe,” Rem said. “I simply refuse to fall.” Serina huffed. “Even after all the bloodshed, the betrayal, and the bodycounts? When would enough be enough? Fight for the heart of the world? Are there even the heart left to fight over? I know you aren’t stupid, so you must realize we are stuck in a cycle. Vampires will kill the Church. God will be a dick. And the church will flail at everything they consider heretical. The blood already spills in an ocean and the hatred will never be sated until everything is wiped out.” “Hence, someone must rise and show a better way.” “Like hell they will listen.” “Some won’t,” Rem admitted. “But some will. If even one person changed for the better, I consider it a victory.” “So you are planning a suicidal crusade on off-chance a random Steve will see the light? That is insane. There much more for you too…” Then Serina got it. She hated the boy because she recognized the symptoms. “You have nothing else, do you?” She surmised. “Dream… I get it. That vision of yours is the only thing you believe you have. You care for nothing but that glorious purpose.” Rem felt his entire nervous system being kicked. He needed to launch a counter-attack. “Commander Serina, isn’t it?” Rem faked a smirk. “Your subordinates are kind to let that slip. Did they know that is a made-up name?” Serina’s eyes widened. “Mind-reading?” Rem cursed. That woman was sharp — too sharp. He needs to misdirect this. “Well, not exactly, I am just good at picking bit and piece of memory. Not exactly useful, mind you,” Rem lied. His [Clairvoyance] was the crutch of his ability. “But I get an image of a woman; white hair and gentle face. Did that ring any bell?” Serina’s hand clenched tighter. “I believe she call you by name, and mind you correct me but Serina has over one syllabl-” Rem stopped a raise his hand to dispel the colossal wave of bloody energy which packed such punch the very space around them quivered. Both sides exchanged a single clash of their power with an intensity even S-ranker would sweat after bearing witness to it. Tidal wave rose from collision. Cracking noise echoed as the very atmospheric Mana audibly flexed. Everybody felt the heat rose by ten degrees as the two incredibly dangerous individuals funneled the power from the multiverse. “I see,” Rem concluded. “Same old vengeance syndrome. You are not the one to talk about purpose. At least, I have a worthy cause to die for. The best you have to gain from this life is the empty void of revenge.” “Face your glorious death, asshole,” Serina retorted. “But make sure no one will be crying when you left in the light you love so much.” It was then Cytortia rediscovered her courage and broke the stand-off. “Enough! The authority will be here soon. This isn’t the time for you two to duke it out.” Rem breathed deeply while Serina stole a concerned glance at her subordinate. “Fine, but this isn’t over.” “The first thing we agree on,” Serina growled. “The next time we meet. I will give your mess of a brain a check.” “We—” “Ehto,” Cytortia ordered the AI. “Activate the teleporter because Dream sure as hell can’t control himself.” … The survivor were found a few hours later, with Serina and her subordinate long gone. The rescue effort was led by the Isle of Knowledge and documented by junior representative Jule Breaker from the Seven Continental Alliance. Baring few unfortunate deaths, the incident was peacefully resolved. Initial analysis of the rediscovered Isle of Knowledge’s facility— The Aquamarine — was enough to declare that Alcra Shaxter was long dead at the hand of a mysterious errant creation. The damage reparation and the possession of Aquamarine wreckage were a raging on-site debate, but after hours of negotiation and narrowly avoided threat of war. It was decided that the wreckage would be salvaged and analyses by at the Isle of Knowledge’s site under the supervision of the senior team represent by the Seven Continental Alliance. And as for the official stance of a group in black, the officials decided they must be a harmless cult. Still, the record of so many blatant violations of the Mandatory Recruitment Order put the unidentified group on notice. But the escalation of these black knights would spike, earning the nickname of The Plague and The Black Blight, which later combined with their fearless string of heaven defying victories earned them the nickname — They-who-shall-not-be-named. … Deep inside the wrecked Aquamarine being towed to its new home, a cyan light blinked. It was lucky it hid a transmission back-up in the off chance the main battle-station body was destroyed. Still, as the AI gritted its metaphorical threat, the setback it suffered was massive. Right now, it need to lie low and find some way to rebuild. Ehto hadn’t heard the last of it yet. … A week later inside an orphanage, a lean teenager with a whitened hair was talking to a nine-year-old girl. “Hey, kiddo, Sara, isn’t it?” “You are that big brother who was asking about grandpa.” “Yeah, I need to share you some news. What do you want to hear first? Bad news or good news.” Sara thought for a second. “The bad news,” Sara believed hearing the bad news would make it easier. “I found out what happen to your grandpa,” Rem said. “He can’t come and visit anymore. He is at the same stars your mom and dad are. They are still watching you, but I believe he is sorry he couldn’t come and say goodbye personally.” Sara’s face sank. “Aww.” “But I have some good news,” Remus Breaker said. “Grandpa left you a gift before he goes.” … There was a terminal outside the orphanage. It was like the earth ATM, but unlike ATM, this was the state of art invention disguised as children’s toys. The orphanage children were gathering around it. Rem nodded to the caretaker who was smiling back. “Hello, my name is Ehto,” the AI said. “And this is a knowledge terminal — a way for me to contact you whenever I have a time. It is an idea from my friend over there behind you. Say hello to Mr. Remus.” Rem waved at the greeting children. “Now let me remind you again, I am working part-time volunteer teacher at this orphanage. And now who wants to know how to make Mana battery.” Sara walked to join the children and listened to Ehto’s demonstration. Rem didn’t know what the future would bring for this kid. His [Clairvoyance] could answer, but Rem didn’t want to use that power. Future could terrifying and he believed ignorance in this subject was better for his peace of mind. The best he could do is improving their life as much as possible. But those happy possibilities were why the Dawn couldn’t afford defeat. Rem couldn’t live with the future where those orphan enjoying Ehto’s lesson cried in misery. So they would win always, because none of them couldn’t let those people down. “Mr. Ehto, I have a question,” a kid raised his hand. “Why can’t you be here all the time?” Ehto let out a nervous laughter. “Well, I have a day job,” the AI said as Rem watched the kid with a small smile. “I think it calls being a superhero.”

Five hours. Newly anointed Captain Chamomile Elragorn suffered the indignity of waiting for the door to open, and she deserved the humiliation. Hell, she believed five hours’ wait was lightweight compared to her suffering in the next minute. “Come in.” … “Bitch,” Andries Sellovett didn’t mince word. “I know.” “Ungrateful traitor without spine of pride,” Lord Uther chewed the new Captain. “Aren’t you ashamed a one-arm man has more gut than you?” “I know.” “Scumbag,” Eliza the outrage spat. “Lord Samadi shouldn’t bother saving you. That badge on your chest belongs to Onee-sama!” “I know.” Piss-off was an understatement. Ten nobles seethed in this room. Beneath their accusation, Chamomile wished she could bury herself alive. Sadly, her penance only got started. “What brings you here, backstabber,” Andries growled. “You failed to sell yourself to Sol and hopped on Solomek’s offer instead. You are ridiculously good at throwing excuse. Come on. I am listening.” “No excuse. I did what I have to.” Actually, Chamomile got her reason — her promise to the former Captain to protect the Grand Empire’s dignity in Hex’s place. However, that didn’t change that she picked the promise to a dead brother-figure and mascot’s position over her gratitude and dignity. Thus, a punching bad of penance she would gladly be. Thankfully, saner head prevailed. Madam Marmel overlooked the wrecked landscape outside as she spoke. Her presence commanded the room. Every soul knew Marmel were trusted by their enigmatic savior. “I believe we enjoy piling on Chamomile, but our ears inside Solomek’s circles are scarce. She might be a puppet, but she is a puppet with intelligence. Chamomile, dear, give us something that convinces you don’t deserve a brief trip from roof to tarmac.” Chamomile sighed. “Solomek is dealing with Enma Clan.” Andries snorted. “No surprise. He put all the credit to Shyme, and you, the propaganda puppet.” “Solomek Grandy can’t afford to look weak,” Chamomile continued. “The devastation of Venistalis and the elder’s defeat by Wayward rattled Grand Empire images. He must convince Phantasia the Empire’s strength remains unshakable. Acknowledging an unknown factor like Samadi and Ace performing better than Grand Empire’s defensive force is politically detrimental to his goal.” “So, he props you as a trophy,” Uther chuckled sarcastically, sipping his soda to curb his anger. “Just coloring a paper-tiger doesn’t make it real.” “It doesn’t,” Chamomile admitted. “That’s why certain noble floated a co-project with the Enma clan and Aurorin.” “Wait?” Uther nearly choked. “I recall the last anyone tried that…” “We got the X-cution,” a young noble named Gawain spoke. “What is Grandy offering that entices IK and Enma?” “Orwell’s massive dragon. The Isle of Knowledge is interested in Mehest’s creation, and the Enma clan wants to supplement their private army.” The room froze. “You mean the three-headed behemoth our Onee-sama annihilated,” Eliza gaped. “The one that got reduced to charcoal. Isn’t that already a junk?” Chamomile hesitated before she replied. “Not totally. While majorities of the artificial dragons were carbonized beyond recovery, several burnt samples were carved away during the confrontation with Empress and Ace. Grand Empire’s remaining egg-heads claim the techniques gleam from it have military application.” Gawain’s jaw dropped. “Super-solider program? The capital just exploded and Solomek is focusing on his military?” Chamomile’s face scrunched, and Marmel noticed it. “Are you afraid something will upset us, Chamomile?” The Captain of the royal-knights cursed the heaven. “There are rumors Solomek considers cutting Venistalis as money sink and moves the capital to Lysander.” Chaos erupted. “What?” “That bastard!” “He can’t be serious? He is leaving the city to dry!” “Crime-rate is already sky high. This will literally break Venistalis!” “Now I get why those bastards are packing their belongings! Those traitors must suggest this to that dimwitted.” “Fuck this shit! Call the Assassin Guild!” Marmel clapped. “Calm down, people. Keep calm!” Andries was having none of it. “Keep Calm! Don’t you remember Samadi’s speech? He believes we can rebuild! A stranger from nowhere delivered us hope, while our Emperor tosses us all to the dirt. Is Solomek deluding himself he measures up? Fuck that shit-head. I hit my limit. I won’t acknowledge that bastard as my Emperor!” Murmurs of agreement emerged. “Yeah, I would rather crown Lord Samadi,” Eliza voiced the room’s popular opinion. “We could—” “Ladies! Gent!” Marmel raised her voice. “I know you all want Solemek booted from the throne and crown that kid as a new Emperor. As much as his surname makes a radical dynasty, Samadi has a different plan.” The Madam raised a letter. “Behold! The kid foresaw this meeting and left behind a letter, detailing our next course of action.” The Madam read the letter. ‘Thank you all. Your gratitude touch my heart. I must warn you not to hold a similar meeting again until the plan penned in this letter is achieved. The Emperor might deploy spies soon, and every single individual presents in this room is irreplaceable. By the time my instruction reaches you, Solomek Grandy would already contemplate to shift the capital to avoid the rebuilding cost in favor of shoring his military. Chamomile, as our eyes, I will grant you the protection of ignorance. Today, you met with your colleagues and left after a disagreement with no idea what comes after. Do you understand your story?’ Silence. Chamomile rose, dusted herself, said her goodbyes and hightailed from the shit-storm. “Wow, he must have [Clairvoyance],” Uther gaped. “That man is spot-on.” The Madam continued. ‘Rejoice. No need to panic. Solomek’s action plays into my expectation. Our next phase requires your help. Here is my aim…’ … A few minutes later. “The boy is a genius,” Uther said. “Who would think he flips defeat into opportunity.” “Very well,” the Madam concluded. “Implementation agreed.” “Aye” The agreement resounded “Good, let the first meeting of HONORS Society end. Tomorrow, we implement ‘Fort Venita’” … Beneath Aurora Continent’s Ocean, a scream erupted. “Ouch,” Arden Christy watched Orwell Mehest writhed on an operating table. High-intensity laser trace across his body, burning patches of his skin. “You are going way too far, buddy.” “I… must… remove… Chronicler… Arrrgh!” Christy winced. Orwell's duel with Hikma left him with a seal crippling his power. Several analyses and desperate ideas proved regular curse-removal fail miserably to undo Hikma De Darwin’s [Nicholas]. Finally, Orwell resorted to a drastic and agonizing method of burning the seals from his skin via laser and regenerating from the self-imposed injury. He might escape Horizon Dawn, but that battle left a painful first-impression. “A curse that withstood every form of cure aside from carving away infected flesh,” Christy shivered. “How the hell did you meet that monster?” Orwell sneaked a smile beneath his agony. “Heh, I suspect a someone above the gods detected my machination and sent Samadi to contain me. We must assume there will be a repeat. One move too far and those freaks will materialize to stop us.” The door slid opened, and a woman walked in. She sported a form fitting space-age leotard, green-tinge skin, and twin stag-like horns growing from her skull.  “I finish preparing your change of clothes,” said the emotionless girl. “I want to start my training.” Orwell chuckled before wincing as the laser resumed its duty. “All in good time, Olg-“ “That girl is dead. We have a deal, Orwell.” “I fulfill the deal, didn’t I? I awakened your families’ dormant bloodline power and you will receive the best training our new club offers. You know I never break promises.” “Good, and don’t you dare utter that name again, Mehest.” “What do you want to be called then?” The girl stared with emptiness. “You decide.” Orwell stared at her with only one emotion; guilt. “You are the first among the new species, created solely by vengeance against the gods, anger toward your own creator, scorn toward those who abandoned you, and betrayal from the royalty your ancestor served. Your existence is an unending pain push by humiliation and regret.” “Whose fault is that?” Orwell looked into those eyes. Part of him remembered the moment the girl's fate solidified and the warning of a hero who failed to stop the tragedy. ‘And when will it end? Who do you help? You? Become your enemy. Your enemy? Too dead to make anything right. The bystander? Running from you in fear’ Samadi was wrong. The bystander didn’t run. The bystander underwent traumatic miseries beyond human imagination and evolved to haunt him. His enemy were her parents. But now that the fog of vengeance faded for reflection, the feeble lines separating bystander from the enemy seemed alarmingly thin. Yes, the hero of hope dispelled the chain of hatred, but in all conflict, hatred would continue. The very system the Samadi fought to overcome would not lay down and accept defeat. More agent of vengeance would emerge no matter how hard the knight of hope fought. “Ruine,” Orwell wished he possessed the ability to turn back time and killed Sol Grandy. “A permanent reminder of my failure.” “Fine,” Ruine closed the door behind her. “Ruine it is.” Arden Christy watched the girl departed. “Isn’t that Olga Chloric?” Arden Christy said. “I remember her during Grand Empire’s joint celebration party with Balperia. How the hell did you convince a high-ranking noble from Grand Empire to be your test-subject? That girl is almost as popular as Andries Sellovett.” “Former noble,” Orwell corrected. “Sol Grandy murdered lord Chloric and mutilated his wife before killing her. All while raping Olga before the assemble noble as a show of power.” “My fucking god,” Christy slumped in her chair. “Why the fuck did Solomek spare those two nut-jobs? Apple don’t fall far from their mishappened tress.” A dark thought occurred in Christy’s mind. “Orwell, I don’t have a right to ask for moral high-ground, but did you—” Christy gestured at her head. “No, Olg-“ Orwell paused and corrected himself. “I and Wayward arrived too late to stop Sol, but we executed him as punishment. A girl just watch her parent died the most horrific death and raped by their murderer. I might want to nuke the capital, but this kind of depravity is too much for my stomach, so I offered Ruina a wish.” “A wish?” “Yes, I think of it as compensation. Anything I can provide is hers. I can kill anyone she wanted. I can arrange her a new identity and lifelong funding. Aside from my life, everything is on the table.” Orwell remembered the answer that briefly impress him. “She asked for power,” Orwell Mehest narrated. “Power to make those who laugh at her swallow. Power to make Solomek get a glimpse of her miseries. Power never to be humiliated again. To make the gods who permitted Sol’s existence understand the consequence. She was laughing mad, demanding that I owe her that much. She even bargains her tragedy and my role in it to get a fast-track as my lieutenant.” “Shouldn’t she resent you?” “She does, but she knows I am the one who saved from Grandy, while the rest of her ‘friends’ laughed. That day robbed everything and everyone from her. She desires a power to cope and a purpose to distract from her fall from grace. Ruina is smart enough I can provide both and demand I do it.” “Well, hooray!” Christy mocked a cheer. “First step for our mighty organization—a rape victim, a mass-murderer and a mad scientist. It sounds smooth. What should we call ourselves?” Orwell glanced from the submarine window. “We are Diogenesis. Like life emerges from the Ocean, the new humanity ascend gods shall birth from our work.” And thus, Diogenesis, the organization that shook the Age of Upheaval would emerge to aid the shattering of Phantasia’s flimsy balance. … “Alcra Shaxter. Formerly sat on the Isle of Knowledge’s boards as one of the brightest and wealthiest man in his time, but due to conflict with El Acerbia, he retired from the board 10 years ago,” Melody briefed the gang. “No one knows where he went until an earthquake causes a holographic message to emerge above a certain mountainous forest near the Isle of Knowledge. The massages claimed Shaxter is opening his secret laboratory to choose his inheritor.” Objects floated around them, suspended midair by the power of [Tenshou]. Everything from an iron cube to sheets of document hang like a ceiling decoration tied to a non-existent string, serving Rem’s multitasking exercise with his Primal Arcane. An ability he spent every waking moment to specialize. Rem registered the information and began toying with a lump of iron. Horizon Dawn’s limited budget forbid them from investing in expensive training equipment available to organization of Aurorin or 33 Stars with massive investors. While other would bemoan such disadvantage, Rem adapted it as his strength, pushing Horizon Dawn to innovate. Rem may not have accessed to multi-ton weight, but his implementation of material understanding removed that limitation. Cheap and effective was the game of the day. Take a cube of 15x15x15 centimeters of lead worth about 27 dollar and weight 38kg. By using simple bulk modulus formula, to compress that cheap as hell cube to 5x5x5 size meant changing its density to a whopping 304000 Kg/m3. Putting the figures into the equation gave a terrifying 1161 GPa of pressure equivalent to 16 Megaton of mass. Folks. That a solid 16 million tons. Remus Breaker invented a training method which allowed which granted a power to lift 43 thousand Empire State building with the cost of a pricy E-books. Sadly, Rem was barely standing at the beginning stage. Right now, his maximum is snapping a 15x15x15 centimeters cube of mild steel. A power directly comparable to kiloton out put by far from god-like. “Okay,” Luxinna was training her fine control of [Electro Lorde] Arcane by running enough power to heat the metal thread white-hot but not overshooting the output and vaporizing it. She was on her fifth try. “So why isn’t the Isle of Knowledge sacking the place?” Melody’s answer voiced her deepest concern. “Because the message disappeared in a mere moment after it demanded a competition of the most celebrated children Phantasia can offer to find Alcra Shaxter’s worthiest inheritors. The message stayed for two hours before disappearing. It was a massive headlines news. The Isle of Knowledge searched the entire premise and found nothing. In the end, they relented, releasing this newest treasure hunt to the public. The reaction is predictable.” Rem flexed the bar of iron with his eyes close in thought. “Does this happen a lot?” Hikma asked. “Too many times,” Melody shrugged. “Phantasia is infamous on robbing tombs of long dead hot shot for treasures. It is considered a quickest way to gain strength.” “But Satholia sent us to interfere with this case,” at the driver’s seat Cytortia pressed the Little Hope’s break for tonight's camp. “This mean something is wrong with Alcra’s generosity.” Rem telekinetically snapped the iron-piece like chocolate. “In conclusion, Alcra Shaxter is gathering hothead kids with the power of magical warhead in the forest of bum-fuck country-side. Satholia hinted this is a trap, so I believe he has a way to deal with the chaperones. Comrades, if I am right, the participant will get relocated the moment this competition starts — possibly into a slaughterhouse.” Rem declared the mission aim. “I will bet some of these kids are little monsters, but we can’t let them die. Morally, because while they maybe young, egotistical and believe they are immortal, no man has a right to punish them without trail. Pragmatically, their parent and clan will throw a hissy fit, declare war with each other, and we might be facing World War III. In conclusion, our mission is deducing the truth behind this competition, safe-guarding those young bloods and apprehending any potential bad-actor.” Melody cleared her throat. “You realize those hotshots are members of 33 Stars, right?” “Yes.” “Seriously? First Chuang! Then Shyme! Now this! Why do we keep running into these guys?” As the former-member of said club, Cytortia provided an answer. “Because karma,” She sighed. “You will get used to it, Mel. Trust me. I did.” Luxinna burnt the metal string with miscalculated voltage before face-palming. Hikma stay silent, deciding his book was more interesting than the titanic babysitting that awaited.

Waves of blue flames washed the Royal Palace’s walls, blackening them in seconds. Marbles, metals and stones melted. Clothes and silk adorning the wall burned. One man scrambled to get away, pathetically weeping and tripping from a lazy column of flame turning another stone wall into a pool of molten rocks. He stumbled, rolling across the ground with no dignity. Fires crawled slowly toward him, slowly consuming any fragment of survival. “Please!” Sol begged through snots and tears. “We can talk about this Wayward?” “Not interested,” Wayward dismissed. Sol backed himself into the corner. “How long do we know each other? Seven years? Ten? Remember all those times we spent together?” “I remember how much of a pain it is to endure your fake grin and that condescending attitude.” Sol ducked as Wayward’s lazy splashes of flames reduced the wall behind her into slags and crawled away frightfully. “I will give you anything you want! Power! Status! Bitches! You can have everything!” “Huh,” Wayward’s eyelids barely moved. “Yeah, how believable? You just kill a noble you don’t like, rape his daughter to the point of insanity, and beheaded his mutilated wife to sate your impulse. You are the last person anyone can trust.” “You are different from those trash!” “I disagree.” Sol barely felt the pain of azure fire incinerating his leg. “Arrghh!!!” Sol flopped in pain like a dying insect. “Any last words?” “Please…. Please let me go,” Sol crawled toward Wayward and begged. Wayward narrowed his eyes and turned back, leaving Sol begging. Seeing the opportunity, what everyone expected from Sol Grandy occurred. “GOT YOU WAYWARD!” Sol leaped at Wayward's blind spot. Instead of a successful surprise attack, a wall of fire engulfed him, leaving not a speck of ashes behind. “Sneak attack the moment someone back is turned,” Wayward muttered. “You never change, Sol. Even a child can predict your moves by choosing the scummiest option available.” Wayward left the pile of ash to fade into the trash-heap of history. … “Lord Mehest, please…” “No, Velnia,” Orwell Mehest was stern. “I already come too far.” Velnia bit her lip. She tried to ask Mehest to stop, but she failed. No words seemed to register. In her mind, vengeance had utterly consumed Orwell and nothing could stop him, but she must stop anymore tragedy. “Lord Mehest, I know the Grand Empire hurt your people, but this is not the proper way to settle your difference.” Orwell chuckled. “So, what is a proper way? Lodging a complaint letter against the Empire that rule a third of Aurora Continent? I think your neighbour in Centuria already provided a real-life example of what happens.” “You can always go to the gods!” Orwell blinked, then he lost it. “Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!” Orwell nearly fell head-first to the floor in a gut-busting fit of laughter. He even turned toward the surviving nobles, silently pleading for their confirmation that this was happening. Everyone shook their head in dismay. “The mother-fucking gods?” Orwell guffawed. “Velnia, I am far from the saintliest person in this room, but I have something to preach. The gods fucking suck.” Orwell addressed the assembling nobles. “Open question!” Orwell yelled at the cowering crowd. “I hate you for being responsible for my people’s downfall and you hate me for tearing down your precious city, but let call truce to agree on one thing. When in the history of Phantasia had the gods act maturely?” Silence. “Name one! Just one occasion where the gods are the inspiring force of fairness and justice! Does any of them ever charitably act worthy of their station!?” “Err,” a noble raised his hands up. “Lady Artio and Cytortia. Lady Hestia is also decent. Lord Frey is okay.” Orwell shrugged. The man had a point. “Fine,” Orwell admitted. “But don’t you find it depressing that the only decent members of the god-race on top of your head is loser ranked lower than me, a hermit goddess, a virgin grandma who vanished after abandoning her seat on Olympus, and the poor sod so sicken by the elves he left.” Silence. Orwell nailed it. “No one else?” Orwell spun toward the Princess. “There you have it, Velnia. Not even the nobles believe in the internal decency of the gods. The kindest among them already give up or too weak to fight back. This is the reason no one in the Willow Heart Street or Liberator give a shit of trust to the god; it is them who oversee this global breakdown.” Velnia shook her head. “That is…” “Oh, have a hard time wrapping your head around this idea. Not surprising. Royal families throughout Phantasia teach their young the same things; everything is nice, flowery garden and it will be nicer if the little stubborn people just get over their stupid selfishness and see how good it is — just ignore the unclean in great-grandpa’s management. That is a lie, Princess. Ten unwanted weeds is sacrifice for one flower to bloom. That where your prosperity and wealth originated, Velnia — the back of the people on the wrong side of the god’s favor.” “That…” “Why do you think Hal Jordan criticized your fantasy?” Orwell noticed Velnia’s face distorted. “Oh, you think he is an evil, disagreeable man, do you? Let me correct that misunderstanding, Princess. Hal Jordan loves people more than you and I combine. Every toxic word he threw to ridicule you and Chuang Tianshang stemmed from the anger at your hypocrisy and ignorance. The more you love the common man, the more intense is your disgust at the ignorant Princess spouting a propaganda harming them.” “You are taking his side?” The nobles perked up at the conversation — at the aspect of Orwell they never saw. “Yes,” Orwell answered. “Do you know Hal Jordan realized what I am up too and tried to stop me? I would say he partially succeeds. His monumental accomplishment is the reason I have to invade this city instead of finishing these worthless nobles in an instant. He is the unsung hero of Venistalis.” “That can’t be,” Velnia couldn’t comprehend the sadistic and cruel figure saving anyone. “It can be,” Orwell corrected. “One-man demon is another man guardian angel. He is an interesting man, Jordan. Like you, he tries to talk me out of this act. I suspect he realized it pointless, but he still tried to save me.” Orwell glanced at the moon of horror in melancholy. “Our battle is inevitable. This clash will transform the world. How it will change depends on the might of our vision. But I am glad he is my opponent.” A voice of Wayward commented. “Because in the unlikely scenario you lost, you can die knowing that the victor will create the world where no more men walk our path,” Wayward spoke melancholically. Orwell barely reacted to Wayward silent entrance. “Oh, you are back. What about Sol?” “Dead.” “Good,” Orwell felt a tad more cheerful. “Nothing of value is lost.” “I have a request for you.” “We will talk about this later. Compensating Sol’s screw-up take priority.” It was then that Velnia’s concept of good and evil broke. The two mass murderers were a decent human. Meanwhile, they treated the person she hated and feared as an avatar of heroism. Velnia’s black and white vision of the world ceased to function. “I don’t understand!” Velnia raised her voice. Her gazed shifted between Wayward and Orwell. “Why are you both doing this? Why do you admire such an insufferable man? Why is his desire for universal happiness more admirable than mine!?” Wayward sighed, some Princess was too thick. “Perhaps I need to give you a perspective,” Orwell beckoned the Princess. “Follow me.” … That day Princess Velnia learned a lesson — a lesson about power. Orwell's army lined the place's floor, caked with bodies and blood of the garrison forces. Velnia had seen the common skeleton making up most of Orwell’s forces, but skeletons were merely the grunt of Orwell’s army. Amalgam behemoth — Golem made of blood, ice and stones — acted as a heavy unit. Army of wraths — ghost-like creature with hungry looked blanket the skies. Then there was the special unit. A Death-knight — massive cloaked figures floating in the air with the sword of green fires. A tankish Amalgam War-machine of bone and stone. Humongous shadows of crow and tigers towering over houses, surrounded by an army of their smaller version. Critter of Insects composed of black-obsidian body filled the gap. Then there was an army of skeleton in Spiritium coating. All of them were assembling a plaza, a rapidly growing army of thousands — expanding and strengthening. For the first time in her life, Velnia understood fear. To realize the weighted of undeniable uncertainty crushing her lungs. “This is my army,” Orwell said. “Even now, my device is manufacturing more advance unit. With the royal-mages and royal-knights extinct. No one has a chance of stopping me.” Orwell started reminiscing. “Do you remember my word about wiping the slate clean? This is the only method for cleaning the slate. It is a lesson my people learned. It is the reality the weak grasps after years after getting trample by the strong. Power is the sole dictator of the slate. To make the world peaceful, we need power to destroy all unforgivable oppositions. We need might to annihilate the chain of hate by cleanly and completely wiping out all resistance — power that even the gods have to acknowledge. It is not the rule I want, but it a rule impose to us by this cruel reality. Hal Jordan understands this, so he treats your frivolous fantasy with such gravity. You are a child fantasizing about world peace. Jordan is the hero who counts every threat on that impossible path, fight past his fear, and endure inhuman pain of walking to his dream. That is the difference between you two.” The next series of words froze Velnia’s vein. “Forgiveness for everyone is sweet, but it is impossible to reconcile with an ant. Your vision is only possible in the world where everyone is equally powerful, not in the one where gods and false prophet haunted mankind.” … Rem peered through time. He saw the army. He saw Sol’s mess. He watched the garrison fell to the last man. It concluded everything — an inevitable checkmate was coming. They lost too many materials, too many squares, and the opponent was way ahead in the board state. Their castle was in carnage. Pressure mounted on all sides. It was so bad even a chess grandmaster couldn’t stop the inevitable. Their hands were too terrible, and the NPC sabotaged their effort at every turn. It was a matter of time until all resistance inside the city got tossed into the oven and served to Orwell. Rem’s clock ran out. He only got one option. He hated himself for even considering this choice. He hesitated to the last second, but no simulation in his CCC provided a better answer; a dice must be cast. A sacrifice is necessary to give them salvations.  Down the line, what separated from the monster like Wayward and Orwell from him was barely a visible sentimentality. Rem flipped his communicator open. He wanted to pray for forgiveness, but he knew better. Curse was what he deserved. Rem cursed himself and tossed the dice. … Cytortia came to the same conclusion — they lost. Casualties crowded her improvised ward. Several injuries were light. Many were grievous. Luxinna and Melody were barely stabilizing before the medical ward hit with an exponential number of recipients. The volunteer nurses already tapped out their Mana half an hour ago. They were now down to first-aid kit. But her current patient was the biggest headache. “I already recover, Cy,” a feverish Hikma tried to rise out of his bed. “I need to do this.” “No, mister,” Cytortia shoved him back down and showed him the thermometer. “See this! 40°C! You are having a high-fever right now! If you exert yourself anymore, you will be in a fast-track to Valhalla! You already fainted in the battlefield once! You are in no position to march back to the battlefield.” Hikma fought back his pained breath and dizziness. “I have to,” the boy replied. “They need someone to help them hold the line. They need me, Cy.” “They can manage!” “Cy,” Hikma starred into her eyes. “I need to do this.” Cytortia realized Hikma was right. Their defense was crumbling. The report rang panic throughout the entire operation. Their territory dropped from 10% to 7% then to 3%. The resistance was on the verge of defeat and the condition was irreversible without a miracle. Her communicator rang. Cytortia sensed it. Acceptance crept up her spine like a warmth of the sun. Rem was foretelling the future. It was the scenario she suspected both him and Satholia expected to come to pass. Cytortia recalled the Lost Divine. It was fable, written in a book Rem brought from Millian. A story about the prince of the god — sickened by his father inaction toward the decrepit state of the world. The godly prince tossed aside his right as god and led the people as a mortal king. He unified the land, discovered legends, and became the idol withstanding all ages. The former god died a mortal with an unmatchable legacy. He threw away his divine might and heaven favors to become an immortal example of nobility in the heart of mankind. The Lost Divine recorded the prince’s immortal accomplishment for two-hundred glorious pages with only two paragraphs dedicate to his father. If a man died when he was forgotten, then the former god surely beaten his godly father as an immortal. Cytortia opened the communicator. “Cy, I have…” “The Lost Divine,” Cy answered. “I know what that story entailed, Rem.” Silence. “I do some research, dumbass,” Cytortia smiled. “I can imagine how you look right now—hunch back, blaming yourself for screwing up bad enough it forces me into this position. You are in no position to blame yourself about anything, Rem, because this is not your fault. Even if you predicted everything, you can’t stop Orwell’s activation of that tower.” Silence. Cytortia knew Rem didn’t believe that. “You won’t be hearing from me for some time,” Cytortia cheerfully said. “So do you need any favor before  I retire?” Rem told her. “Stupid,” Cytortia muttered when he finished. “Something that inconsequential is not even important. Yes. I approve. Now, watch me save the day. Don’t you dare blink, understand?” Cytortia closed the communicator. Hikma instantly realized his friend was going to do something monumentally drastic. “Cy, what the hell are you planning to do?” Cytortia gave him a mournful, but beautiful, smile. “I am going to perform one Arcane you can never use,” Cytortia puffed herself up. “Don’t you dare look away, Hikma! This is my greatest moment. I am going to give hope back to everyone!”

Throughout the base, the attack on the robot continued. Let cut to the chase and ignore the colorful discussion. It was a totally lopsided statistical massacre. … “What is that?” “Get away! Help! Fight that…” “No way in hell.” It took little effort for the mastermind to secure the room. The surprise attack on the ununited group of competitors vying to backstabs each other for pieces of treasures succeed without a hitch. Turret mowed down every chamber in proximity and war-drones dropped from the ceiling to smash the resistance like a sledgehammer. Worsening the carnage were flying drones joined the fray with a portable turret. Roughly hundred participants were active in the water facility, but within the first minute, a quarter of that numbers got taken down, carried off through the darkened hallways into the location unknown. However, the treasure seeker were survivors, and they already piled counter attack. … Artos Sevar slipped past a metal fist and buried his sword into the heart of a war-drone. Beside him Aryssa Holyworth conjured a barrier and raining down holy light while Mamacia Cocogar employed her smart, honed by the Isle of Knowledge, to dissect the bundle of wires she pulled from the wall. Turrets kept shooting, but Amitate’s [Devil Flame] lighted the ceiling with inextinguishable fire. Not losing to her brother, Emily Aztellic covered the entire floors in aquamarine ice. They nodded to each other and performed a joint attack. [Underworld Formation: Burning Ice Altar] Emily and Amitate should be considered a special case amongst the 33 Stars. Alone, their power and competence was around a regular A-rank, but their cultivation in both [Devil Flame] and [Infernal Ice] allowed them to combine their element to launch a powerful attack with incredible property worthy of upper 33 Stars. Pillars of deep blue ice pierced from the ground, impaling turrets and drones. The ice blinked twice and burst with scorching black flames, turning everything near them to ash. Magnolia Drakokia glared at the demons while drowning the drones on her side of the room and freezing them solid. An ice-covered ore sprouted with thorns, and a miniature mermaid floated by her shoulder. “You know, it would be great if you do that when we fight the bucket head,” “Wow, 25th, you talk like you never went down in one attack.” “Shut it, Amitate,” Emily growled, dusting herself. “Get over that lost and back to surviving. Cocogar, what you can tell me.” Mamacia punched the wall in rage. “We are fucked. The entire base is under a complete lockdown.” “Is that bad?” Sorin Enma said before the door burst opened to reveal more attacking war-drones. He blasted the entire group with a beam of concentrated lightning. “You can’t be serious. These things are around A-rank, and particularly dumb A-rank at that.” Amitate walked over a to a surviving war-drones and decapitate its head with a flaming hand. “Enma is right,” Amitate turned the metal head into slag with his burning fire. “As long as they came at us one-by-one, we are good.” Unconvinced, Mamacia connected the wires with her crystal ball and took a quick reading. “Awww hell.” “What now?” Mamacia Cocogar yelled. “The drones are only an initial phase to soften us for the trap!” “What trap?” The floor they were standing on fell, revealing a pitfall. The seven 33 Stars suddenly felt themselves standing on nothing but empty air with only darkness waiting below them. “Oh fu-“ The seven cartoonishly fell down into darkness. … In another part of the base, the defense mechanism performed its best. A valiant effort from every grain of metal involved. Countless turrets spun right on time, war-drones and flying robots assembled to stall the intruders. Every chunk of cybernetics were commanded to defeat and captured their opponent. All robotics were fully prepared with weaponry and self-destruction sequence, thunderously marching as one. But alas, they ran a deficit on two most important resource to combat this opponent. Bioelectrical field which acted as a passive protection against telekinetic judo and [Aura] which functioned as an active barrier to keep a certain jaded guardian of justice from dissecting them with his brainwave. In the end, the best anti-Rem measure enemy could take was… scratch that. The best counter against Reality Breaker was still the subject of debate. Rem could mind trick average grunt into shooting their foot. Unliving opponent possessed no defense against being telekinetically scrapped. Now that the living, robot and the dead were proven ineffective; the only thing seemed to even dented the heaven-blessed Superman’s fan-boy was an elite team who prepared to die fighting. But even then, unless the entire team was an S-ranker, the only things they would find was a crate of time bombs. Rem was a unique cocktail containing the most absurd spice one superhero could have. Imagination of evil genius, the multi-tasking ability of Professor Charles Xavier, En Sabah Nur approved I-have-no-qualm attitude on augmentation his own ability beyond its overpower limits, wisdom of Master Yoda and foresight of Darth Revan when he wasn’t fuck up by plot-induce wheelchair. All these affinities were wrapped by Anakin Skywalker’s hungry enthusiasm to dish out a lightsaber when negotiation fails, and love to ham that made Sheev Palpatine shy. Yes, half the above were supervillains. What do you expect? Satholia needed a man who could hold the fort against the entire world of backstabbers. Her supreme luck just hit a supervillain with a semi-working moral compass and an idol in the grandaddy of Superhero. You essentially had the man who aspired to Space Jesus but fight like Doctor Doom. The robots came into the fight ready to face anything below S-rank of Phantasia. It wasn’t prepared to fight Dr. Doom with an ability to peek into the future. The robot didn’t even land before the telekinetic force washed them. Unlike most Jedi or Sith, Rem didn’t force crush. He flexed worse than Anakin, but he preferred to be sophisticated. Instead of being squeezed like a tin can, it was a certain shifted in the gear and shattered valves. Some wires inside the turret got pulled out by an invisible hand. Hatches that supposed to deliver reinforcement drones bent at an odd angle. Actions which were pebbles in telekinetic might, but an ultimate display of wisdom, insight, precision and raw locating ability. Every engineer worth their salt knew that loose belt or misaligned gearbox in generators could sink ships. An incorrectly assemble turbines would blow. A gas leak in the turret would cause improper combustion or explosion at worst. Safety technician tried for generation to minimize such epic weak point in machinery. But no egg-head possessed the solution against the man who contained a future modeling simulation that could pinpoint every design weakness, a search engine with the power to get those data, mental calculus to ran all failure scenarios in time to blink and the power to make those scenarios become reality. Rem clicked his fingers, and everything fell apart for the mastermind. War-drones experienced a catastrophic failure in their internal generator. The turret met a lethal malfunction from detached regulator and disjointed fuel valves. Cube shape reinforcement blasting down the hatches got stuck at the unfortunately misaligned metal joint, causing a major traffic-jam, damming the entire delivery system in the area. Flying drones dropped from the sky in shambling pieces due to unscrew rotor blades. Trap corridor failed to activate because a telekinetically detached circuit. Cytortia watched the machination assembled to capture them fell to smithereens by the power of tiny but lethal malfunctioning. A telekinetic feat displaying simultaneous control over unseen tiny object exerted with a force of a surgeon. She stared at the boy beside her. “You have been practicing.” “Well, squeezing lead cube got boring, so I decide to try multitask,” Rem massaged his sore shoulder. “And I must admit it is paying dividend. Good news, I just finished scouting this place.” This development got Cytortia’s attention. “Wait, you are scouting this place?” “Cy, you just see me destroy a squad of robots by telekinetic multitasking. You must know I have weeks to fine tune my processing powers.” “I remember you asking for aspirin. You realize tinkering with your processing ability like that is risky, right?” “Well, good things I save my mental-setting before each experimentation. Just say it took a while to get a right UI, but I adjust…” “Your brain, Rem, you are tinkering with your brain.” “Hey, I only need time to get used to it and I have helpers. She is helping me set up the basic. Long story short, it took several investments, but I can multitask several functions of [Tenshou] and Astral Tracing. Since, I need to divide most of my mental power between keeping track of [Clairvoyance] and actually walking, the remote scouting is quite delayed in producing result.” “Rem, I don’t care about the math formula you used to turn yourself into a computer. I want to make sure you won’t die on me.” “Cy, you know I am not going to just die and left you alone,” Rem lied. “And my scouting reveal where exactly we need to next?” “Okay, open the telepathic channel and brief everyone.” … Test. Test. This is Horizon Dawn's briefing session. To update, we got transported into mysterious underwater facility. As the advisor of this operation, I am briefing you on this base's layout and our mission. New Intel revealed this base wasn’t a dome. It is a sphere. Ergo. We were originally teleported to the upper part of the sphere roughly worth about one third of this massive facility. The experiment was held in the donut maze covering the center portion of the sphere. What we should be preparing for was the mess below that floor. Below that area was a mustering zone for a small army of the war-drones surrounded by factory rings of robotic assembly — the work horse portion of this underwater base. The rest of the base was supplies space, make-shift prison quarters and a laboratory running on automatic. The bottom pole of the sphere worked as an incinerator and garbage disposal. The base was connected by a series of delivery vents to transport the drones. The center of the sphere was a cylindrical chamber where I believe the mastermind was holding the string. Those vents also connected to the massive central garbage chute leading right to the incinerator. Be warned. Every area was fully installed with transportation vents and turrets. Currently, I am in one of the maintenance corridors below the dome. Luxinna was inside the supply areas and beating her way to the mustering chamber. Melody, Hikma, you needed to head there because all the targets and the threat were dropping into that zone. My condolence. It would be the most chaotic battle for the Dawn since the first hour of Capital of the Dead, so hold nothing back. Show them defender of the weak wasn’t a force anyone can poke their nose to challenge. Meanwhile, I and Cytortia will be heading down to inspect a certain room that might give us a final edge over this base. I believe I am 90% sure we were really dealing with that. In conclusion, the Dawn mission was simple. 1) Secure the mustering area and suppress the threat. 2) Subdue the out-of-control Luxinna 3) Find out the truth of Alcra Shaxter 4) Defeat the mastermind Lady and Gent, good luck. … Magnolia Drakokia woke up to a commotion. She wasn’t surrounded by seven people anymore. There was a crowd around her. The room was dark and dusty except for the giant monitor in the center of the room, which was trickling with numbers. Magnolia stifled a scream when she discovered several hundred war drones surrounding the survivor.  She stood on the floor piece with metal tiles. Sounds and scents bombarded her senses as a series of question rose around her. “Where are we?” “What is going on here?” “What are those robots?” Before Magnolia had time to join the chorus, she felt it. The scent of blood. The ominous glow of murder. A foreboding fear creeping up her mind. Thirsting darkness rippled through the crowd, silencing all life and light. Clap! Clap! Clap! Magnolia turned toward the noise. “How plebeian,” It was a man dress in a dark suit covered in a thick stench of bloods and crimson vein disfiguring his handsome face like a mark of the beast. “A boring development, but a welcome one.” The crackling man glanced around like something was missing, but he sighed in the end. “Guess you ought to expect the opportunist to bail.” Out of the crowd, a slash of light sailed toward the man. In replied, the ominous man covered in red stench caught the glowing beam and crush it with a crimson ripple of bloods. It was the confirmation to what everyone already realized. “A vampire! He is a vampire!” “My god! Where is the Holy Church! Run!” The crowd ran into a disorganized panic to get away from the predator. They moved like an insect swarm, barring each other's path in a disjoint attempt to progress. Soon Magnolia lost a head and tail of the situation in the sea of rushing crowd and indecipherable yelling. It was then the situation got worst. Around them, the war-drones lighted up simultaneously. The crowd suddenly found their sandwich between the terrifying visage of being sucked like fruit juice or being smashed by the hoard of mechanical terror. Amid that panic, someone grabbed Magnolia by her neck. The elf yelped. “Quiet, deployed the barrier to hold the robots. Artos is already deploying his spirit to calm the crowd.” Magnolia stared at the woman who displayed out of character aura of calm and resolved. She couldn’t believe she agreed with this cow out of all people. Aryssa Holyworth assembled a staff topped with a cross radiating with life. The perpetually miffed and disinterested expression warped into one of anger and focus. It was a complete flipped of the voluptuous priestess she knew. Holyworth held herself like a goddess of battle as she charged several holy spells. “What are you waiting for? We are in a battlefield, you pointy-ear imbeciles.” Magnolia’s brain still lagged several strings behind. “Are you really Aryssa who just got trash by weirdos in black?” “That isn’t important! The most important things right now is putting that parasite head on a pike!” Aryssa shrieked as she rained holy fires down on the vampire who was surrounded by wind, lightning and water. After all, that was the divine mission taught to all Holy Church clergy since they were young; extermination of the cursed vampires. Countless Family members, friend, lovers were humiliated and killed to fulfill that holy mission. No member of the Church shall rest until all vampires burned at the holy stake. Despite her prides and arrogance, those pain and sacrifice were something Aryssa experienced full-well. The vampire must be buried no matter what. … Mamacia Cocogar wasn’t distinguished at electronic, nor did she boast the skill of Alchemy over Cytortia Tianshang—the former 33 Stars. However, she possessed enough investment in both skill-set to concoct a specialized Alchemical tincture which hid her from sensors. It wasn’t something complicate. Cytortia from six-month ago would replicate the formula in a week, while the current Cy would pull that off in an hour. However, combine with invisibility projector, this technology allowed her to sneak amongst the chaos undetected. Mamacia avoided using this method because she didn’t want to share it with the other. It was her ace in the hole to confirm her suspicion. Unlike Aryssa and Sorin, she had the hunch those freaks in Halloween costume got a point, but she needed to check it herself. Originally, the mustering area seemed to be a test lab, considering several consoles left collecting dust. Mamacia sneaked past all the carnage and investigated the artifact stuck in the wall. It was an old Magitech, but the UI was still comparable to the one circulating in the market. Whoever designed this technology was good. Mamacia tapped the crystal screen and began downloading data into a crystal memory, praying no-one notice the activating console. Unlike Earth’s technology, Phantasian tech relied on Mana circuitry, micro-vacuum tubes, gears and crystal storage. Mamacia was secretly thankful to the founder of the Isle of knowledge for shrinking the originally gigantic calculation machine into a more portable crystal-globe. It was then a certain file caught her eyes. PROJECT PALISADE: MAN-MADE INTELLIGENCE TO MAINTAIN GLOBAL ORDER.

“Luxinna, please focus on protecting them,” Hikma De Darwin brandished his walking stick. “I will stall Orwell.” “Uh oh,” Luxinna argued. “Alone? Are you crazy? That guys counter three of us together.” “Luxinna, please,” Hikma gestured at his opponent shielded inside the skull projection. “Let me do this.” Orwell chuckled, but a column of fire erupted below the mage. The demoness was at it again. The mastermind sighed, conjuring hundreds of tons worth of ice on Melody, who crushed his counter in a burst of flames and agile maneuver. “Your flame's strength is undisputable,” Orwell blocked the charging Melody with his indestructible wing. “But aside from that explosion. Your technique is plain.” Orwell punched the demoness with a giant skeleton fist, sending her flying toward Luxinna group. Melody bit back a grin. [Asura Burning Sky] X 5 Five shining gems glittered around Orwell Mehest. Impressive. She hid those gems inside her fire, Orwell thought, swirling his hand like an orchestral conductor. But the same attack won’t work twice. [Orwell’s Original: Skull Feast] Five purple skulls emerged into existence, opened thier mouths, and swallowed the [Asura Burning Sky] crystals. The explosion detonated but — in a feat of Amalgam engineering — Orwell vented kiloton-grade fires through the skulls’ hollow sockets, shunting the attacks away in five devastating fire-streams, scorching the sky and ground but not Orwell Mehest. Melody got to her feet — utterly stump. The demoness might receive the greatest power increase, but it came with a price. She only invented one EAPS. The current Melody was a one-trick-pony. Her participation warmed the bench, if her explosion and melee failed. Luxinna threw more supersonic projectiles Orwell didn’t blink or move an iota. The frost skull shielding emitted a dense pressurized cryogenic mist, coating Luxinna’s sword in frost. The elf’s projectiles smashed against the giant purple skull protective Orwell and broke to pieces. “My turn.” Circle of ice appeared behind Orwell Mehest. [Orwell’s Original: Arctic Circle Familiar Summoning] It was the third time in the showdown Orwell dropped this spell. Shyme and Charon blocked the first. Hikma stopped his second attempt. Sadly, as many recited, third time was a charm. The circle opened to a void of darkness and a fresh army of Amalgam familiar flew out. Death knights swooped from the air. War-machines and creatures made from black mist assembled and charged. Creature coated in inky darkness popped from the gate and cawed. Orwell was refilling his depleted numbers. “He learned your trick,” Hikma De Darwin stepped forth face the army. “Cover the innocent. I am going to stop his army.” “Alone?” Kruger refused to believe that was possible. “You can’t. You will die.” “Maybe,” Hikma replied. “Maybe not.” “Who are you?” Andries watched a fabled hero marching in face of overwhelming force. “Nothing,” Hikma couldn’t help but recall the memory. “Just a weakling and a ruin dwelling scholar.” The Chronicler solemnly ran into battle. … [Orwell’s Original: Frozen Mist Spector] The ice vapor spilling from the spectral skull convened, creating apparel of a misty behemoth. The giant of cold swung its fist to annihilate Hikma. [Surtr: Phoenix Dance] Hikma unleashed a spherical [Conceptual Construct] which transformed into a golden bird engulfing the giant in flames. Orwell frowned at the destruction of his creation, but Hikma’s action wasn’t over. The [Conceptual Seal] for [Earth] glowed. [Earth Shift] Walls of earth rose, surrounding both combatant inside a hexagonal arena of rampart. [Aegis: Holy Force] X 3 Hikma followed his earth Arcane with holy laser blazing from three constructs, smashing apart several Death-knights and Amalgam familiars. Orwell narrowly dodged the beam and launched his counterattack. [Orwell Original’s Spectral Frost Armament] Mehest cast his hand and attacked with a spectral pillar Hikma barely dodged. The column of ghostly projection slammed into the ground, covering whatever it touched in ice. Orwell quickly took control of the battlefield. [Orwell’s Original: Ice Hell Founding] [Ice Hell Founding] was an attack that covered the area in Amalgam ice under Orwell’s control, but Hikma already countered that move once. The Chronicler expanded the Surtr until it covered the earthen rampart. It signaled the eruption of an AOE attack. Dammit, Orwell Mehest flapped his wing split second before the Arcane launched. [Surtr: Burn the Witch] The enchantment consuming flames melted the layer of frost without harming Hikma De Darwin. The two men stared at each other. Orwell squinted from the sky. Hikma braced himself on the earth. Orwell dropped more Amalgam, but Hikma expected it. The [Conceptual Seal] for [Space] ignited the moment his [Deep Meditation] detected the fluctuation in Orwell’s frozen rings. [Space Jamming] The ring behind Orwell shattered as space folded inside-out. Orwell rolled his eyes. “Do you realize how annoying it is when your spell keeps getting block?” Orwell ranted. “Three tries! It took me trice to activate that spell and you broke it!” “The only rule is there is no rule,” Hikma recited Rem’s quote. Massive dome of Surtr shielded him inside the wall of enchantment killing fire. Orwell couldn’t touch him inside the flames of hope. Orwell’s eyes twitched. Time to crush the fool on the ground below him. Chronicler must realize the fight’s ending already, but as expect he kept fighting. People like him lacked comprehension to give up as long as hope burned. [Orwell’s Original: Perpetual Blizzard Phantasmal] Orwell Mehest committed that technique to extinguish the light. … Mehest was right. Hikma understood that winning wasn’t an option. The current Orwell was invincible. After crashing with Orwell, Rem’s warning became crystallized truth. Horizon Dawn never used Mana as a fuel, but their body could burn out after extensive usage of True Magic and Arcane. Orwell possessed no such problem. His supplies were inexhaustible. The further the fight dragged, the faster Hikma’s eventual defeat would arrive. The only shot they got was overwhelming his defense and battered him. However, Orwell’s modification turned that avenue into an impossibility. He tanked Luxinna’s [Jewel Sword: Salvation] and healed himself in a brief period. On top of his durability, Orwell possessed platters of techniques both offensive, defensive, and crowd-control. Those were hard hurdle to climb, but the sheer power of his authority over Leyline ballooned the man well-round power-set into sheer invincibility. Then Orwell made his move, conjuring a palm-size spectral skull with humongous lilac butterfly wings. Mehest wasted no second to hurl the Amalgam upward. The butterfly shone with purple glimmers and unleashed blizzard down on the ruined quarter. … Melody and Luxinna fought against the hoard of Amalgam when the blizzard descended. “Oh no,” Melody’s [Heavenly Eye] churned. The demoness didn’t like what her eye told her as [Asura Burning Sky] rendered collection of Death-knights and war-machines to dust. “What is it?” Luxinna kicked a Death-knight in the face, then decapitated it a breath later. “Those were Amalgam snow,” Melody lifted a war-machines up and threw it at another familiar. “It can—” Melody’s replied realized itself when a dying Amalgam—impaled by [Assault Flora]’s barrages—rose back to fight. Its injury sealed by a layer of snow. Meanwhile, frost begun covering various [Static Glass] sculptures to undermine it. “The snowstorm is working in Orwell’s favor?” Luxinna groaned and stumbled. Her injured shoulder protested in pain. “This is bad. With his resources, he can sustain the snow forever.” … Hikma recognized Orwell’s winning move — a pin. Two options were available on Hikma’s desk. He either stalled the snow with [Burn the Witch] until his stamina dried and handed Orwell the victory, or conceded [Burn the Witch] and froze to death. As a teammate of Rem, Hikma selected the third option—stopped the blizzard. [Surtr: Phoenix Dance] X 5 Five balls of Surtr stormed the skies in forms of burning firebird. Hikma’s had a simple target—the damn butterfly dropping blizzard on his head. The birds rose past the flaming barricade, screeching to its target, avoiding Orwell to hit the Amalgam coating the quarter in snow. But it was too obvious to work. [Orwell’s Original: Frozen Mist Spector] … The nobles and spectator witnessed the spectacle ripped from pages of myths. The harsh blizzard blurred the scenery into freckled of white and purple. The translucent impenetrable wall of storm surged, braying at the broken earth like wolves’s thirst for blood. Before that wall of cold, warmth was a fleeting dream, barely bleating inside the rampart shielding the hearth. Then, from the glowing fireplace, a bird of flames shoot to the sky like arrows aiming to break the impenetrable storm. But from the dark cloud, a creature make of icy mist arrived to deny the wish of fire, ripping the bird to pieces as hot and cold battle in carnage the unfurled in a scent of charcoaled steam, Orange and purple mixed and repelled in the sky. The overwhelming blizzard billowed to extinguish the fire of hope, but a pillar of holy light sailed skyward in defiance, trailblazing path through the beast of the storm, No one knew whether it was the dazzling light or a profound concept existing inside one heart, but the brilliance of the friction between the duet fire and ice were legendary.  Ominous skull emerged, crackling its mouth to unleash a pale blue beam that pushed the light away to snuff the hearth. The pale beam of raw arctic cold shone unopposed. Then a great ice-wall rose to block the cold light, and one blue star flew from the earthen fortress into the dark sky. Cloud cracked audibly, and all soul saw the refraction of sunlight, as if they were praying from the bottom of mother ocean. Waterfall of illusory water fell like divine fist, humbling the spectral skull and its master to the ground. However, the play was far from over. The water reversed its drop and molded into a serpent 2 meters thick and 150 meters long. The skull reemerged from the ground and spewing frost at the water serpent. But with water current clearer than spring, the snake shed the creeping ice off like rotten scales. The serpent hissed, chasing the abominable skull across the sky. Light and ice collided. The hearth shrank into a tiny sun and flew against the snowstorm, circular emblems of light rotating around that ember, wielding holy ray against spectral skulls to reach the tumulus dark cloud. Inexhaustible quantity of frozen mist clashed against the rapid firebirds as light beam and purple ghost sprayed the sky in colors. The snake, ridden by glowing ember, crashed against a giant spectral skull as the hero of Dawn and the avatar of vengeance dueled for the meaning of justice. … “Unbelievable,” Uther witnessed the carnage in the sky. “Are those two A-ranks? Even for A-rank, this battle is ridiculous.” “Hikma is B,” Luxinna corrected, decapitating the death-knight and bombarding its body to smithereens. Everyone starred at her. “Impossible!” “Onee-sama, you must be lying, right?” Eliza laughed nervously. “B-rank can’t and summon a massive water snake to duel a 33 Star to a stand-still?” “The 33 Stars is around the Untouchable-level, right? Chronicler would have no problem with someone like Illma Zoldia Road, so he is a solid B-rank!” “Ace-san, your scale of reference make no sense!?” None of them realized the women who defeated Illma when she newly achieved B-rank were talking. … Hikma gave his all, but his rough breathing pattern told everything. He hung at the edge of burning out. Hikma huffed on top of a shimmering snaked created out of True Magic. His vision won’t stop blurring. Orwell stopped. He caught on to Hikma declining speed and power. “I see,” Orwell started theorizing. “So, you have limit. For a second, I believe you have way too much Mana. Truth is, you are not using Mana. You are funneling energy from somewhere else with your Mana as a median of transfer. How ingenious. My grandfather theorized a similar premise as a base for the Ascendancy Ritual as a method to change Mana into a more efficient fuel source. But no median is perfectly efficient, that internal resistance is slowly overheating your body. Give it up, Chronicler. Given the current rate of expenditure, your stamina will dry in 2 more minutes at most.” Suddenly a light shone from Wind-quarter. “Yeah, I can only stall,” Hikma cracked a smile. “Dream never plan to beat you today. We only need to force you to retreat.” … The preparation completed that second. A massive network of string held by every able-bodied man and woman in Wind-quarter connected the will of the people to Rem and encircled Cytortia’s floating body. Rem held the ties of hope and supercharge it, spreading his True Magic to everyone in the Wind-quarter. “Ready?” Rem whispered Ready when you are, Cytortia’s disembodied voice called. “Good.” “What are you planning to do,” Madam Marmel was holding on to the string. “You said the string will help you cast an attack that will cripple Orwell. What type of spell is it?” “It not a spell,” Rem corrected. “It is an utilization of Cytortia’s barrier. Normally, this technique will take too much of my stamina. This string connects all the volunteers’s Mana to divide the cost as I direct the spell with a mental link.” … Down in the infirmary, a boy rescued from the Earth’s quarter was protesting. “What is this point?” He protested. “We lost. Now we are holding to a string and praying? Why do you even bother struggling?” He bawled. “Just give up already. You are only making this painful.” A hand patted him on the head. “Listen, kid. I don’t know what world you live in that makes it so easy to quit,” Aleksei Martynov replied. “Where I come from winner never accept when the world defined a task impossible. Real victory comes from fighting against—” “You say that because you never seen…” Aleksi continued his stories. “I once witnessed a boy — only few years older than you — who claimed he will end a war without a single death, and he succeeds. I watched a man win the highest office of the world despite being ridiculed for daring to try. I lived to see a man ousted from his company returned to buy it back and changed the world.” Aleksi held that string and looked down on a sobbing kid. “It’s fine to surrender, but I have seen enough in my life to convince me impossible is just a target.” … [Cytortia/Rem’s combination attack] [Tir Na Soal: Emerald Purity] … Orwell eyed the emerald light in the Wind-quarter rising to the sky, forming an image of an eastern dragon. The dragon dove at the section of Wind-quarter under Orwell’s control and rushed through several smoking buildings. Every Amalgam meeting it turned to scrap. The dragon dove underground, phasing through solid earth like it was a dream. “Oh fuck,” Orwell deduced his future and failed to prevent it even with his overwhelming might. PING! Orwell sensed the dragon swallowing the Spiritium crystal he hid in Wind-quarter, purifying it to destruction. The raw sensation of his grip on the Leyline loosening assaulted Orwell’s mind with a jackhammer migraine. How did they know which warehouse contained the Spiritium anchor? Fear returned to Orwell for the first time since the Dark One’s arrival. Did they know the locations of his three remaining crystals too? PING! Right on cue, another migraine dog-piled him. Orwell’s face twitched. That crystal was inside an impenetrable bunker beneath his Spiritium HQ. That madman must sic the dragon at the Water-quarter to destroy his defenses and smashed his most well defended crystal. Unacceptable, he lost two keystones gripping his army within the window of a second. But those lost should be the last of Orwell Mehest’s worries. Because the [Emerald Purity] rose right under Orwell Mehest. The dragon swallowed him whole as it headed to the [Perpetual Blizzard Phantasmal] and gulped the Amalgam in one bite, ending the snowstorm before fading to nothingness. Orwell survived the purification at tremendous damage to his chemical balance. His Amalgam barrier got finished by the dragon, and its effect on his incomplete modification caused an intense irritation that sent him spasming. Orwell groaned from aching muscle and stomach pain, before glancing up to meet a beam of light heading at him. Rem gave Hikma the perfect attack window. “Fuck you.” [Holy Force] The holy laser plowed into Orwell, diving him to the earth. From the smoking crater, Orwell Mehest staggered up before coughing blood. He wasn’t defeated, but those blood threw his initial invincibility in question. Hikma landed to face him, breathing hard. Then his communicator rang. Hikma De Darwin answered it to meet Rem’s exhausted voice. “Hikma projected my image to Orwell. I have a cycle of vengeance to destroy.”

Kruger immediately recognized the monster. Maybe it was the way it laughed. More likely it was the way those hundred eyes jeered at him. Then the ridicules echoed from the charred earth of the Fire-quarter confirmed Kruger’s suspicion. “The hell, Kruger? I am dead from only a few hours and the once so mighty Grand Empire lose their shit. Oh lord, how embarrassing that I have to pretend to be your equal. Humiliating as fuck, I say! And keep that beautiful expression, Chamomile! it will be great to turn those grins upside-down when you become my concubine? Isn’t it a privilege to bear the brood of a royalty?” While the species might be different, the derangement convinced the audience they weren’t inside a nightmare. Sol Grandy returned to the realm of the living, sending all who saw him into an icy dread. Chamomile's collapsing brain decided it had hit the limit, and she fell to her knees laughing madly. The nobles’ mental bulwark crash. Women screamed. Some — like Andries — fell on their behind and sobbed. Most men bolt away at the wind-speed of a hurricane, but some, in an act of courage, stay behind to shake their mentally cascading friend back into fight-mode.  Kruger glared at his nemesis. “What the hell with that form, Sol?” Kruger conjured a lance of light. “Tire of being human?” The mad mockery echoed. “Yes? Why not? Don’t you know how amazing it felt? It is glory, Kruger! A majesty! A massive vortex cascading throughout the multiverse. You guys already lost, Kruger. The grand extinction event is rousing. The gods and the puny, divided Phantasia have no chance of winning against that beautiful despair. Like a true connoisseur, the World Enemies appreciates my talent, and now I have become more than you will ever be.” “Can’t say I am surprise you pimp yourself out?” Kruger cursed his missing arm and the ebbing Phantom pain. “Oh, it gets properly paid for it,” Sol returned the verbal salvo, sending a chill down Kruger’s spine. “Here let me show you my wealth.” The crimson World Enemy shuddered. It mouthed tentacles raised high and vomited a volley of blood-red globs of mud. The globules arched into the air and headed toward the survivors like an artillery. “Chamomile, back me up,” Kruger yelled at the shell-shock Vice-Captain as he slashed the muds out of the sky. “But…” “You don’t want to die, right? Start fighting for your life, dammit.” The sentence roused a semblance of fighting spirits in Chamomile. Suck to be her — fate had other plans for the Vice-Capitan. The remnant of the mud Kruger destroyed started squirming like worms, pieces of the mud rejoined into the slimy shrimp-like abomination — except these versions of crustaceans shot out red tentacles from its mouth. Kruger dodged in time, but the red appendage and accompanying mouth bit of one of the noble behind him, turning his abdomen into a bloody mess. “Father!” A boy screamed — not noticing another mud-like creature aiming at her. “Watch out!” Faster than anyone gave her credit for, Andries tackled the kid out of the attack range. Chamomile appeared in the flash and behead the monster. She barely got time to enjoy her minor victory when the crimson mud reformed, nearly capturing her if not for her abrupt evasion. Then the situation went worse. The corpse of the nobles erupted with red mud, capturing the nearest person to it—namely the particular duke’s daughter. “Let me go!” Andries yelled. “Why should I?” Sol questioned before recognizing the girl. “Oh wait, I remember you. You used to hang out a lot with the Chloric. How does it feel to see my utterly destroy them? You must be great, right? I heard you are quite a famous flower in the Academy, lady Andries. It will be a shame for you to die a virgin. Don’t you mind sharing your friend honor and become my bride?” “Sol, you are a mother-fucking World Enemy,” Kruger tried to scramble away to rescue the hostage. The only method he reached was exploiting Sol’s greatest weakness — his refusal to shut-up. “No one is coming to your wedding?” “No worries, Kruger!” Sol flung more mud toward them. “I can make my own guests.” The mud landed and Kruger’s face sunk with every landing. Out of the mud, more of those red-monsters spawned. In less than a minute, over thirty-five monsters were surrounding them with Lady Andries as a hostage. “What a trooper?” Sol laughed from his superior position. “These little buddies are pseudo A-rankers! Can you survive them with one arm and baggages, Kruger?” “At least I have less garbage in my mouth,” Kruger retorted back. Sol frowned. Then he had an idea. “Hey, there are quite a few ladies amongst you,” the World Enemy grinned. “Do you know, my mud can impregnate a human womb to reproduce itself. Don’t you want to try it, Andries dear?” The girl shook her head fearfully. The memory of Sol raping her friend earlier today surfaced with a terror of a shark attack, but the mud was unforgiving as it crawled up her skirt and tattered dress, slowly tearing them apart for everyone to see. Chamomile’s morale hit the floor for a third time in a day. Her knees gave up at the real prospect at being raped by a monster. She was not the only one. “No, no, no, no,” a noble’s girl clutched her hair and shook a boy. “You are a knight's apprentice, right? Do something?” “I…” the boy looked at the mud monster emerging from the corpse who suffered the first attack. “Eliza, do something!” “Help me!” Eliza cried a river of salt water. Sol Grandy upped the despair point. “Hey! Chamomile!” “Chamomile, don’t listen to him!” Kruger shouted. His instinct worked out Sol’s perverted imagination. “I need some subordinate,” Sol offered sadistically. “The joining process is simple. Stab Kruger in the heart for me and round up the rest of those nobles to be my little factories. Then I promise you will be safe and sound. Quite a generous employment contract, don’t you agree?” Chamomile froze. Rip! Andries’ dress ripped apart. She teared up as she saw Chamomile hesitantly got up and looked at her apologetically. Her eyes were masses of desperation and confusion. Andries realized Chamomile would do it. Face the choice between duty and survival, Vice-Captain Chamomile prepared to thread on the option of desperation. “Eliza! Stop Vice-Captain!” “Vice-Captain, please think about this carefully?” Chamomile started walking toward Kruger. “Eliza!” “DO YOU THINK I CAN BEAT HER?” Eliza cried. “I am sorry.” As a person, Andries fancied herself as an independent thinker who refused to believe in an unseen higher power. But in that singular instance, Lady Andries Sellovett prayed in tears. Anyone, I beg you. Please save us. A golden bolt of lightning struck the monster holding the duke’s daughter. The elf clad in golden lightning graced the battlefield. The cape painted with the symbol of a man embracing the sun fluttered high, proclaiming the returned of hope. … Let rewind back by a minute. … “I am going!” Luxinna declared, putting on her new uniform designed by Melody and Cytortia. “You will not make it,” Rem voiced. “Kruger is in Fire-quarter. It likely takes you 15-8 minutes to reach them by foot. Half of them will be dead.” “I will break my limiter?” “And reach them half-foot in a grave?” “Both of you quiet down,” Hikma waved the duo down. “What about flight?” “Good plan,” Rem agreed. “Hikma might fly you there in four…” “Fuck that!” Luxinna’s True Magic surged. “Don’t you say we are low on time? I have another idea. Melody, what is a best method to survive a Mach-speed collision?” “Oh,” the demoness answered with intellectual impulse. “You need to dissipate the impact and decelerate the passenger, surviving high temperature plus stress from the speed. High-speed vehicles usually designed to crumple for shock dissipation. Wait? Why are… Oh mother…” Luxinna stepped on intricate dual-rail of [Serene Glass], strapped her sword — [Historia] — on her back. And recited the materials’ specification. “Heat resistance, friction resistant, high tensile strength, anisotropic in toughness,” Luxinna drew on all the materials’ science Melody and Rem drummed into her head ever since she received [Static Glass]. “Insulation property and ferromagnetism.” Glass-construct formed around Luxinna — a twenty-five maters long double rail with zero friction glass lane for optimized speed and energy conservation. A temporary spear-like lotus, shaped like a rocket-cone, materialized to shield her body for the rest of her carnage journey. “Here I go!” Before anyone raised their objection, the lightning-clad elf already fired herself from a rail-gun at the speed of sound. Electricity flies, light flashed and air ignited as the first elf to journey by becoming a Mach-speed projectile rocketed in a flash of light and a sonic boom that toppled Rem and Hikma. “Will she be alright?” Melody blinked. “She won’t land as a toothpaste, would she?” … Melody had a good reason for her concern. Your standard rail-gun possessed the projectile speed of 2000-3500 m/s — a speed of Mach-6 and above. Being technique she invented on-the-fly, Luxinna’s human rail-gun fell short of that nightmarish numbers, but her muzzle velocity was still a solid Mach-4. With that velocity, crossing the diameter in of Venistalis in less than a minute was child’s play, much less the diagonal distance between the Wind-quarter and the Earth-quarter. Sol’s terrifying figure also played in his disadvantage by giving Luxinna a perfect target. His hideously humongous height stood out like a neon sign on a green-screen. In a twist of karma, Sol flattening the Fire-quarter only granted Luxinna easier time to pinpoint her landing-zone. Luxinna had two choices: landed at Sol or saved the girl. Although killing Sol in a surprise attack might end the battle, there was no guarantee about the card in his sleeves. In such case, Luxinna opted for a more certain goal, slamming her shuttle into the monster capturing the maiden in need. … It was a horrible day for Andries. Her home in the Central Palace became a burning wreck. She was among the group of nobles who watched Sol destroying her friend's family and forced to laugh with the crowd. Andries got to watch their guardian — Samael Wayward — betrayed them and handed the unrecognizable body of Stuart Hex off to Orwell Mehest. In a lime of cruel mercy, the mastermind of the entire invasion herded them to the Fire-quarter, then left them to suffer. She barely rallied her circle of friend — mostly spoiled daughters of lesser nobility for survival unity. In the bright spot of hope, they found Vice-Captain Kruger and Chamomile. Chamomile’s outburst quickly extinguished that hope, while Kruger’s leadership barely holding the group together. To top it off, the monstrous Sol Grandy returned from the dead to haunt her like an eternal nightmare. Andries tearfully read the room. In the monster's grasp — about to be violated, destroyed and paraded as a horror show — she realized she would share the Chloric’s fate. Then came the bolt out of blue. A golden anchor smashed down from heaven, obliterating the horror holding her in a swoop. She received an embrace, and the world somersaulted. Lady Andries found herself carried by another girl. A ceramic mask hid her eyes, but her pointed Elven ear was visible to all. Her cloth was the weirdest Andries seen in her life. A thick fabric she didn’t recognize covering a light-mail plating with belts holding small utility pockets dotting her uniform. The girl wore a cape, emblazoned with a symbol painted in white — a symbol Andries saw once before. That signal blazed in the sky to rekindle the lost hope. The white symbol of the man embracing the sun like tomorrow itself sent her herald to save every soul touch by the dawn. “Are you okay?” The girl asked Andries. “Y-Yes!!” Andries answered with a blush. The switch she didn’t realize existed flip open. “Oi,” The voice of Sol rang. “Who the hell are you to seduce my concubine? Know your place-“ Sol stopped. His skin shivered. The World Enemy’s DNA in his body screamed. The animalistic fight-or-flight instinct cycled in full. That elf’s presence was a danger. It was like an ant starring at an angry aardvark. His natural predator stood before him, and a single slip-up would end his reign. Golden armors solidified around the Luxinna. The golden glassed formed her greaves, breastplate, gauntlet and gliding her black mask and shoulder. To the spectator, it was like a black goddess of had descended. Sol refused to believe his body. It was universal knowledge that a World Enemy was a major national threat that ended civilization. Why would he — the strongest species known to man — feared a single elf? “You think you are a big shot, you no name tree-hugger! I will rip you apart!!!” All around the nobles, the mud-monsters — all thirty-five — ignored everything and leapt at Luxinna, tentacles readied for the kill. The noble girl screamed. However, to Luxinna’s super-reflex, the monster might as be an ant in gelatin. [Assault Fauna] Seven golden flowers materialized around Luxinna and Andries. Unlike Luxinna’s original [Serene Lotus], [Assault Fauna] was modeled after jasmine. With a split second to react, Luxinna’s body didn’t budge into action, but her mind finished calculating every attack angle. Sensory input checked. Projectile speed and timing passed. Power output was stable. “Automatic fire.” The flowers went to work. Unlike [Serene Lotus], [Assault Fauna] didn’t shoot beam. Instead, the jasmine-sculpture created an aerodynamic [Serene Glass] nails and fired the custom glass projectile as a rail-gun. Not only was that cheaper compared to her original [Serene Lotus] output of pressurized golden jet. It also able to silently and subtly fire and reposition each round at high speed. If original [Serene Lotus] was a wizard’s water-cutter, [Assault Fauna] was a machine-gun firing tank-busting round at Mach-10. Sol Grandy’s joke minion never had a chance. Each seven flowers fired five round with industrial efficiency, mechanically aiming each shot with minimal movement calculated from a supercomputer call Luxinna Latoria. It was a robotic surgical wiping. Schhwaff! The sound of monster reduced to smithereens occurred thirty-five times almost simultaneously. The witnessed barely registered what happened. They just saw a swarm of horrors being crushed to bits in a blink of an eye by a mysterious hero surrounded by golden flowers. The flabbergasted Chamomile received an extra scare because one high-speed projectile penetrated through the monster had grazed her face before demolishing the wall behind her to smithereens. Andries admired the golden flowers of her savior. “Beautiful…” Chamomile fell to her knee and bawled like a baby. Her bladder lost control from nearly getting decapitated by a tank busting round. In the first since the debacle began, hope returned to the survivors in that area. Kruger in particular nearly knelt to the ground and pray in gratitude to whoever sent this guardian angel. “WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?” Sol Grandy screeched, trying to suppress his instinct to dig into a hole and hide. Luxinna drew [Historia]. “Ally of Good. Code Name: Ace.”

Three cheers for character development! Vice-Captain coward finally grew her spine. Whether Chamomile Elragorn survived long enough for said spine to blossom directly tied to Rem’s victory. The victory the sound increasingly improbable with every second. Rem awaited the flames, pleasantly surprised by Chamomile’s unexpected response. He smiled with content at his fiery fate. The bond between people may make them weak, but through weakness they learned strength. It was those bonds that taught the irredeemable ass-hat Lex Luthor the meaning of humanity. Rem’s perception of time slowed as fiery death approached. His mind spun a lantern’s tale. Memories flashed as he surrendered to an impossible battle. He wandered back to his favorite Superman’s triumph over Luthor — the legendary All-Star Superman. In that book, the ass-hat finally got the Man of Tomorrow’s power, but through its lens, Luthor comprehended what Superman saw every moment — consciousnesses connected through the fundamental force. The most selfish human on planet Earth witnessed the working clockwork of reality and how precious the tiny human life meant. Throughout his life, Luthor envied Superman’s overwhelming might without realizing raw super sensory would make anyone incline to empathize with other beings. The comic was legendary, but the film adaptation bumped the victory by making Luthor admitted Superman is right and reformed. Wait Hold on a second… consciousness connected the fundamental force. Two years. Two — mother-fucking — years Rem spent failing to reach the root of [Mentalism] and completed his training. His Astral Tracing crashed. He pictured enough mental images to drive mortal men insane. A crow-bar to the head? Fail. Electrical jamming? A migraine. Sound projector? Embarrassing. Worst, his proficiency with other Arcanes hit an impasse. Unlike his comrades, Remus Breaker didn’t have talent with other Arcane but [Mentalism] and [Interfere]. After solid months of failure, Rem switched to prioritizing his physical ability and his mental Skills instead. Still, Rem used every past-time not honing his skill or mental prowess to discover the ‘root’. The Arcane whose ability synchronized in harmony with him. Who would have thought Rem finally achieved it semi-seconds from his roasting? links to the Astral Consciousness checked. Knowledge of the Primal Arcane built on [Mentalism] and [Interference], cumulating in an Arcane the World recognize not as moves but Skills. Rem learned [Tenshou]. … As established, Arcane essentially replicated a phenomenon memorized through Astral Consciousness. However, hierarchal ladders existed for these phenomena. Some Arcane were mere children beneath the massive archaic umbrella of ancient conceptual forces. Conjuring fire-hounds and phoenixes fell under creation of life from flames. Suffocation and Wind manipulation coexisted beneath a single Arcane. Such massively powerful parental Arcane were so mightily overblown the World recognize it not as a mere spell or technique, but Skills. Knowledges worthy of ranks in the Status ID as Supernatural power even the Center Force and the Malice balked to face. Discoveries of such magnitude were possible with Hikma De Darwin and Remus Breaker inventing a method to study Arcane — aptly titled Contemplation — and explored its usage by immersing oneself in the phenomena’s history. Half a year after Contemplation launched, Melody Solarmaria stumbled across the primal root of all Dragon. later development was history. With Primal Arcane dragged onto the table, the goal of the 3-years training was set; learning these Primal Arcanes and retooling their style to better mesh these new wisdoms. Melody and Luxinna learned one. Hikma — with chad energy at full blast — learned several. Despite Rem’s best effort, only he failed to complete his training. The Primal Arcane most compatible with him was simply complex beyond his imagination; until now. [Tenshou] Ten in Japanese meant Heaven, and Shou meant acquiesce. As Primal Arcane, those definitions were elevated to its limit. To influence or beseech [Tenshou] meant to sway all things connect by Heaven. Yep. No wonder Rem failed to grasp something that broken under three-years. [Tenshou] was the Mandarin of Arcane; stupidly ancient and complicate. Thankfully, life-and-death situation often stimulated enlightenment. Rem's unending effort to comprehend [Tenshou] cashed its reward. The young knight learned Heaven's wisdom in his trail-by-fire. No, not the cloud palace those winged jackasses built, but Heaven as in the universe’s celestial fabric. All forces were governed by consciousness. Everything connected under Heaven’s tapestry; A precious balance held together by fragile forces of life. That is [Tenshou]. The root of [Mentalism], [Interfere], [Shadow], and many more unaccountable Arcane. An unstoppable force that would promptly hip-checked Orwell’s ass, power-up or not, once mastered. Should it be questioned why such a conceptual mega-authority warranted a class of its own?  Remus Breaker finally attained Heaven. Half of Phantasia’s organization would cry if they know what awaited them. … Rem’s power swelled. Light of cosmos tinged his icy blue-eyes. Thread linking his heroic will to the fabric of the universe blazed with hope. He stretched his hand and summoned his greatest ally. The moment of reckoning arrived. Severus! Hit the boss music. Maybe that Nightcore version of Star Wars’ Force theme. “[Tenshou]” Rem tugged the string of the universe. He tuned the thread between him and the fireball. A single requested vibrated through the heavenly link.  The fireball answered, imploding in a ring of fire an inch from Rem’s fingers. The detonation left Chamomile unharmed and Rem with a burnt right hand. He cringed. Cytortia would pop her cork for real after burning his hand twice. Alas, achieving the power he chased for three years didn’t mean he would pull a Jedi Master worthy Tutaminis from get go. Hex howled, shifting his back-cannon into their firing position. Warned by [Clairvoyance], Rem preemptively acted, using [Tenshou] to find and return an object he discarded to his hand. The connection between the Uzi and Rem magnified in magnitude. Fundamental force held by consciousness eagerly responded, flinging the gun at Rem. Catching his telekinetically flying Uzi with his left hand, Rem opened fired with [Tenshou] tuned at full-blast. Hex never had a chance. The bullet blessed by [Tenshou] knocked the connection within spell formula, creating the effect of [Interfere] Arcane, effectively disabling his cannon. [Tenshou] existed as the originator of all mind-technique from advance telekinesis to mental manipulation. As its sole user, Rem was the closest Phantasia had to a Jedi; untrained Jedi who barely scratched all his abilities, but one with a solid grasp on the basic. Padawan Remus Breaker fought against genetically engineer weaponed of destruction with a hand disabled. No contest. Hex was about to realize why people never fuck with ancient Jedi Order. Unlike the cuck in the movies, ancient Force-user were beasts proficient in both Light and Dark aspect of the force. Orthodox cuck or ancient-planet taming chad? Three guesses which Jedi Order Remus Breaker subscribed to. More bullets found their way to Hex’s cannon, guided by Rem’s [Future Lock-On] to trash the artilleries beyond recovery. By pre-emptively predicting opponent's position and vector, Rem’s attacks were nigh-unavoidable without Luxinna-tier reflex augmentation — augmentation Hex never received. With his big gun disabled, Hex switched tactic, pointing the hand-flamethrower at Rem. It was an acceptable plan, saved for one fact; people bought over one blaster to kill a Jedi  Rem dashed in, waving his burnt hand. [Tenshou] Fabric of consciousness responded.  Fizzle Internal mechanism inside Hex’s arm-cannon clicked out-of-place. Sparks flew as Hex’s contraption-hand malfunctioned and broke. With his fireball permanently banished, Hex’s eyes glowed, firing Orwell-approved optic detonator at Rem. The young knight waved past the twin beams of annihilation. Voices of [Tenshou] connected him to the surrounding, isolating Rem from distraction. Hex’s eyes glowed crimson. Rem’s eyes shone cosmic blue. A gesture sent a pile of gigantic broken wall rocketing at Hex, detonating Hex’s second of optic-blast in his face, blinding his sensor. An object flew over Hex’s head; it was an Uzi. Two-throwing knives slipped from Rem’s sleeves and flung at Hex in quick-motion. Hex’s sensor returned in time to calculate the knives’ trajectory. The Amalgam robotically ran the calculation and concluded those knives would miss. Hex’s crystal eyes glowed crimson for another optic death-ray. Sadly, one gesture from Rem’s roasted finger foretold another fate. The off-trajectory knives righted their courses and flung into Hex’s charging eyes. Rem’s timing was impeccable. Twin supercharged blades cracked the energetic crystal in Hex’s eye-sockets at their critical point. In recipe of catastrophe, Hex’s eyes blew inside his socket. The howl of pain echoed as the abomination dropped to its knee. Rem flipped mid-air and recalled his Uzi with [Tenshou]. In majestic, smooth combat-flow, Rem emptied the magazine of True Magic reinforced bullets mid-flip without missing his beat. Enhanced submachine-gun round rained on the smoking abomination, pecking and scratching its metal skin, wearing the hulking mass into a defensive position. Chamomile barely believed what transpired. The knight was cornering the Abomination. And he did that while missing his dominant hand. … Inside Hex’s mind-controlled brain, alarms flashed. Damage counts crammed the internal server. With vision downed, heavy-weapon sabotaged and under unceasing assault by the enemy, Orwell’s kill program finally hit its peak desperation. Click! Rem landed, dropping his empty magazine. Hex chose that opening for a counter-attacking. The Abomination lifted its remaining hand, unveiling a tube of micro-homing rocket-launchers. “Dammit, Orwell.” Rem cursed, reacting fast with [Tenshou] to crush those micro-rockets before it fire and removing Hex's remaining limb. Clank! Or not. A retractable blade burst from the ruin of his contraption’s arms. Machinery in Hex’s chest whirled, charging with Mana. Rem’s [Clairvoyance] clued him to its gimmick, forcing him dropped the Uzi and drew his revolver. [CROWN: ABOMINABLE] Golden blades of Hex’s Mana erupted from his chest as six curving beams of devastation. Remus Breaker repositioned himself under the serenaded light’s blind spot, evading the devouring lights carving up the quarter’s broken surface, toppling the building and slicing the trench in the earth via rapid vaporization. Hex howled, unable to detect the result of his attack or Rem’s action with his eyes removed. Unable to isolate his target from the midnight darkness, Hex recharged his chest piece for a refiring, but Rem’s preemptive reaction was faster. He drew his revolver and fire thrice. Bang! Bang! Bang! A bullet, filled with grounded Holy Blues, slammed into Hex’s chest piece. A cross of light shone. [Holy Force: Finale Cross] [Holy Force] + [Interfere] round enhanced by [Tenshou] exploded at pointblank. It was Rem’s invention during his three-years training. Hikma and Rem had devised several methods to ease Arcane. Their best method was creating a specialized tool to increase the synchronization-rate of each Arcane by rewiring mental-trigger of a specific series of Arcane to said tool — the project grandly named as Arcana. Rem’s gun was an Arcana created during the three-years mental-world training by Melody. Three hours were spent forging the firearms into reality — a beautiful prep-time well spent. It was 140 RPM hand cannons with matted black grip. The 7 inches length sported revolver mechanism. Heavy barrel-frame — inspired from Desert Eagle handgun — maximized it’s for usage as blunt weapon and heavy-caliber gun. The piston-counterweight embedded within the firing mechanism reduced its recoil, allowing for more consistent firing. Rem received this weapon in less than twenty-four hours, but he wield like an old friend. CHORUS MK1 — A firearm meant to fire Arcane rounds. Weapon built to exploit Rem’s [Future Lock-On] to its fullest. The cross of light detonated, blowing the barrier protecting Hex’s chest in a burst of light. Two more round smashed Hex’s chest-piece apart in a spectacular, brilliant eruption. Three compressed bursts of [Holy Force], each capable of wiping out Amalgam’s platoon, overcame the friction and gravity grounding Hex. Remus Breaker — a mere human — sent a monster design to take out demigods flying. Hex's lumbering mass crashed into a ruin in an eruption of dust and dirt. Chamomile’s jaw dropped. Is Samadi actually winning against that? The Abomination stood as the Man of Steel firing three more shots. Bang! Bang! Bang! The triple burst of light delivered Hex to the sky. Rem’s reloaded the gun telekinetically. Finally, Hex realized the barrage of bullets won’t stop. The almighty being below was playing for keeps. A-rank endurance only delayed the inevitable brutalize shootings from reducing it to a hunk of dust and metal. With its cannon, flamethrowers, rocket-launcher and magical chest-piece crushed beyond recovery, the kill-program decked out on cards. The program was right. Rem carried 40 rounds on his person and 150 more on the backpack beside Chamomile. If six-round cornered it, thirty-six more would be crushing. It only had one option at hand. Orwell Mehest’s programed World Enemy Santura’s gene into Hex’s dying flesh, allowing him to recover and enhancing his compatibility with Amalgam prosthetic. Santura’s flesh also had an ability to stretch at unbelievable length and speed like super-power rubber. Hence, the Abomination fell back on its last weapon, throwing its bladed arm at the Hero of Steel with the force of A-rank strength. Sadly, for Hex, Rem sparred a two-legged dragon and lightning powered elf regularly. In displays of Horizon Dawn’s Ray of Mysterious Cloud, Rem deflected the subsonic arm with a pistol whip. Rem spent three years dealing with Luxinna’s Mach 12 projectiles. Hex must be way faster to land his jab. With serene motion, Rem repurposed the pistol-whip’s momentum to direct the hand-cannon at Hex’s remaining arm-spear, and shot that attack down. Rem spun his gun into a fire-position in poetic rhythm and emptied the CHORUS. BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! Five rounds of Rem’s certified [Holy Force] slammed into the falling, wide-open Abomination, grievously denting its armor and winding it. Unable to wait for Hex to regenerate dragged the fight into an endurance contest, Rem seized the opportunity to finish Hex before he tapped out his stamina. [All Creation] In a burst of Blue, Purple and Violet, a bullet materialized in Rem’s hand. [Purifying Steel Tolemitries Rank: A Ability:  Anti-Evil [SSS] Soul-cleanse [SSS] Info: Tolemitries is a one-of-a-kind purification bullet. It can grant peace to the corrupt, by-pass all magical resistance cast by those acting under malicious evil, and purged them regardless of strength. However, the bullet is only effective against evil.] Rem loaded his miracle bullet, took aim, and pulled the trigger. The bullet birthed from fantasy punched Hex in mid-air. Tolemitries successfully penetrated the flesh exposed in Hex’s dented smart-metal and performed its miracles. Waves of purifying energy ran through Hex’s broken flesh, terminating Orwell’s Amalgam. Kill-program embedded in Hex's brain melted, losing it linked to the suicide bombs implanted in his body. It was a thorough wash. The evil imprisoning Stuart Hex to earthly suffering — from life-support to brainwashing — died in a fire. Stuart Hex the Abomination returned to the Earth as a member of humanity. Greeted by a hero of justice barely hanging to his feet. Chamomile watched from afar in tears at her impossible salvation. Her eyes glued to the unbroken symbol on the back of courage-made-flesh. He arrived and let a monster trashed him for the sake of a stranger. Be a pillar of protection at her weakest. And against all odds, claimed victory against a monster that would trash the royal-mages and royal-knights in that beaten state. Remus Breaker won his battle, proving to the world Right make Might. It appeared Justice prevailed after all. … Stuart Hex  the Abomination Str: 4500 [A] End: 4500 [A] Mag: 5000 [A] Wis: 200 [D] Dex: 2300 [A] Skill Superior Stamina [A] Software Intelligence [A] Swordsmanship [D] Walking Armory [B] Passive Hulking mass [C] Rubber body [B] Steel Plating [B] Mana Reactor [A]

Zenith Lochwain peered at the volunteers. Some were children. Most were adults. Even some women joined in among them. What concerned him was the number. Only 1200 showed up to aid them. Counting the fifty liberators and their original forces, the numbers couldn’t be higher than 1500. Next to him, Santo Ahoy sat. His face scrunched with stress. Orwell outnumbered them hundred-to-one with a higher quality troop. Business taught him grit, but some psychological pressure was insurmountable. They got a humongous problem pressing on them that made Orwell sounded like a joke. That problem was restlessness. The Liberator were trying to keep the volunteer from losing morale and failing. Three days of satisfying egos, soothing rages and keeping with demand for answers took toll on both men. While Rem wrote an explicit instruction for the troop to mingle and familiarize themselves into units, idleness combined with the mysterious no-show leader had sanded the little integrity remained after the first attack. The two men heard the noise. “The fight break out again?” Ahoy sagged. “Bruno is also there,” Lochwain was at the blink of tossing the towel. “At this rate, we will rip ourselves apart before getting to Orwell.” Kakroom! A loud explosion sounded. “What is that?” Ahoy rose, shaken by the roar of destiny. Madam Marmel climbed down the stair. “Our partner returns from their preparation. Can’t you sense it? They are stronger than ever.” … “What the hell are you saying?” “You guys should quiet down?” Bruno tried to stop the fight from breaking out. “I am saying it again? Why the hell do we have to fight alongside a criminal like the Liberator? I can’t trust these people behind my back. They will sell us to the Heavenly Daughter in seconds!” Bruno cringed. Dammit, he already foresaw that bastard smug face, complaining about their lack of foresight. Three days of anxiety squashed him in the middle of the crowd gathering to watch a brawl between an arguing Liberator grunt and an Adventurer’s volunteer. Tension too massive to vent in the recent days exploded into an argument and a potential fight show. “Both of you! Calm the hell down!” Bruno raised his voice. “Shut up, big guys,” a fiery red-head Adventurer shouted. “We are done waiting for your shitty excuses. Where is the guy in charge!? We never got a peep of this Dream-guy. Who know? Maybe you are making him up to trick us into a suicide mission, right? Do you think we are stupid?” Bruno prayed Rem didn’t hear that. “Don’t talk shit about that monster,” a Liberator-girl shivered. “He is real. Too real.” A Liberator snorted at his comrade. The lack of Rem’s presence in the last few days caused of the revolutionaries’ previous bravado to return. “Are you still afraid of that guy? The suit in charge and that aunty Marchioness shut their trap about that guy. He probably runs away already. So much for the fucking promises. Good will my ass. I have enough of these ungrateful pricks.” “What do you say?” The red-head responded to the insult. Marley’s assistant — Sasha — crossed her fingers. Bruno prepared to leap in as the Liberator lost his patience and charged. Kakroom! It happened before they registered a blink. Hollow golden Jasmines synthesized into reality, aiming supernatural polish blades at their throats. More flowers collared the men’s wrists, ankles and waist, pinning them in place. A mysterious woman in ceramic mask and sculpted-glass earpiece hiding her ears touch-downed with the pressure of a Blackhole. “Gentlemen,” Luxinna Latoria rose, calmly addressed the nervous crowds and two brawlers. “May you calm down?” Bruno sweated. It was ludicrous. The boy’s growth in a month was an absurd impossibility. He and many believed it was an unrepeatable feat for a C-ranker to overshadow him in a month. He was wrong. No. Incorrect trend wasn’t the descriptor. The trend went inversely proportional to his common-sense. The boy’s progress wasn’t a unique case but a prototype waiting for optimization. The hulking Liberator now witnessed the fruit of that painstaking research. An elf he dueled two months ago, now dwarfed him in power. Bruno’s gasp quickened as panic set in. At this rate, these monsters would surpass the gods in a year. Forgot Aurorin. At that point, the Seven Continental Alliance stood no chance. Another oppressive aura dropped, forcing some of them to pass-out from terror. A woman appeared, slowly staring down at the two fighters and Luxinna. “Ace,” she tapped the elf’s golden flower, melting it to slag. “No need to get offensive.” “Fine,” the elves dissolved her glass-sculptures, freeing both men from death’s grip. “W-Who are you people?” The red-head turned between the two mysterious strangers. “Think of us as your frontline,” the red-hair demo nodded to the roof. “You seem to be discontent with our lack of communication. Don’t fret, you can bring it to the boss.” Bruno sensed him before he arrived. The world celebrated. Waves of power rippled across the cosmos from a center of reality. The cascading possibility gathered and pulsed, roaring to break the rotten reality and reforged it with a light of dream. Humanity’s will solidified and focused into a living instrument of hope. The aura from the figure stepping into view from the roof was unmistakable. “Hello, compatriot,” the figure leaped from the building and touched the ground. “I am Dream. I am grateful for your aid, and more grateful for your patience. Extensive preparation held me from greeting you. Need not to fear. I am here now.” Rem cocked his head to a side. “Any question or should I start the briefing?” “Yeah,” one particularly gangly baldy said. “Who put you in charge?” The challenger incited the crowd like wrestling champion before the finals. Bruno’s heart sank. The riot was going to breakout. He just felt it. “Okay, man, you appeared from nowhere, made us waited for days, and expected us to obey you! Just who do you think you are?” “If you want to put yourself as a candidate in charge, feel free. Leadership isn’t something a stranger should shoulder. Everyone on earth deserves an opportunity to stand-up for themselves. I will not fight you over the right to bark order. I never want nor need authority. To tell the truth, I detest it.” Rem’s slow statement shocked everyone. A man refusing to defend his authority was an unknown species of the land. His voice loud and resolute to every single warrior gathered on the ground. The will to riot tanked when the target rose above their ambition. Per rule of scarcity, value of leadership dropped the moment it got discarded like tissue paper. “But can you do it? Can you look at everyone’s eyes and promise them to stop Mehest? Will you allow them to implant an explosive inside your heart to prevent you from abandoning them the moment you fail? You don’t trust me? Good judgement, I commend you. Who should they trust then?” The crowd went dead silent. Rem just torpedoed any attempt for anyone to claim leadership. The baldy sweat. He misjudged the situation to seize control by using the chaos. The entity before him operated on alien logic.   “It appears you misunderstood. I am not here to command you. I am here to fight alongside you and organize the counter-attack. It is more efficient that way. Convince other if you can. Now, please move aside I must make a speech.” Rem walked past the stunned man. Crowd parted way like welcoming an uncrowned messiah. No one dare spoke nor shifted. His presence was overwhelming. “Ladies, Gentlemen, sorry for the wait. I know we are a day from the final showdown. Bruno, bring me crate 7A.” Bruno straightened, walked stiffly past the parting crowd, and bought said crate to Rem. “Tomorrow, a signal will fly to the sky. Orwell’s forces will panic. Then something will happen. This event is a signal to Orwell’s desperation. I only request you to wait until our setup is over. My team will handle the catastrophe. If we win, and we will, the signal of hope shall burn the sky for a second time.” Rem popped the crate and pulled out a heavily modded M-16. “When that promise light shines; the time will arrive to retake your home. The Emperor of this nation will never agree with my statement. Frankly, I don’t care. Every soul here is a master of their destiny. You have the right to life. To speak. To be free. To defend yourself and your family. Through time immemorial, rivers of blood flooded in the street and snow to defend those sacred rights. No matter what the Empire declared to the sky. They don’t have an omnipotent wish-granting device to fix your problem, and neither am I. The only thing I will offer is cracks of hope and opportunity. If you desire freedom to life and liberty, take your sacred right to bare arm and act, then march beneath its banner toward your dream.” Rem loaded the rifle. He slowly raised his voice, gauging the crowd’s reaction with each pitch. “I am going to ask you this! Does Orwell have a right to decide you live and die farm animal!?” Silence. “No! he doesn’t. No one does. You, the people, are born free and deserve to be free. Does he have the authority to condemn your legacy!?” “No,” a yell echoed in the crowd. “Of course not!” Rem added the gasoline. “No sacred text or demon god has the justification to stole and destroy your life. Only you decided that. You are free until you surrender to the chain. People said it is better to submit and survive than die free. I answer I can’t believe those fools are stupid enough to risk their life stealing my freedom! Will you let Orwell threaten you into giving up that freedom!? Or will you fight to the bitter end!” “Fight!” A voice yelled, and a chorus followed. “This city is your home. It is your community, your spirit and your resting place. Orwell Mehest might destroy it, but you can rebuild it stronger than ever. Don’t allow anyone to steal it. Individual’s spirit burned brightest when they dare to dream big. The doubter says you cannot take back this city? They said Venistalis is dead? Do you believe the battle is over while you are still live?” “No!”  “Remember your determination and pride! There resides the true God of humanity. Not among the cloud or Olympus, but right there in your faith. Your finest hours are around the corner. Go! Take your future with your hand. Teach the world way our glory life of untainted steel!” The roar was epic. … “Yeah!!!!!” Santo Ahoy lifted an MP5. “For Freedom!” Lochwain and Madam glanced at each other. “He is good. Way better than Emperor Script,” Madam said. “Yeah, we are lucky Tai Hua and him won’t agree on anything,” Lochwain trembled at that possibility. “If those two join forces, we are doomed.” … After spending sixteen hours prepping the troops and readjusting to the situation, Horizon Dawn gathered at the maintenance hatch leading to the sewer. Rem fitted the mask with Cytortia’s edition oxygen rebreather. He stared at the darkness, map grasped tight and plagued by doubt. “Are you sure?” Hikma voiced his concern. “You will be alone down there.” “I must do this, Hikma,” Rem tried to convince himself like he stirred up the crowd. “Only I can do this. Like only you could severe the connection between Orwell and the Primordial. Both of us have the riskiest job that we must succeed alone. No, that isn’t true.” Rem corrected himself, attempting to motivate both him and the boy tasked with an impossible expectation. “We are surrounded by comrade and friends who count on our success,” Rem bravely stomached the darkness like the day he faced the Paracis Corruptor. However, the opposing corner wasn’t the monster from beyond. His enemy was the suffocating loneliness and massive army of terror waiting for him. Throughout history, man feared the dark for good reasons. The unknown terrified him. Rem’s vision allowed him to intercept the monster underneath, but it didn’t relieve himself of doubt. One wrong move and he would die in empty blackness, far from the light of the sun. Rem might overcome the fear of death and failure, but images of loneliness stayed suffocating. Rem looked at the pitch-black sky and the eldritch moon mocking him. Then he remembered the hero who made him. Rem smiled. Clark Kent was afraid of the dark. That was true when he was a kid, but he must hear it with his godlike hearing. The laughter. The chirping of birds. The hope and wish that shone in the sun. Maybe those lights became the sun that propelled the greatest hero from darkness. If his hero could overcome the isolating blackness, why couldn’t he. “Luxinna, Melody, I hope you got this.” “Roger.” “Good luck, Rem.” And Rem dove into utter darkness with nothing but a map and imaginary Superman guiding him. … Orwell opened his eyes. Green lanterns decorated his chamber. The Amalgam he deployed a few days prior already positioned in the location. The treaty declared troops’s withdrawal and ceasefire, but said nothing about movement. With a massive number of Amalgam at the border of Earth-quarter, Orwell was ready to push his troop to retake 4/5 of Venistalis and starved the defender to submission. It was a fool-proof plan. Future Orwell may agree. Sadly, the man they were facing was invincible in strategy. Times Reality Breaker’s plan sank can be counted in both hands. All this misfortune consistently involved ungodly beings above his paygrade or a single woman who made fate itself her simp. Orwell already played the abomination card. Unless Embrace of Heaven herself entered the fray, the attempt to claim strategic victory by Orwell would fall like a flying pig. … In the pitch-black darkness, Rem pried an aging section of the wall. Three years of brainstorming in time shift dreams allowed Rem the time he needed to master the six Arcane he learned — [Flames Whips], [Burn the Witch], [Lightning Python], [Holy Force], [Mentalism] and [Interference]. [Interference] was an Arcane that allowed a person to interfere with an existing system. A highly sophisticated Arcane, Rem needed an entire year in a dream world to reach an utilizable level. Time arrived to make a dull use of his training. Rem—his presence hidden—sneaked into the catacomb, with swarms of patrolling skeleton Amalgam coming around the corner. He closed his eyes and did the unthinkable. He invaded the Amalgam’s mind within his range with [Mentalism]. After having lifeline dropped to two crystal, Orwell Mehest put extreme defenses on both of them with the 100 hours he got. The catacomb under Venistalis was an obvious point. It had more concentration of Amalgam numbering over fifty-thousand, various traps, barriers and few of the most powerful Amalgams Orwell had. Orwell even put his prototype anti-Cytortia's measures duct-taped together in an overtime there. Attacking that position with conventional force was borderline impossible, but Orwell made a mistake. His security had a massive weakness — it is a hive-mind. Rem had fought Orwell’s Amalgams for hours, learning their every move. He used [Mentalism] to observe their mind and discovered this key to victory. Orwell controlled and observed the Amalgam as a network. With [Mentalism] and skills, these networks proved vulnerable to infiltration and subterfuge. It was a surprise attack that won’t sail twice, so Rem bid his card for the most important opportunity. He dove into the Amalgam’s mind, sorting through the jumbling entanglement of the hive-mind and breaching into Orwell’s master control. Rem scoffed. My lord. Orwell didn’t put any defense here. A disappointment after wasting mental-years of practice for a job this easy. From there, Rem saw everything running through Orwell’s intelligence channel, including what slipped past Orwell’s mainframe. The boy frowned. Some sadist just refuse to die. No matter. Luxinna and Melody got the bastard outgunned. Rem progressed as plan and left a surprise package in the network. Reality Breaker opened his eyes and walked to meet the patrol of thirty Amalgam appearing from the corner without blinking. The soulless machine and Rem met eyes and strolled past the others without an inkling of a fight. The Amalgam ignored the obvious intruder and continued with their merry patrol. It was like Rem didn’t exist. Having remove his existence from all the five senses of Orwell Mehest’s hundred thousand strong fighting force, Remus Breaker marched unopposed into his enemy stronghold with Horizon Dawn’s made C4 in his bag-pack. 7 hours until the showdown, and Horizon Dawn was one up in the intelligence department.

Crony N. Newsman strolled through the darkened, wrecked office once belong to his boss. He couldn’t believe his windfall. Orwell Mehest utterly decimated the headquarter of Grand Empire Daily, leaving only a dingy consultation center standing. Thankfully, Grand Empire Daily were multinational conglomerate. Main branch’s destruction hurt their pocket immensely, but situations remained salvageable. Crony even found himself promoted right to the CEO as Orwell Mehest’s army chopped the corporate ladder. Lucky man, he was. Life looked good. Oh, the attack on Venistalis would be the sensation. Crony already imagined Solomek Grandy’s offering to increase propagandas. The sympathy point alone worth the loss of HQ. “I sense your emotion, Mr. Newsman. I find your lack of empathy disturbing.” Crony jerked. Someone was in here. Newsman felt a fog cleared as the voice spoke. A man, clouded by a foggy mist, sat behind a crack and bloody desk. His red visor glinted in the lightless room. Newsman’s animal instinct yelled flee. That mysterious was above his league. He turned around. Creek… The door swung shut before Crony took a step by command of an invisible hand. He spooked. A ghost shutting a door in his face was a new and unwelcome experience. Crony wasn’t afraid of the dark. Hell, their industry thrived by keeping the mass inside manufactured darkness. This was different. This creature observing him felt personal.  “Who are you?” Crony stumbled to the door. No hope. An invisible forced held it shut. “What do you want with me?”  The darkness cocked his head. “I glimpsed your elation in that newsroom, Mr. Newsman. How powerful did you feel? Your voice alone persuade million to believe anything, turning truth to lies with a mere flip of a narrative. You must feel untouchable.” “No, I don’t feel all-powerful,” Newsman refuted. “Mr. Newsman.” the shadow sounded annoyed. “Don’t lie. You enjoy every single second, don’t you? Even Solomek needs the almighty media — the voice of the people. Eh, more like voice of the overlord funding you.” Newsman felt stripped. “Humanity, for all their gifts, seems to lower their IQ in a herd. Convinces 6 of 10, and you flip any murderers into war heroes. Spins a tearjerker and a peaceful protestor transform into a terrorist. Burry the truth with mud of propaganda, and a band of violent killers metamorphose into activists fight for racial equality.” Anger. Newsman sensed. Cold fury so powerful it shook the room vibrated from that man. “Don’t you think those shackles must be removed?” Newsman couldn’t answer honestly without killing himself, but he tried. “The people need a voice.” “You mean the ‘right’ people,” Samadi surmised. “Propaganda and spin. Predictable responses, hence I deem the opposite of lies as truth. You agree, Mr. Newsman. Isn’t it time we mortalized the institution of lies?” An invisible force pinned Newsman to the wall. “W-What are you…” “No need to worry, Crony N. Newsman.” The visor glowed crimson. “I need you alive. You won’t remember this meeting, but from today, you are my pawn to demolish the gatekeeper of information. Time for the attention glutton to diet.” … ‘… Emperor Solomek Grandy expressed his utmost regret and sympathy to citizen of Venistalis who survived Orwell Mehest’s terrorism. This morning the 5 S-rank general of Grand Empire declared Samael Wayward, Orwell Mehest and Arden Christy as public enemy number 1, 2 and 3. I have to express gratitude for the brave royal mages and royal knight fighting for our freedom.’ ‘You are in tears’ ‘Yes, who else do we have to thank for the liberation of our beautiful capital. I can hardly contain my excitement for Captain Chamomile’s promotion. Isn’t she so beautiful?’ ‘Yes, as expect from the hero who saved us all. She did an amazing job to fix Stuart Hex’s alarming oversight.’ ‘You aren’t so fond of the former Captain.’ ‘Sasha, the previous Captains are disasters. Wayward turns traitor and Stuart is a failure. We need a massive restructure. We also need to thank Shyme Enma for her support and cooperation. It is a shame former Vice-Captain Kruger turned down his promotion and resign. I believe he can't take his friend’s betrayal and his failure in the incident.’ ‘You must sympathize with his lost, but to approach Captain Chamomile’s estate to vent his frustration is not gentlemanly.’ ‘Give him time, I believe he will eventually come around’ ‘Sasha, Josh, what about those mysterious rumors? That group of people in mask united the Liberator terrorist and the adventurers volunteer to defeat Orwell’s army. Random sources even claim one of these mystery men dual Orwell Mehest one-on-one and won.’ ‘Erik… that is the most ridiculous rumors. A bunch of no names accomplish the impossible and saved the entire Venistalis only to disappear? Come on, man! Neither the Grand Empire’s representative or our investigative team on the ground confirms their existence. You are falling for the Liberator’s propaganda, my friend.’ … Madam Marmel shut the radio. “Why?” Marmel asked Rem sitting on the sofa across her. “You got Newsman under your thumb. You can spin this any way you want.” Rem shrugged. “I don’t have a right to shape public opinion. No one should. Yes, I can make the news praise me as heroes, but that is a short-term play. What I want is to destroy the media?” “What? Why?” “The power to shape the reality of an impressionable public is irritating. Media is an instrument to keep the regime’s herd enthralled. For humanity's freedom, it must be forever broken, even for us. Let them lies egregiously. Let their falsehood become lethal to their adherent. When the faith in them is broken, people will begin maturing.” Madam Marmel signed. “But we still need a voice.” Rem handed her a piece of paper. “Let me introduce an Earthling’s invention call the internet.” … Melody and Luxinna approached their newest ride. “Damn,” Luxinna groaned. “Why does Scathach got recalled? She should just run after battling Wayward and wait for us to beat Orwell.” Melody groaned. “It would raise too much question now that Cytortia is presumed dead. We know the day must come for Scathach and us to part. She is too loyal to the system we are opposing. In all opinion, she accepting the Seven Continental Alliance’s request to debrief and help them capture Wayward is the best ending.” “But Rem don’t have to return the Black Mercy by mail!” “Agree,” Melody’s face soured. “For the man who has no qualm brain-jacking people, Rem is too moral.” A healthy Cytortia opened the door of a white family-van. The former goddess woke from her coma with a brief weakness, but her recovery was unnatural. “It calls manners! I know this is not as good as the Black Mercy, but our new ride has a bathroom, a workshop and a gym. Pocket dimension ride is expensive and we should be thankful the Madam gifted us one.” “Who is driving?” Cytortia raised her hand. “Me, and her new name is Little Hope.” Luxinna and Mel glanced sourly at each other. … Hikma De Darwin stood outside the Royal Palace. He waited for her. Rem warned he won’t like this meeting, but Hikma must ensure her safety. And came out with her entourage. Princess Velnia looked as dashing as always, but dark rings beneath her eyes spoke of tireless nights crying. Her dress was less gaudy than usual, unsurprising because the invasion didn’t bode well for denizens of wardrobes. The toll of defeat hung over Mercia, weighing her footsteps. Meanwhile, Albert Starlight recovered from the massive trauma of the Capital of the Dead with semblances of pride. The squadron of knights proudly followed them doggedly. There on the ruined Palace’s step, the Paladin of Dawn and the Princess of Starland reunited. “You…” Mercia raised her eye-brows. The boy wore an unfamiliar costume — a black Earthling business suit with a white necktie and a cane. It was Rem’s designate dress-code for a knight in a social gathering fully endorse by the Congress of Hope. Old Grandpa Lochwain happily supplied the uniform which Cytortia gleefully modified to ridiculously combat worthiness. “What with those clothes?” Albert gaped. “Hello, Lord Starling,” Hikma addressed the entourage. “This is a dress-code. An employment benefit from a kind lady mentoring me.” Starling looked at the suit with jealousy. Which job gave a uniform that dashing? “It looks very good on you,” Velnia complimented. “Fucking Gigolo,” Mercia whispered, and the knights snorted. Hikma sighed. “Oh, I wish,” Hikma channeled some of Rem’s suaveness. “My new mistress is quite a taskmaster. This month is horrific. A tough research followed by a critical miscalculation and terrible weather. Two of my friends called sick. Then a mountain of pests nearly overran our office. Nearly darn killed me. My close friend needed to sell her prized asset to buy us funds, but thankfully, we pulled through and even made a killing.” In the distance, Hikma saw several children playing. One boy played a flying knight, waving a cane in combat against a winged mage who wanted the city’s destruction. “Yes.” Hikma wanted to burn that pride into his hippocampus. “The profit is sweet indeed.” “So, you graduate from a relic collector to a banker,” a knight sneered. “Oh, I wish,” Hikma shrugged. “The volume of information our co-leader bought three-days ago will take a week to sort and catalogue. Free time appears scarcely in my occupation, so I pick this moment to ensure my friend is okay.” “You must be so happy,” Mercia sneered. Velnia raised her hand. “Look, Hikma, I am sorry about Mercia…” “It isn’t important,” Hikma tossed the issue aside. “I forgive them. That grudge isn’t worth holding.” Albright blinked. Forgiveness was that easy? Albright wouldn’t need to worry. Hikma holding grudge on Mercia was like blaming water for wetting his hand. It took too much energy with too insignificant pay-off. “But I want to know whether you are okay, Velnia,” Hikma’s voice was gentle. “The experience with Lord Mehest must be hard on you.” Princess Velnia was silent. The world stood still. “Hikma, you are weak, right?” Hikma sighed. “Everyone is weak once, Princess.” The Princess smiled. “What do you think about power?” Power. Hikma recalled his duty. “Power is a dangerous tool. On the wrong hand, it can bring disaster, but…” Velnia got all the confirmation she needed. “I believe so. That why we must keep it from people's reach!” “Let me finish,” Hikma said. “Power is dangerous, but it can be channeled for good.” That triggered Velnia. “How? Hikma, look around us,” she gestured to the ruin. “Power got into Lord Mehest’s mind and he transformed into a monster. How can’t you see it must be regulated? It turns people evil!” Hikma sensed something disastrous bordering the horizon. “Power must be regulated?” “Yes, I just contact grandfather last week and he agreed. We must stop power from getting out of hand! The Seven Continental Alliance already drafts a coalition began increase regulation on magic academy and spell circulation. Hikma, I need your help with this project.” Oh fuck. “You are tightening the Mandatory Recruitment Order!?” Hikma barely contained his horror. “Are you crazy?” “You dare insult the Princess?” Hikma ignored Mercia, utterly terrified at what Velnia might start. “Do you realize the consequence of that action?” “Yes,” Velnia was unshakable. “Without power poisoning everyone's mind, people can come to the table and peace will be achieved” Hikma breathed calmly. “How can people talk when you confiscate their bargaining chip?” “They don’t have to be afraid and they don’t need leverage.” “They will be afraid, Velnia. An almighty regime of the most powerful countries on Phantasia taking power from average citizen who can barely protect themselves. I can’t name anything more terrifying than that.” “They don’t need that poison. They are happier without it.” “How about you?” Hikma spoke. “Don’t you realize an insanity of a monolithic confiscator deciding for the entire population? You said yourself. Power corrupted Mehest. What about you?” For once, doubt crept into Velnia. “Shut up!” Mercia screamed at Hikma. She tried to attack Hikma, but a practitioner of the 2nd Ray was invincible against such sloppy lunges. Hikma redirected her hand in swift shifted. Velnia’s face nearly met the stairs, if not for Hikma grabbing her by the collar. “Clumsy, unprecise, hopelessly open,” Hikma barely believed Mercia’s pitiful display. “Who train you?” “Shut up! Let me go!” “You want to face plant on the tarmac so badly?” Hikma pulled Mercia to safety. “Velnia, removing power doesn’t change human nature. Power only amplifies your influence. Ice-magic never mind-controlled Orwell Mehest to nuke Venistalis. It simply gave Orwell a method to enforce his wrath. People found a path to what they desire. Your effort to remove any little power available will only cause desperation. I know it is terrifying, but accepting chaos is a part of life.” Velnia was in tears. “Why? I don’t get it? I am doing this to protect the powerless! People like you! You should be on my side. Why are you so adamantly against it?” “Because I don’t want to be protected forever,” Hikma replied. “It is the height of condescension to assume everyone but you require absolute babysitting.” “I can’t believe this? You are supposed to be my friend.” “I am your friend, Velnia. And my duty as a friend is stopping you from dooming your people to the slaughterhouse. I can’t and won’t stand for this, Velnia.” Velnia bit her lips in tears. It was then Albright intervened. “You know you spoke against a Princess, right, boy? What can your intervention do against the Seven Continental Alliance?” Hikma’s eyes stared, undeterred. “The last man calling my bluff eloped with lady luck to survive. I have more pressing enemy than a one-third Alliance member, Lord Starling.” “You-“ Ahem! “Velnia, your ride is ready,” Shyme Enma appeared, stopping the heated conversation. Hikma took that opportunity to leave, but the Fox-girl grabbed him by the sleeve. Hikma sighed. “What do you want with me, Mrs. Enma?” “Do you have some time?” … The two sat by the morose Earth-quarter's fountain, watching hopeful street children playing hero. “Do you believe they are real?” Shyme watched the children’s faux capes fluttered. “The mask men who saved this place? Maybe.” “They are,” Enma Shyme confirmed. “One of them save my life.” Said savior nodded at the ignorant girl. “You sound grateful, but isn’t Grand Empire trying to ignore their accomplishment.” Shyme snorted. “Solomek Grandy is an asshole. If I am in charge, I will award them any medal they pick. That helpless coward Velnia is worst. I can’t believe my family doesn’t boot Starland to the trash heap of history yet.” Hikma chuckled at Shyme’s rant. “Power makes people evil? Fucking hilarious. The reason we survive because his powers defeated Mehest. That ungrateful bitch witness that duel and has a nerve to ignore his generosity. That idiotic, immature daughter of a w—” “Wow, wow, calm down. I do not know those mask men mean that much to you. How can you be so angry?” Shyme looked at the sky. “Because he believes I deserve to be saved.” Hikma remained silent. “I will let you in on a secret. I know I am a bad person. People claim I have a lot of friends. But aside from Cytortia and my butler, they are only kissing at Enma’s authority. My parents are secretive. My clan… they are family, but living with them is tough. My only positive are money, [Divine Core] and ability to drive my employees half to death.” Shyme glanced to the floor, demoralized in a rare moment of honesty. “I understand the world will be a happier place without me. Yet, that mysterious man saved me, an Enma, asking nothing in return. He shouldn’t bother, but he somehow believes I am worth it.” “You admire him.” “Yes,” Shyme looked at the sky. “Who wouldn’t? Wherever he is, I want to say… thank you.” Hikma couldn’t help but smile. “Why are you telling me this?” “Because the way you talk to Albright reminds me of him. That is my remaining free time. It has been nice chatting with you. I hope we meet again.” “It is a pleasure meeting you, Shyme” “Me too, Mr…” “Darwin. Hikma De Darwin” "Thank you, Hikma." Shyme Enma took off and faded to the crowd. “Quite pleasant fellow when she drops her vanity,” Rem spoke as he stopped concealing his presence. “My condolences. The break must be hard.” Hikma rose. His eyes quivered, resolving his heart for an inevitable war against his first crush. “I have too.” “I know. The greatest burden we bare is picking between our principle and our desire. The Congress is convening, Hikma. Satholia arranged our new mission.” The hero rose. The boy enamored to a Princess died, cementing the birth of a defender of life. “Where and what?” “The Isle of Knowledge discovered a lab. Familiar bastards want a piece, but our almighty leader declares it is a trap.” “Sound tough. Let go.” The Capital of the Dead was over, but a new battle dawned on the horizon.

Cytortia faced the very embodiment of existential balance, and a singular question surfaced. “Why now? Why do you come here now?” The WORLD sighed. “Lost Divine is not something I can ignore. Arcane is a creation from those whose inspiration grasped the core of the Multiverse’s existence. Its enforcement is conceptually universal. With that kind of power involve, a deal is a deal. Even I am not exempt from it. The Divine Core is a perfection of nature, gifted to the gods. By volunteering to destroy it, you symbolize the realization of imperfection within yourself, and stagnancy of perfection. It is the first stride toward growth to your raw potential and True Magic.” The WORLD shrugged and threw out his arms. “Congratulation, Cytortia Tianshang, you are the second non-Mayaa throughout entire existence to earn my respect. Your request, my child? What is it?” Cytortia had no hesitation. “Give me a power to save them all.” The WORLD sighed. “Kiddo, hard to break it for you, but it is impossible to save them all now. The golden-hour vanish hours ago. Not your fault, mind you. You and Breaker are too harsh on yourself. That Orwell-kid is too much of an opponent for zero-casualties battle.” Satholia blinked. “But you are all-powerful!” “So is Satholia,” WORLD said. “Sure, we are all-powerful—so powerful it makes everything else a joke. But my existence is like a dough. Some power can bend it. Few can act as topping. But tear too hard and the whole things will break. Insanity like time-travel will break my fabric completely. Resurrection of an already dissipated soul act the same way. Those shit might be possible in a lower insignificant speck of a plane, but in Phantasia and other areas with high friction between Malice and Center Force it is downright impossible. Those two forces are a handful to meditate, don’t give them more opportunities.” “Then what can you do?” Satholia yelled out-loud. “Many things,” the WORLD replied. “But I will give you the best — I will point you to the best option.” Cytortia nodded. “Attentive listener? Excellent. I love enthusiastic student. First, your buddy — Breaker — he is your best shot at getting out of this alive. His prediction ability of his will only grow stronger, and you needed that to win your future battles, but don’t depend on it. Remember this. This is very important. Until SHE fixes that guy, avoid forcing him into the frontline. Reality is not ready for that kind of monster.” “She? Satholia?” The WORLD showed his hand, tattooed with silver-white seal. “Not even close, that brat is the only person in the multiverse with complete protection from Center Force’s and Malice’s surveillance. Satholia don’t even know she exists, or else she will already order a recruitment. Even Multiverse Consciousness — the Astral realm or the Astral Consiousness— cannot access her information. She is a VIP.” “Who?” “Restricted information,” the WORLD groaned. “The boy will understand the moment they met. And he will explain when he has no choice, but until his back is against the wall, don’t expect him to confess.” Cytortia’s mouth hung open. “I think this conversation is like… 4th dimension.” “Yes, all of this event will happen. The instant both halves of [All Creation] united is the endgame. The Malice will throw every Primordial your way like a rabid animal the moment they lost two biggest pieces to Satholia. You need to prepare for that eventuality.” The 4th dimensional related migraine started creeping up her brain. “Fine, what must I do to win?” “You are already doing it. Currently, the table is flipping,” the WORLD relaxed. “Your territory is secure.” “That easy?” “Be grateful kid,” the WORLD narrated. “You are lucky your True Magic is the direct antithesis to Orwell Mehest’s entire Ponzi scheme.” “WHAT?” Cytortia jerked up from raw shock and fell down from exhaustion. Still, she couldn’t believe the words from the embodiment of reality itself. “How can my ability fair against Orwell? He creates a zombie army of heaven’s sake!” “No, Orwell extracts the fragment of residual information from the Multiverse Consciousness/Astral Realm and mods them into familiars. This ritual only lend him greater tool to perform that on a massive scale, but the basic of his technique is still vulnerable to your True Magic. Its unnatural aberration versus natural optimization.” Cytortia blinked. “[Sage Force] is an ability to enhance Natural Hierarchy of all things,” she stated. “How did that counter Orwell?” The WORLD smiled. “Yes, that is [Sage Force] most basic ability, but True Magic is unique because of its depth. Think carefully. Do your [Sage Force] converted herb into a man-eating plant? The answer is no. Your True Magic grows a simple grass to reach its maximum conceptual potential. That is the secret of [Sage Force]—your first legend. Satholia herself showed it to you when you first met in Lightwell.” “Lightwell?” “You don’t remember the corrupted waterfall getting purified in a matter of seconds into its purest state? Satholia’s True Magic is ridiculous, but it still requires a pre-existing blueprint. And what she used to defeat the Paracis Corrupter is YOUR power. A Legend you are subconsciously deploying at this very moment.” The WORLD relaxed and told Cytortia the title of her undefeatable territory—a land that never succumbed to corruption or despair. “[Tir Na Saol]—The Land of Life. A sacred territory that reverse all things back to it prime condition under the mixture of temporal and natural manipulation. Under the sacred sky, wounds heal, entropy and corruption reverses, curses and aberrations return to its unmarred form. For someone utilizing modified soul like Orwell, sending troops into [Tir Na Saol] is like throwing them into lava. Orwell Mehest as existence had no power under your Legend.” … In the Wind-quarter, a ring of light emerged from Cytortia’s body. It expanded and steadily engulfed everything in the area. Hikma and Madam were first to bathe in the light — the golden-green light singing songs of vitality and restoration. Fatigues washed away like ink stain meeting detergent. Hikma’s vision cleared and strength gradually filled his empty vessel. His torn and dirty clothes even repaired itself. “Cy,” Hikma gaped at his glowing flesh. “What is this?” … “Help him,” a man yelled. “He is about to die.” “I am sorry,” one nurse in the infirmaries cried. “I have no Mana left.” The make-sift hospital ward the resistance made for themselves was a hell. Injured personal wrapped in bloodied bandage laid prone on the littered ground surrounded by nurses who ran out of Mana age ago. The room was sticky with the miasma of death and the smell of bloods from rows and rows of patients barely hanging to life on first-aid kits and forlorn hope. Then [Tir Na Soal] blessed them. “My Mana…” the nurse couldn’t believe her replenishing power. Her stamina was returning as if time was slowly rewinding. Suddenly, the unconscious man they were treating groaned. To the audience’s surprise, his wound was gradually healing. And it wasn’t just him. In the dispirited wards, bodies moved. Wounded men sat up, watching their wound repaired itself. Several men in critical condition breathed with life. The pain in their body was real and proved that they lived — something that didn’t exist a second ago. “What is happening?” a man muttered as the gentle light healed the cuts and bruise through his body. “Who cares!?” One of the newly recovering soldiers gasped and shouted at the nurses. “Hey, your Mana is being restore, right?” “Y-Yes!” “Then what are you waiting for! Start healing the injures!” The man ran to his sword. “We still need to hold the front-lines!” With despair defeated, hope quickly returned to the infirmary. … In Horizon Dawn’s Black Mercy, two patients wrapped in bandages slept side by side on the same bed. Normally, Cytortia would place them in a separate bed, but it was too much hustle to walk constantly between their individual room during regular monitoring. Both girls bathed under the light of [Tir Na Soal] for sometimes. One of them groaned as her muscled knitted themselves back together. She fought to the pain and opened her eyes, crying with pain all the way through. “Shut up,” another exhausted voice said. “Your moaning is interrupting my sleep.” Luxinna Latoria painfully turned her head to see Melody Solarmaria lying beside her. “Shut up, dairy cow! You are the reason I am stuck here,” Luxinna complained. “Why do you pick a fight with that monster?” Melody tried to snipe back, but the pained from her reassembling arms reduced the snide remark into a yelp of pain. Both would recover briefly. Until then, the knockout duo would continue bonding in that bed. … The light kept expanding into the battlefield. Aleksei Martynov tumbled to the ground. His gun fell from his hand. Skeletons he was fighting took a step closer to finish him. They stretched out their claws, their bony jaw hung open wide to consume every drop of the Russian’s life-force. Then Cytortia’s world enveloped them. In that new battlefield, the skeletons staggered and jittered like their nervous system was getting encroach. Dark shadow floated from their boney frame and dissipating into a white mist. The skeleton swarms shivered before falling into a pile of clean, pristine bone. Aleksi stood up and witnessed the greatest reversal in his lifetime. The enemy’s army was imploding before of them. Bones and skeleton clattered in pieces as the light exorcise the darkness from them. His retreating compatriot were now charging, wounds fell from their body and vitality refilled their limbs. The ragtag army started hacking at the falling the skeleton in an unstoppable vigor. The Mana dehydrated mages screamed with a desire to live as they charged, hurling bombardment spells with their newly recovered Mana. In the distant, the attacking Blood Golem and Earth Constructed started flailing as the Amalgam holding them together slowly converted back into the pure souls. A dozens shelling from the reinvigorated mages quickly brought them down. Martynov gazed in yonder at his charging comrades and felt the warmest of light rejuvenating him. His eyes took notice at the blacken wall and street being purity back to its beautiful state. The building remained in ruin, but the ruin was no longer black with blood and soot—it was glimmering and shinning like the day the builder finished polishing it. Martynov reached down for his gun, checked the magazine and charged with a war cry. Overhead, Hikma flew into battle. His stamina restored. The boy danced in the air and bought the monstrous construct in the distant down with a humongous [Holy Force]. Began, the Horizon Dawn’s grand comeback had. … Shyme Enma woke up in a wreck inside the Fire-quarter. Chamomile sat beside her, traumatized by their battle with Wayward. Shyme quickly piece the event together. Hex must have translocated them to safety at his last moment. “Vice-Captain,” Shyme asked. “Are you okay?” She shook her head. Chamomile was in blinks of tears. Shyme dropped her act. “Listen to me, Chamomile!” Shyme screamed. “Hex is gone! The Royal-knights are dead! You are the only one left! It is your job to remain strong for them! If you cry to the ground and give up like this, Orwell won!” Chamomile punched Shyme in the face. The moves caught her by surprise and sent her tumbling on her behind. Shyme looked at the Royal-knights’ Vice-Captain, stunned at the transgression. Shyme’s beautiful face stung. It was the first time she got punched like that. “DO YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW THAT!” Chamomile screamed. Shyme watched on, overwhelmed at the massive outburst. “CHAMOMILE THIS! CHAMOMILE THAT! DO YOU THINK I AM A SUPERHUMAN! I AM ONLY A VICE-CAPTIAN OF A UNIT OF 300 PEOPLE! DO YOU EXPECT ME TO HOLD THROUGH IN EVERY CRISIS! LOOK AROUND US! THIS IS THE FIRE-QUARTER! THE WATER-QUARTER IS DESTROYED! EARTH-QUARTER IS IN RUIN! ORWELL LIKELY HAD A PALACE BY NOW! I AM SICK OF BABYSITTING YOU SPOIL KIDS! DON’T YOU REALIZE THIS BATTLE IS OVER!?” Shyme sat in a stunned silence. She suddenly realized she was not the only one listening to the outburst of Chamomile. Her massive meltdown had drawn the attention of some straggling force remaining in Fire-quarter. A party of nobles Orwell let out of the Central-palace heard the demoralizing outburst. A familiar one-arm mage who came to investigate the sudden translocation took a decent hit in his fumbling morale with that speech. A teenage girl sobbed at the harsh reality slamming on them. “Vice-Captain Chamomile,” one noble sighed in despair. … Hikma’s communicator hymned to life. “Rem,” Hikma answered. “This is Cytortia’s command before her Lost Divine,” Rem’s voice was stern. “Do you remember the image I show you from my first vision all those months ago?” “Who can’t!?” Hikma yelled, reducing another hoard of undead into ash with a shower of fire. “You pin that thing on the wall and study it for months.” “Good, light up that symbol to the sky,” Rem ordered. “Time finally arrives to announce the symbol of hope to the world. That is our code of arms gifted to us by destiny, Hikma. The banners representing our seven Constitutions. Hoist it high in the sky. Show Orwell and all who suffer that the black-pill will not go unchallenged. Shoot that light higher than our ego as a testament to our impossible ambition. Make sure all gods and men witnesses our declaration of war.” Rem cut off the communication, and Hikma conjured up the [Conceptual Seal] for [Light]. “[Signal]” Hikma let that light rocketed to the heaven and painted a shining symbol in the sky. … Shyme Enma realized the world changed that second. After the breakdown of Chamomile, when the morale of all present finally hit rock bottom, a symbol of hope lighted in the sky. The entirety of defeated survivors of Venistalis witnessed the first-time ever the symbol of Satholia’s agent roared. No one understood its meaning. None knew who raised this banner. Not a single mind expected that one sigil to emerge again. They would soon discover it wasn’t a coincidence or mere happenstance. The shining hope in the sky would appear again and again to bring miracle and justice, striking awe and fear to all holding malice and contempt. A sigil of a figure embracing the sun blazed above the sky of Venistalis. Below it is an expanding emerald of [Tir Na Soal]. The context behind that flare still eluded the straggling survivor, but like children witnessing the firework, it imprinted the image of awe and wonders into them. A scant thought heretical to all commonsense sneaked into their mind. Maybe they could survive, despite the odds. Chamomile looked doubtfully at the light in the sky. She couldn’t afford to believe. Her wish got crushed far too severe to afford hope. As for Shyme, seeing that symbol reminded her of a certain moment she first befriend a shy girl who can’t stop herself from helping others. “Cytortia,” Shyme whispered, sensing her friend in that emerald sphere. “What is happening?” Then she noticed a broken stele in her Storage Ring.

The Dead-End Agreement—known as Horizon Dawn's first peace agreement — was often regarded as the exemplar historic document of the Empire. Historian agreed the document and its legislative influence catalyzed the beginning of handicapping Central Palace’s authoritative power, increasing distrust and decoupling of Grandy family’s influence, cumulating in an apprenticeship of the Grandy Princess under Horizon Dawn’s Knight of Calamity and the Dollmaker of Sol. Orwell signed his signature on three hard copies, and thus the peace agreement worth a thousand words came into effect. While the negotiation ballooned the deal more than the prior agreement, the core massage of ceasefire and mitigating ramification still stood. … Throughout Venistalis, the Amalgam stopped their invasion. Terrified couples, citizens and injured elders watched in fear and wonder as the demonic army reassembled orderly and marched away. Some tried throwing stones at the retreating Amalgam and accomplished nothing. The Adventurer guild watched slack-jaws as the war-machine and blood golem dropped a noble half-elf down and walked out the front gate. They fought tooth and nail to get inside the building with every adventurer fighting a suicide mission to fend off the killing machine. No one expected the Monsters to retreat without a fuss. Similar event happening throughout the city as the Amalgam removed themselves from the strategic location without harming the losing defenders. Orwell followed the contractual demand to withdraw his army in duration of the peace-agreement. … Orwell threw a notebook at Chronicler, who caught in mid-air and tossed it at Andries. “As stipulate on the contract, I withdrew my troops for 100 hours,” Orwell told him. “Now, I hope you stick to yours.” Andries grasped that notebook for dear life. “Find your way to Earth-quarter,” Rem told the nobles. “We will end this in five days. Defeat or Victory. Survival of Death. This conflict’s last curve is around the corner. So, survive, survive to see the eldritch moon fall and the Dawn rise. Avoid the city center. It is where we and Orwell will crash. Chronicler cut the…” “Wait!” It was Kruger. “What deal do you make with Wayward?” “You deserve to know,” Rem admitted. “But I couldn’t risk telling anyone in that uniform.” Kruger clutched his Royal-mages gears. “Explain yourself.” “Kruger, do you think Wayward is the only mole inside the Grand Empire? If you see one roach, assume thirty more hid in the woodwork. We call it sins of organization with employees in double-digit. I know Wayward more than anyone, and trust me, this information worries him enough to force him to wash his hand from Venistalis. If it leaks, the consequence will be unimaginable for the entire Phantasia.” “I won’t tell anyone!” “Not even when your little Princess came to ask you in daddy’s stead? Not even under torture or truth serum? Human have limits. The only preventative measures guarantee to work is avoid piling the sensitive information under microscopes manned by courts with more kangaroos that Australia’s outback.” Orwell blinked. He didn’t understand this euphemism. “But this operate under assumption you operate as a royal-mages,” Rem spoke. “It is one road of the future. Chronicler cut the feed and regroup in Wind-quarter. I need one more major announcement.” … “Miss Ace.” Melody already flew back to the Wind-quarter, leaving Luxinna and Andries for a goodbye. “Are you certain you can beat Orwell?” “Not at all,” the elf replied. “I believe Samadi have a plan, but to be honest, the fight ahead will be brutal.” “So why are you doing this?” Andries wanted to ask that question. “You fight Orwell without asking for reward. You even used your own body to shield a complete stranger. Why do you go that far?” After a period of silence, Luxinna answered. “Because as a kid, nobody went that far when I was abandoned. This world allows so many stupid compromises, it is sickening,” Luxinna recalled the carnage in Millian. “No excuse justifies condemning an innocent little girl to cry alone in the forest. No hero arrives to save me, so I swear to be that knight I never got.” Luxinna gazed at the dark sky. “Righting every wrong is beyond me, but I refuse to see anyone cry without a shoulder to lean on.” Andries stared, stunned at the simple answer. “Just that reason?” “Yes. It is a simple reason, but it is all I need,” Luxinna smiled at the girl, creating a construct around her body. “Evacuate. Reach a safer area with the time Samadi bought. Don’t worry. Everything will be over next week.” And the elf launched herself off with a speed of lightning. … In the Wind-quarter, Rem did one more monumental task with Madam's help. “Everything is up, kiddo,” Zenith Lochwain gestured at the technician on the support desk. “We crack into the city’s announcement system. Now, do your thing.” … Throughout the city, from the Adventurer guild at the blink of collapse to families hiding under tables and parks converted into a makeshift refugee camp, a voice echoed. “To citizen of Venistalis, I will not mince any word. What you about to hear is the complete and utter truth. The garrison force, the royal-mages, and the royal-knights have been decimated. The barrier surrounding the capital separates us from any reinforcement by the Grand Empire. This disaster is the product of Orwell Mehest the 33 Stars. With 3 million death-tolls, many of whom you have the misfortune to witness, and over 100,000 of Amalgams in Mehest’s army laying waste to the capital. I will not give an illusion of confidence. The battle ahead will be brutal.” The citizen responded predictably panic and fear spread through the rank. Then Rem dropped another truth bomb.  “It will be easier to lie to you. I know some of you are panicking. Hell, some already start looting. My advisors told me to soften the blow and concocted a narrative that you can dismiss. But you aren’t sheeps exist as workforce with stat to satisfy. You all — from elderly, to child, to men fighting tooth and nail for their families — are living people. Your life has value and lying to your face will disrespect everything I believe in.” Rem let his massage sank in. “Now that you know the score — fully recognize the precarious situation starring at you in the face — I have a single question. Will you surrender? Will you kneel or fight to the bitter end? True defeat happens when you refuse to keep fighting. I, for one, won’t die quietly and I have faith that many shares such spirit. To those who refuses to betray the flames of hope, I have good news. Orwell is weakened from our clashes and agreed to a temporary ceasefire. The cease-fire will last exactly a 99 hours and 5 minutes from this briefing. Use this period to rest and prepare. Get others to safety and if you have a spirit and ability to fight, come to Wind-quarters within the deadline of 85 hours to join the counter-attack task-force. Win or lose. Death or Survival. This conflict will end the grudge of the Deathless Clan. This isn’t a battle of glory nor honor. It is the battle of progress against stagnation. A fight between citizens who wants to live and an avenger who can’t move on.” Rem finished his closing statement. “I am a stranger to this land. But where I come from, we teach children good always win. It will be a dark 100 hours, but as long 1% chance exists, hope still burn. The sun will dawn again. I can’t promise a victory, but I vow I won’t flee while Orwell massacred million more. For the believer, it is an honor fighting alongside my fellow brothers and sisters. For the doubter, wait and witness the rise of dawn. This is Dream. This won’t be the last you will hear from me.” Rem dropped the call. … “Who is that guy? How did he access the network?” “He is just a hack!” One random adventurer said.  “We should continue fortify ourselves in the guild,” one adventurer declared. “But what if he…” “Who cares?” A receptionist yelled. “That is a rambling of a madman. To think a 33 Stars commits such atrocity right after Tai Hua’s invasion. What is happening to Phantasia?” “It is over!” A random man screamed on the street. “The enemy ranged in 100,000! How can we hope to win!?” … “I told you they will panic,” the Madam read the report with heighten stress. “And you expect me to lie to the people I need to protect,” Rem argued. “How do you expect them to improve their life when you still treat them like manipulatable idiots? Sure, some would panic. But better allow panicking now than the moment we face Orwell’s full might. A measure of integrity is truest under stress. If I lie to a city to prevent mass panic, what stops me from bullshitting to the world. This is a test of integrity and I can’t afford failure.” “Not everyone is strong enough to accept the truth.” “I disagree. Not everyone yet found the strength to confront the truth. You aren’t doing them a favor by wrapping them in foams.” Rem turned his attention to the problem at hand. His three comrades gathered on the rooftop next to Cytortia’s comatose body. They bought a hundred hours. Now, success or failures depend on them. Rem might act like he wielded the pinnacle of faith, but realities of zero volunteers and crushing disappointment remained a lump in his throat. Time to continue their training without Scathach supervision. “So, how do we break Orwell defense,” Melody flinched as Cytortia’s [Tir Na Soal] finished repairing her shoulder. “We break the crystal and bring back to our level,” Rem gazed into the distance. “Don’t expect for that to happen easily. Orwell got two crystal left and he won’t risk getting the World Enemy’s attention by jamming the third one in the Leyline. He is a type who studied from previous failing, expecting the dragon to cheese the carnage is a forlorn hope.” “Okay, depression aside,” Luxinna rose. “What is the plan?” “Lux, I want a dome of glass covering this roof. Madam Marmel, prepared to receive any gift if we got any recruit. I left a note about further instruction. For now, I want 72 hours to prepare with my comrades.” … “We got 100 hours,” Rem narrated. “The plan is to get more time. Hikma links everyone's mind with [Mentalism] and we are using Arcane from Time Palace Tragedy.” “Wait, you want that? Do you realise how impractical that is?” “Yes, a powerful time-manipulation Arcane is downright impossible with our paygrade. But we aren’t doing it in the real world. Pulling this off required a team effort for all of us. Hikma and I will link our minds with [Mentalism]. Here is the plan.” Rem streamed the information to his collaborator’s minds. “Oh, my lord,” Luxinna’s jaw dropped. “Is this even possible?” “Who cares?” Melody jittered with excitement. “Fuck Balperia. Those old fart will never dream this big.” … Horizon Dawn went to work on their grand project. It was a series of combo Arcane’s fest. Hikma De Darwin + Melody Solarmaria Combination: [Anima Enchanting] + [Time Shift] The [Conceptual Seal] for time appeared on the glass dome, augmenting the area with temporal effect. Luxinna Latoria + Remus Breaker + Melody Solarmaria + Hikma De Darwin Combination: [Anima Enchanting] + [Serene Glass] + [Overdrive] + [Mentalism] + [Body augmentation] A circular circuit of glass materialized beneath the five, connecting their minds. And with it, the last combination began. Hikma De Darwin + Remus Breaker + Cytortia Tianshang Combination: [Dream-realm] + [Mental Navigation] + [Tir Na Soal] It was a magical combination that created the impossible. Each participant collapsed in heaps as glass cocoons enveloped them in a capsule of golden glass. [Horizon Dawn: Miracle of Temporal Genesis.] … Horizon Dawn woke up inside a garden world with a familiar faces greeting them. “So, we succeed,” Cytortia proclaimed as her friend got up one-by-one. “Tai Hua would snap if she found out what you just accomplish.” “What is a temporal ratio?” Rem voiced. “Stack me and Luxinna together and we got around 1:450,” Hikma nursed his head. “Sorry guys, that is my limit.” “Impressive, we extend 72 hours to 3.7 years,” Melody stretched and did a quick calculation. “And we even synced our body’s development with our mind to boot.” Rem’s plan shouldn’t work anywhere else. [Anima Enchanting], [Tir Na Soal], [Conceptual Seal], [Serene Glass], [Mental Navigation] — miracle would be impossible without the bond between the five. This singular creation proved power of friendships might than any super-mode. Using the ideal material — [Serene Glass] — as a base, Horizon Dawn enchanted the concept of time-control into the material at the existential-level with [Anima Enchanting]. The process created the ultimate time-manipulating hall, but that alone wasn’t enough to circumvent the space-time continuum. However, it was possible to alter the spell to function in a dream using [Mentalism]. Further uses of [Overdrive] stacked with [Time Shift] expanded its scale. As a finishing grace, Rem also suggested using an Arcane to link the body’s development with their mental selves using Arcane. It was the ultimate bullshit technique than turn 72 hours to 4 years. The user trained inside their dream as their body grew to fit their muscle growth. It was a technique dismissed by Phantasia as a pipe dream, since mental manipulation on oneself was a relatively unconventional technique. Even then, the mental scarring from using such accelerant rendered this technique impossible except for suicide unit. But one True Magic annihilated that impossibility: [Tir Na Soal] It was the barrier that restored everything to their prime conceptual state. [Tir Na Soal] rendered all cerebal scarring negligible and achieved biological impossibility of supplying the body with nutrient using recycled body-waste and energy from the universe.  Time would tell how Nu Wa and the Heavenly Daughters reacted once they learned the useless bum’s True Magic was an enabler of various world-breaking shenanigans. Cytortia wasn’t a pacifist because of weakness, but because she contained such unfair support potential, the universe nerfed her offense to zero. With the accomplishment of facilitating an impossible training magic at the tender age of 16, Cytortia Tianshang earned her right to brag she traded her [Divine Core] and quit the 33 Stars to give the junior gods an actual fighting chance. … Orwell didn’t realize he lost the battle-potential contest. No, he stood alone in his headquarter, preparing against the opponent who would soon eclipse his base strength in few hours. He gazed on a hulking body behind a black crystal. Behind him was an ice-block that was  biologically growing automatically. He glanced at the backboard behind him, detailing a blueprint of a humongous reptilian lords of human creation. Orwell smirked. With unlimited resource on his side, the battle’s result was inevitable. No method existed for four broke hero and a useless goddess in a garage to exceed his tailor-made counter for them with scrap metals. Orwell tried to calm down. Samadi was resourceful. He would likely send the elf or the demoness to handle him. Orwell needed a further propped his preparation against those two monsters. That was Orwell Mehest’s believes at the night of his supposed victory. Future Orwell often reminiscent this day, wishing he discovered time-travel to rewind back to this moment to hit his younger-self in the head. It was embarrassing to see himself answered every question wrong. Yes, Orwell’s preparation was good, but on the scale of threat-level, Chronicler of Arcane ranked above Knight of Glass and Dragon of Creation. Only three individuals reached his legendary flexibility in light-show flinging contest — Reality Breaker, Wolf of Snowcastle, and Embrace of Heaven. Given that the Wolf was still in her egotistical youth, Embrace still drowned in her one-woman crusade and Reality nerfed to the floor, no being — not even the gods — boasted greater magical potential than the Chronicler at this date. Orwell resumed his tinkering, not perceiving the desperate duel approaching his door.

The ending of Capital of the Dead bought many consequences for Phantasia — decline of Grand Empire’s influence, the Adamakles System, seeds of Genolorde Program, loss of faith in the Seven Continental Alliance and the Mandatory Recruitment Order. All of which exploded in consecutive global escalations that thankfully ended when Horizon Dawn emerged from the shadow to restore peace and order. Sadly, the story of how the almighty, all-beautiful Knight of Glass broke the wall separating reality and slap that cocky bitch — Primordial Universal — in hyperluminal beating before shooting down extinction-level meteor would be a story for another book (Knights of Tomorrow, by yours truly). The current narration was about Trimegal. Trimegal’s greatest legacy was its defeat. But such was a testament to raw-potential exhibit by the Knight of Glass and Dragon of Creation, thus providing more blatant evidences to the suicidal incompetency of the five generals and Emperor Solomek Grandy in downplaying their accomplishment. Height approaching 165 meters, Trimegal’s construction method was a mystery. As a witness to its first and final battle, I found it unbelievable Orwell built such golem under a week. Although, its more fitting description is synthetic dragon. The mech is a three-headed dragon sporting two-pairs of wings powered by Space Amalgam spell-craft. Each three heads came equipped with different weapons: left; wind, mid; pollution, right; lightning. Custom ice-composite armor-plating specifically designd to receive and regenerate from trauma acted as Trimegal’s scale — providing it with massive defense and low-temperature aura. Its flesh — a theoretical insight into Trimegal’s construction — revealed to be a biological mass woven with genetically alter flesh of World Enemy Sol Grandy. Trimegal’s brute strength — lend from its size and mass — easily surpassed that a full-grown A-rank dragon. It armors withstood the combine barrages of [Assault Flora] and [Radioactive Fire] from Knight of Glass and Dragon of Creation during their youth. Its breath easily destroyed building block by force, not counting various side-effects. Further dissection also revealed Mana disrupting field radiating from Trimegal, which was devastating to convention Phantasian mage (but not HD’s knights).  Among its weapons, Trimegal’s flesh — the seedbed of Genolorde Program — proved the greatest obstacle in its destruction. Orwell Mehest successfully dissected Sol Grandy’s biological tissue and created a substitute cell lace with Amalgam from his own biological material. He effectively removed the tissue vulnerability to radiation by uploading the original blueprint to the Spiritium Crystal acting as Trimegal’s heart and power source. Aside from Mana storage, the cell was capable of Sol Grandy’s corrosion ray emission, regeneration, minion creation and transformation. These tissues also gave Trimegal additional ability to use Ice-attribute spells on a massive scale. Analysis of this tissue eventually led to a desperate joint project between the weakening Grand Empire and the Isle of Knowledge (led by former director El Acerbia) to produce super-soldiers with artificial Inherit Skill with World Enemy’s flesh — namely the Genolorde Program. == Excerpt from Duchess Andries Sellovett, Horizon Era Historical == … The Trimegal roared, releasing shock-wave of force rippling across the sky. Melody and Luxinna braced themselves against the three-headed dragon of Ice and Cthulhu-approved organic matters. The dragon towered over the sky, dwarfing the girl-team. With fierce glared from three pairs of eyes, the degraded soul of Sol Grandy reacted predictably upon recalling two familiar faces. “DIIIIEEE!!!” What a charming lad. The three heads unleashed their breath. Luxinna tanked the lightning torrent. Melody dodged the wind-funnel tilling the earth and met the mist of pressurize pollutant with [Radioactive Fire]. The elf leaped into the sky, activating her [Glass Weaving (A)] at full-throttle. Thirty-five jasmines emerged from emptiness, and the elf floored the trigger like she owned the casino. “[Flower of Victory: Discharge Round],” Luxinna slashed [Historia] in an orchestral swoop. “Volley fire! Blanket Annihilation!” Various aerodynamic blades launched from [Assault Flora] at Mach 12, peppering Trimegal in artillery explosion of force and lightning. The three-headed dragon lurched to one side after eating the total output of 315 explosives rounds-per-second. Luxinna’s initial barrages would turn average wyvern into a smeared, but not Trimegal. The dragon tanked the hell-shower with gusto. Its ice armor slowly adapting to the raw destructive energy, dispensing protective ice-mast as it reformed. Luxinna frowned. Her blades were freezing before the impact, blunting her DPS significantly. “Stop it, tree-hugger,” Melody hovered beside Luxinna in her Draconic forms. “That thing is adapting to your attack. I will handle this.” “DIIEEE!!” “Just shut up!” Melody molded her [Radioactive Fire] into a giant sphere 10 meters wide and threw the giant fireball at the three-headed dragon. Trimegal grunted beneath the heat and radiation. Ice-armor melted. Red-fleshed charred with orange grotesque boils. The artificial dragon roared, two pairs of wings behind it black glowed with Mana. Space rippled under the wing spell-craft, sending a wave of spatial fluctuation which dispelled the flames and knocked the belligerent gal-team from the sky. “Space spells,” Melody readjusted her bearing. “Great. That thing got three flavors of breath weapons, spatial defense, high-grade armor and regeneration. What next?” “DIIIEEE!!!” What an impressive vocabulary worthy. Trimegal’s six-eyes glowed with crimson light, shooting six-corroding beam that barely missed the duo as they plowed through a section of the Fire-quarters. 100-meter curtain of devastating energy erupted like Volcano following the optic blast that tempted Scott Summers into a lawsuit. Thankfully, the Fire-quarter was a dead-zone. If such attack reached Earth-quarter, the death-toll would be horrific. “A mother-fucking laser beam,” Luxinna’s jaw dropped. “That is just unfair.” Pieces of crimson fresh pried themselves from Trimegal and reformed into crimsons wyvern with ice-armor. Meanwhile, the orange boils on its body shrank as auto-regeneration activated. “Minions?” Luxinna complained in a fit of jealousy. “Why can’t we have minion? I want minion! Hey, Mel, help me tablet a minion request the next congress conference!” “It is Melody, not Mel,” The demoness scanned Trimegal with [Heavenly Eye]. “The crystal is inside its chest. With its protection, we must decommission this junk to destroy the crystal. It’s only a humongous scrap with six laser-beams, three breath weapons, a bunch of minions and space-barrier. We can trash it in a minute.” Magic circles appeared on Trimegal’s hand as it unleashed [Snowstorm]. [Snowstorm] might only rank around mid-tier in spell’s totem-pole, but spells cast by giant mechanical dragon backed by an entire Leyline was nothing to laugh at. Blizzard engulfed the area, burying the elf and demon in mini-Antarctica. “Ice-attribute spells?” Melody guffawed as snow raged on. “How did Orwell give elemental attribute to artificial dragon?” “Wonderful,” Luxinna laughed darkly. Overloaded enemy never bothered her anyway. “Don’t let it go to your brain, Orwell. A stack move set won’t stop us from turning your dragon into ice-castle.”  Frozen the battled field was, the two Princesses let it go in a spectacular musical of violence … Horizon Dawn’s version of Frozen would sadly need to hold for a few chapters. In this episode of Venistalis’ Celebrity, we bought you the Foxy of Divine Clan VS Next Age Human. Shyme’s entry was dynamic. [Burning War: Ignition Slice] She swung at Orwell with red-hot halberd. Orange light flickered and air-shimmered as sharpened flames carved streets and ruins into flying slabs of hot-rock. Most impressive. Darth Vader approved with solid +10. “Lady Enma? How?” Princess Velnia scored -5 on uptake per usual. “Get the hell out of here, Velnia,” Shyme yelled, trying to shove her halberd into Orwell Mehest’s brain. “I will kill this bastard. Your first crush be damned!” +15 from heartbreak, Sheeve was fetching his popcorn. Despite Shyme’s proclamation, Orwell wasn’t dead. He stopped Shyme’s halberd with his bare hand. Bare hand coated with spectral Amalgam’s energy to be specific. Solid +10, bare-hand blade-block was a staple villain’s tradition famously advertised by Aisen-sama. “Yo, Shyme, I recommend you take your incest fetish and go home,” Orwell pressed her button. “You should realize how outclass you are, uncle-con.” Shyme turned beet-red. Brutal. +100 on psychological attack. Severus! Played Despacito. “SHUT UP!” Shyme swung her leg down in a kick. [Enma Style: Divine Stung] With a spectral image of a fox coating her limb, Shyme brough her leg crashing on Orwell’s shoulder. The fox’s head slammed into purple armor in a clash of energy. Ground caved beneath their collision, sending rock and debris flying. Mercia and Starlight hurried from the brawl with Princess Velnia in their arms, screaming like they saw Dracula naked. Velnia coughed, thick smokes from mortal combat fared badly for her delicate lungs. Beside her, Mercia’s eyes widened. The knight grasped the Princess’s head and dove, barely evading Shyme Enma’s flying body. +30, gentlemen must respect spirit Shyme bounced across the floor, shattering the rock with every collision, before rolling to her feet and launched herself to attack. [Burning War: Infernal Chakram] Multitude of fire rings cut toward Orwell. “Copying Chuang of all people?” Orwell created a wall of ice, nullifying the attack in an explosion of steam and ice. “Do you learn from last time?” Shyme ignored Orwell’s taunting and pressed ahead full steam. [Enma Style: Dragon Dance] Purple aura coated Shyme’s body. Her footsteps lightened. Her speed increased. Enma’s clan collected many techniques in its history, but [Dragon Dance] placed as the best body-steroid. As Mana-channeling technique that repeatedly increased the user speed, magic power and strength with time.  [Dragon Dance] may not pay in spectacle, but it belongs in Gyarados’s move-set for many good reasons. Ash Ketchum deposited +60. Orwell surrendered some ground to Shyme and cast a spell. “[Ice Create: Ice Wall]” A thick icy wall shot from the ground separating the two. Unfazed, Shyme buried her palm into the ice. Her red-hot armor melted into the wall like lava. She gritted her teeth, triggered her ability and launching a torching beam of fire that detonated its target upon collision. An entire block lit aflame, but spectacle didn’t change the fact she missed. +20 for effort. Shyme’s pupil shifted to the left, seeing Orwell pointing his index finger in her face. “[Ice Create: Cold Sentence]” Orwell’s fingertip shone. Blue ray of cold Mana engulfed the fox-girl and sizable chunks of land behind her. Shyme tanked the attack, grabbing Orwell by his arm. “Got you,” Shyme red-hot armor slowly evaporated the frost. Unamused Orwell flicked his finger and Shyme suddenly blasted backward. Nagato Uzumaki returned with a placard. +45. Almighty Push never got old. “Burning War's Maridupoa Armor-set,” Orwell commented. “An enhancement-gear that amplifies fire-spell and store heat energy. It effectively magnifies your fire-resistance and gave you ice-immunity. Only thirty of those were forged from Armes’ Maridupoa hunt. Guess rumors of Enma Clan destroying Burning Warrior Church’s remnant are true.” Shyme didn’t bat an eye. “They start first.” Orwell chuckled and shook his head in disappointment. “How can a woman with your intellect turn so blind,” frost spread from Orwell’s feet. “Guess, even mass-murderer can repay the community. After our bout, Phantasia will suffer one less Enma. Samadi might even thank me for removing garbage in his stead.” Harvey Dent phoned in. He tipped Orwell with a +25. [Orwell’s Original: Arctic’s Circle Familiar Summoning] Ice portal grew behind Orwell, unleashing a hose of green flames. [Deathless Amalgam: Mana Igniter] “Same trick won’t work twice!” Shyme barged through the flames. Her ring and necklace glittered, erecting a glowing film of light, blocking the green Amalgam. Shyme slashed with her glowing halberd, igniting waves of fire engulfing Orwell and the street behind him. The flames burnt brightly before one man’s frost snuffed it out. “Holy Church’s anti-curse set; an S-grade at that,” Orwell tried and failed to suppress his boredom. “Is that your best preparation? Stolen Maridupoa Armor to stop my ice? Holy Church’s accessory to prevent my Amalgam from cursing your Mana? Enma’s Dragon Ash Halberd for added fire-amplification, stored A-rank fire-spell and Magic defense-penetration. Disappointing, Enma, I can’t express how much you disappointed. Are you stupid enough to believe changing gear guarantee a win?” Shyme grunted, spinning her fiery Halbert into an attack stance. “No, but this will.” [Inherited Skill: Divine Beast Raiment] Raw Mana circulated around Shyme. Pale lilac mist lighted her hands and feet like fur-cuffs woven from Mana. Shyme black-hair glowed with lilac light as her fox-ears burned in a fire of similar shade. Fur of Mana draped on her collar, stretching in arrow-shape to her abdomen and tail-bone. Shyme went Super Saiyan! Vegeta lauded her +200!  “[Divine Beast Raiment],” Orwell barely lifted his eyelids. “Enma’s clan super-mode for doubling your stat at a price. Are you that desperate to beat me?” Shyme didn’t waste time to answer. The clocked was ticking. She got a minute to end Orwell with her power-level of 21000, surpassing even the Queen of 33 Stars — Tai Hua Tianshang. She shot toward Orwell’s Mehest at full-power. Orwell waited patiently for Shyme’s subsonic velocity flaming tackle to arrive. “[Enma Style: Divine Fox Swallow World]!” Shyme transformed into a face of a flaming fox twice the size of a house, chomping the jaw large enough to eat a school bus in a gulp. Naruto’s forgettable classmate approved +100 to Shyme’s bank. Orwell didn’t even bother raising a second ice-wall. He let Shyme’s 1500-Celsius flames swallowed him and punted the fox-girl in her stomach with one sharp kick. Miss Enma received Orwell’s counter-attack mid-attempting to halve him vertically, and disappeared in the direction she came, skidding across the broken ground like pebbles hopping over the river. Silence from the judge. Holy shit. Aisen lifted a placard! +300 for worf-effect! Shyme rolled to the finish-line without her halberd. Being a gentleman, Orwell returned her weapon in a single throw. The 2 meters blade-on-stick struck the earth hair-breath from the fox-girl’s perfect nose. Shyme didn’t protest. Enma clan’s young mistress already occupied herself with vomiting her breakfast. “How?” Shyme gasped after recovering from the gross reunion with her salad. “Surprise?” Orwell loftily narrated, unharmed by the lingering inferno. Purple ghostly armor emerged over him, shielding Orwell from the flames as he stalked to crush the girl with double his stats. “You look down at human, thinking we are lesser without [Divine Core] or [Inherited Skill]. First, Wayward. Then me and Samadi. Do you love being humiliated by mere human that much?” Escanor decided his reward — solid +450. The Lion sin is generous. “My grandfather may die before my birth, but his inheritance is eternal. Human might be the weakest species on this shitty hell-scape, but that weakness — the admittance we know nothing— taught us true strength. We learned curiosity and inventiveness, creating tool to better ourselves. My grandfather lived, wishing mankind can stand proud among the star. The Grand Empire may snuff his life, but mankind inherits his gift.” A ghostly imaged of a six-arms skeleton hardened behind Orwell. “Behold! My Adamakles! My Glory of Man! Dreamed by my Great-Grandfather. Progressed under my Grandfather! Protected by my Parents. Breakthrough by Samael Wayward! Completed by me! Shyme Enma, be thankful you witnessed this fruit of mankind’s perseverance. An evolution of magical-system surpassing spell-crafting and cultivation technique!” … —Score— Velnia: -5 — Dismal Shyme: +405 — Badass Orwell: + 960 — Savage … Near the Central Palace, Vice-Captain Chamomile Elragorn staggered away, fleeing from rows of collapsing houses. Her right arm hung uselessly, while her left arm gripped her sword. However, her eyes lost their fighting-spirit mere minute into the battle. A shadow darkened the ground beneath her, forcing her to scamper away from the humongous pieces of a house crash-landing at terminal velocity. Chamomile crawled on fours like a scared puppy. The Vice-Captain luckily glanced back, barely blocking the beam of energy with her sword coated in yellow Qi. Still, momentum was a smug asshole who didn’t mind digging a spanking new trench with Chamomile’s body. Chamomile’s blade broke from its hilt as she knelt to the monster in a mixture of begging and exhaustion. “Please,” She cried. “Captain Hex, please come back to your sense?” The monster — Stuart Hex — roared.

Cytortia frowned. She silently thanked her experience with the Sicilian Ghost Dragon. Months of trying to utilize that sample was a chore. But that task did hone her ability to separate solutions into different phases. She also adapted a method similar to Earth’s centrifuge, adding centripetal force to her set-up to speed the process. Finally, they got the separated component of the shattered Ghost Detecting Crystal. “We will assume the crush Angel Tear Stone is not important,” Rem looked at the processed sample. “That left two parts in the broken crystal: black and red.” “Red is an unreacted Ghost Detecting Crystal,” Melody concluded from her observation with [Heavenly Eyes]. “But the black phase, it hurt my eyes.” “What is it?” Luxinna asked, worriedly nursing her hot chocolate. “The Mana signatures are weird even for ghosts,” replied the demoness. “It is like someone replaced the spirit with raw bloodlust.” Upon hearing that, Hikma consulted the translated ritual. One chapter detailed a method to reprogram the dead with spell-formula design to create an artificial soul with Mana and bloodlust. Something inside the boy crawled. His very link to the Astral Consciousness flagged up with alarms. “That coincides with the use of undead,” Rem marked the spot Luxinna found the reaction. “I assume this is the place they began the first five sacrifices.” Rem’s word suddenly reminded Scathach of something she almost forgot. “Kiddo, I don’t know if this is the best time to tell you,” Scathach nervously said. “But Venistalis is built on top of a massive catacomb.” That bombshell got attention from everyone. “Can you please repeat that?” Luxinna said. “Venistalis is built on top of a massive underground mausoleum. It is there ever since the arrival of the Grand Empire. There must be at least ten-million corpses down there.” Everyone groaned. “Great,” Melody said. “Our enemies have an unlimited number of shock troop to throw our way.” “Not if we stop the ritual first,” Rem bit on his nail. “The sad thing is we do not have the resource to create another Ghost Detecting Crystal. All of this means we need to do this the hard way. I want to know about these serial murders and the royal-mages. We are closing in on our culprit. Cy, if worse come to worse, we need to find a way to kill these things effectively. Can you handle that?” Cytortia licked her lips. Seeing that, Melody and Luxinna glanced at each other with fright. Oh god, were they looking at the return of Anarchist Pill Goddess? “No problem,” Cytortia suddenly acted all jittery. “I already have several theories. It will be awesome.” The demoness’ and the elf’s heart sank. … Up the high-rise garden of Water-quarter hosted the party of Duke Lamington. The structure loomed over Venistalis like a Pheonix proudly perching above the mass of ants.  The grand crystal column supported several islands of polish granites suspended by spells and the Grand Empire’s metalwork. A bridge of gold and granite linked the island platform together as they climbed to the highest point of Venistalis. On the 5th platform, featuring the banquet, Shyme Enma and Lancaster Waiter was waiting for the group to arrive. Waiter was in his usual butler uniform, while Shyme wore a sparkling blue evening gown embroiled with a tiger-face encircled by a heavenly dragon--the symbol of Enma clan. “Are you sure they will come, Miss?” Waiter asked. “I am,” Shyme said. “That man isn’t the type who wastes an opportunity.” Then they saw the duo heading their way. Rem came to the party in an emasculate suit, bold red tie, and a black mask. Cytortia arrived in a green sundress with yellow embroidery. She even braided her hair, especially for this occasion. “You finally arrive,” Shyme said. “Yes,” Rem greeted and handed her a black folder. “What is this?” Shyme said, looking at the folder as if it might explode. “The translation to your missing property,” Rem dangled the file in front of her. “I believe in trading favors. You scratch my back, and I scratch yours. Don’t you want it?” Shyme looked incredulous. “Are you claiming you succeed where Enma clan failed in such a short time?” Shyme glared at Rem. “You are acting too familiar with me, mortal?” Rem sighed and-- in a move the sent Shyme into a mild panic--retracted the file. Rem glanced at Cytortia and procured a lighter. Cytortia looked like she was holding back tears as she nodded. “What are you doing?” Shyme asked. “Burning it,” Rem said liked it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Your book is goddamn dangerous. The only reason I am handing it back is that Cytortia wants you to have it. Do you know how hard our egg-heads worked on this paper? The goddess here had to run around over time with a tray of drink for days. The book is two-hundred pages long, you know? I know you are mean, but is it fine to look down on your friend’s hard work this badly?” Rem set the file on fire much to Shyme’s fright. Then a tear from Cytortia brought her back to reality. “Why are you burning it then!?” “Information worth more than lives in wartime,” Rem said, gesturing at Cytortia. “Are you fine?” “No problem,” Cytortia watched as her friends’ effort went up in smoke. She looked like she was about to cry. Shyme lost it. The young girl snatched the burning folder from Rem, scrambled to the nearest waiter handing out drink, grabbed a glass of white wine, and doused it on the envelope in a blind panic. Shyme ignored all the gapes and stares from the surrounding guest and huffed like she just ran a marathon as she opened the folder to find one line of text. Come to Lovely Coffee Shop Earth-quarter 36 hours after receiving this. Please, remain calm next time. Cytortia sneaked a glance at the text and craned her neck at Rem. “You never told me you are playing pranks?” “Cy, you have awful Pokerface,” Rem explained. “And I am not lying. The file does contain the location I am planning to give her the document.” Shyme exploded into a string of curses. The surrounding guests looked at such spectacles in wonder and disbelief. None of them could believe what they were hearing. Did someone dare to piss off the Enma clan’s 33 Stars? But the daring part wasn’t shocking for most. It was the fact he succeeded that was flabbergasting. Clap! Clap! Clap! “Bravo, to think I live to see the day I see Xerset’s little girl finally acting her age,” a plump woman in silk ballgown started clapping after she witnessed the entire routine from afar. “Your panic face is adorable, dear. You certainly take that from your mother.” Shyme turned attention toward the older woman. Her mouth opened and closed as she struggled to form words. Beside her, Lancaster Waiter bowed down respectfully. “Madam Marmel,” Waiter greeted the plump woman who looked around forty. “It is Madam, dear Lancaster,” the Madam chastened Waiter. “Still taking care of a spoilt brat, I see. Did she give you any hard time?” “None of your business!” Shyme roared. “What are you doing here, Madam!” “Oh, you can call me Aunty Marmel, cheeky brat,” Marmel smiled, replying with a grandmotherly voice and showing Shyme a basket of cookies. “Xerset’s child is like my flesh and blood after what we have been through together. Here I baked you some cookies, Shrine-fox.” “Don’t call me that!” Shyme turned bright red. All her graceful composure evaporated. “Only da- father can call me that!” “Oh, someone is still crushing hard on her daddy.” Shyme looked like she was about to explode. Rem walked toward the Madam and studied at the cookies. “Cy, are they poisoned?” The Madam looked offended. “Poisoning cookies?” the plump lady voiced her disapproval. “Boy, only a brute would poison good food.” “Those cookies are perfectly safe, Lord Evil,” Cytortia agreed as she eyed Rem. (AKA the true believer of cheating)  “Thank you,” Rem said. “Can I have one?” “No!” Shyme answered out of frustration. “Go ahead, young one,” the Madam ignored the fox-girl. “Foods are meant to be eaten together. It was what my old mother used to teach me.” Rem’s fingers flinched for a second before he reached for a cookie and took a bite. “Thank you,” Rem nodded depressively. “It is a very delicious cookie.” Shyme and Cytortia looked at Rem strangely. Right now, the ruthless mastermind who plotted to stop the 33 Stars and the warrior who held his own against elite assassins disappeared, standing in his place was a boy who never experience a familial warmth. The Madam gazed understandingly at the boy and sighed. “You look like you are shouldering some heavy burden for a long time,” the Madam spoke. “Take this advice from an old woman: it won’t hurt to lie down and rest. You are still a young boy, and part of being young is about enjoying life.” “I know.” The Madam’s gaze sharpened. “Oh dear, a pretty intense workaholic here,” the Madam said. “I am arranging a dinner next week. I am asking you to join in.” Rem knew that wasn’t a request. Strange, he never knew this feeling. “Yeah, I will be there,” Rem said without thinking about it much. “How shameless, baiting kids to do your dirty work again?” Shyme said.  “Oh my, your father still refused to teach you about basic human qualities,” the Madam tiredly answered. “Do you believe everyone in the world needs an ulterior motive?” “Not everyone,” Shyme admitted. “But nobility like us? Certainly. Your action puzzles me to end, Madam. What is the point of trying to court the weakling?” “Now, you sound like a true Enma,” the Madam chided. “Take this from your elders; you don’t want to follow your clan expectations. Blind loyalty to your clan will only walk you toward ignorance and misery.” Shyme sneered. “Of course, you will say that!” Shyme Enma retorted. “Enma Enterprise has been your competitor for ages. You are mad that you are losing. I have no idea what dirty trick you are using, Madam. But we both know your industry shouldn’t last this long much less be on the same level as my father.” “Quite a proud one, aren’t you?” the Madam clicked her tongue. “The men you sent to snoop around my businesses tell a different story. You believed fifteen exhausted men have a chance when even your daddy fail? Speaking of which, I must voice my disappointment. The spies you rotated in a week ago looked scare out of their mind, and the pros you moved out were on their last leg. You should treat your employees like people, not machines. Moreover, I recommend you drop out of the so-called 33 Stars. Empty title with a high burden and no benefit like that won’t save you and yours in the long run.” The word hit Cytortia pretty hard, but Shyme was more outrage on multiple fronts. “That is impossible,” Shyme murmured. “Why don’t you do anything about my spies, if you already know I am sending them?” “I could, but what would you do with the newbies once they come back to report their failure?” Shyme couldn’t answer that blow. Then the group noticed several people in blue-robe walking toward them. “Greetings, Marchioness Marmel, Princess Shyme Enma,” said a pale man with red-hair. “And Princess Cytortia is here as well.” Then, he finally noticed Rem. “Strange, I never expect Princess Cytortia to bring an escort here. I must ask who might you be?” “I am a man of many names,” Rem said. “But tonight, you can call me Hal Jordan.” Shyme twitched, while the Madam looked amused. “Well, our Emerald Knight sure loves his dramas,” the Madam winked at Rem. “But let us focus with the current guest. What brings the Captain of the royal-mages here? Shouldn’t you be dealing with the serial-murders?” Rem and Cytortia perked up. The Captain sighed toward the Madam. “I need to ask what serial-murders you are talking about?” the Captain replied. “I have to say I am worried, lord Wayward,” the Madam replied, her grandmotherly voice suddenly turned steely. “Not that I expect much from the bureaucratic body, but my ears on the ground are panicking. People disappearing every day in the Earth, and Water-quarter are found in the ditch next morning as a charred corpse. I don’t know how you think, but serial-murderer running loose in the capital isn’t good for my business, lord Wayward.” A red-hair, tanned, royal-mage with a winged tattoo around his right eye gritted his teeth. The man looked like he should be in a gang over being a mage. “Are you underestimate us, grandma?” said the tattooed mage. “We are the royal-mage. Civilian’s case isn't in our jurisdiction.” Madam nodded. “True, but you must also realize the reason the Civilian’s division is getting their hands full is that your boss Wayward is diverting their budget into the royal-knight and royal-mage division.” “Are you accusing us of corruption, Marchioness Marmel?” another blue-robed mage with glasses and black hair spoke out. “I must remind you we are dealing with the Heaven Daughters activity and the rising power of the Liberator. We simply do not have the resource to fund the civilian law-enforcement.” “That is also true,” the Madam admitted. “But aren’t those problems arise from your attitude toward hardworking men and women who don’t have ‘lord’ or ‘lady’ in front of their names? Marley the Magpie joined the Liberator, because of the simple fact that you couldn’t sustain world peace. And Tai Hua Tianshang rise to international-threat is fueled by your mistreatment of the working class.” “Heh,” Shyme suddenly poked her head into the conversation. “I am ashamed to call myself a noble like you, Madam. Should a member of the nobility be concerned about the fate of those traitors? Our responsibility is to maintain the pride, position, and dignity of our family. Not look after the best interest of low-lives and criminals.” The Madam glared at the skies as if blaming it’s for her job. “Is that what the Enma clan tasked you, dear?” “Of course,” Shyme replied, her head held high in arrogance. “It is my pride and duty. I am the strongest Princess in Enma clan and a 33 Stars! The future leaders of Phantasia!” “My dear, task by definition is a work to be done,” Madam began her lecture. “Meanwhile, duty is a legal and moral obligation which came with responsibility. Any machine can perform a task, but duty is a burden of the sentient species, and with it, comes dignity. The obsession of Enma clan over their power costs your duty as a nobility. And by being such a blind tool to your clan, you lower your dignity. Isn’t that right, Lancaster?” “What does Lancaster have to do with this?” Shyme yelled “Shyme, my dear, if one day the Marohi Enma order you to kill your dear butler, what would you do?” “The patriarch will never do that!” “If you trust him so much, why fear to call him grandfather?” the Madam sent Shyme into silence before aiming her words at Wayward. “Although, the same can be said about you as well, Wayward.” “May you clarify?” Wayward said. “Like the Enma clan, your order already forgot its duties and values,” the Madam said. “You are nothing but a dying tree with a rotten root. Sooner or later, Tia Hua will arrive here. When that time comes, no one will be able to stop her from butchering the royal family and your little princess.” The tattooed man lit up with rage. “ARE YOU LOOKING DOWN ON US!? YOU HAG! WE ARE THE STRONGEST UNIT IN THIS DAMN-“ Bang! Without turning back, Wayward backhanded the tattooed man in the gut. The man spat out a huge amount of saliva as he collapsed on the floor. The black-hair mage looked at his superior in relief. “Captain?” “Third Wave Sol,” Wayward commanded. “Please take Vice-Captain Kruger out of the party. I believe he drinks too much tonight.” “Yes, Milord,” the black-hair mage looked down pitifully at Kruger. “Are you sure you can handle the meeting alone?” “Of course,” Wayward nodded. “Our guest is quite an amiable person. I believe tonight would be even more productive than our squad expected.” “Thank you, Captain.” And the black-hair man left with Kruger. “I thank you for your warning, Madam,” Wayward bowed respectfully. “I will take your words to heart and dispense my men to help investigate the incident. I hope they will satisfy your demand.” “Thank you, Wayward,” the Madam said. “But there is a rumor about a royal-mage being behind this incident. Do you have anything to say about that?” Wayward clenched his fist. “I find it unbelievable my men will turn their blade to the civilian,” Wayward said with a cold, vengeful smile. “But if that rumor is true, I will do my duty and dispatch the traitor myself.”

Shyme stood in silence. Shyme need to give it to that guy. No one would expect a prodigious warrior, a member of 33 Stars, and the most sadistically devious mind she ever encountered to live here. Super Rider Ω: General Good and Medicine. Cytortia put a cardboard cutout of a mascot resembling a smiling ramen bowl with large cartoonish eyes and a caterpillar track holding a giant lollipop. The goddess nodded with satisfaction like she was witnessing the work of Bob Ross. “What is that?” “It is Super Rider Ω,” Cytortia answered, tapping the cardboard with pride. “My friend and I design this mascot together. No one will expect me to run this kind of shop.” Shyme agreed, but she had one more question. “Why set the shop up in the Wind-quarter?” Shyme yelled at the boy. “Why not Earth? This area functions as storage and utility complexes. It is pretty much stranded. No one wants to live here.” “Trade Secret,” Rem said. Shyme looked at him and the at Cytortia. “Cy, are you agreeing with him?” Shyme implored. “You are staying in one of the most inconvenient places in Venistalis. Even the Fire-quarter military district has more service than this place.” Cytortia sighed. She already discussed the scenario with Rem beforehand. Everyone heard the plan and agreed to it. If a little inconvenience could guarantee the safety of the people, then they didn’t mind sleeping on concrete. “Yes, I want to run a shop from this warehouse, Shyme,” Cytortia said. “Who knows? It might become popular.” … Melody walked into their new base. The whole district smelled musty. No, you could say the entire quarter was devoid of all liveliness. Wind-quarter was an industrial area for workers which maintained Venistalis’ utilities plant. Melody reflected deeply on her surroundings. The Melody six-month ago would dismiss the entire Wind-quarter as unimportant. She wouldn’t bat an eye for this dirty place with grime and smog. However, month hanging around a person who spent days planning how to deconstruct the nation down to its foundation changed her perspective on what was important. The quarter she resided in was responsible for water and waste utilities, garbage disposal, Mana power-production, and storage of goods. If the city was a body, this place was its liver. It was a priority target in all of Rem’s plan to protect the city and vice versa. It wasn’t the most sanitary place or the liveliest, but it must be maintained at all costs to preserve order. If the Fire-quarter and its military infrastructure fell, the military could relocate. Water-quarter and its research and financial institution might be vulnerable to infiltration, but its information could be back-up frequently. Earth-quarter might be an all-important civilian’s housing area, but evacuation-plan existed for a reason. But Wind-quarter was the city lifeblood containing all the back-up food, water, and goods. Army and citizens need food to live, and in time of the siege, this area couldn’t afford to fall. Hence, Horizon Dawn came to an anonymous decision to put their base here and guarded this quarter to the last man. Melody walked into the warehouse they had been remodeling for the past five days. She wasn’t disappointed. The moment they got the ownership of this warehouse, the Dawn pulled out all stops to remodel their new base. Hikma dug a sizable garage Arcane to hide away extra-supplies. A humongous map of Venistalis draped the far side of the wall with Rem’s notes scribbled all over it.  Meanwhile, on their forensic table, the two eggheads of the group sat down in an attempt to decipher a mysterious text. “Any luck?” Melody said, putting down her groceries. “We did it,” Hikma said. Melody’s eyes widened. “That fast.” Cytorita’s chest puffed up with pride. “It all thanks to Hikma’s Astral Tracing and [Decode],” Cytortia said. [Decode] was one of Hikma’s skills focused on the ability to read code and mysterious language. Melody believed it represented his skill in Archeological analysis and his vast knowledge of the ancient language. “That is strange. I believe Enma clan knows someone with [Decode], and they still failed to decipher this language.” “Because they do not have Astral Tracing,” Hikma said. “I have to combine [Decode] with Astral Tracing to get the skill that did the trick.” Melody perked up. Skills could combine and evolve under the right condition. Examples of this phenomenon were [Alchemy] and [Armory Grace]. Specific material-crafting techniques must merge into [Alchemy]. While [Armory Grace] required multiple weapon mastery on top of [Sword Grace]. Melody was always curious about this wonder ever since she was a kid. She smiled. Her mother often groaned in frustration whenever she boasted about the combination she came up with thin air. “What skill is it?” “It is called [Psychometry],” Hikma said, showing her his status card. … Hikma De Darwin Stat Str: 95 [E] End: 200 [D] Mag: 634 [B] Wis: 570 [C] Dex: 131 [E] Skill Active Psychometry [A] Deep Meditation [A] Conceptual Seal [S] Force of Will [C] Passive Defensive Mastery [B] Memoria Revision [N/A] … “Impressive growth,” Melody said. “Congratulation on reaching Rank C in less than a month.” Cytortia suddenly turned glum for a reason Melody knew very well. “Still no change in your stats?” Cytortia nodded. Melody didn’t know what to think about this. Cytortia’s ability barely rose after learning True Magic while the rest of the gang-raped all commonsense with their growth rate. This discovery brought one fact to the surface to Melody’s mind. “Do you two check the book the boss recommended yet?” Hikma frowned. Cytortia nodded. Melody noticed her shaking hands. Cytortia was afraid. What she discovered in that text terrify her. Melody thought about how Rem gave up. She shivered. One of her first friends and confidant was faking a reassuring smile. The smartest and the most determined man she ever respected hit the brick. The goddess they trusted went silent. The disaster didn’t even start yet, and what she saw so far did not shore up her confidence. What the hell would be happening in Venistalis? Suddenly, a voice called out. “Good job,” Rem plopped a familiar octopus and the table. “We finally have good news. Za Wa is waking up.” “Who?” Hikma asked. “Oh yeah, you never met him,” Cytortia said, pointing to the octopus. “He is a pet octopus boss sent to us. He is part of the reason why we succeed last time.” Hikma looked at the snoring golden octopus. “Our boss pet is an octopus who snore in yano?” “Satholia once punch out Hermes in stop time. As far as I am concerned, the octopus that is essentially a bank is par on course.” Rem turned to Hikma. “To bring you up to speed, he went offline a few months back after we stopped the dragon. The blood we stored inside his body did something weird to him. Now we see the result.” Za Wa perked up. His eyes sparkled with electricity, and he loudly declared. “YANO!!!!!!” And then he spun faster than the eyes could see and turned into a laptop. “What is that?” Cytortia said. “It is a laptop,” Hikma said. Rem flipped Zawa opened and began typing. “The user interface looks okay. Access to the internet, check. Wow, what with this connection speed. Now let check the programs. Heh, a user instruction is here so. Ah, he even has an updated Status ID.” … ZA WA The Machine Stat Str: 10[E] End: 55,050 [SS]  Mag: 300 [C]  Wis: 200[D]  Dex: 3[F] Skill  Gambler Bank [A] Mass Manufacturing [S]  Divine Server [EX] Universal Input [A] Interconnectivity [S] Passive Immortallity [SSS] Boneless [A] Blessing of Center [Ex] … “What did this even mean?” Cytortia said. Rem answered with a burst of renewed hope as he read the skill description. “[Universal Input] allowed Za Wa to process any analog input in a digital format,” Rem breathed a sigh of relief as he scooped up two hundred pages of documents and dangled it before the computer. “Okay, Zawa, please input all of these documents as a digital file.” A tentacle emerged from the computer screen, wrapped up the papers, and dragged them into the computer. Everyone stared. “And here I think nothing could surprise me anymore,” Hikma stated. Cytortia nodded in agreement. “This is great,” Rem could hide away his excitement. “Za Wa just give us a fighting chance. This computer-mode more than half the time to dissect our data. We only need to code the algorithm." “Do you think you can find the culprit?” Melody said. “Hikma, there are several million entries,” Rem said. “Zawa can narrow that range down to around thousands, but it will still be diving under a haystack. I need more criteria.” “Yeah, I think you about to have the criteria,” Cytortia looked disturbed. “We are certain we knew what ritual they are pulling off.” “Isn’t that good news?” Melody asked. “Yeah,” Hikma said. “If you think facing an army of undead is good news.” … “Thank you very much,” Luxinna said to a shop keeper. “Alright dear, come back again anytime,” an old lady in the butcher-shop waved at the smiling elf. Ever since she was young, Luxinna was the social butterfly. She knew every shop and store in Lightwell, mastered the art of sweet-talking, and charismatic enough to get along with everyone she met even with her bolstering, upbeat attitude. Years in the forest might decline a touch of her social-skill, but it wasn’t the problem. The problem was that Horizon Dawn contained a cocktail of a confidence-impaired goddess, a smart-ass demoness with attitude, and a borderline sociopath. Luckily, Hikma’s recruitment helped to bolt their leaking PR for now. Hence, to avoid adding to the overwhelmingly negative atmosphere the Dawn gave off, all members voted Luxinna to be the face of an organization. The duty which came with responsibility dreaded by both Melody and Rem: interacting with society. That morning Luxinna picked up a newspaper, helped an uncle unpacked his box, shopped for supplies, and chatted with patrol guard. Now, she was touring the city, trying to accomplish the mission Rem gave her. While they had data from Marley and Shyme, Rem still stressed that a fly-over data couldn’t stand up to grass-root observation. And that was how Luxinna Latoria found herself playing kick-the-can with a bunch of kids in the street. “Emilia! You skip my turn!” Luxinna yelled. “Ms. Luxinna would win in seconds, so it won’t be fun!” Emilia said, closing her eyes. “I will start counting! One. Two. Three.” The game continued as Luxinna bolted alongside her ten little friends. Unlike Rem, who would break the game by scaling the roof, Luxinna knew how to play with the kid. Hence, she decided to hide inside the bush with a boy named Lucas instead. “Geez, Emilia is way too good at being it,” Luxinna complained. “I know, Ms. Luxinna,” Lucas sweated nervously. “She found us every time.” “Yes, catch you!” Emilia said, dropping from the branch hanging over the duo and tagging them in the arm. Luxinna sighed. When did kids pull off a tactical maneuver during kick-the-can? … Lucas and Luxinna sat inside the pen. The boy looked conflictedly at Luxinna, switching between facing her and turning away. Luxinna knew that behavior, he wanted to talk about something. “Lucas, you don’t have to say anything you don’t want to say,” the elf said. Lucas looked down. “Ms. Luxinna, I think I saw something I shouldn’t tell anyone,” Lucas explained. “My friend often said secrets is like a parasite that would eat you from the inside. No one can keep secrets forever. What you have to do is timed when it will get out.” Lucas turned silent for a second. “Ms. Luxinna, do you know about the scary murder that starts recently,” Lucas finally said. “I think I saw the killer.” “I don’t know about the murder, Lucas,” Luxinna said. She muttered a silent thanks to her luck. “I only moved here recently.” “A few days ago, someone got killed close to my house,” Lucas shivered. “My mother stopped me getting out to see the body. But I heard people said there is blood everywhere. But before that person get killed, I saw someone loitering around the street.” Luxinna perked. “Luxinna, I think the murderer is a blue-robe,” Lucas trembled. Clang! Someone managed to kick the can, and Lucas ran away at full speed, but Luxinna did not move. Blue-robe was slang for a mage of the royal family. … Rem read the translation one more time. “A five-point anchor marked by haunted soul with the circle drawn with one mind to stir the lord,” Rem read. “To call the lord’s empire, and raise the bone from the abyss of death, kneel before him and waste a soul of an innocent for 111 nights. Sacrifice five thousand lives to be the king of the haunted. A thousand more each for thy knights. Finally, offer five million ghosts to reach godhood.” “Holy fuck,” Melody said. “This is a murder ritual. You need to kill five people to even start it. Then you need to offer 111 more as setup.” “Innocent souls, Melody,” Rem said. “It specifically dictates you to sacrifice a kid for 111 nights total.” Melody looked like she was about to lose her lunch. Hikma clenched his fist. “Who would do this?” He yelled. “Vengeful and desperate men, Hikma,” Rem answered. “But he couldn’t be a nobody.” Cytortia agreed with Rem. “A mage who could sneak past Shyme’s security, decipher a text one of the most powerful factions in Phantasia gave up on, resourceful enough to kidnap children to sacrifice every night, and hid his activity under the radar must be a financially and magically powerful.” “And luckily for us, the big shot will be gathering in a party in a few days,” Rem said. “Our man will be there.” … Luxinna walked down the street of Lucas’s house, and she felt it. Some kind of immense darkness resided in this place. Her skin crawled, and her breathing labored, as she felt the void of a Primordial beyond the stars. Something seared her leg. Out of blind panic, Luxinna pulled out that mysterious object. It was Sage Force’s Original Recipe #3: Ghost Detecting Crystal. The crystal was glowing sickly green as it sizzled and cracked. Virid smoke erupted from the gem, forming a massive skull that swallowed Luxinna whole, turning her entire world into a pit of darkness. In that pitch blackness, deep inside the Mana Core of the elf, something reacted for survival. An innate power roared as it sprouted vine and root to take her mind. What was once Luxinna roared. A golden lotus bloomed below her feet. The glass flower snarled as beastlike teeth sprang from its carpel and bit into the darkness, dispelling the power of the Primordial. The elf stood in shock, not realizing the shadow of a monster inside of her.

Luxinna grew up in backwater forest. Personally, she expected the location to be like her former home. Luxinna was dead wrong. “Legendary sword on sale!” “Supreme Talisman capable of defending against an S-rank for 5000 credit!” “Hey, bro! This legendary shield survived the battle with Samael Wayward! Do you fancy a deal? I will give it for a discount. Come on…” Instead, the entire Horizon Dawn landed smack into a crude street market. Luxinna’s mouth trembled like depilated fish. “How did this happen?” “Capitalism,” Rem commented sagely. “As long as humanity desire wealth, the will create opportunity to trade. With Alcra Shaxter’s proclamation going public, countless souls flocked here for the 1% chance they might be the lucky chosen. Entrepreneur and scammer understood this and seized the opportunity, with obvious result being obvious.” Rem hummed cheerfully. “Now, let look…” Remus Breaker suddenly froze. His [Clairvoyance] picked a familiar signal. “No. Fucking. Way.” The entire bus felt Rem’s distress. Everyone shuddered. Rem never showed panic. Adaptability was his usual game. Something must be pivoting south at meteoric speed. The group watched Rem strode to the van’s sliding door and marched out with anger. Rage. The one emotion Rem never showed even against the impossible odds or mass murderers. “Guys, I need to handle a personal problem,” Rem ran. His face burdened with fury and disbelief. Everyone barely registered the familiar white-hair boy who left. Cytortia took a sip from a succulent orange juice and gulp aloud like she just witness cockroach getting eaten by humongous crocodiles. “Guys, did something just melt our ice-statue off his game?” “Don’t!” Melody warned. “You are scarring me.” … Rem faded himself from sight and sneaked into a location he foresaw. He must confirm it with his own eyes. The coincidence was absurd. Earth was shut off, so how was she here in Phantasia. Rem hid behind a tree, waiting for his suspect to pass-by, praying that his [Clairvoyance] rang a false signal. The target passed him by. As usual, Rem's biggest enemy was Fortuna herself. The blonde girl in a business suit and a ponytail jerked to a stop. She turned toward him. Rem scowled. That glass didn’t improve her likability. She got the pretty face, but those who knew her expected nothing decent from it. Rem mentally groaned. Of course, it was her who constantly penetrated his mask. The only woman who sniffed his involvement with Argentum. The person with talent to spot his non-existant of royalty to the family. Rem faked his color to those supposedly closest to him, but only that toxic idiot with horrible taste in men read him best, while utterly failed to understand him. “Hello, Jeane,” Rem greeted his cousin. The two Breakers reunited after years of familial cold wars. … On the Little Hope, Luxinna got the same problem. She dropped her binocular and screamed. “Guys! We are screwed. Retreat! I need to get out of here!” Luxinna waved her hand frantically like she suddenly awoken naked, leading the army of battle pigeons under the Russian flag to conquer Vancouver, dancing along tune of Rasputin by Boney M. after one solid night of chugging bunker-busting Vodka. It was an absurd description that best described the sheer absurdity of the debacle facing the Dawn. Melody grabbed Luxinna in a choke hold to calm her down. “What the hell is wrong with you?” Melody yelled A curious former goddess picked Luxinna’s binocular and investigated the cause of the panic. Her mouth hung long enough to stiffen her jaw. The person reflected from the camera was a very familiar and stunning elf. “Shit! Even Magnolia fucking Drakokia is here? You must be kidding me.” That is right Luxinna’s estranged younger sister was there along Artos Sevar and the Lightwell’s elf party. Luxinna took one glance at the prospect of facing her sister and considered bolting. “We also have the Aztellic,” Cytortia’s heart sank. “My god this is turning into a clusterfuck.” … “No contact. Nary a sound for years. The only thing you return to our family are cheques and postcards containing less than a paragraph.” “My parent never complain, do they?” “Yeah, because they were busy in the congress and the funds.” Rem suppressed a chuckle. Busy wasting tax-payer money was a proper term. “No harm, no foul,” Rem replied. “I earn my keep.” “And sabotaging ours,” Jeane jabbed her finger at Rem. “I know you probably make bucks managing uncle Argentum’s businesses in England, but I guess you probably funnel most of the profits to support those racist, uneducated homophobes.” Rem rolled his eyes. Yes, a community grown cake-making business in South Yorkshire is racist homophobe because it is run by a white catholic grandma with no transgender representation, so much for hiring for competency. “Thank you, almighty one,” Rem dryly replied. “You glorified socail warrior must realize our families’ business practice crystallized the worst of authoritarian capitalism masquerading as socialism.” “Blah, Blah, Blah,” Jeane flapped her hand. “You might trick everyone, Rem, but I know you. You act shifty like you have something to hide. I guess you are mixing up a wrong sort of people.” “So mighty is your mandate for humanities' utopia. What are you doing here, Jeane?” “Oh, I forgot. After passing my Awakening score with flying color, uncle got my recommendation and Claire’s to the United Nations. We are official members of liaison team for a secret project created by the Seven Continental Alliance.” Rem groaned. Great. Those idiots sank their IQ margin again. “What is the Alliance planning?” “Top. Secret,” Jeane answered with a punchable smugness. “You aren’t qualified to know. Funny. I used to be so afraid of you. Look how low you have fallen. The almighty Rem we feared so much in high-school are now secluded loser tottering in a forest. Me and Claire? The newest recruit in a cross-world globalize institution. We stand as administrative powerhouses and you become a hobo.” “Great, someone's confidence got a boost from unearned power,” Rem rolled his eyes. “Want to try,” Jeane tried to bait him. “Never change. Underneath your confidence and bravado is the girl who tried to ignore the truth to reinforce your faulty reality.” “Tough talk.” “Tougher than your mediocre insult.” “You are trying to insult an officer of Seven Continental Alliance.” “Jeane, I know you too well. Nothing will change even if you sleep yourself into the rank of an Untouchable.” Jeane’s teeth crunched, opening her palm to blasted her childhood nemesis with wind. But the last thing Jule expected happened. Rem easily yanked her hand, redirecting her spell upward. Jule struggled, but Rem’s grip was steel. She opted for a scream, but his free hand gripped her by the neck and blocked her air supply. Remus Breaker slammed his cousin to a tree in a one-hand choke, looking into Jeane Breaker’s teary eyes. Jeane knew that gaze. It the same one Rem employed to regularly pummeled Cassidy, inspiring fear when Justin's more polite method flopped at restoring order. Those eyes reminded them why Claire still dreaded their former childhood friend. “The Heroes,” Rem spoke. Jeane’s eyes widened. “W-What are talking about?” “I am talking about the UN pushing a targeted propaganda to naïve millennials with a unique [Brave Factor]. A damned lethal attempt for war-profiteering via loaning savior-complex-addled glory-seeker to Seven Continental Alliance. Can’t say it is stupid. They get free training coverage and trucks of capital for the deal.” Jeane fell to her butt, struggling to get away from Rem. “How did you…” “Top Secret. But a word of advice. The Seven Continental Alliance does not know what chaos is dawning. Try to throttle this project for a few years, Jeane. You don’t want blood on your hand and the PR nightmare of the fallout will be catastrophic for Earth’s stability.” “Shut up! You are a fucking uneducated, racist moron whose aunt and uncle rejected. I will get this project past, just you wait!” “Suit yourself. Nothing can convince you anyway.” “That all-knowing tone again!? Let be real, Rem. You might sound like the smartest man on Earth. But you still have nothing but pawns! You have no friend, no one who loves and accepts you. A fucking joke trying to fend back a river of progress for damn group of imbeciles you never met will never be happy.” Rem paused and marched on. Jeane Breaker was a bitch, but she was a bitch who could read Rem’s worst insecurities. Rem excelled at hiding his turmoil, but that fact still stung. … Meanwhile, a great standoff occurred. Artos Sevar and a demon sporting a pair of goat horns glared at each other. This same contest was a tradition ever since Mia Alusto defeated the First Emperor of the Demonic Continent. The legendary standoff between the elf and demon boiled. On Elf corner, Artos Sevar prepared to launch his sword-strike backed by Magnolia Drakokia and a man dressed in a green jacket and headphones. Around them were dozens of elf guards all in battle position. On the opposite ends were two demon leading a company of imps and orcs. The demon in front was a lanky red-skin man with sharply cut sunglass, gold decorations, buckles and a loosely opened shirt, showing the muscular body underneath. A proud goat's horn homages to the classical devil protruded from his forehead. Beside him was a huge figure with bulging muscles, towering height of three meter and bold dome as a hairstyle. The Ogre's face was rougher and meaner than granite. There four and a half 33 Stars gathered. “Really, Amitate,” Magnolia arrogantly sneered. “Do you believe you got a chance against me without Emily.” “Heh, I am still enough for you 25th,” Amitate Aztellic, the red-skin demons taunted. “You are six place below us.” “Heh, tough talk, you know the ranking between 11-28th is actually on par in battle strength. Don’t puff your chest much. Unlike you perpetually backstabbers, the elf is united. Really, Amitate aren’t you afraid Salazar will backstab you?” The giant Ogre — Salazar Aztellic — cheerily laughed. “She got a point. It would be so easily to punch your puny ass to the ground without Emily’s support!” “Oi, shut up!” Salazar gnarled his teeth. “I still ranked higher than you moronic Ogre, 21st!” Salazar continued his merry laugh. “You need Emily for that.” Salazar’s fold his fist, bursting it into flames, but well of water rising around them caught his attention. “Shove your stupid deer away, 23rd,” Amitate Aztellic glared at Artos Sevar. “Then swallow that stupid fire, demons,” Artos Sevar replied, relighting his fist. A man in a green jacket waved his hand, extinguishing Amitate’s flames again. “Oi, Oi, you got gut 29th,” Amitate’s eyebrows twitched. “The guys ranked who barely made it in the tier-list like you should be bowing to me.” The 29th of the 33 Stars — Sun Senwei — grabbed a lollipop from his jacket. “Yeah, I am 29th, but I am still stronger than all of you combine.” Amitate’s vein popped. He knew the reason Sun got placed as the fourth last was the same as Orwell Mehest; lacked of a major sponsor that granted them massive support. Sun Senwei made it to the 33 Stars with raw combat ability and talent. He was a natural born genius. The opposite of Cytortia whose acknowledgement originated from her apprenticeship under Nu Wa. “Are you actually afraid, Amitate?” Salazar Aztellic guffawed cheerfully. “Shut u—” “Oh? Bunch of poor losers gather. It would be amusing if I weren’t being directly compared with you bunch.” Everyone turned toward the stranger and growled. “Oi, you aren’t much better. You are Shyme’s regular punching bag. How painful it must be to tolerate the accolade she receives for nailing Mehest, eh, Sorin? I bet you broke more tables yesterday.” Sorin Enma, 17th of the 33 Stars, glowered at Amitate. “Shut up, Aztellic. You still owe me money.” “Fine, hotshot,” Amitate knew Sorin was still way above his league. Then he caught sight of two figure walking to join them. “Oh, it the 24th and 32nd, the preachy Church’s lily and the weird gardener. With all this build-up, this expedition sounded like a bad joke.” Arissa Holyworth and Mamacia Cocoga walked to greet their colleagues with chilling hostility. … Cytortia watched the development while Luxinna put Melody in a chokehold to stop her from dicing Salazar and Amitate Aztellic into bloody pieces. “Seven out of thirty-two,” Cytortia gulped. Her eyes watering from stress. “What are we going to do?” Hikma looked at the struggling girls. The situation was disastrous. Magnolia was Luxinna’s emotional vulnerability. Anyone named Aztellic was a kryptonite for Melody’s self-control. Rem was a no-show. Cytortia was on the verge of another stress meltdown. So far, the only hero with an even keel was Hikma. The boy sincerely thank Satholia that Shyme Enma and Velnia wasn’t sighted near this treasure hunt. The last thing they needed was every HD member being emotionally compromised. … Far from prying eyes, a morose woman sporting an impeccable hour-glass body waited in the forest. A hood shielded her face, but the young woman deemed a face-veil over her mouth necessary to achieve complete inscrutability. The skintight, full-body leather armor made from dark-brown magical beast’s hide cladded her alluring athletic figure. Dirty white-hair specked with blood-red specks flowed from a gap in her hood. Despite the body of super-model, bloodlust and clusters of crimson veins marred her skin. A key indicator of her species and the curse they brought. On that pale face, scar-like red blood-vessel turned her facial feature into a hideous puzzle fitting for a pair of eyes blackened with grudge and blood-red irisises. “Commander Serina,” A gangly man dressed in similar dark-brown armor entered the clearing. “Our men have infiltrated the perimeter. This is the participation kist.” Joshua handed her a scroll. “You did well, Joshua,” Serina accepted the scroll, unfurled it and started skimming. “Your ability at reconnaissance improves again. I am impressed.” “Thank you, Commander.” Serina scanned the parchment. Her eyes widened. “Joshua, tell Yurica and her squad to avoid any engagement with 33 Stars. I will not allow any stupid sacrifice.” “But this is a huge opportunity! With your power, beating them would be a cakewalk. Even Sun Senwei ran from you, assassinating seven 33 Stars, and robbing them blind is child's play for you.” Joshua believed every word he said. He witnessed their commander overwhelming Sun Senwei in combat and forced one of the strongest combatants of this generation to retreat. Who cared if Commander Serina was a monster? She was their monster. The youngest person to reach the rank of Wolf Hoard Commanders. The leader who climbed into a trench and lead them to success countless time. A one-woman army who stalled Madam Marmel’s entire security forces to cover their retreat and triumphed. Joshua knew why her race was monstrous. Hell, he fled from Solovar where those blood thirsty animal rampaged. Joshua originally found his blood frozen when he discovered who he had been assigned too. Hell, he even tried to assassinate her. He failed, and the Commander spared his life.  She didn’t blame him for a single thing. Instead of punishment, Joshua received a request. A request for their leader to prove herself. Something she did multiple times to earn their royalty despite her kind heinous reputation. The Commander differed from those blasted animals. He saw her hunted down those pigs and avenged his family. Joshua suspected she must have a grudge, but that didn’t matter. The only certainty was proud to say he served the finest leader in all of Wolf Hoard.  “Yes, I estimate I have 75% chance of taking them down, but that will leave our team vulnerable. No morons with too much power or their wealth worth your life.” “Thank you, Commander,” Serina glanced at the list and growled. “However, I would want to ask one selfish request from our comrades.” Commander Serina’s underlings understood her well enough. Hell, even other Commander knew her 2 lifelong dreams. “Don’t worry, Commander,” Joshua said. “We don’t mind if you go after the Holy Church’s 33 Stars. Just don’t forget to bring us the loot.” “I will, Joshua, you all deserve extra bonuses this month.” Joshua smiled. Yes, the vampires forced him to run, but the Holy Church wiped out Solovar-culture in the name of beating the them. They were equally guilty. Joshua wasn’t a betting man, but for this classical match-up of a vampire vs Church executer, his money was on Commander Serina, the Bloody Commander of Wolf Hoard.

The battle began with Hex eating Wayward’s boot. Wayward felt sorry for these poor fools. What were they thinking? They should know he memorized their tactic after working with them for so long. They didn’t even receive the luxury of knowing they were already dead.  Flames erupted from Wayward’s feet as he touched the ground. The knight’s vanguard raised their shield, linking them jointly and circulating their Mana to deflect the heat. Meanwhile, the building opposite the hospital exploded as Hex plowed through like a human canon-ball. The royal-knight’s archer mechanically prepared the spell-charged projectiles. But orange fire-balls rained from the sky, scattering the well-trained battle-formation in an inferno of pandemonium. The fires licked across the ground, turning the air arid with the scent of smoke. Wayward’s body twisted gracefully in the sky. Orange flames engulfed him like the sun’s corona. Multiple a palm-size runes shone in his hand as he threw them below him among the blazing battleground. “Lock-shield!” Vice-Captain Chamomile commanded. 150 shields shone, repelling the surge of fire. The tendril of flames set buildings around them ablaze. Wayward clicked his finger and activated his rune. In the middle of the royal-knights’ rank, a rune glowed and the air inside the barrier started converging to the center. “What is he planning?” One of the shield-knight yelled. “Keep focus, don’t let your… urrk,” the replying knight suddenly crawled at his throat. One-by-one, knights blackout and fell all four. Even Chamomile was not immune. The Vice-Captain dropped to her knee, gasping for breath. With many of the knights out of commission, the shields keeping Wayward’s fires at bay fell apart a piece at a time. Fortunately, the knights were not fighting this battle alone. “[Disperse],” Shyme Enma spun her staff and slammed it to the ground. “[Enma Style: Rising Swan].” Under Shyme’s magical might, the rune Wayward deployed shattered, releasing a gust of air billowing from under the ceiling of the shields. Wind swirled into a Swan of twisting current so powerful its wind-speed ripped surrounding roofs up the sky. In a gesture, Shyme sent the Swan of wind flying at Wayward.  The knights stared in awe as the swan of disaster flew up to Wayward, followed closely by several sections of brick roof weighting an estimate of 350 tonnes. Chamomile screamed at the massive pile of brick flying in the sky. “Lady Shuang, it will crush us!” “I can deflect it! Don’t worry!” Wayward faced the angry cyclone bird and the wall of brick with a calm and simple strategy: a blink rune. Wayward vanished from the sky and landed on a ledge of a roofless building. But Shyme was not stupid. The Swan did a U-turn and dove right at him. Wayward blinked again, but the suddenly warping space broke his jump calculation. “Dammit, Hex,” Wayward whispered. [CROWN: Void Slash] The crescent light burst from below, heading toward Wayward in the shining waves of energy that disrupted the very space around it, making blinking impossible. Hex stood in a pose below. His sword still glowing with light. In face of the bird above and Hex’s special menu below. Wayward stopped playing around. His fire turned blue. … Instances before Wayward took off the kid-glove, Chamomile rose from the floor. “What is that?” “Oxygen deprivation,” Shyme answered. Shyme must admit Wayward earned his seat as a commander. If not for her, he would already take the entire royal-knights out of the fight. His first moves were to consume oxygen around them by spraying fire and forcing them to activate the lock-shield formation. His second moves suck all the air inside the shield toward one spot, displacing them with deoxygenate air and choking them from the fight. Not that it mattered. Shyme watched Wayward getting sandwiched between [Rising Swan], tones of bricks and Hex’s surprise [Void Slash]. With no way out, surrounded from above and below, Wayward was doom. Then blue-flames unfolded. Shyme’s brain short-circuited from the information she never knew. When did Wayward used blue flames? It was a low-end cultivation technique, but even that should be unavailable for commoner child like Wayward. [Wayward’s Original Blue Flail] The tower of fire spun. Wayward’s [Motion Tide (A)] generated centripetal force, dragging [Fire Mana] into the spinning motion. Under the attraction force of [Motion Tide], both Shyme’s [Rising Swan] and Hex’s [Void Slash] got pulled into the blender of fire and roasted to nothingness. Bricks and rocks worth 350 tonnes danced to the spinning fire. The [Blue Flail] sizzled the air, smoking debris and melting them into super-heat liquid suspended in the tornado of blue fires by Wayward’s mastery of [Motion Tide] and rune-art. Then Wayward stopped. Physics question: What would happen to the object moving in circular motion once the centripetal force holding it vanished? Answer: traveling where the velocity was pointing at. The whirling mass of molten rock worth 350 tonnes in weight flung away from Wayward. Each super-heat particle of various sizes sailed in their individual bullet’s velocity and rained down like molten artillery from an erupting volcano. The royal-knight suddenly saw themselves dealing with falling rain of larva coming at the speed of the bullet. … The effect was devastating no onomatopoeia could do it justice. Ranks of royal-knights got shredded by the falling shell of molten storm. In the circular-area around Wayward, any standing pile of rocks still resembling a building got flattened. Plumes of smoked spread outward as the shell redecorated the urban’s plans. It was a thunderous party of smithereens and raining woods. Parks and fountains got upturned and burned. Statue fell. Pavement diced. Landmark wasted.  Wayward perched on the only spot within a kilometer radius with the height surpassing three-stories. The portion of Water-quarter he was in resembled World War I’s no-man-land. Smoke and dust rose, highlighting the bleakness of this new fiery wasteland. He glanced down at the folder he held from the start of the fight and panicked. Despite the heat-proof runes he placed on the document, the paper showed a sign of blackening. Wayward quickly put the folder in his storage ring. The beam of light shoot from the smog. Wayward dodged the attack with inhuman flexibility. His combat sense kicked in. Wayward smelled the mage blinking behind him. Only one class in society wore an expensive perfume before heading into the battlefield. Shyme Enma twirled her staff, extended with translucent blades of purple-light. [Enma Style: Heaven’s Halberd] Shyme’s attack scarred a 20 meters long gashes across the earth but missed Wayward. Not deterred. Shyme opened her palmed toward Wayward. [Enma Style: Dragon Fireball] A purple fireball reduced the three-floored building the two its ground-floor. However, gone was Wayward, and Shyme instinctively braced herself of a counterattack that must be coming. Luckily for the young demigod, a flash of light deflected Wayward’s kicked. Vice-Captain Chamomile flashed into the air. Her thin rapier flickered in a masterful swordsmanship. Her cultivation technique circulated — unleashing a glowing, yellow Sword-Qi converted from Mana. Chamomile’s expression was indiscernible, but Wayward understood her fury. In the same anger Kruger displayed when he carved the royal-mages apart. Chamomile launched a side-cut in at Wayward. She was fast, but Wayward was another breed. [Wayward Original’s Blue Sword] It was a martial move combining [Elastic Body], [Hot Iron Strike] and [Martial Art] for precise slash augmented by counter-rotating suction/repulsion force created from [Motion Tile]. Wayward’s unleashed a super-heated fire with a tearing force of a chainsaw. The attacked that would effortlessly split reinforced-steel building in half headed toward Chamomile, who dodged it mid-air in a display of agility. She returned the strike with a thrust of light streaking to Wayward. [Flash-Qi: Steel Piercing Thrust] Wayward met Chamomile with a classic. [Wayward Original’s Blue Spear] The lance of light and the blue spear clashed for a second. Chamomile’s Sword-Qi might be higher on hierarchical sophistication than Wayward’s flames, but the combination of Wayward’s superior dedication and skill trumped that difference. His fist — faster than a bullet, and harder than steel — crunched Shyme’s Sword-Qi to pieces. The lance of concentrated fire surged toward Chamomile and knocked her out of their sky tango. Vice-Captain Chamomile fell down to the Earth with enough force to create a crater. But Chamomile’s effort was not in vain. Hex launched himself from the Earth under the cover of smoke, using the opening Chamomile bought. His sword stream with intense golden light backed by his humongous Stats. [CROWN: Beheading Slash] Wayward responded calmly, lifting his fist for another [Blue Spear]. Unfortunately for Wayward, Hex wasn’t alone. [Air Palace: Clear Binding] A transparent binding to Mana-infused air abruptly and instantaneously shackled Wayward’s body. Shyme Enma pointed her staff at him and intervened at the precise moment he would launch an attack. Those were the mid-air exchanges that lasted for less than a second. A series of attacks, counters and contests ended with Chamomile batted out of the fight, Wayward bound in the sky, and Hex rocketed in with his sword aimed at Wayward’s neck. For a second, she believed she did it. Wayward was a goner. Wayward tugged the binding and frowned. “Well, I don’t want to this,” Wayward sighed at the blade coming for his head. “But you guys left me no choice.” Samael Wayward exploded in the ball of fire. … Enma Shyme squinted her eyes opened.  What happened? She turned to left to see Chamomile, unconscious but unharmed. The [Yellow-Wasp Qi] was an amazing cultivation heritage as expected. Not only did it provide a boost to the user speed and converted Mana into sharp Sword-Qi for combat. It also automatically dispersed Mana as a barrier to nullify life threatening attack. At her level, Chamomile can survive a finishing blow once before she exhausted her power, but a technique that automatically guaranteed its user life was precious no matter the scenarios. Shyme turned right and saw Hex. The Captain looked terrible. Several new burns sported his face and armor was steaming. Hex seemed like he had just walked through a desert on the sun-facing side of Venus. His metal armor remained pristine but warp and partially melt from the intense heat. Wayward’s blue flames burned pristine. Every spark of energy built on raw temperature. Shyme found it unbelievable was still alive after getting cook alive inside that hunk of metal. Inside that red-hot armor must be like a furnace. “Captain Hex?” Shyme struggled up. Then she saw him. An image of triumph, an azure star among the earth and molten rock. It was a massive blue sun, ebbing with heat and power. Shyme never felt the power like this among the Enma clan. Even the gods failed to garner such awe-inspiring might. She never once believed a mere mortal could leave such an impact in her mind.  “Is that Wayward?” Shyme asked. “What did he do?” “That bastard,” Hex muttered. His throat parched. “He never slows his training. His power-level must be over 19000 at least.” Shyme’s head spun. “But how did he hide that growth away,” she said. “The Grand Empire should lend him to the gods years ago.” Hex worked out that answer long ago. “That bastard used runes and physiological training to put a cap on his stats. He must have released the cap when we are about to deliver the finishing blow to take us with him.” “Captain Hex,” Shyme grew more respect toward the person who must have saved her from Wayward’s suicide attack. “Should we be worry?” “No,” Hex was sure. “No one can survive a violent release of excess Mana inside their body. Wayward kept his Mana and Stats chained for years. That kind of power-surge needed to be released slowly. Instantly unleashing all his power like that will cause disability and cripple his Mana Storage. That blue sun is Wayward’s Mana, leaving his damaged Dantian and Mana Core. The fight is over. Even if he survived Wayward can no longer wield magic.” … Wayward knew he lost his Dantian, but he knew it was a must. The question he asked was a simple one: does a power borrow from the world his power. Mana was a fuel for magic, but what exactly is it. Wayward pondered this theory and studied many books and text. His cultivation technique was feeble compare to Chamomile and the rest of the nobility, but that was why he must surpass them. He aimed to fight a monster razing his home, and he needed unimaginable power doing it. Wayward must understand Mana, so he opened his mind to learn its music—to learn the song of these mysterious energies. He deprived himself of comfort, studied Mana and basked in its natural habitat. He lived among magical beast, copying them to learn what none in Phantasia understand. The being of the wild—the fish and the ant—performed their art by extracting unique energy through natural Mana. Only in the wild — free from captivity — among those they considered friend and companion did they perform this sacred art. General knowledge told that the magical core inside animal was a crystalized Mana. It was false. Those cores were object created from impurity coagulated with lingering Mana the animal didn’t fully excrete. The magical beast drew power from surrounding Mana and make it into a subcellular organism. It was the secret origin of cultivation technique Wayward spent years living as one animal in the forest to earn this secret. He knew he must push that further. To fight against the cruel reality, he needed power unlike any other — power not borrowed from the universe, but his own. Samael Wayward knew the power was his — he forged it. The only task he had to perform was claiming ownership. In the middle of the blue star, Wayward endured the muscle pained and reached out to his dissipating Mana. It was a part of him. Dantian was only a temporary refinery organ. Its job was complete, by recreating Mana into Wayward’s blue energy. Now he only needed to claim it. Wayward opened his eyes as the energy around him folds to his will. That moment Samael Wayward transcended humanity. Skill learn: [One with Mana (B)] … Hex and Shyme watched the Sun unfurled into wings of phoenix. “Impossible,” Hex barely believed his eyes. “No way?” Shyme stumbled back. She dropped her staff on the ground from raw fear. Samael Wayward walked toward them. His muscle torn and bloodied, but the blue flames licking his skin dwafted his injury. Wing of fire spread being him as if calling for an angel advent. His shirt blew off, revealing a muscled body, surging with blue energy. Hex wasted no time. He refused to believe Wayward kept any power after his Dantian collapsed. He launched all his power with intent to destroy Wayward. It was an all-or-nothing attack putting everything he had on that blade. [CROWN: Glorious Execution] Hex slashed down, releasing the beam of golden energy at Wayward. The beam of light — a supreme attack that could vaporize half the Empire State building and flattened the surrounding block into smooth concrete — dug a trench in its journey to destroy Wayward. Wayward’s blue-wing batted to the side like the city-wrecking attack was a tennis-ball — digging a one kilometer trench to his right. Wayward put his hand on the ground. “My turn.” [Wayward’s Original Blue Axe] Hex grabbed Shyme and Chamomile, crushed a golden crystal and tossed it at them. 90 Kilometer Square—half the Water-Quarter—an area roughly 10% of New York erupted in a blue volcano. It was an attack with a humongous blast radius of 5.35 kilometer, and the towering explosion was visible from anywhere in the city. Interesting fact: the lethal blast radius range of the Fat Man nuclear dropped on Nagasaki is 1.91 Km. Orwell Mehest didn’t leave anyone alive in the Water-quarter, but Wayward didn’t leave any corpse to get bury. … Wayward vs 321 Royal knight + Captain Stuart Hex + Vice-Captain Chamomile Elragorn+ 33 Stars Shyme Enma Battle Result: 321 dead, 2 survivors and one unknown. The Royal-Knight—annihilated.

It was a melancholic three steps, but one that must be taken. “Any last word, Captain Hex?” Rem believed it was a proper manner to hear a man’s last request. Chamomile rose, struggling to move, to accept the unpreventable parting. Hex’s massive body glowed with ethereal light. Cybernetic fell from his limb, revealing a battered man beneath. His eyes and hand were missing, his metal skin corroded, his eye-socket hollowed but his voice was at peace. “I don’t have a right to ask you for favor… but please kill—” “Can’t do it,” Rem’s honesty was harsh. “Your request to kill Wayward is denied, but if it matters to you, Samael Wayward is defeated long time ago.” Hex was silent. Rem sat beside his disintegrating body, accompanying Hex’s last journey as a friend. “I shall not kill. It is a personal vow I made to myself, just freeing you from Orwell’s grasp already pushes the fine-print. The paperwork I must write to inhibit this precedent alone would be soul-destroying. But even if I murder Wayward, it would be an act of mercy he don’t deserve.” This got Hex’s attention. Chamomile stepped closer as if in a trance. “Killing him is a mercy? That monster—” “Never met his parent, they died in a war. Wayward grew-up in an orphanage. He lived a happy childhood with his beloved older sister — one with epic military power in her chest to boot — and other orphan. They are his family. One day a tragedy struck, and he lost all he held dear but one — his comatose older sister.” Rem made a pitiable smile. “A sister who taught her younger brother life is precious; that trust and honesty are the greatest gift. Samael Wayward already died when he abandoned the lesson dearer to him than his life. That walking corpse buried his families, carried his older sister up a hill and beg a Spirit there to safeguard her. He abandoned his teachings, his values, and his promises for sake of getting justice for those he mourned — no matter how much blood he must shed. Wayward is a tragic dream with only one mission: to see his sister smile again.” Rem’s smile sank. “Don’t you realize it, Hex? Win or lose. Wayward’s sincerest wish will never come true. How could a sister who loathes the violence and betrayal that murdered her parent be happy at the mountain of corpse her brother built in her honor? Even if Wayward win his battles, what awaits him at his journey’s end is a sister crying in horror at the tragedies her brother become. The person Wayward betrayed more than recovery is the person he wanted to save. He already got nothing. Do you want to take his ultimate mission away too?” Hex silently put himself in Wayward’s shoes. How would it feel to lose almost everything then betrayed what remained for the sake of vindicating his lost? Seal-loathing? Regret? Hex was going to die, but he died protecting what he believed, attended his most trusted subordinates and had someone to hear his last wish. Hex realized Wayward would never receive this kind of send-off. With the painful past, miserable present, and tragic future awaiting Samael Wayward visible to the blind man, the Captain of the royal-knights pitied his murderer. “Yeah,” Rem agreed with his thought. “Let him succeed as an inspiration of hard work. It is at least a consolation prize for the man whose greatest victory is his penultimate humiliation.” Hex sneaked in a weak smile. “Do I still have that last wish?” “Go on,” Rem shrugged. “Let me guess. Save this city? No worries, Hex. We got this. That dome will come down today. I promise.” Hex weakly nodded. His body slowly dissipating to nothing. Rem walked to Chamomile. “He have little longer. Go. Treasure this conversation. It will be his last memory with you.” Chamomile brushed past Rem with tears in her eyes. What was said that moment was a sacred secret between them — a dying brother’s final testament to his hopeless little sister… Stuart Hex faded to stardust with contentment next to bawling Chamomile Elragorn. She continued to cry in that wrecked landscape under Rem’s concerned eyes. The knight of Satholia remained stoic in his face, but guilt hammered his heart with every tear-drop. Fantasy of dozen miraculous secret weapons that could save Hex flashed past Rem’s imagination. None of them happened because Remus Breaker failed. He wasn’t strong enough. [Arrival of Dream] was still too much for single mere human. … Orwell Mehest felt Hex’s defeat and passing from his Spiritium tower. “Goodbye, Hex,” Orwell muttered. “At least he showed me Jordan’s abilities.” A footstep clicked on the smooth floor. “What you turn him into is a disgrace,” Hikma uncharacteristically condemned. The gentle knight held the conversation with barely contained volcano of anger. “He was dying.” “You had a million ways to handle the problem, and you manufactured him into a weapon to break Chamomile.” “That coward deserves a breaking,” Orwell reasoned. “And who pick you as judge, jury and executioner.” “And who appoint you to stop me.” “The goddess ruling all good in the multiverse,” Hikma uttered not a single lie. Orwell stiffly stood. His Amalgam and sensor told the same story — the utter truthfulness in Hikma’s word. “You can’t be joking” “Ask the Olympians how much I am joking.” Orwell paused. It couldn’t be. Rumors of carnages on Olympus were all the rage before the gods snuffed them. Multiple sources said the Olympians rallied to fight off a lone goddess and received the trashing so apocalyptic it crushed every pantheons’ gut to attack the Earth. Orwell played assumption with those rumors. Let presumed the goddess had limitations in her influence. If she truly wanted to improve Phantasia, her first moves would be installing her royalist.  Oh shit. Finally, Orwell realized his recent obstacle wasn’t a fluke. He promptly activated his Adamakles and get into attack stance. He didn’t dare to underestimate the knight recruited by the entity who trashed the gods. “It appears you realize how badly you fuck-up,” four circular, triple-layered circles materialized beside Hikma. “Any regret worth voicing, Orwell?” “Nothing,” Orwell’s four-arms Adamakles ignited spectral swords from their hand. “I am simply using my superior power to balance the scale. Only strength makes the rule in the hell called Phantasia.” An ergonomically shaped handle slid into Hikma’s hand. “You are wrong, Orwell,” Hikma flicked the handle, releasing the cane’s full-length. “Power come with acknowledging your weakness and overcoming it. You only accomplishment is surrendering to your worst and becoming a weaker man. Might is pointless without hope and ideal.” “The result beg differs,” the Adamakles’s 5-meters long quadruple swords spun into attacking stance “Very well. Remember that and don’t complain when I alter your expectation.” Blue light coated Hikma’s cane. The two-man breathed and charged. Blue cane deflected a sign-post-length spectral bludgeon like a lightsaber. [Conceptual Construct] whirled to block Orwell’s ghostly swords. Commenced, the climactic battle had. … Battles raged in the resistance frontline. Orwell’s antiviruses worked, directing significant percentages of Amalgam from self-destruction to outputting damage on the resistance’s defenses. Thankfully, several Amalgams still maintained their quack-status. One particularly brave Spiritium golem shaped like a squirrel triumphantly tore into a Death-knight’s eye-socket with such ferocity Rem might have to award medals. Vice-Captain Kruger glanced at blizzard looming Horizon. When the hell would that second signal popped. … In the building above, Andries witnessed the scene from Armageddon. Snowstorm blanketed the picture like opening of Fimbulwinter. Flames of radiant sun lifted from the ground while lightning cracked the air. Spears of burning light struck the humongous dragon from below, and golden shooting stars peppered it from the side. Trimegal’s war against two of HD’s heaviest hitter won’t be simmering down soon. … Shyme Enma coughed. “Miss Enma,” Princess Velnia tried to push the demi-goddess back to the floor. “You need to—” “My fucking rest can wait later,” Shyme tried and failed to lift her shambled body. “We need to help him.” “But Orwell is—” “Too powerful? Spinle — Ack—” Shyme collapsed to the ground. Pain racked her body from attempts to move the fracture bones and broken organ she got no business moving. But Shyme won’t tolerate mere critical injuries from stopping her. “I won’t watch the man who saved my life sacrifice himself for nothing,” she glared at the Princess’s bodyguards barring her with the ferocity that made them gulp. … In a black tower of Spiritium overlooking the city, two men continued exchanging blows. Orwell Mehest summoned a green, fiery Amalgam clashing into Hikma’s defense. Flames dispelled against Hikma’s nullification in a brilliant flash of light. Orwell closed in with his enormous Adamakles after seeing his Amalgam destroyed. The spectral armor tanked past the wall of fire Hikma erected to block him. Crash! Orwell’s massive spectral swords danced like blender’s blades. He spared nothing to reduce Hikma to paste, but the knight’s defense was impenetrable.  Clang! Orwell gritted his teeth. A massive swing missed Hikma. A thin cane swirled, batting one lamppost-size weapon sideway and dropping to intercept another at an impeccable speed. A vibration blade — large enough to divide a medium-size home in two — slashed at an opening that was quickly blocked by Hikma’s [Construct]. Orwell’s last cut slipped from its target with a simple nudge of Hikma’s cane. Hikma’s magical walking-stick swung into an engarde post, waiting for Orwell’s attacks. Thus, the cycle renewed. The same sequence rinsed and repeated. Orwell's raw physical might and vibration-attack proved ineffective against Hikma’s defense. Even with four arms and a hulking armor, he never penetrated the Chronicler’s tight blade-work. The Chronicler flowed in harmony. All parries precise. His breath unperturbed by the storm of vibration and force. He batted slashes, cuts and smashes like serene rower navigating a rocking river on his canoe. Hikma De Darwin achieved the Zen in all tapestries of motion. Orwell edged to the verge of screaming after the sixth cycle of batting at the human monolith. “What the hell is that fucking stick!” Orwell beat his massive spectral pole on Hikma at every syllable. Alas, Hikma ignored his frustration with utter serenity. Horizon Dawn sent Hikma De Darwin to bag Orwell Mehest for a reason. Rem Breaker only needed a glance to understand Orwell’s pride in gaining the power over his weakness. Mehest hungered for mighty arsenals to beat his obstacle, so Rem punished him by sending the knight who best represent the opposite — victory not through force but perseverance. Hikma trained against Horizon’s strongest and fastest, losing countless times because of his passivity, but with each defeat, his defense improved. His shield renovated and his understanding of defensive Arcane progressed. The result was a knight unable to experience victory or defeat in blade. The mere human loathed by the monstrous elf and demon for utter boredom of sparring against him. Two pillars backed Hikma’s invincible defenses. The first pillar was Hikma’s Magnum opus of [Conceptual Construct] — [Trinity] — a grand creation of sigils programed with triple Primal Arcane stacked in layers. First-layer — [Entropy] — was an originator of all disruption and counter Arcane meant to weaken spells power. Second-layer — [Paradiso] — was the all-warding father of barriers and defenses; the primordial Heaven Realm. So far Hikma hadn’t mastered [Tempo] — the Primal Arcane he planned for the last layer — but a looping Arcane function as a substitute would do the job. [Trinity] — even it in incomplete form — was a perpetual anti-physical/anti-magic defense. [Entropy] weakened and destroyed supernatural phenomenon, while [Paradiso] blocked the rest. The looping Arcane stacked with energy battery reduced the shield’s burden while regenerating its protection. A product honed in contest against two heaviest hitters of Hikma’s generation. Yes, the shield wasn’t flawless, but [Trinity] alone agonizingly taught the Knight of Glass and Dragon of Creation the merit of cutting around an obstacle instead of bull-dozing through it. Hikma’s second foundation enabling him to drive Orwell into the rage-quit alley was his cane — PACIFIST MK1. Designed by Melody (to her utter shame) under Hikma’s specification, PACIFIST combined sophisticate [Conceptual Seal] matrix of [Paradiso] as its core, reinforced kinetic-dampening filler, and energy-reflecting variant of Aria Steel coated surface. It was, by design, the magical stick excelled in force/energy dissipation, nullifying the gap in STR stats at an expense of any offensive function.  These two hints should explain Hikma De Darwin’s battle-style — absolute defense. Melody could tank hits, but Hikma couldn’t be defeated in close-combat. The Chronicler’s tactic was simplifiable as make-opponent-rage-quit-life-via-impenetrable-defense. In strange ways, Hikma was a living rebuttal of Orwell’s obsession with power. Orwell possessed raw might and knowledge, but he used it like a club to bludgeon his problem. Now, face against defensive techniques that made a certain elf and demon sobs in their sleep, he suddenly found all the might from his Adamakles and shock-wave inadequate. Orwell dropped his attempt to beat Hikma by punching in favors of spell-slinging. “[Deathless Amalgam: Cold Circuit]” Here is a reminder of Hikma De Darwin’s play-style — Azorius. “[Entropy],” Hikma raised his hand  Orwell’s Amalgam dissipated from existence. “What?” “Counter-spell,” Hikma replied. “We already fought once, Orwell. Same trick won’t work twice.” Orwell dropped a second spell in disbelief. [Orwell’s Original: Frozen Mist Spector] “[Entropy],” Hikma’s soft command bluntly crushed the gathering ice-mist. Orwell gritted his teeth. The direction of the battle finally dawned on him. Samadi — that inhumane monster — sent a fun-hating brick-wall to fight him. Mehest gritted his teeth. He still had one more option left, but Hikma promptly stymied that avenue with his next moves. [Pyro Gift]+[Nicholas] With a stomp of his foot, a massive [Conceptual Seal] of [Fire] covered the floor with an ethereal glow. Primal Arcane lording over element split into three: [Genesis]; a phenomenon governing life-form/familiar creation, [Lorde]; a Primal Arcane granting creation and control over element and [Gift]; an Arcane imbuing foreign object with aspects of said element. The floor of Orwell’s Spiritium tower dyed with warm orange summer glow. Mehest attempted to spread his Tundra’s frost energy. However, nothing changed. The room didn’t turn into a meat freezer as Orwell expected. No. The temperature was downright chummy. “How?” Orwell quizzed the culprit. “I imbue the room with aspect of Summer,” Hikma twirled his blade into a guard stance. “Basically, this room is outright hostile to ice and Winter related art.” Mehest registered that fact and did a mental check. He couldn’t shatter Hikma’s defenses. His spell-craft got off-tabled. Now, his World Enemy ability became non factor. “Fine. You seal my toys,” Orwell gritted his teeth. “But I doubt you can penetrate my Adamakles. The only thing you accomplish is impeding my progress. I have the entire Leyline supporting me. You will not last forever, Chronicler!” “Never plan too,” Hikma readied his cane. A desolated cry echoed throughout the city. “Trimegal,” Orwell realized. “Your comrades…” “Are nearly through with him,” Hikma confirmed. “You think I come to duel you. Allow me to correct that assumption. You are a criminal, Orwell, and I am arresting you. As a person, I dislike aggression, but when I press an attack. I stick with sure shot.” Orwell gritted his teeth and rushed at Hikma. [Shock Spector: Severing] [Trinity]x4 Orwell’s Adamakles combined his four spectral swords into singular claymore and slashed down in a blow that blew the tower’s top to smithereens and shook its foundation. Hikma’s [Trinity] stacked to tanked the full-might of Orwell. The floor cracked and surrounding walls exploded as Orwell’s ritual room collapsed. Dust fell from the obsidian tower as the monolithic structure sank back to earth. But before we witnessed the start of an era, let peeked at the battle that catalyzed that moment. Let rewound time and returned to the girls’s throw down with Trimegal.

Rem walked out of the meeting. The moment his foot clicked out of the Madam’s castle and into the wide semi-empty street of Water-quarter, Rem activated his routine [Clairvoyance] scouting. He saw a vision of a familiar threat following Cytortia. Rem took out the rune-powered communicator Scathach made for them and called the goddess. “Cy, you are compromised by you-know-who,” Rem said. “Move to the safe-house and commence Plan N.” Rem heard a footstep behind him.  “Sound like you are in trouble,” Martynov threw Rem a bottle of coke. “Do you need my help?” “Yes,” Rem replied. “I need Samadi to return.” Martynov grimaced. Samadi. It was Rem’s code name during the Argentum War. The name of a monster so terrifying he owned an entire asylum and hospital wing under his name. Even now the Mexican Cartel forbid the mere mention of his name because it tanked the soldier’s morale faster than a torpedo blowing up a fishing boat. Aleksei Martynov could only beseech heaven to save the poor souls from the return of Samadi. Not even the strong want Samadi to exist. … Chuang Tianshang watched Cytortia leaved the Shyme’s mansion. The last two-days were ridiculous. She originally expected to kidnap Satholia within a few hours. However, the goddess doubled to Shyme’s house and stayed there for two days. She didn’t remember any version of the Cytortia being this careful before. While Chuang may be confident she could nab Cytortia in a quiet street without suspicion, directly attacking her in Enma’s property or a crowded street would bring her too much heat. However, Chuang believed that the right opportunity would arrive as long as she waited long enough. Finally, in the second afternoon, the nature goddess reemerged from the house with a trekking bag-pack. Cytortia and Shyme chatted as the duo strolled to the Earth-quarter for late after-noon shopping. Then the funniest thing happened. Cytortia dragged Shyme toward the North-West gate of Venistalis. She smiled at the fox-girl beneath the towering structure that protect the capital city, whispered something into her ears, and walked out of the gate.  Chuang followed her from the distance and saw her slipping into the forest.  Chuang analyzed the situation and came up with two scenarios. Cytortia knew that she was being followed and luring her into a trap. Or the girl was attempting to leave Venistalis under the cover of the night. All logic dictated the former, but that worked against the very nature of the goddess. Cytortia was and will always be a naïve girl who was too weak to fight back. She might be righteous, helpful, but she was overly honest. The prospect of Cytortia laying a trap to catch her was laughable. However, Chuang recalled how Cytortia stood up against her a few days ago. Something was giving her confidence. It must be Hal Jordan — the mysterious man who humiliated her. Chuang frowned. Even now she did not understand who he was. But, given that she had no recollection of him from the future, he must not be alive for long. Hell, he might even be the one who persuade Cytortia into joining Alchemical Society. Just how much trap could the two put together to catch her? That man might be a tactical genius, but he was just a pushover—a forgotten star that disappeared in the current of time. But she needed to be careful. Scathach still existed in the equation. However, the warrior-maid shouldn’t be a problem. Scathach was a mercenary by nature. As long as she promised to treat Cytortia well, and allowed her to visit from time-to-time, Scathach would have no problem with Cytortia and her joining force. Hell, Chuang would bet that Scathach would be the first person who would kick some dose of reality into Cytortia and force her to join. Chuang smiled. She moved from her hidden-spot on the towering-wall of Venistalis and leapt from the wall. She wanted to see how much could a no-name and a shrimp do to her. … In the far future, Chuang would look back at the night, and scold herself for not bringing a back-up. … Chuang followed Cytortia into the forest. The air was damp — ominous even—the rustling sounded of the leaves being blown by the wind didn’t help improves the eerie air. The sun set and the evening stars shone. Chuang didn’t like the atmosphere. Her favorite period of the day was the early morning. Chuang didn’t remember why she woke up with a sun-rise, but the sun-setting was immensely grim omen weighting on her mind. Cytortia stood in the grass clearing, bathed in an orange glow of the sun. The warm light painted the grass field orange gold and the trees rosy yellow. The goddess glanced at the sky, dropped her backpack, and reminisced inside the picturesque moment with longing.  “When did it become like this, Chuang?” Chuang sighed. It was a trap as expected. As incredible as it sound, Cytortia really become smarter. “Do you want to ask me that?” Chuang said. “It is always like this, Shrimp. I ask you to do something. You get cocky. I hand you a beat-down before you tuck down crying. It is always this pattern, and you never learn.” Cytortia stared at her child-hood bully. “I remember differently. LinLey is a bitch. Tai Hua is Tai Hua. Kar’dia only care about Tai Hua. You? You used to be nicer to me. You thanked me when I prepared your lunch box. You even taught me the basic fire-spells when I started learning alchemy.” “I still miss those lunch-box.” “Who want to make you one when you keep blasting me in the face!?” Cytortia said. “I remember you started turning like this after losing too many times to Tai Hua, and you took it out on me.” Chuang stood silent. “I promise I will be better.” “That’s it?” Cytortia said. “Aren’t you here to drag me into a war that will screw me over? Your action are the opposite of your promises, Chuang.” Chuang gritted her teeth. “So what, Shrimp, are you going to fight me!? I am offering the best deal out of everyone. The only thing good about you is your alchemy. You can’t fight. You are too naïve to lead. And you have no spine. How many places in the world are there for a weakling like you! The weak get trampled and the strong rule. It is how the world always be.” Cytortia’s eyes sharpened. It was a glared that extended past Chuang and challenged something much deeper. “It is, but I will change it,” Cytortia resolutely replied. “Last warning, Shyme. Back. Off. You don’t want this fight. I know what will happen, and I warn you now. I am warning the image of the girl I used to call friend not to do this.” Chuang barely kept back her laughter. “What are you going to do to me, Shrimp?” Cytortia looked down-cast. “What?” Chuang felt disappointed. “That bluff is all you got?” “No, she is sorry she can’t convince you.” Cytortia sprung toward a mysterious voice behind her. She met an elf with long-black hair tied into a pony-tale, holding a can of spray to her face. The mysterious elf pushed the trigger. Chuang barely dodged the point-blank sprays of anesthetic. Her brain froze from a semi-second as it attempted to prioritize her newest discoveries. Cytortia had an elf by her side. How? Cytortia couldn’t recruit a cockroach from her kitchen sink, much less an ancient and proud race of Lightwell forest. The newfound development sent Chuang’s mind into a lag. She bent back and jump-started a fire-blast large enough to turn the forest in front of her into cinders. But the elf was fast. A golden lotus appeared from above and fired a stream of golden light at her head. Chuang gritted her teeth and responded by summoning an ocean of flames. A glowing circle appeared before her face, crackling with orange electricity and ignited in a violent Mana maelstrom. The ensuing explosion sent a tower of fires a hundred-meter high ablaze. … Chuang stood amidst the geyser of fire that littered the once pristine clearing. The elf stood opposite of her with Cytortia in a bridal carry. Chuang gritted her teeth. The elf was fast. She evaded the explosion and carried Cytortia out of the blast-range in a matter of a second. Seriously, where did this girl come from? Her speed alone put her in above mid-tier of Tai Hua’s army. “Who the hell are you?” “Her friend,” Luxinna growled. Chuang laughed. “Are you serious? Aside from a fluke with Shyme, that Shrimp don’t have any friend. How much did she promise to pay you? I can easily double that value.” Luxinna’s eyes sharpened. “Interesting,” Luxinna spoke coldly. Golden sparks rampaged inside her eyes. “Very well. Give me a kinder world. A world where no powerless girl got abandoned because of people like you.” That answer stunned Chuang and a stream of gold from a newly minted [Serene Lotus] woke her up to reality. Face with a high-speed attack, Chuang triggered her auto-defense spell. Six red hexagonal shields materialized and received the golden jet. The Heavenly Daughter briefly scouted out her new opponent. Those strange golden beams seemed to be a supercritical liquid. As a fire-mage, she was familiar with this technique. Supercritical matter beam was a favorite tactic for mage who proficient in fire and water affinity. However, what Chuang couldn’t work out is the spark arcing behind the fluid. Electricity? Supercritical fluid augmented with electricity? What blaze of a spell was this? Superfulid was hard enough to control, but making it conducted electricity was impossibly hard. Never mind the 33 Stars, not even A-rank could do this. Just who is this girl? Chuang made her resolved. Her opponent was not a joke. She must pull all the stops right now. “[Goddess Origin: Full-Open]” The goddess cores inside Chuang unleashed its full power, blasting back the golden jet with a raw wave of pressure, and sent both Luxinna and Cytortia sprawling. But Chuang was still buffing. “[Super Concentration], [Spell-up], [Fire Charge x 7], [Casting Shortcut Circuit: Open], [Mana Storm], [Auto Defense: Fire], [Immolation Robe], [Phoenix Healing], [Toughness Enchantment], [Fire mine x 8], [Mana Spare Reserve: Open].” Chuang started laying the layer of defense and buff on herself, whipping up a storm of Mana around herself. Shit! Luxinna Latoria thought to herself. How high is her power-level? … Chuang Tianshang Heavenly Daughter of Fire Str: 2300 [A] End: 2500 [A] Mag: 4000 [A] Wis: 220 [D] Dex: 2000 [A] Skill Active Fire Magic [A] Puppet Construction [A] Puppet Mastery [A] Rapid Spell Casting [A] Cultivator Circuit [C] Royal Cast [B] Limit Break [C] Passive Goddess Origin [S] Divinity [A] Fire Affinity [SS] … To answer Luxinna's question: 11020 … “Cy, she is at least three times stronger than me,” Luxinna breathed. “I think we need to fall back on Rem’s preparation.” Cy remained silent. “I understand,” Cytortia touched Luxinna's shoulder. “[Sage Force]” The green energy coursed through the elf body and enhanced her stats. Luxinna’s eyes turned gold. Armors of glass formed around her body, and her internal central nervous system lighted up like a supernova. [Serene Glass: Overdrive I (Nerve)] Chuang replied was epic and dynamic. “[Inferno School: Hell Field],” Chuang slapped her hand on the ground, unleashing the torrent of fire that turn the clearing into searing grilled. But Luxinna, through enhanced perception, already flipped Cytortia over her shoulder, and leapt away on a [Serene Lotus]. “Want to get away?” Chuang yelled from the bubbling ground below them. “[Heaven Fire: Vermillion]!” A wave of flames spread behind the goddess of fire, forming the brilliant, burning tail of a peacock that out shone the starry sky. The projection unfurled its glory like a light of a blazing sun, raising the temperature up to the point the air warped. “Shit! That was Chuang’s ace card.” Luxinna threw out her hand to meet the inferno. “[Static Glass: Nonuple Serene Lotus]” The tails of fires fluttered, split, and converged on Luxinna, shielded by nine layers of pristine lotus sculpture. The collision transformed the sky into a ten thousand-degree inferno and set aflame any tree daring to grow tall enough to reach the war between glass and fire. The fire continued to burn, creating the curtain of rising flames in the sky. The forest was burning. Chuang cracked her fingers as fires turned the trees into purgatory. Animals cried rang across the chaotic dances of the gluttonous blaze. But Chuang did not care. She readied another blast to take out the elf. “[Burning War: Mountain Piercing],” Chuang flicked her hand and conjured a spear of fire. However, before Chuang launched the attack, an object penetrated through the fire curtain in the sky and flew toward the Heavenly Daughter of Fire. Chuang made a slight gesture, and the object exploded in mid-air. “Used the barrier as a bait and slipping out the split second the fire hit,” Chuang growled amidst the smoke and ash rising into the sky. “Then launch the attack from behind my [Vermillion]. Such reaction speed and audacity. It is a shame Cytortia infected you with her disease. Whoever you are, you will make a great ally against Tai Hua.” Chuang aimed [Mountain Piercer] at the curtain of flames. It was her favorite anti-army combo. Knock the high penetration [Mountain Piercer] at the curtain of [Vermillion] would blow the curtain into a swirl of bolts which spread out like a frag-shot. Chuang was confident even the mysterious elf will have problem intercepting the multi-direction flaming slug from every direction. Chuang arced her arm for a javelin to penetrate the sky. Out of nowhere, a hand grabbed the javelin of destruction and extinguish it into a wind of volatile, but harmless, Mana. Chuang spun to the right and saw a demoness staring at her coyly. She scanned her new visitor head-to-toe and instantly turned murderous. The girl was beautiful enough to beat Shyme Enma, Tai Hua Tianshang, and Arissa Holyworth as Phantasia’s greatest beauty of this generation. Chuang knew LinLey would commit regicide to get that body. As someone who wielded the flattest breasts among the Heavenly Daughter, Chuang’s jealousy stewed hotter than the fire surrounding her when she glimpsed upon the ample, voluptuous watermelon. She wanted to rage, but she only deflated. The girl before her got everything from look to coolness at the point she sensed she was born inferior. How in the name of seven hell did she get that crimson-shade of hair? Chuang always wanted red over orange to go along with her fire motif. Why was everything so unfair? Then something clicked. The girl's face resembled the one she knew from the future. No. Was it her? But how? “Melody Solarmaria.” “Good evening,” Melody grabbed Chuang’s hand and sprayed a foul-smelling fluid her in the face. Chuang felt herself getting heavier. To make a matter worse was mild asphyxiation as she stumbled away. “What is that?” “Chemical cocktail of anesthetic, and inert gas meant to disperse oxygen. Originally, we plan to dump the gazillion tons of this on your head, but you showed up before we can prepare a sure kill amount, so we settled for a can.” Chuang laughed. “Do you think a puny trick like that can take me out?” “God no!” Melody laughed with Chuang and whipped out a big, black MP5. “It just an hors d'oeuvres.” Melody sprayed the bullets. To Chuang’s surprise, none of them came anywhere near her. For a second, Chuang felt relieved until she remembered the demoness’s eye. Seven explosions erupted around Chuang. The orange-hair goddess redirected the fire away from herself with great difficulty after getting caught at point-blank, but the unexpected happen. Her face caught fire. Chuang breathed in the chemical fume and gagged. Thankfully, her power as a goddess and her affinity for fire lend her some fire-immunity. Sadly, fire-immunity didn’t protect her from a draconic punch in the face. Chuang’s [Immolation Robe] set Melody’s fist on fire, but it didn’t stop her for a second. Chuang flew-face first into the trees, broke her nose, crashed through several flaming charcoaled trunks, rolled across the ground, and stopped face-down. She glared murderously at the demoness through her bloody nose. “On the other-hand, the flammable accelerant and the Mana-reactive bullet I cooked up with Cy during our girl-time is a brilliant fish-dish,” Melody smugly grinned at Chuang, shaking the fire off her pristine hand. “There goes your [Fire mine]. Anything else, washboard?”

Hikma and Rem scanned their handiwork one last time. “I feel like I just take part in a slave-trade,” Hikma voiced his protest. “Hikma, she will get paid,” Rem brushed aside the concern. “It is a win-win. Shyme get an assistant that can handle her demands. Chuang get to live a normal life. It works out best for everyone.” Luxinna attached Melody’s special bracelet, finishing the piece and intensifying Scathach's discomfort. The badger understood her newest students’ ridiculous operandi, but this was by far the most insidious operation she ever witnessed. “I enchanted the bracelet with a special variant of [Mentalism] and [Goddess Origin]’s suppressor,” Melody wiped her forehead and took off her welding goggle. “You are lucky you got my [Heavenly Eyes] and Hikma’s [Conceptual Seal]. No one else in Phantasia can inscribe the mechanism this sophisticate.” “Mel, Cy developed the metal formula on the spot, give her some credit.” Luxinna spoke. “I don’t need credit for this,” Cytortia dug at a mound of maid’s uniforms, “Scathach, can you sense her Mana or [Goddess Origin]?” “No,” Scathach felt scared. “She resembles a normal human. I can’t even tell if she is a goddess. How did you do this?” “A mixture of [Conceptual Seals] and mental augmentation,” Rem replied. “I and Hikma inscribed a modified Disguise arcane into her mind. She can’t use it consciously because she never learnt it herself, but that bracelet will trigger a sub-routine buried in her subconscious that constantly reinforces the alteration we imposed on her. She will wake up remembering the bracelet as a present from her long-forgotten childhood friend. For safety reason, Melody and Hikma also added several other useful enchantments. To be honest, it is quite a cutting-edge magical technology.” “We also dyed her hair blonde and put a glass on her to top that off,” Luxinna added. “Are you sure reprogramming her posture isn’t too excessive?” “I don’t take chances,” Rem emphasized. “If they discover her circumstance, the rest of the 33 Stars will cart her to a dungeon.” “Agreed,” Cytortia showed them a pink maid costume. “This is it. She will never wear this even when hell freeze.” “So, no way anyone will think twice it is her,” Rem surmised. “Get our contact ready. Tomorrow, we ship her out.” “Yes,” Melody sang. “She looks so cute, right, Rem?” “Don’t ask me about a pre-“ Bang! Melody’s uppercut Rem mid-sentence, sending him back-flipping to the ground in a thunderous noise. Silence “What?” Melody said. “He gave a permission to punch him after we finish, right?.” … Shyme Enma realized trouble was coming the moment the trio carted a casket to her. The evidence was clearer than air. Scathach fiddled uncomfortably. Shyme didn’t want to know what made a goddess who experienced multiple carnage on the level of gods on a warpath uncomfortable, but she knew she had no choice in that matter. Cytortia came with no nonsense in mind. No shyness, panicking, or the usual Cytortia’s trademark awkwardness existed right now. The Heavenly Daughter of Wood was gambling on a stake no one dare. None among 33 Stars believed that Cytortia could be awe-inspiring. They were wrong. The Cytortia in front of her won’t take no for an answer. Then there was the latest addition to Shyme’s do-not-taunt list. “Hello, Ms. Enma,” Rem sported a fresh bruise on his face. “I heard you are looking for a new housemaid.” “I am not,” Shyme lied, and confronted Remus Breaker. “I don’t appreciate an associate selling me a time-bomb.” “Shyme, you are lying,” Cytortia declared. “Sorry for being blunt, but I will cut the chase. I am recommending someone.” Lancaster Waiter grimaced. The headache army mounted an all-out assault, and he recognized the damage would be humiliating. “Ms. Tianshang, the workload Lady Shyme’s demand is inhuman,” Lancaster said. “Are you sure your gal can make it?” Rem opened the casket. “See who she is for yourself,” Rem pointed down. Shyme and Lancaster peeked inside the box. The casket masked the aura of the individual inside it so brilliantly that Shyme was sure no amateur created this. The enchantment inscribed was outright bizarre. Lancaster shared that opinion, but his suspicion laid on a more urgent question. Why used a casket at all? They looked at the person inside. Both of them felt familiar with the blond-woman, but a mist of mystery still veiled the light of recognition. The girl’s chest was a washboard — Shyme’s heart cried in kinship — but the curve and body ticked all the nobility's check-box. “Okay, she passed the look requirement,” Shyme’s fox ears twitched. Her instinct yelled danger. “Cy, do I know her? Is she a daughter of a noble I suppose to recognize?” “You know her,” Cytortia replied humorlessly. “That is Chuang.” Shyme and Lancaster blinked. “Chuang?” The young Enma pointed at the woman in the casket. “As in Heavenly Daughter of Fire Chuang. The 33 Stars No. 3. The flaming bitch. One of Phantasia's most widely recognized younger generation. Rising star among the puppet-maker and combat-puppeteers. Your senior sister.” “Yes.” Shyme guffawed. “That is good, Cy,” Shyme giggled, refusing to believe the possibility her living headache got beaten so early. “Are you telling me you ambushed Chuang — who is 30 spots above you in the ranking — won, dyed her hair yellow, put her in this casket and carted her to me as a gift?” “Yes.” “Okay,” Shyme guffawed at the thought. “Assuming you can do that — which you can’t — how do you convince to be my maid? She would rather die than accept.” “You are close. Just change killing to brainwashing and you are right on track.” Rem’s answer illuminated Shyme's mind like a tidal wave devastating a fortress. Even the experienced Lancaster hardly brought the story until he remembered he knew nothing about Rem. Cytortia lacked the ability to defeat Chuang — that was a fact — but Rem? That boy always drew every card he wanted. Even their rival — Madam Marmel — treated him as an equal. Shyme’s brain froze. Defeating Chuang was beyond Cytortia, but Rem was another animal entirely. And brainwashing? Hypnotism spell existed, but even in Phantasia, the spell-casting art to reshape the mind on Rem’s caliber was unheard. Rem’s combination of [Clairvoyance] and [Mentalism] accomplished the feat surpassing even Hikma’s [Mentalism]. Hikma ruled that what Rem accomplished couldn’t qualify as Arcane anymore. Rem’s ID even got an update for this accomplishment. If Arcane was raw bauxite, then Rem’s brainwashing was Aluminum. It was a specialty method linking Arcane, Skill and True Magic together. Rem and Hikma even came up with a name for it: Extrapolated Arcana Propagation Sub-routine or EAPS. Shyme had no idea about Rem’s capability, but mind-alteration on such scale was unheard off for her or the Enma’s clan. “You brainwash Chuang?” Shyme gaped. “You beat her?” “Yes,” Cytortia said. “You are serious?” “It is not the hard. We only need to lure her into a trap, poison her, blow up her inventory box and snipe her,” Rem listed. “Peachy given that she think Cytortia is alone and helpless. Hell, she didn’t even bother to pull out all her puppets until she got cornered.” Shyme dumbly looked at both of them and then at Scathach. “Did you help them?” The badger snorted and balefully unleashed her rage. “Really? Do I have to lower myself to deal with squabbling children? Who do you think I am, Enma?” Shyme flinched, but Cytortia’s anger boiled over. “Who do I think you are?” Cytortia coldly answered. “Do you really want to hear my answer, Scathach?” Shyme and Scathach froze. Never in a million years they expected a hard-ass tone from Cytortia. It Cytortia they were talking about. The gentlest and weakest goddess in Phantasia. The kindhearted girl who made cooking recipe as a hobby; who claim to fame was a cure for a plague. She was the saint among the gods. But even saint had boiling point. “Err, Cy,” Shyme gritted her teeth. “I thank you for the help but breat-“ “Scathach, I am grateful you are teaching us, but would you wonder for a second that if you agreed to help keep Chuang away, she would not be in this casket?” “It’s Rem’s fault!” Scathach pointed. “He broke her mind!” “Yes, but unlike you, Rem submitted all his reports and plans beforehand,” Cytortia’s anger burned. “A report which he justify before the Congress of Hope. Granted — I should take those documents more seriously then — but do you remember what he wrote?” Rem whistled. “When threat from the 33 Stars arise, the best action is using Scathach to intimidate them away from open engagement,” Cytortia grumbled. “But if open conflict is inevitable, the compromising of Horizon Dawn’s identity will be unpreventable. In such case, the enemy must be defeated, mentally altered and relocated.” Scathach glanced at Shyme for help. “What she was saying is it takes nothing for you to drag Shyme out of the warpath,” Rem spitefully hammered down the nails of Scathach’s metaphorical coffin. “But nope! Say it is our test and now Chuang got maided. Who knows what would be a geopolitical fallout from this? There are no cure for regret so what coming next is on you.” “Why don’t mind-wipe her?” Scathach yelled. “Boy! You are Phantasia's first mental specialist. Your scrambling of Chuang's brain pioneered a new school of magic. You could do something!” “Yes,” Shyme was trembling. The situation was out of control. Cytortia just threw a girl was over ten-rank above herself into a maid uniform.. If Chuang got finished by Cytortia’s faction, then Shyme won’t survive their ambush either. “Why give her to me?” “Simple. You are hiring an assistant. Thus, a mysterious stranger appearing close to your side won’t raise much suspicion. As a well-known individual with connection, few people would check you closely. And your type always ignore the unwashed mass, aka the servant. More importantly, you possess enough strength to protect Chuang and enough trust to keep our investment.” “Investment,” Lancaster spoke his first word in the conversation. “Yes, investment,” Rem gestured to the casket. “Chuang is not out of the game. Here is a thing about mind-wipe — it won’t last. Nothing last forever, and when that time come Chuang will face with a choice.” “Killing you?” Shyme hoped. “Maybe,” Rem shrugged. “But for her to make a proper decision, I need you to provide one thing for her. An experience that Chuang can’t get herself.” “What?” The fox girl asked. “What can I give her that Nu Wa can’t?” Rem’s answer surprised them. “A life as a normal, powerless human,” Rem said. “Sure, even with her power suppressed, she still kept most of her knowledge, reflexes and endurance. However, you can give her a job she can easily do. Lancaster can treat her like any other maid.” “You want to treat me a noble among the god as an ordinary servant?” The waste of resource crashed Lancaster’s processing power. “Yes, and praise her often,” Rem said. “She loves getting praises.” Melancholically, Rem strolled away. Shyme starred at her new King of the terror-list. She didn’t saw wasn’t a demon lord of with a thousand plans. But a sad man who was praying for a complete stranger. Cytortia handed Shyme an instruction sheet. “Shyme, listened to me,” Cytortia whispered. “This decision got tabled and voted yesterday. Rem is running a simulation with [Clairvoyance]. If you go back on this deal, the Congress gave Rem total directive to mind-wipe you and the deal will go to Marley the Magpie.” Shyme starred. “Cy, what the hell?” The fox-girl blinked at her barely recognizable friend. “You are my friend.” “I try,” Cytortia grimaced. “But my authority as the Director have limits. Rem is one hell of a speaker and the vote is 3-2 in favor of a wipe.” “Aren’t you the boss?” “Yes, but we don’t function like you think.” Cytortia started explaining. … Horizon Dawn reorganized two hours after Chuang got mind-fucked. The five founders sat at a round table of stainless steel and debated. Rem—ever so prepared—presented them with the Constitution of Dawn (CoD). After much amendment, the newly appointed Director Cytortia signed the seven CoD into motion. It was a historic moment that marked the graduation of Horizon Dawn from a ragtag band of Vigilante to an organization with code and law. Constitution of Dawn 1)     We of Horizon Dawn are protector of Truth, Justice and Freedom. Dissection of Falsehood will lead to truth. Truth will lead to accountability and justice. Justice will lead to peace. Through peace, happiness, freedom and progress will prosper. 2)     Horizon Dawn shall not impose fate beyond redemption. Sanctity of life is law and rehabilitation will be the first goal in mind. 3)    With Great power come Great Responsibility—If innocents are in danger, all member of Horizon Dawn must do the best in their power to save them. 4)     Horizon Dawn will not surrender sovereignty to a foreign body. 5)     Openly encouraged, healthy attachment is. Alienate the Civilian body or condemned love, Horizon Dawn will not. 6)     The Congress of Hope will engineer the law, drafted by the Councilors led by a Director and overseer by the Queen of Center. The Queen is the commander-in-chief, able to issue an absolute directive to the Congress. In ruling, Councilors and the Director held a vote each. The Director are free to alter the Congress as long as agreed by the Queen of Center and the Councilors. 7)     The Constitution of Dawn is unamendable. Do. Not. Try. And hence, the first formal Congress of Hope began. Face with the imminent threat of an undead army, Rem penned reform after reform. Arcane Liberation act motioned the gathering, sorting and relating all available historical texts of Arcane, declaring such knowledge free to access. Sunny Licensing acts motivated each member to invent and register EAPS for favors point tradable within the organization. The two documents passed by Cytortia and agreed by all members unanimously. Predictably, the two hour’s session were not 100% productive. Luxinna proposed the expansion in food budget and met a tragic end after Melody and Rem combined forces to shoot it down. Hikma only got 25% increased in his book purchasing budget out of the proposed 80%. Rem’s application as interrogation overseer got torpedoed unanimously by a horrified screeching from all sides. Scathach impotently watched the development. Horizon Dawn was the oasis in the sandstorm of mismanagement and incompetency. It was an undeniable fact. Rem held a seminar that get two laws passed democratically in thirty minutes. Zeus—Phantasia’s lead role model—barely able to stop the Olympian from going nut, much less held a debate. Hell, Horizon Dawn was likely the only organization whose constitution wasn’t ‘the leader word is law’. Scathach watched half horrified as the motion on Chuang passed despite the best effort from Cytortia. Only Hikma and the Heavenly Daughter of Wood voted against Shyme Enma’s Redundancies Act. … Shyme woke up after a miserable night. Yesterday was a whirlwind of carnage. She accepted Rem’s deal after he tacked in a right to purchase Cytortia’s alchemical product at half price. After Lancaster reassured her he would manage Chuang, Shyme went to sleep. It was problematic to sleep knowing that Rem could emerge anytime and influence her dream. She rubbed her eyes. Sometimes she wondered was it a blessing knowing a person like Rem existed. A living mystery who could effortlessly infiltrated her house and reduced her to nothing. Sure, she had an information none had, but that information only brought paranoia.. A door opened. “Hello, Ms. Enma,” said a familiar voice. “Your breakfast is here. Today you have to review the investigation team performance and the Merchant guide in Elypt sent you a mail. I also take care of several laundries. I also finished the previous maid job and cleaned the libraries.” Shyme blinked “Wait, you are—” “May I introduce myself,” The yellow-hair maid, who used to be Chuang Tianshang, bowed. “My name is Charon Sol. The new housemaid Mr. Waiter recruited yesterday. What is your next command, Lady Enma?”

Rem spent hours lurking amid the lightless corridor surrounded by enemies, interfering with Orwell’s master-control. He counted himself lucky Mehest didn’t know about his expertise in mental prowess. He considered himself even more fortunate that he familiarized himself with Orwell’s Amalgam after hours fighting them. [Mental Navigation] required time to comprehend and hacked the target’s head to activate [Mind Break]. Without these specific weaknesses, Rem would instantly one-shot anything with thinking faculties. True Magic was already unbalance — no need to make it worse. Still, Rem made a mental-note to research an EAPS to overcome such weakness after this crisis. He believed the key was emotion. Brian was hard to breach, but the social animal always had a keen sense of emotion. Rem smiled. Mental attack exploiting arrogance and ignorance would be perfect against the gods. Rem approached the final lock and tinkered its mechanism with [Interference]. It was surgery on mind and program. The door only allowed Orwell to enter. Rem spent ten minutes building a recurring false signal on a loop. Another fifteen to isolate the door from Orwell’s securities. Then another twenty-five to alter it into recognizing him as Orwell Mehest. Finally, Rem stepped past the purple barrier designed to render an invader into piles of flesh. Orwell’s crystal suspended inside an isolated space-formation — a man-size giver of Rem’s various headaches. Interesting. The prick duct-taped space isolation spell-craft to stop another attack from [Tir Na Soal]. Rem started hacking the barrier, prying enough opening for a package, and faking all the magical sensors through the Amalgam’s hive-mind. Rem checked his watches 1 hours and 55 minutes until the deadline. Rem briefly cursed the stupidly huge number of a barrier delaying him for hours. The boy wasted no further time to start the C4’s timer and left Horizon Dawn’s home-made explosive — courtesy of Melody and Hikma — beside the crystal. Rem hightailed himself out of the blast-range like his immortal soul depended on it. … 1 hour until the deadline. Chamomile trekked across the ruin of the Earth-quarters. Her confrontation with Samadi left her aimless in a fog for an entire week. The Vice-Captain fumbled across the floor, feeling both dread and relief that her torture would hit its conclusion in mere moments. The city was a mess. The Fire-quarters were unrecognizable rubbles. Grand Empire’s Permanence Keep — the military complex that once controlled the Empire’s majestic army — was now a barely recognizable mound of rocks. The many Crystal High-rises — landmarks of Water-quarter and its high-end stores and banks — reduced to a pit of burnt glass. All seven Magnolial research towers of the empire rendered into a graveyard. Shamble Tents dotted the charred shops and house in the broken Earth-quarter. Only Wind-quarter still bare a semblance of civilization. Chamomile glanced at the eldritch moon, begging for these haunting celestial objects to smite her. Unbeknownst to her, a humongous hulking mass stalked her steps, eyeing the woman with a program written to kill by its master. A final condemnation from a man who treated her existence with repulsion. Victim may hate the tormentor, but the heaps of the hate inevitably directed toward the individual enabling said demand. … 45 minutes until the deadline Melody and Luxinna stood from the roof-top at the location Orwell failed to hide from Rem’s prying eyes.  It was the pit created by Wayward after he annihilated the royal-mages. The keystone to Orwell’s ambition laid beneath the glassy crater representing the Empire’s most pointless defeat. The elf and demon silently agreed Orwell loved being poetic. “He know we are here,” Luxinna drew [Historia]. “Yep,” Melody cracked her knuckles and waved. “Invisible spying Amalgam is obvious.” … Mehest’s eyebrows twitched dangerously from the demoness greeting. How did these people read his moves like a book? Even the Holy church wasn’t this accurate. Did Samadi have an S-rank [Clairvoyance] or something? Orwell sighed. With his preparation being intercepted to such degrees, the probability of a peaceful curb-stomp wasn’t possible anymore  Orwell let Princess Velnia out of her cell. He couldn’t afford distractions with Samadi’s net arriving this close. … 40 minutes until the deadline. A girl silently sneaked into the Water-quarter. An enchanted cape projecting an illusion rendering her invisible to most forms of detection magic fluttered, subtly revealing the crimson armor-set beneath. Her black-hair and fox’s ears blew in the wind as landed on a smoldering wreckage within sight to Orwell Mehest’s headquarter. She spent three-days drafting her gear for the moment of vengeance. She held nothing back in this rematch. Every piece of her gears was a high-end custom design piece for Enma’s clan personal usage. The only she needed was the target. Shyme Enma crept closer. She must take Orwell Mehest out in one shot. … 25 minutes “Lord Mehest…” Princess Velnia and her entourage seemed confuse. “Screw you, Mehest?” The bruised and battered Mercia stared dagger at Orwell. “You trick the Princess and throw her out when it suits yourself! I can’t believe how much we misjudge you!” “Mercia, be quiet please,” Albert Starlight whispered, clearly afraid. “Our lives hang on a thread here.” Behind him, the rest of Starland’s knight entourage covered in fear. Mercia ignored them and focused on venting at her target. “You are an asshole who betrayed a city of innocent people for a fucking grudge from god damn generation ago! Do you understand limit? You can always talk about this on an international stage, instead of opting for mass-murdering millions!” Princess Velnia watched her best friend twisted into an ugly mask of hatred. Orwell chuckled. The idiocy was unbelievable. “International stage manages by who? The Seven Continental Alliance? The gods? Well, if I’m doomed between toothless and apathy, I might as well take justice to my hand,” Orwell’s eyes hardened. “You among all don’t have a right to lecture to me. Starland is a wreck of mismanagement, plaything in a palm of a worst megalomaniac than me — a mass murderer with 3 million body-counts. I don’t see you complain about LinLey Tianshang’s political purge, so I suggest you stop pretending to have a standard when it is my turn.” “That is different!” “Point taken, LinLey killed people through a proper channel,” Orwell dryly mocked Mercia. “Guess it fine to execute innocent folks as long as you submit a form. Let ignore me and LinLey. What about your sin? I still recall your guards beating up a kid some months ago by the alley.” Mercia’s eyebrows twitched. “What are you talking about, Lord Mehest?” Starling shifted curiously. “Hah, I believe I saw those men ganging up on a kid,” Orwell gestured toward the sweating blurry knights. “I was arranging something in Earth-quarter when I caught sight of the beating — must be an Elyptian given his tan skin. Quite a common occurrence in the crap-sack plane, but I remember that guy particularly well. It take absurd kind of nobility not strike back.” Velnia slowly turned to the shifting Mercia and the knights. Never in a million years did they expect karma to kick in the crotch. Albert Starlight grimaced. Now he understood why that boy disappeared. Those idiots’ tunnel vision and malicious arrogance got the better of them. They shielded the Princess from that useless kid’s disappearance using the mixture of lies, diversion and romantic moonlight meeting with Orwell Mehest for a month until now. Given more times, the memory of Hikma De Darwin would fade to distant memory. But karma’s sadism was epic. “He could retaliate. I saw the temptation in his eyes, but he tossed the sword away because you aren’t worth dirtying his hands. That boy is a perfect statement on necessity of power. His powerlessness only beget suffering. His failure to fight back only rewards disgrace. As long as the gap names power exist, conflict is inevitable. You prove that yourself.” Orwell capped the message to the heartbroken Princess. “You are a good person, Velnia. Sadly, you have a company of scumbags. That is the nature of reality. People are horrible creatures stashing closet of garbages behind veneers of civility. I can’t return your feeling. Our goal are too different.” Princess Velnia’s eyes teared up. “Lord Mehest, is power more important than me?” Mehest chuckled humorlessly. “Velnia, do you think your grandfather will tolerate any powerless human wedding the Princes of Starland? I don’t want to choose ‘power’ but answering otherwise would be unrealistic.” The Princess of Starland stood like solid stone, petrified by the shock of her first heartbreak. Meanwhile, Orwell prepared himself for the attacker hiding for a surprise attack. … 20 minutes The Venistalis’ resistance camped by the wall of the Earth-quarter in grim silence. They nervously continued the thousand-yard stare of utter hopelessness at the army waiting to annihilate their flimsy numbers. Aleksei Martynov and his squad of merry men cocked their rifle. The battle formation Horizon Dawn selected was simple. The more durable member of the resistance takes the frontline with heavy blast-shield, the rest settled with an assortment of firearms and spell. A much more powerful mages spread on the wall to shore the defense. The army of thousand gulped. The sea of Amalgams covered the ruin like an entire ant-hill over the sugar cube. Some tower above the ruins, while more patrolled the skies — a perfect machine of several ten-thousand strong A-rank monsters and suicide mobs. The defender gulped. Tension threatened to drown the fighters where they stood. Every minute convinced them this was a suicide mission, but anyone with second doubt already quitted or positioned themselves far back. Only faith in the one-arm man leading the frontline held the resistance’s flimsy morale left. Vice-Captain Kruger twirled his spear. His arm may be missing, but he preferred to die before he failed again. … 15 minutes Andries watched the development in a roof-top several girls and nobles was with her as they gazed across the ruin of Venistalis. Thanks to Horizon Dawn’s intervention, the displaced nobility reached safe heaven. Although many nobles fled to any shadow of safety remain within the ruin of the capital city, some remained to witness the conclusion. Adventurer guild in Earth-quarters gathered all its remaining members to defend its border. The local Holy Church’s branch — in a rare act of charity — opened its door for the refuge. One commonality from those seeking shelter remained — despair. Aside from those who answered Dream’s call, the city didn’t dare to believe in its survival. It was a common story in Phantasia with World Enemy attacks wiping cities of the face of the maps, inter-clan massacres to the last babies, and the gods’ eccentric demand barely mitigate through careful persuasion of the Seven Continental Alliance. The Grand Empire lived under an illusion that safety still held in its border. Phantasia — even the major city as Balperia — lived beneath perpetually recurring fear of instability. For them, smiles were a temporary mask for the dread waiting to unleash on a timer. One fist from reality and those hopeful illusions of happiness crumbled away. But Andries Sellovett wanted to believe that today would be different. She held the shimmering line of faith the knight with nothing to his name would end the tragedy and repelled the eldritch moon. “Do you think Onee-sama will succeed?” Eliza the doubtful stared in the horizon. “No idea,” Andries replied melancholically. “But I want to believe.” … 10 minutes A light-beam penetrated the Earth as Rem heaved his way back to the surface. He staggered out of the hole before removing his mask and oxygen re-breather, taking in a breath of fresh air. Under that eldritch moon, Rem took out his watch and checked the time. He slipped a flare from his bag pack.  … 5 minutes Hikma walked down the main street, coming face-to-face with an army of Amalgam lining the perimeter of Water-quarter. No need to pretend. Orwell already calculated their arrival. The boy wearing the trench-coat blaring the symbol of Horizon Dawn on its back stared at the monster past his helmet-visor. The Amalgam returned his attention, preparing to attack the moment the timing close. Melody and Luxinna must take down the final crystal before he fights Orwell. It was only gentlemanly for him to help even the odds between Venistalis and Orwell’s army. Hikma flicked his walking stick and charged his [Aegis]. The Amalgam War-machine opened their front jaw to reveal a gaping maul charging with energy. … 0 minute Inside the lightless catacomb, a certain electronic timer hit zero. The parcel containing a version of [Burning Asura] primed with [Serene Glass] and [Burn the Witch] detonated in a fiery blossom. The fire-storm detonated inside the sealed space, causing its destructive ability to triple inside the seal environment. Unable to withstand extreme heat and pressure, Orwell’s Spiritium crystal pinning his grasp to the Leyline shattered. The wildfire expelled outward, burning enchantment as fuel as it swallowed the catacomb and Amalgam in a purifying fire. The destruction of his life lines were the least of Orwell’s worries. … At the Earth-quarters’ front lines, miracle landed. The Venistalis’ resistance watched in amazement as the Amalgam turned toward each other at the night of their promise showdown and performed an act no one expected. They began attacking themselves. Amalgams of various shaped and size turned their blade on each other. Death-knights clashed against War-machine. Countless animalistic Amalgam banded up to attack a blood golem. Death-knights exploded from the inside from Spiritium insects’ suicide-bombing inside their body. Squad of fiery griffon swooped down from up high pickup dozens of skeletons and pulled them apart by the limbs. A massive blood creature armored with Spiritium fell to itsy pieces from a suicidal griffon dive-bombing attack, crushing several War-machines and skeletons beneath its weight. One particularly brace skeleton attacked the offending corpse only for a vicious breed of ghostly hound to reduce it into chew toy. The defender watched in awe as the mighty army wounding their fist to smack apart their living daylight abruptly turned on itself. The swarms of 100,000 congregate on itself on a no hold bar beat-down of epic proportion. “What the fuck?” One volunteer adventurer guffawed. “How? Who? When?” A female resistance member aired the question. “Don’t ask me? Do you honestly believe I have a clue!” Answered a red-head. Then it happened. A flare of light arced into the eldritch sky and ignited, releasing traces of light, drawing the familiar symbol of a man embracing the sun. Aleksei Martynov grinned. “That kid did it.” Seeing hope ignited, Kruger gave his order. “Long range magician, hold your fire. Remember, we couldn’t attack until the second symbol shone!” … Rem withdrew the flare-gun and smiled quietly to himself. The logic bomb he planted inside the hive-mind switched the perception of an enemy target on trigger. With Orwell’s army turned on itself, Orwell’s 5th crystal would finally emerge from hiding. Now, he had a business. An octopus wearing sleeping mask emerged from Rem’s backpack. “Za Wa, is the skill-formatting finish yet?” Za Wa showed Rem the thumb-drive and swallowed it. “Good boy, now to the Royal Palace’s forbidden library.” Rem never planned to ask for reward or recognition, but not sizing an opportunity of copying undefended knowledge was just plain stupid. Plus, an extra hundred books would win him more brownie point with Hikma. … Orwell sagged to his knee, much to the surprise and horror of the Velnia’s entourage. “What is happening, Lord Mehest,” Velnia asked, clearly didn’t a proper feeling for this development. “Nothing to worry about,” Orwell feigned a smile. “Just an unexpected complication.” Orwell understood situation had spun from his expectation. His numbers were eliminating itself at a tremendous rate. Cursed the bastard Samadi. He needed to reboot his hive-mind and installed a new firewall. Mehest gritted his teeth. This war was an exchange of victory and defeat, but his biggest consecutive losing streak came in term of information warfare. Where did that guy learned how to manipulate and gathered information? Just which planet was that good? Orwell felt another presence in the worst place possible. No way. How? Why won’t that maniac stay dead. Shit! At this rate he would lose the Trimegal. Then he saw a spear of fire — connected to piss off Shyme Enma — slamming toward his face at the speed of sound. “Fuck.” The firework was brilliant. … The charred pit of Water-quarter trembled as a humongous entity punched itself from the surface of black glass. “Yep, the final crystal is here,” Luxinna raised her sword in a defensive stance. “I am more interested in how Orwell build this monster under a week,” flames swirled around Melody. Emerging with clouds of dust and falling rock was a serpentine mouth that with a screamed. “WWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAYYYYYWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRD!!” Trimegal — a masterpiece of Orwell Mehest — emerged from the blackened ground with a familiar personality in its pilot seat.

The Madam gave the duo the tour inspite of the mounting agitation from Shyme. “That gentleman is lord Publy,” the Madam explained with a grandmotherly smile. “He owns a successful metal trade worth several generations. My investment grew massively in his recent expansion, but I would love it if he keeps the pollution down. Luckily every crisis comes an opportunity, and my renovation project greatly benefits from him dropping those properties's value to almost nothing.” Shyme snorted. “Let me guess,” Shyme said. “You bought those lands at dirt cheap, converted it into a manufacturing plant, and relocated the population to work there.” The Madam sighed. “Short-sighted like a true Enma,” she scolded. “While I bought the land downstream at dirt-cheap prices, I also spent a vast fortune renovating the village into a beautiful community. You do not understand how many people volunteer to work once you will teach them how to set up a water-treatment dam upstream. Next is building some decent housing, planting the seed for several industries to take hold. As a bonus, the town also makes excellent cheese. It is quite a valuable export once my egghead boosted productivity. Right now, the area is producing an excellent profit margin. I even charge the old Publy for a handy profit to clean up the river around his business. Even centuries-old trades need to fear the eco-tax.” The Madam gave the fox-girl a wink. Shyme gazed over the horizon. The Grand Empire’s tax-agency would hop on those cash-flow opportunities like a pack of wolves. Thankfully, her clan was influential enough to make them back-off, but the sour-taste of losing still stung her mouth. “And that is Palmera,” the Madam said, gesturing toward a winged woman. “Do you remember her, Lancaster?” “Yes,” Lancaster said. “She once worked for young master Grustav as a lowly vassal before being exiled.” “Yes, I remember that muscle brain treated her like a footstool because she has no head for the management or the ability to fight,” the Madam said. “However, she is an incredible artist. I took her as a maid and sent her to one of my many community-funded Universities. She graduated a year ago with Palmera Fashion and Architecture, taking off with no problem.” “And that is Sir Ervid,” the Madam pointed to another heavily built man. “The poor soul wanted to be a royal-knight. But being a second-son of low-rank houses, his dream wasn’t meant to be. He couldn’t take the double-standard and the harassment from his classmate and quit.” Shyme huffed. It was the usual story. The lower-class attempted to move up the totem-pole only to get crush by reality. They could only lament their weakness and serve the strong. It was the law of the Phantasia that the strong eat the weak. “What did you do?” Rem said. “Let me guess. You scanned through the list of fail candidates to find the hidden gem.” “Hidden gem?” Shyme laughed. “Are you day-dreaming? What is the point of looking for the best of the trash?” “You are right, dear,” the Madam answered like Shyme did not exist. “Sir Ervid might be hopeless at combat, but he has an excellent eye for detail. An apprenticeship later, and he works as one of the consultant officers in Senile Island. They even knighted him for preventing an insurgence. His reputation smoothes several dozens of my projects nicely.” Shyme shut up. The universe was openly whipping her at this point. After several more introductions to several very long, very husky, and very successful connections of the Madam, the group came to a halt after a loud exclamation from the partying nobles. “What? How is she here?” “Wait! Is that him? The 33 Stars?” “Not again,” the woman next to the group murmured. “Why do I have to be in charge of security?” The Madam turned toward the woman and blew into her ears. Suddenly, the young brunette woman with glasses and green dress leaped up out of surprise and faced their plump companion. “Maquioness Marmel,” the woman nervously laughed. “It is very pleasing to see you here.” “It is also great to see you here, Chamomile,” the Madam turned toward the group. “Green Lantern, Cytortia, may I introduce you to my greatest supplier of mistreated personal, the Vice-Captain of the royal-knight, Chamomile Elragorn.” Chamomile refused to look at Madam. Instead, she craned her neck toward the ceiling and started whistling. As a girl with a history of screwing up, Cytortia instinctively knew the fellow master of evading responsibility when she saw one. The young woman in front of her was trying vainly to get her issue dropped. Sadly, given the current company, it won’t do anything even if her whistling were a hundred-fold more genuine. “Again, Madam?” Chamomile complained. “You know I don’t have a choice but to fail those candidates!” “Everyone has a choice, Elragorn,” the Madam said. “Unlike you, I care more about their dream than the pressure from those brats in the capital. Please tell me you are not accepting bribes again? This year drop-outs hardly speak for your ability to learn.” “I can’t do this job,” Chamomile whispered. “You don’t know the pressure I receive from the nobles! If I refuse to budge, my career will go up in flame.” “You should know the nature of your job the moment you agree to it,” the Madam angrily reprimanded. “You have the duty to this nation and your office. When did your career become professional butt-kissing, Chamomile? Is this what you live for?” Chamomile gritted her teeth and lost her temper. “Sorry, but I have to think about my deadline before some existential meaning. I can’t just abandon my social life and future to contemplate philosophical nonsense. Sorry, Madam, but if you have problems with that list, you can talk to the nobles.” The Madam sighed with disappointment. “Very well,” the Madam said. “And look, who do we have here? Is it the Orwell-boy and the bronze-medal?” “How did you know it her?” The Madam pointed at Cytortia. The goddess was freezing over a familiar presence. It wouldn’t be strange if the Madam worked out what was happening. The news of her setback in the Tengen Continent was the political inferno of the season. As someone who had a good approximation of that person’s personality, it wouldn’t be surprising for the Madam to reach the inevitable conclusion. With three Heavenly Daughters distracted in design in Starland, it was the perfect time to capitalize on the final Heavenly Daughter, and launch an attack from outside of the battlefield. The crowd suddenly parted as one of Cytortia’s worst trauma arrived. “Hope you are doing well, wimp,” said Chuang Tianshang in a phoenix-patterned red-dress and golden decoration. “I need your help.” Cytortia nearly tumbled back, but a hand caught her. It was the hand that reminded her she was no longer alone. “My, my, that isn’t a very nice way to greet fellow student, Ms. Tianshang,” Rem replied. His tone shifted from jovial to deep-freeze. “Or do you prefer the loser of Palma Creek?” A gasp went through the crowd. Every noble—men and woman, young and old—scrambled out of the blast zone. They couldn’t believe what was happening.  Did someone dare mock Chuang Tianshang?  Only deadmen criticize the 33 Stars. But even the suicidal did not taunt them to their face? Not only this man did such as that, but he also showed no fear while doing it. What type of food did this man eat to have such fearless courage? Shyme blinked. Lancaster reached into his waistcoat in case the situation turned dicey. The Madam looked at the boy, eyes sparkling with curiosity. Meanwhile, Cytortia was on the verge of crying in a mixture of fear and gratitude. “You dare call me a loser?” Chuang glared at the mysterious masked man. “What gives you a right to do that?” “I don’t know,” Rem replied with cold malice as his repressed alternate personality reared its head. “Maybe the fact that you are here.” Chuang blinked. She couldn’t figure out the masked-boy in front of her. From the surface, she only knew two things: he was unafraid of her title or power, and he was lending a hand to Cytortia. Was he someone who got hired by Artio? Maybe someone Cytortia recruited? No. That was not possible, Cytortia couldn’t get a hummingbird into her faction, much less a human. A much younger Chuang would already try to blast off his face with a bolt of fire, but she matured a lot since that nightmare. “I will ask you again. Who are you to criticize me?” “No one important,” Rem said. “I am just someone who is very much disgusted by you.” Behind Chuang, a young man in a black priest uniform and white scarfed smiled as he watched the show curiously. His eyes—shaped so narrowly you couldn’t see its white—widened marginally. Silence. The entire room waited to explode. Chamomile was in turmoil, debating whether to pin Rem to the ground and forcing him to apologize. But Chuang beat her to it. “You don’t have a right to be disgusted,” Chuang said. “It is like an ant yelling at an angel. You aren’t on the level to feel disgusted.” “As a terrain, Palma Creek is a low ground with a running water source. Tai Hua was invading Frisnia, and your objective was to force her to retreat. That idiot also contributed most of her force into that attack with nothing behind. Knowing that, what did you do?” Everyone froze stiff. Even Chamomile, who was about to rush in, stopped. The conversation was too compelling to interrupt. Shyme suddenly paid attention. She was about to hear another version of Palma Creek from the man who made the plan to eliminate the 33 Stars. The Enma-girl couldn’t help but be curious about Rem’s version of that conflict. Chuang stood silent. She couldn’t dismiss this mysterious man without looking weak in front of Venistalis’ nobles. Especially not when the said man looked like he was siding with Cytortia. Chuang found the subject laughable. Who would want to work with a weakling like Cytortia? But her opinion didn’t change the fact that she needed to crush this annoyance. “I put my force on the other end of the creek and stake my life to take out Tai Hua,” Chuang stated. “Indeed, I failed to kill her, but I injured the 1st of the 33 Stars and left her force in tatter. I can’t see while that makes me a loser.” “It makes you a loser because you commit your troop into an uncertain battlefield,” Rem debated. “Three options exist in every conflict. The first and the best is to end the battle before it begins. The second is to divide your enemy and conquer them one-by-one. The absolute worst is an open engagement. Guess what did you end up doing? Oh right, started a gamble to kill Tai Hua before dropping a barrage on her army. Let be real, you have no way to ensure the mission succeed, and putting yourself amid the enemy instead of leading your soldiers is downright irresponsible.” Chuang listened, and it pissed her off. "Then what would you do in my position?” Chuang challenged. “Do you have any idea how powerful she is? I risked my life to take down the threat to us all! Frisnia is still standing because of me! Who are you to criticize my leadership!? You should be grovel-” “I attack Starland,” Rem cut her. “I would attack her territory in Starland while she marched into Frisnia.” Silence Chamomile and the rest of the nobles looked at Rem like they suddenly discovered the human was an alien from Pluto. Mystique, horror, and curiosity filled the ballroom. Even Cytortia—who knew Rem’s tactical mastery—blinked. He never shared that plan before. “Your mistake is seeing war as a chess game,” Rem said. “You attempted to exchange queens while leaving the smaller pieces to chance.” Rem glared at the Heavenly Daughter of fire. “But warfare is not chess. International conflict is not a battle of attrition, but resource management. Your mistake lies in your tunnel-vision of sticking a sword through Tai Hua Tianshang’s worthless heart, and that makes you miss the big picture—your enemies’ fragile foundation.” Silence Rem continued before the stunned opposition and the captured audience. “Tai Hua Tianshang had advanced across the Tengen Continent using raw momentum and sky-high morale. But those constant sprees of conquering and advancing left the territory behind her woefully armed. Let me tell you a tip so difficult you sisters can’t work it out: the soldiers you kill during your war won’t come back to life to defend those territories.” Rem couldn’t help but buried the blade deeper. “Why don’t you conquer the border-stronghold supplying Tai Hua’s marches? Cut her supply, then set the mother-fucking Palma Creek on fire. Sure, that might not kill her, but it will slow her down. And instead of massing all the allies in one place, you spread the mercenary forces to conquer all her territory in Starland. You could also task the Frisian to fortify their capital and its surrounding into a death ground for Tai Hua. Finally, when she is at her weakest, with no land to fall back to and no supply to feed herself, you surround her on that death ground with all the forces you can muster and sent her back home with only 10% of her men.” Rem looked down on the Heavenly Daughter he had on the palm of his hand. “O Heavenly Loser, tell me, how are you planning to take responsibility for your tactical oversight? What is your explanation for those mourning families and orphaned children?" Chuang got no counter-argument.  This entire conversation was a mistake. It was a hard pill to swallow, but that man was her superior in tactic and war stratagem. If she took more of his criticism, her reputation would crumble to piece. She had only one option left. It was the option Chuang a few months ago would die before committing. However, the Chuang today was not the one from a few months ago. “I apologize,” Chuang nodded. “I admit I have much to learn.” The entire crowd was confounded. “What the hell!?” Shyme yelled. “Lancaster! Did Chuang Tianshang of all people apologize! I am not mishearing this, right?" “Yes, Miss,” Lancaster watched. His eyes widened at the spectacle. “You have not misheard.” Chamomile stumbled back and fainted into the arms of the equally fascinated Madam. “Impossible!” “Is she an imposter?!” “Who the hell is that man to outclass a 33 Stars?! Which esteem academy did he graduate from!?” But Cytortia took it the hardest, collapsing into the knee. Her mind went blank as a decade of trauma collided with the impossible sentence beyond her comprehension. Chuang's usual answers to a contrarian was a godlike fireball, not an apology. How did she change so much? It made no sense. But contrary to modern expectation, Rem didn’t behave like a gentleman. “Oh please,” Rem brushed aside the world-shocking apology as if it weighted like tissue paper. “Your action proves otherwise. You are not reflecting at all.” “I already apologized.” “Yes, I am not deaf, but anyone can say sorry,” Rem retorted. “Hence, I prefer to let actions speak. Your allies take a massive casualty, Frisnia is in chaos, and Lord Migras is in a coma. Instead of trying to remedy your blunder at Palma Creek, you are here in a pretty dress to extort the help from a girl much weaker than you. Is that the behavior that shows regret and gratefulness? Or is it the behavior of psychopathic narcissists who don’t mind sacrificing every soul in this room to achieve her aim? You do not change from your day of blasting a young girl who couldn’t fight for herself one bit. O-uncaring angel, the only change you make is learning how to hide your cruelty under an illusion of growth.” Deep inside, Chuang knew he finished her. How did this happen? How did the simple mission to persuade a spineless alchemist into her faction backfired this badly? Why did this man side with Cytortia? What did she offer him? “Excuse me,” said the blonde-hair girl. “I think that is enough mean words from you,” Rem turned to meet Princess Velnia of Starland.

“Zone 2,” Rem slashed the piece of wood toward the top right of Hikma’s head. Hikma met him with a swing to the strike zone. “Zone 5, Front, and Back,” Rem swiped at Hikma’s left leg, followed up with a thrust, before flourished his sword in a finishing sequence ending with a reverse-grip stab at his sparring partner's back. Hikma managed to ward against the first two blows and spun away from the third as plan. “Zone 1, Zone 3, Zone 5,” Rem launched as an overhead strike, a reverse-horizontal slash, and closing his display with a downward cut at his opponent knee. Hikma blocked all the blows without pausing, moving minimally in a tight figure-eight loop. The practice blade moved up, shifted left, twisted down, before finally came back to the resting stance and ended its loop. “We are getting better,” Hikma gasped. “Not good enough,” Rem concluded. “We need Scathach to go over the form and refine it." Rem rubbed his chin in contemplation. "Should we start fleshing out the concept of three-ring defenses?” “Yeah,” Hikma said. “We probably should.” … Luxinna stood tall like a tower. Her hand held a golden bow. The weapon drew to the limit; its metal curve reflected the light of the sun. The elf breathed, slowing her heart rate and uniting the scent, sight, and sound filtered through her mind like soft music. She fired. The piece of sharped wood impaled the tree trunk. Without stopping, Luxinna let fly another arrow. The wooden projectile hit the arrow impaled to the trees and split it in half. A badger clapped. “Impressive,” Scathach exclaimed. “This is the first time I see someone picking up archery so quickly. I am very pleased with your gift in the way of weapons, my girl. I guarantee Lucian will spit up blood if he discovers that you achieved such proficiency with spear and bow in only two months. Ahh, If only I could be there when it happens." “I can’t do it without your coaching, Scathach.” “Nonsense,” Scathach said. “I only shorten the process. That [Armory Grace] is yours. It proves you attain an instinctual understanding of weapon-wielding. Luxinna, there is no weapon in the world you can’t wield. That is how much your skill has progressed.” Luxinna smiled. “Thank you.” “Don’t relax,” Scathach cautioned. “Just because you can wield every weapon doesn’t mean you master them. The skill that proves that expertise is another animal entirely.” “I will keep that in mind,” Luxinna said, and an idea suddenly came into her mind. “Hey, Scathach, let me try something.” The elf stretched out her hand. She let the golden liquid dripped down her fingers and molded into a glass arrow. Luxinna docked her newest ammunition onto the golden bow and started running current down the [Serene Glass] shaft. The glass crackled with electricity and glowed.  Scathach’s mouth hung open. The golden material snaked around the bow, coiling over the limbs, converting it into an electromagnet. The current surged and the superconductor projectile radiated with power. “What are you doing?” Luxinna grinned like a maniac. “I remember Rem talking about this weapon,” she explained. “He said coiling an electrical current around metal will accelerate a charged arrow. I think he called it a railgun.” Scathach suddenly had an incredibly bad feeling about this ordeal. “Luxinna, I don’t think this is a good idea.” Luxinna didn’t listen. She already fired the arrow. Its recoil blasted her backward violently. The bow's magnetic field cut the superconductor arrow perpendicularly and generated massive Lorenze force. However, the electromagnet cutting direction resulted in an upward force, causing the bow to painfully fly out of the elf hand and the shot going wild. … Melody was working on reverse engineering an Assault Rifle. It was a week ago when she discovered her newfound fascination. She was walking along the street of Venistalis with Rem when they ran into a depressed businessman on Earth. The poor man was trying to sell the weapon to the citizen of Venistalis, but no one seemed to be interested in a piece of metal from the youngest world in Phantasia. Melody thought it made sense. Even the weakest spells were much more lethal than an archaic weapon that fired metal. Compared to Isle of Knowledge’s energy weapon, or the elven’s magical archery, guns were the illogical weapon that shouldn’t be viable in Phantasia. Melody knew all of those points, but she didn’t care. It was love at first sight. The craftmanship, the ingenious mechanism, and design; everything was so well put together. Something in her clicked when she saw how the weapon snapped together as it fired. It was a work of art--a testament of the generation of engineer pouring their sweat and blood to craft the perfect killing weapon in the world with no Mana. She could hardly believe when Rem and the businessman started to explain how these weapons were mass manufacture. The young princess tripled Earth's worth after that day. Rem also said something about how his birthplace allowed its citizens to carry a weapon like this. Melody had to give this America her respect. Its founder must be a genius. However, she still doubted what Rem said about its people wanting to ban these guns. How could anyone be stupid enough to surrender the weapon to a tyrant? It was how the country like Grand Empire and Demonic Continent controlled its citizens; hoarding powerful magical knowledge and books, leaving the people reliant Seven Continental Alliance for protection. Knowing she might not have another opportunity, Melody bought the weapon with all her allowance. Rem didn’t even bother to stop her. Now the young demoness spent her time carefully disassembling her new toys and noted down how she could make it the hottest thing in Phantasia. Melody was in the middle of studying the automatic firing-pin when a loud explosion nearly made her dropped the delicate mechanism. She saw a golden light blasting apart the cloud a second later and growled in annoyance. What the heck did that air-head elf bumbled into this time? … “IT HURT!” The black-hair elf screeched while a blonde-goddess fixed her broken hand. “Of course it hurt, you idiot!” Cytortia hit her over the head with a rolled-up medical manual. “Who told you to experiment with an untested technique for fun! You are grounded, young lady. You will be spending tomorrow morning helping me take care of the herb.” “But-“ “Shut. Up.” Cytortia cowed Luxinna in submission.  Scathach nodded speechlessly at the goddess’ ferocity. Hikma looked at the area of signed glass with admiration and fear. “Are you sure it is a railgun?” He asked Rem. “Probably,” Rem said as Melody autopsied the incident with pen and paper. “It is one of the weapons that could break her hand.” Rem showed Luxinna the diagram Melody drew with his input. “Is this what you did?” “Yeah,” Luxinna flinched from the pain. “No wonder you lost control,” Rem said. “Your magnetic field cut with the current in the wrong direction. Instead of propelling the arrow forward, the Lorenz force sent it up instead.” Melody added something to the picture. “Given what you said about the Right-Hand Rule, we should make the coil parallel to grip and reshape the arrow rest. A bit of extension should help deal with acceleration and recoil.” Melody showed the gang the picture. “Would this work?” Luxinna stretched out her hand and summoned her bow. To Hikma’s surprise, the bow morphed into Melody's newest design. “How does the bow do that?” Hikma said. “Technically, it is a sword,” Luxinna said, flipping the weapon to the sky. The bow spun twice, elongating into a blade as it landed on her hand. “Tadaa! Say hello to [Historia].” Hikma stared. Of course, an elf wielded a shapeshifting sword. He was in a fantasy world now. “Yes, it should work,” Melody said. “But you need a way to deal with the recoil. I recommend readjusting your gauntlet so that it shatters more easily. That will at least soften the momentum.” “Okay then,” Rem said. “Cytortia, information update. How are things doing in Venistalis?” “Aside from the fact that a random Duke will host the ball next week, everything is normal,” Cytortia said. “I spot one 33 Stars in the city.” “Two,” Scathach said. “You forget to mention your friend Shyme.” “Shyme isn’t interested in nuking up cities,” Cytortia argued. “She isn’t a threat. But another one of the Stars might be a problem.” “Which one is it?” Melody said. “Please tell me it is Kruger Aztellic.” “I know you have a grudge against Jekyll’s eldest son, but calm the hell down,” Rem said. “Assuming the crisis will happen within a month or two, we need to gauge any potential players we might come across. We need an insider’s intelligence. I need to contact Marley.”  Everyone paused. “Marley?” Hikma asked. “Marley the Magpie is in Venistalis!” Melody’s jaw dropped. “How is that possible?” “The best place to hide from the cop is right across the police station,” Rem said. “The Seven Continental Alliance would never believe that one of their most infamous criminals is hiding inside one of their most prominent capital.” “Guys, who are we talking about?” Cytortia started explaining. “Marley the Magpie is a member of the Liberator,” Cytortia explained. “They are an organization hell-bent on overthrowing the influence of the noble of Aurorin who had there hand in most of Phantasia high society.” ”Think Robin Hood and his merry men deciding to give terrorism a try,” Rem said. A memory of his father’s death resurfaced inside Hikma’s mind. “I don’t trust them.” “Understandable,” Rem admitted. “Marley and I struck a truce the last time we crashed. Although we disapprove of their tendency to use excessive force, we need allies against the like of Seven Continental Alliance and Aurorin. Thankfully, Marley is at least a moderate.” ”He is also and S-ranker only below Scathach,” Melody said. “Infamous for holding back an invasion during his soldier days.” “That concludes our discussion,” Rem said. “We will contact Marley tomorrow.” “I have one thing to ask,” Luxinna raised her hand. “What are you and Hikma cooking up? I saw you two drilling with each other a lot these past few days." Hikma and Rem looked at each other. “Now that you reminded me, I need to talk to Scathach about a certain project of mine,” Rem said. “The truth is we don’t have a battle style to utilize True Magic combat." Melody frowned. “Don’t have one? Scathach taught us some pretty advanced techniques.” ”A flashy one,” Rem nodded. “But those techniques are meant to use with Cultivation Technique or Spells. We couldn’t use either. We are implementing an entirely new system from the ground up.” “We are trying to lay a new basic,” Hikma added. “Rem and I are constructing a basic sword-form from what we know and our inspiration. We still needed to work it over a lot until completion, but I think we get the basics down.” “Oh really,” Scathach said. “Show me.” … It was a match between Luxinna and Hikma. Luxinna was holding her practice blade with her left hand. Meanwhile, her dominant right hung inside a sling. “This duel has only three rules,” Rem said while leaning on a practice like a cane. “You can only launch an attack within the ring. And no lethal injuries. A direct blow to the body is a killing shot. Melody will be the referee. Get it?” “Uh-huh,” Luxinna flourished her blade. “Rem, we already go over this multiple time,” Hikma said, suspiciously paying more attention to Rem over Luxinna. “We are using Pandemonium rule, right?” “Yes.” Hikma groaned. The fight would be a clusterfuck. “What is Pandemonium rules?” Luxinna said. “You will know,” Rem smiled insidiously. “Begin!” Luxinna waited for an attack, but Hikma simply stood still in a guard stance. The elf grew impatient and started attacking, coming at Hikma with a one-handed over-head blow. Hikma blocked the blow and spun away from her range. The boy maintained his guard stance, unmoving.  “You are not going to attack?” Luxinna said. “No,” Hikma managed a small smile. “I am a gentleman.” Cytortia gulp. Luxinna hated patronization. Things are about to become messy. “Well, Mr. Gentleman, here I come.” Luxinna delivered an overhead feint, hiding a reverse-cut. Hikma fell for it with an overhead guard. However, the tight swing he employed allow him to correct his block with minimal movement. The two practice blades clashed. Luxinna pirouetted and brought the sword toward his right flanked with a lethal gracefulness only to met a wing block. Luxinna followed with a headbutt, but the boy already twisted out of the way and stuck out his foot. The elf tripped, but she managed to cartwheel herself back into the standing position. Scathach, Cytortia, and Melody stared with awe. “Is this the real Hikma?” Cytortia said. "When did he get this good at swordplay.” “Rem, what did you feed him?” Melody said. “Unbelievable,” Scathach barely believed what she was seeing. “Lux might be missing her dominant hand, but she is above Hikma in almost every metric. Just how did he last the exchange with such a wide power difference?” Luxinna grunted, unleashing another set of fast pace continuous attacks. However, her attempt would only meet an unbending wall. A small parry nudged her thrust away to the side. A quick block from Hikma stopped her horizontal lash. Her next attack, a downward cut to the left, got intercepted by a free-flowing reverse-downward block. Each movement was tight and efficient. A short pause followed before Luxinna restarted her attack with twice the vigor. “It is his battle style,” Rem answered as Hikma consecutively stopped an overhead strike, a whirling cut, and backpedaled away from Luxinna’s sword-flick. “Hikma isn’t a bad swordsman, but he sucks at attacking and counter-attacking. He unconditionally tries to avoid hurting people, so we decided to build an all-defensive form just for him.” “A defensive form?” Cytortia said. “But how that helps someone like Luxinna.” Rem smiled. “A defensive form I plan to create is invincible. The battle-style surrenders all the attack potential for absolute defense. Essentially, the form sacrifices reach and power generation for tight coverage, speed, and deflection. No one should be able to pierce its guard unless they overwhelmed the practitioner or the tired him out.” “Isn’t that tactic essentially delaying the inevitable?” Scathach said, as the Hikma backpedaled toward the spectator. “It would be a contest of stamina at this point.” “True,” Rem admitted as the duo fought past him. “But the philosophy of this style is to eventually fatigue your opponent to the point they make a stupid mistake.” Unbeknownst to all but one person, Rem tightened his grip on the weapon he was holding. Finally, Luxinna twisted her sword in a disarming maneuver, disarming her sparring partner. The elf’s face lighted up with glee. But at that moment, Rem did the unexpected. He stepped to the ring and tapped her over the head with his wooden blade. “Lux, you are dead,” Rem said. “Hikma?” HIkma, his arm numbed from the sparing, had only one thing to say. “I surrender,” he shrugged. “You win.” Silence. “What the hell, Rem!?” Luxinna yelled. “This is supposed to be one-on-one!” “Melody,” Rem said. “What is the rule?” “Attack only count within the ring. No lethal injuries. A direct blow to the body is a killing shot.” “Are there any rules against entering the ring late and launching an attack?” Silence. Melody sighed and admitted tactical defeat. “Rem win.” Luxinna screamed to the sky. “Oh, you fucking cheater,” Scathach groaned. “You two plan this.” “I am happy being the runner up,” Hikma said. “The mode is called Pandemonium because it essentially has no rule that stops ambushes, alliances, and actively encourages cheating. Personally, this is a real bastard idea, Rem.” “Hey, it is good training for us because we will be outnumbered against cheaters,” Rem shrugged. “You either get better, or you lose.” Cytortia glared at the heaven. Just how the hell did Rem keep cheating them and get away with it?

Round 3 of the Horizon Dawn's first-ever raid boss opened with the comeback of a threat who got the worse end of the battle right from the start. Illma wasn't happy with getting the short-end of the stick. The Untouchable busted out of the flaming wreck; her hair greyed with soot and blood bled from the cut above her eyes. Wiping away her blood, gritting for murder, Illma crawled from the debris searching for things to kill. Then she spotted the spark of lightning in the distance. Finally, a psychological nutcase got something to blame. … Everything was on fire. Luxinna ran toward the dragon as everything around her burned. One particular flaming structure that once upon the time functioned as a restaurant crumbled as she ran. Golden lightning weaved her ornate armor into existence as she stormed into the dragon’s path. The dragon limped on, a far cry from the unstoppable beast it was fifteen minutes ago. Sadly, it wasn't dead, and Luxinna got enlisted to harpoon it to death. Given that F-U3 and F-U4 were tied directly to the weapon she was carrying, this job was without a doubt the riskiest one. The elf surveyed the damage as she ran. It was horrific. The North section of Millian was a blackened, charred husk of what it once was. The slum area which Illma had converted into her base was now a mound of bricks and metals. Firestorm reduced multiple streets into a burnt-out shell, marking the dragon's journey of rampage toward Milian's center. The flame didn't stop with this area if the screaming she heard was to believe. Finally, F-U2 detonating scarred the ground with meteor's crater. Luxinna checked her mental map. The rampage started from the slum in North section, continued eastward into Illma’s base before being pushed toward the center. Pathwise, they must be near the center of Millian's Northeast section. Luxinna gulped. Unless they snuffed out the dragon quickly, a third of Millian would likely end in flame. Knowing time was against her, the elf redoubled her speed and leaped into the crater, landing on the severely injured dragon. Wasting no time, she tossed two harpoons into the vulnerable flesh of its wounded tail. Luxinna continued to run along the dragon's spine. Electricity crackled across her armor, cutting a path into the ghost protecting the beast. Along the run, the elf would periodically impale the vulnerable flesh where the dragon's scale laid shattered from the explosion. In response, dragon struggled mightily, tossing and turning to remove the mosquito harassing it. The movement forced Luxinna to rebalance herself while trying to protect the four harpoons still in her hand. Suddenly, a fireball blasted her off the dragon's back. Luxinna's vision blurred from the searing pain, but she managed to fight to the fog of confusion and launched two more harpoons. One missed and bounced off the dragon protected hide, but another found its mark at the site of the dragon's severed wing. Meanwhile, the two remaining secret weapons slipped from her hand and dropped into nothingness. The young elf landed smack to the earth with a painful thud and a satisfied smile. Then she heard the thumping noise. She didn’t like what she saw. All functioning X-cution landed all around her. Each model varied in size and deadliness. Out of the shadow, the head honcho of how today went so wrong stepped into the light. “Finally,” Illma Zoldiea Road said, toying with two harpoons Luxinna dropped. “I don’t know who you are, and I don’t care. You ruin everything: my toys, my plan, my lovely house. You must have a death wish to challenge the Alliance. Not that I need them here, I alone will get to enjoy your scream." Magic surged into Illma’s hand, crushing the two harpoons to smithereens. Luxinna watched the X-cution starting to close in. Behind her, the dragon smashed through another house as it continued to rampage eastward. … Luxinna wasn’t the only person who experience things going south. On the other side of the town, Melody ate a hammer right in the stomach. Things weren't going well for the young demoness. Numbers was the main problem. Two or three people below her league wouldn’t be too much for her to handle. Hundred, on the other hand, was an improbable number. But Melody wasn’t in it to win; she fought to protect as many as she could. The body-shot thrust her across the ground, creating a 5 meters long trench before she came to rest. The attacking adventurer leaped after the girl. War hammer held high as she brought it down on the girl. To the adventurer's shock, a grip of steel caught the hammer’s handle, and a flaming punch knocked the flabbergasted woman into a nearby house. Melody got up, spitting a mouthful of blood while her Cultivation Technique stitched her torn muscle back together. That was the eleventh adventurers. The twelfth and thirteenth rushed her from both the right and left. The twelfth reached her first with a twin dagger. She batted one aside and dealt with the second dagger in two short moves, while narrowly dodging the thirteenth’s rapier. Without pausing, Melody knocked the twelfth out with a backhand, while a high kick in the chin tossed the thirteenth up to knock-out land. Barely able to catch her breath, Melody fought off another man lunging to her side with a spear, tripped him with a leg-sweep, before flipping him into an incoming fireball; one more down. Suddenly, a killing intent flashed from behind. Fight or flight reflex kicked in as Melody dodged, but she still felt a sharp pain in her back. The girl turned to meet the old man unsheathing his blade. Blood from her shoulder dripped to the ground. The wound hurt, but she could handle it. “Impressive,” the old man replied. “Incredible responses, but you still need to work on your battle awareness.” Melody blinked. Battle awareness?  Right on cue, a tremendous cyclone slammed into the girl and carried into a wall. The wind proceeded to punch her through the ceiling, up the second floor, and out of the roof. Then the attack did a U-turn and slammed her into the ground with enough impacted to kick up a dust cloud. A distance away, a young mage leaped up joyfully. “I did it! I did it!” She yelled. “I got her—“ A plank flew from the dust cloud and hit the mage squarely in the face. Melody limped out into visibility; her face scrunched with pain. Still, that didn’t stop her from catching an attacking adventurer by the neck and sent him crashing into a healer-looking girl with a back kick. Suddenly, her [Heavenly Eyes] detected a flash of magic seeping into the ground. Melody had a sinking feeling about that. Without warning, the ground beneath her turned to mud, eroding the girl’s footing. The old man seized this opportunity, leaping at Melody from the shadow and slashed across her shoulder. The beautifully crafted slash landed with a spurt of blood. Melody flinched from the wound but still able to retaliate with a wall of flame. However, unlike her previous challengers, the elderly adventurer didn’t fold in one attack. A brush of wind dissipated her flame while a sword stabbed down from the cover of the fire. The gleaming blade pierced through Melody's shoulder and out of her back, pinning the screaming girl to the ground. “You did well,” the old man replied, driving the blade deeper. “Not many come as far as you did.” To his surprise, the girl grabbed his sword with a flaming gripped. With blood from her wound dyeing the ground red, the girl blinked back her tears and head-butted the elder in the face. “Sorry,” Melody staggered up, clothing torn, dirtied with blood and mud, yet her eyes remain undeterred. “But I plan to go a little bit further.” … Luxinna eyed the surrounding X-cution. Out of her cape, she pulled out an egg-shape device.  “Final warning, Road,” she stared down the Untouchable. “Call off this idiocy, or you will regret this.” “Regret what?” Illma arrogantly stated. “You are surrounded.” Luxinna sighed and dropped the egg. The device hit the ground softly. Black pulsating energy rippled out of the egg and swept over the area. One by one, the X-cution dropped out to its knee. Ground unit halted and stopped functioning, while the flying-type dropped out from the sky like a lead balloon. Illma abruptly found herself standing alone. “How? What did you do to my toys, bitch!?” “Your toys?” The elf retorted. “They are psychologically scarred kids, not toys! How can you treat people like this? Seriously, I need an answer to this question! What is in that sick head of yours to make you treat other people like they were lesser than dirt under your heel? What exactly devolved you that far?” Illma barely blinked. “Devolved?” She giggled. “I’m the evolution! An ascended being that you will never be.” Luxinna disdainfully looked at her opponent. “If you are so high above me, why do you look this desperate?” “I’m never desperate,” Illma quickly denied. “The desperate are those dragged down by the world! I’m above it, you bitch! My status is my father's grand design! He made me untouchable! Comparing us is like comparing a hell-spawn and heaven ascend, can’t you notice the irony?” Luxinna remained silent. “Soul attack,” the elf finally spoke. “What?” “That grenade emitted high-intensity soul-wave,” Melody explained. “I don’t know the detail, but the grenade sends a wave of soul attack once it detonates. Theoretically, the soul attack should be so feeble that even a healthy baby could shrug it off. So how did your invincible toys short-circuit from something that weak?” “How does this have to do with anything?!” “Heh,” the masked elf chuckled. “My friend will say this get to do with everything. He has a bad personality, but he is a genius when it comes to pushing nerves. You know what he said about you?” Luxinna continued. “You are puppet queens, literally. Your X-cutions are so emotionally and spiritually dead that a harmless grenade can defeat them. This fact, more than anything, proves that you aren’t above the world. Heaven ascended god queen won't lead an army weaker than babies. What you are is a little girl who ate everything her parents feed her without thinking for herself.” “Shut up! My father-“ “Your father is an asshole,” Luxinna interfered. “Trust me. I’m a professional when it comes to asshole father. Guess what, Road, we can’t pick our parent. I can’t dilute the truth that my mother doesn’t want to raise me, and my father hates everything I am. It's a fact. Facts don’t care about your feeling. It must hurt to accept that your mother's death was an unfortunate accident and your father responded like capital-A assholes, right? Sorry, that doesn’t excuse the way you put people in hell. It doesn’t prove you are a god in human skin. The only thing you proves is you're incapable of distinguishing right and wrong without a nanny telling you otherwise!” “SHUT UP!” Lightning raced from Illma’s hand, striking Luxinna in her chest, sending the elf crashing into the one side of a charred building and out of another.   The crazed Illma waited for a second before finally relaxing her guard. Then she broke down, laughing in relief until a flash of gold arrived. Luxinna's super-speed punch crashed into Illma faster than she could retaliate and landed her several feet away. Meanwhile, the puncher triggered her communication rune as she surveyed the plume of dust rising in the distance. “Cy, we have a problem. I missed three harpoons and are now fighting Road. I don’t…” Another blast of lightning struck Luxinna, charring her communicator. However, aside from pushing her back a few feet, the bolt didn’t leave any lasting damage. Luxinna’s lighting-immunity could stop a blast from Zeus himself much less Illma. Even her Ebony certified uniform didn’t get crumpled. Illma yelled, switching her method of attacking. She didn’t understand how Luxinna took her lightning head-on, but no one could be immune to everything. If lightning didn’t work, she had to use fire. She stretched her hand, unleashing a column of fire which plowed toward Luxinna like an unstoppable tidal wave. Luxinna leaped to the side; her armor crackled with lightning as her nervous response kicked into high gear. Heat basked across her face as the pillar of fire sailed past her ears. Luxinna took out three throwing knives and threw it at Illma. The knives, coated with electricity, sailed across the air at superhuman speed. Illma couldn't dodge the attack on time. She didn't have to as a pale blue hexagonal wall materialized to block the knife, causing it to clatter powerlessly to the ground, failing to do any damage. “Sorry bitch,” Illma couldn’t help but brag. "That trick wasn’t going to work! Don’t you like it! The Isle of knowledge most cutting-edge Automatic Force-shield. There is no chance you can beat its attack detection.” Luxinna’s eyebrows twitched. “Try this!” The elf threw five more knives and a glass-vial at Illma; most of which bounced off the shield and impaled on the ground. Illma made a face. “Is this the best you got?” Illma shouted, then the vial exploded into a cloud of red-smoke. “Smokebomb? You must be kidding me.” Illma started to step out of the cloud. It was a mistake. Illma failed to detect tiny golden lotuses latching on the knives, each flower ready to discharge electricity. Illma's action re-positioned the pseudo-taser in her automatic shield, completely bypassing her defense. BZZZT! Luxinna triggered the lotuses, unleashing their maximum voltage. The blade's electrical discharge latched onto Illma, electrocuting her. Despite the elf's victory, Illma laughed. Luxinna was confused for a split second until a feeling she never felt before slammed into her. Her muscle suddenly tensed up, and senses of heat invaded her nerve. Luxinna spasmed from the pain of electric shock before a fireball slammed her out of a piece of burnt-out wood she hid behind. Illma glared the squirming Luxinna. “Interesting tactic,” Illma commented. “I admit I didn’t see that coming. Sadly, you are way below my league.” Luxinna recovered in time to survive another fire-ball, but the fight didn’t improve much. … On another side of the town, at least eighty adventurers encircled a kneeling girl. The girl's clothing was bloody with bleeding cuts and scrapes. During the fight, a flying boulder left her face bruised. The girl tried to get up, wincing with pain as her stab wound act up, but pillory of rock still kept her firmly pinned to the ground. “I can’t believe it takes us this much,” the old man stood exhausted and bleeding. “Yeah,” said a hobbling scantily cladded woman nursing her broken arms. "What a monster." Melody Solarmaria was captured and incapacitated.

The Madam listened to Rem’s briefing and summarized. “In conclusion, someone stole a dangerous text in Shyme Enma’s possession and started the murder spree to summon a World Enemy to raise an undead in the middle of Venistalis. And you think a member of the prestigious 33 Stars and royal-mages are in on the ploy.” “Yes,” Rem confirmed. He glanced at the Madam’s carpet. He had an inkling the carpet was the Phantasian Valley Tiger’s fur. He knew this species because Cytortia once said its fur had a unique luster, fetching up to several millions. As a pauper, the word millions meant a lot. “It sound like a plot from a B-Movie,” Aleksei Martynov commented. “How are you so sure, cugino?” “Because someone bothered sneaking into the territory belonging to the most dangerous clan in this continent,” Rem said. “It risk too much. If I am in the mastermind’s shoes, a move like that must worth the crackdown. That mean he must know how to read the text and the murder spree in Venistalis tell us he is using it here.” Martynov nodded and supported Rem’s suspicion. “You are right. He would have to start a month and a half ago at the earliest. Which mean we already cross the body count of 45.” “That left 65 lives,” the Madan said grimly. “Which bring us to the suspect list,” Rem spoke. “I will be honest. I think Wayward is on the list.” That caught the Madam by surprise. “Samael Wayward is flawed, but he doesn’t strike me as the traitorous types,” the Madam said. “That man is one of Grand Empire’s strongest men. He is only second to the Five Generals with more military accomplishments than anyone. He also achieved the First-Wave title as a Captain of the royal mage at 25.” Rem huffed. Ever since the party, Wayward’s images was bouncing inside Rem’s head. The information gathering he and Luxinna performed together confirmed exactly why. “He is impressive. Impressive enough that he never married, owns no house, rents the same flat from his grunt days to Captain, have tighter social-circle than a teenage mafia, have no personal subscription, and have no life insurance,” Rem summed up his point. “Madam, if that isn’t the behavior of the person who plans to leave the moment an opportunity arrive, I think he might have a plan to kill himself.” Martynov secretly cheered. Once again, Remus Breaker’s deductive instinct didn’t let them down. Rem didn’t finish just yet. “Assuming Wayward got compromised from his graduation day, the entire royal-mages automatically dropped from my reliability list.” Rem said. “We also don’t know about nobility’s involvement.” The Madam realized a certain point. “Shouldn’t I be one of your suspects? Why do you come to me?” “There is a possibility, but it is unlikely,” Rem told the Madam. “You are the one with the most to lose once the ritual kick into high-gear. Your revenue depends on the working class being alive, healthy, and happy. You already have a firm grasp on Grand Empire’s nobility and economy. An upset in the status quo will only translate to a loss. There are no benefit for you to destroy Venistalis. Even if you want to kill the city, you only need to blow up the economy to end Venistalis.” Martynov nodded. Rem’s point coincide with Antonio Argentum’s assessment. The friendly, plump, middle-age woman in front of them was in the trustworthy book because if she wasn’t, they would already be having some drink in hell. The Russian man grumbled. Rem and the boss got along well because they both share a grim sense of humor. “And let me guess your second suspect is Orwell Mehest?” The Madam leaned back against the silk sofa stuff with feathers from divine geese. “Why him?” “Because he is an ass-kisser,” Rem calmly informed. “And a fence-sitter.” “Good enough,” Martynov agreed. “Just two reasons,” the Madam said. “Is it the Mafia thing?” “Madam Marmel,” Martynov said. “In our line of business, an ass-kisser only come to lick your feet because they want something. And if they lick your ass, you can guarantee their tongue won’t be licking your ass alone.” “Yes, and fence-sitter are the worse because they want you to brawl and reap the glory with the winning side. Let me ask the obvious question, how did Orwell Mehest become a 33 Stars with that two luggages?” … “Cytortia, I told you I am sorry,” Chuang tried to placate her junior sister. Cytortia tried to clamp down the surge of elation rising inside her. Three months ago, she would jump up with joy to hear that sentence coming out of Chuang Tianshang’s mouth. But sadly for the Heavenly Daughter of Fire, Rem was rubbing on Cytortia. The nature goddess was wiser nowadays. She learned that her senior sister only pretend to be sorry because she wanted something. “Chuang, you are only here because you want me to help you deal with Tai Hua,” Cytortia said. “Action proves more than word, and your action all those years ago give you no leverage to stand on.” “I told you I was stupid! I change!” Cytortia checked the map and the location Rem scribbled on the map. They were in the right place. A street decorated with flowers shed with bystander passing each other during the busy days. Cytortia looked at the small coffee shop open inside a multistoried shopping centre. Venistalis' Earth-quarter blended the city design of the modern-day Akihabara with classical European-style bricks frameworks. It was an architectural feat made possible with only magic and metal reinforcement. Lovely Coffee Shop was like many of the street coffee-house found along the street of Earth. The appealing glass window allowed the customer to peer inside the brightly color interior. Cytortia looked at the young barista who was expertly mixing coffee inside the brown wood workstation. The barista flipped five lattes onto the wooden tray without a drop of coffee on his uniform. Meanwhile, a girl in her sixteen was rounding back to the delivered the new order to a consumer sitting on the circular laminated wooden table. Cytortia briefly looked around the room and she spotted her best friend sitting beside the farthest sunflower-color window sill. Cytortia nodded and opened the yellow door, shining with a relatively fresh paint job. Tai Hua followed her closely, curious about this meeting between the two 33 Stars. Suddenly, Cytortia briefly stopped walking to help a tripping five years-old, worsening Chuang’s increasing impatience. Finally, Cytortia sat down in front of her friend. Shyme Enma dropped the menu down and complained. “Why did he pick this place? It is goddamn noisy.” Cytortia once again got the stark reminder of why they hung out in a different social circle. Rem might be mean, but when even she could see he was more caring to fellow man than her friends and senior sisters ever was. Which begged a question about what kind of social circle Rem hung around. Maybe Rem could introduce some of his friend. She bet they were better than 75% of the people in her childhood. “He said it reminds him of what is important,” Cytortia looked out of the window and saw the people living their lives on the street. “Seeing this view, I think he is right.” Chuang and Shyme glanced outside to the same place Cytortia did. “What were you looking at?” Chuang questioned. “I only saw people mucking around on the street,” Shyme stated what she thought was the obvious. Cytortia noticed the woman sprinting on the street, worrying that she would arrive late to work. Her eyes caught sight of a boy running into a young officer looking over the street and spilling his ice cream. She watched that same guard reached down, comforted the boy, and lend him money for a replacement scoop. The boy’s mother arrived later with his brother. The guard waved as the boy and his brother thanked him. Two streets away, a youthful girl was helping an elderly lady restocked her shops. Everyone was smiling, and that fact overshadowed all the obstacles in front of her. “No point in telling you guys what I see,” Cytortia shook her head sadly. “You wouldn’t get it if I explain.” She handed Shyme the file. “Here, we translated it,” Cytortia slid the folder across the table. “Thank you,” Shyme caught the folder. “How did you do it?” Cytortia smiled. “We have an excellent cryptographer and archeologist.” Shyme put two and two together. “There are more of you?” the beast girl asked. Cytortia gestured toward Chuang and made a shushed noise. Suddenly, a pubescent girl came toward the group with a book. “Are you Miss Shyme Enma?” “Yes,” Shyme answered woodenly. “Can I have your autograph?” ””No”” Shyme and Chuang replied without even turning to look at the young girl. The girl looked like she was about to cry, but luckily for her, a saint was also sitting on the table. “You want an autograph?” Cytortia said. “Do you want mine?” The girl suddenly noticed Cytortia. “Are you lady Cytortia? The weakest 33 Stars.” “I might be last, but that doesn’t mean I am the weakest,” Cytortia corrected the girl. Her face red with shame. “And those upper-level of 33 Stars like those two are a total meanie.” “A meanie?” The eight-year-old girl said. “Hey, hey, don’t tell the kid that,” Chuang tried to do the damage control but her word had zero sway on the girl.  “That right a meanie,” Cytortia grabbed the pen and clipboard. “So greedy they wouldn’t give a cutie like you anything—not even an autograph.” Cytortia signed the book before noticing the title. “Basic of Fire Spell-Casting,” Cytortia’s eyes lighted up. “You want to be a fire mages little girl.” “Yes!” “You will be a great one,” the young goddess said. “Just remember to train your focus too and feel the essence of fire.” “Essence of fire?” “Yes, remember how fire feel hot. There are many concepts of hotness. A bonfire, a warm wind, or the steam from a hot spring. If you work those memories into your spell works setup, it will improve your spells. But don’t try this without a supervision, make sure your teacher is nearby before doing an experiment.” “Thank you, Miss Cytortia!” The girl collected the book Cytortia handed back and ran out excitedly. Before going out of the shop, the girl looked back at the group, specifically at Chuang and Shyme, and mounted one word. “Meanie.” She left, leaving two 33 Stars utterly crushed by an eight-year-old. “How?” Shyme expressed the face of someone getting crush by a flying pig. “Why don’t she ask me?” Chuang felt like Cytortia just blasted her to orbit. “I AM A FIRE MAGE!” Cytortia’s lip trembled with annoyance. “Crushing a girl’s pedestal like it is nothing and complain later,” Cytortia said. “The boss is right. Your ego need a hammering.” Shyme noticed one word.  Boss But Chuang was exploding. “What is it about my ego!?” Cytortia huffed. “Chuang the only thing you are is a killing machine. Your ego should be negligible. And yes, I am done being afraid of your sorry ass. If you move against me, Hal Jordan will go right to Tai Hua and tell her how to win. Shyme can tell you how many plans he has to end you.” “She wasn’t kidding,” Shyme creeped out.  Chuang looked at the cowering fox-girl. “Come on, it can’t that bad!” “You do not understand,” Shyme said. “If you see what is running inside his head, you will kill yourself rather than get captured alive.” “Coward,” Chuang shot her insult at the paling fox-girl. “Cytortia, I am serious. If Tai Hua win, the entire world will be in danger. The World Enemy is mobilizing.” “Yeah,” Cytortia said. “What?” Shyme replied. “What the hell are you talking about” “Cytortia, there will be a full-blown invasion within-“ “Ten years,” Cytortia said. “Chuang, that is old news.” Shyme looked quizzically between the two. “Hold it! When did you two learn this?” What Shyme said brought one realization to Chuang Tianshang. She looked at the weak shrimp she once had in her palm with a new light. “You couldn’t discover this on your own. Who told you?” Cytortia heeded Rem’s lesson on trolling—be cryptically honest. “My new boss told me.” “The Alchemical Society?” Chuang recalled the reason Cytortia came to this city. With her lacked of backer and combat strength, she would settle with the benefactor who valued her highly. It what happened last time. Cytortia stayed with the Alchemical Society and stayed out of the 33 Stars’ conflict until the very end, when the Isle of Knowledge led by Elish Mitis took over the Alchemical Society. The Cytortia Chuang knew took her own life rather than becoming Elish’s pet. That was the event that would happen in nine years. But this time, destiny was not on her side. A goddess of good already cut destiny’s balls a long time ago. “No, I am not planning to join any organization, Chuang,” Cytortia said. “I know the World Enemy is coming and I will be there to fight them. You can make war games all you want, but there are no versions of this I will hide and do nothing.” Shyme and Chuang blinked. Did Cytortia of all people just threaten them? “Are you talking to us?” Shyme said. “You are talking to us, right?” “Yes.” “Shrimp,” Chuang chided. “Think about this carefully. I can give you anything you want. I have resources, techniques, cultivation-manuals, and connections. Once we remove Tai Hua, we will be on top of the 33 Stars list. Even the gods and the ancestors need to treat us respectfully. Up there, we can save the world.” “Then what? What do you do after you save the world?” “Rule it benevolently and bring an age of glory to Phantasia.” Cytortia huffed. “It all come down to that, isn’t it? You bring world salvation as an excuse to gain more power. The power to force people who can’t fight for themselves to kneel before your glorious image. You want ultimate power to sit on the peak of the world, thinking there will be no opposition. Guess what, Chuang. There will always be people who disagree with you. If you truly want the best for the world, you will want to be free, not under your benevolent mercy. That ultimate power is only a handy tool to cow detractor into silence. What you want is the world rule by fear, but I am not afraid anymore.” Chuang barely kept herself straight. When did this happen? Everything was wrong. This was not the Cytortia she knew. That girl could only cower. Where did she get all this courage? “What do you plan to do when they arrived, Shrimp?” Chuang scowled. “If I don’t win this war, someone will. And do you think people like Tai Hua will take the threat seriously?” Superman is the walking embodiment that nihilism and cynism are for underachieving losers; doing what is right is hard and required a massive personal sacrifice. But I would rather fight to my death than live in the world without hope. Those were the word he said. The symbol that gave her the courage she never found in herself. “I don’t care. The type like you never win. When will you learn that self-centered, oppressive tyrants always lose? The only thing you should do is counting the day a Superhero will arrive to nail those World Enemies into the wall.” Cytortia stood up, ignoring the confused Shyme and the twitching Chuang. “Oh yeah,” Cytortia remembered something before she left. She tossed a box to Shyme. “Shyme, I bake you some cupcake. Do not share it with the Gorilla there?” Cytortia turned and left the coffee shop. “Did she just called me a Gorilla?” said the Heavenly Daughter of Fire, obtusely refusing to believe her mild and plain junior sister just shove an insult to her throat. Shyme opened the box and swallowed the cupcake slowly, trying to find her baring in this bizarre reality she found herself in. 

Kruger fondly remembered his times in the Royal-mages’ REC room. It was a fun time. … Kruger slumped down the sofa and whistled. He brought his leg on the table, annoying the entire unit sitting there. “Remove your leg, Number 2,” a female mage spoke. Her face twitched in annoyance. “Have a problem, Sandra,” Kruger snickered. “Fed up that your attempt to seduce Captain Perfect fail again?” “S-Shut up,” she stammered. “I am getting there. Captain Wayward smiled when he received my chocolate!” Another female mage crooned. “How adorable, Sandra? Want me to give you a few homes-making tricks? Don’t you know a quality man often prefer a traditional wife?” A man beside her chuckled at Sandra’s distress. Kruger gritted his teeth in a fit of jealousy. Wayward was already bad enough. Now this? What the hell with the royal mages and fucking raijus. Who the heck would believe this idiot had beaten Wayward to the sweetest girl in the division? A book fell on Kruger’s face. “Kruger, take your feet of the table,” Sol sternly said. “You are not a hooligan, Vice-commander.” “Oh, force me,” Kruger’s short fuse burned. “Come on, shorty.” Clank! A youthful royal-mages loudly put a tray on a table and slid teacups toward both men. “Third-wave, Vice-Captain,” Joshua sternly smiled. “Please take a coffee and clam down.” They complied, Joshua’s coffees were excellent. “Lucky you, Sol,” Kruger sipped his coffee. Joshua would make a killing once he retired and opened a coffee-house. Better enjoy before it cost money. “Thanks, Joshua,” Sol grinned at Joshua. His eyes glinting with glee. “These are fantastic coffee.” “Oh, everyone is already here,” the youngest recruit and the teacher’s pet — Alexander walked into the recreation room alongside their leader. “Wait. Vice-Captain arrive early. That must be a first.” “Shut up, Alexander,” Kruger said. “Hey, Wayward, how is the current patrol? Need any help.” “Roiche request back,” Samael Wayward informed the room. “I will go personally. Alexander, want to experience your first field-mission?” “Yes, Captain,” Alexander beamed happily. “Good,” then Wayward noticed a sulking Sandra. “I can also use another hand,” Wayward floated. “How about you, Sandra?” “Yes sir,” Sandra leaped up energetically. “Good,” Wayward picked up the cup of coffee on the tray and savored it. “Excellent coffee as always, Joshua. And Kruger, avoid blowing up the headquarter before I get back.” “No problem, Ice Cube,” Kruger frowned, but inside he was smiling at that mundane day. … Kruger, by raw rage, left himself from the crater. “Hey, Ice Cube,” He glared at Wayward. “Guess you fucker ordered me not to blow up the HQ, because you want to do it first — perfect my ass.” “Here comes the trash-talk,” Wayward complained at the black, gloomy sky. Kruger’s eyes hardened. “For a man who butchered his student, two fucking lovebirds, my favorite coffee boys and the dolt with the worst taste in men since the dawn of humanity, your robe is darn clean,” Kruger’s hand shone with Mana and light. “Not one speck of blood. Not a red drop on that darn blue-robe. You must laugh at how stupid they are, idolising your fucking heel — dumb enough to think we are all friends for last six-damn-years!” Wayward squinted and slipped off his robe to reveal a grey waistcoat bounding his muscled, toned body. “Trust me, Kruger,” Wayward looked at his opponent dead-on. “I’m not enjoying this, but professionalism come first.” “PROFESSIONALISM MY ASS, YOU TRAITOR!” Kruger unleashed a beamed of devastating light — an advanced anti-unit spell of Grand Empire — on Wayward. [Wayward’s Original: Blue Flicker] Wayward vanished in a burst of blue flames and reappeared in front of Kruger as a flaming blue visage. He thrust out a punch. [Wayward’s Original: Blue Spear] The burst of flames pierced clean through several building complex, reducing them into rows of collapsing bricks. “Arrgh!” Kruger screamed, falling, clutching the charred stump where his right-limbs used to be. He flopped on the ground in mangled scent of birth flesh and an agonizing howl. Wayward prepared a finishing blow. “Oh, come on!” said a familiar voice. “You already kill two-hundred. At least let me have Kruger!” Kruger trembled. It couldn’t be happening, but it made sense. If there was one traitor, two were solid possibilities. “What the meaning of this, Sol,” Kruger yelled at the black-hair man in a familiar glass. Except this time the mind manner man wore an insidious smile on his face. “It means exactly what you think,” Sol sighed. “Me and Wayward, we are Willow Heart Street’s boys from day one. Don’t you realize that Wayward are way more open with me compared to the rest of you. Geez, you are pitiful. But now the charade is over. Let me scratch one itch: these years are fucking chores” Sol turned to Wayward. “Seriously, Wayward, will it kill you to leave some of those buffoons for me to vent,” Sol ranted. “Do you know how annoying it is to act like an assuming background character for six-years straight. Hell, I am half-afraid my act is up when I forgot to act all tragic when Roiche got ashed. Thankfully, you morons are dumb from the beginning to the end. To think Capitan ruin the fantasy, I spent six years dreaming. I want to hear them screaming for days, not minutes, Wayward! We don’t have even an intact corpse to show my dear uncle.” “Uncle?” Kruger muttered. “You have an uncle?” “Oh, you never realize it at all?” Sol laughed. “What do you think I am? A fantasy stranger who only life purpose is your to be your friend? Did you ever wonder where is my family in this six-years, morons?” “His uncle is Emperor Solemek Grandy?” Wayward cut Sol’s momentum Kruger’s eyes widened. “That right,” Sol laughed. “I am a part of the Grand Empire’s royal family and the cousin of the cute little brat you are so fond of. I should be your boss, Kruger. But my dear uncle got the throne and chased his little brother’s family away, claiming we are unstable.” “You are a maniac,” Wayward said. “And you are a spoilsport,” Sol groaned. “I pity you, Kruger. A low-born with no useful talent. Working with an ignorant mass under a thumb under a traitor you can’t surpass. It is so pathetic.” Sol continued. “I plan to rape Sandra in front of that Ice cube over there. Quadruple amputated Alexander. And force the love-bird to kill each. Then make you into my pet, but a spoilsport wiped away 315 lines on my bucket list. Thanks, Wayward! Luckily, I still got you.” Sol’s finger lighted with glowing energy. “First, I need to have my pet castrate. Can’t let it have a mutt…” [Wayward’s Original: Blue Sword] A flash of blue sailed past Sol and divided the concrete bridge behind him in half. “He is mine, Grandy,” Wayward coldly spoke, wiping his flaming sleeves. “Or should we settle our difference the old-fashion way?” “Fine!” Sol sneered. “But at least let me show this to Kruger!” Sol clicked his finger.  Boom! The entire Fire-quarter — housing military complexes, personal equipment, and weapon in the capital — went ablaze in thunderous bombings. The shock-wave force sent splinters of wood in the night-sky. Plume of smoke and fire burst to life, painting the night sky red and signaling the end to any hope of counter-attack. Cries for help echoed across the area to the horror of Kruger and Wayward’s indescribable expression as cinders rained on the false friendship. Sol laughed as a building around them crumble. “God dang it,” Sol said. “Worth the effort planting all those bombs behind you back. I always wanted to blow up uncle’s favorite quarter as a kid. Hey, Kruger, why don’t you thank me. I am sending an entire military body of Grand Empire into a coffin with you. Am I your best mate, now?” Kruger watched his home fell. The Infirmary tower collapsed on itself. Smoke rose from the direction of the armory. Kruger’s eyes barely blinked as the royal-mages’ HQ broke into a fire and brick. His ears heard the royal-knight’s barrack crumbled. “Bastard!” Kruger ignored the amputated arm and shattered ribs in a jump to rip Sol to pieces. He never got there. Wayward’s fist landed in his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. “I will count to three,” Wayward warned. “One.” “Fine! Ciao, Wayward!” Sol taunted and vanished in a flash of purple. “And Kruger, you suck at your job.” … Kruger spat a mouthful of blood. “Is that the reason you kill them?” Kruger asked his former-Captain. “You don’t want that maniac to do it.” Wayward’s hand lit on fire. “It is like I said to Alexander,” Wayward sighed. “Something is better off a mystery.” “Yeah, I totally agree with that.” Orange plume of fire barreled between the two men, splitting them before Wayward could lay the finishing blow. Kruger watched a red-hair demoness with lustrous black-horn landed in front of him. The girl was beautiful. Kruger knew for sure that Sandra will probably ask her for a beauty tip if she was here — just thinking about that made him bitter. Transparent outline of scales flickered on her skin. Kruger shivered. She gave a feeling of a dragon—a juvenile dragon, but dragon was still the king of terror no matter its age. “Get away from here,” the girl glanced at him worriedly. Her eyes glowed with a tinge of amber. “I will handle him.” “Don’t! He is too strong for you!” “Oh, trust me, I am used to fighting A-class,” Melody cracked her knuckle at the Wayward who slowly emerged from the fire. “Get away from here! You are in no position to fight.” Kruger wanted to disagree, but his sense of self-preservation won out. The Vice-Captain of the decimated royal-mages hope that somehow this mysterious girl would have a chance. Maybe Venistalis could recover from tonight. … For the sake of honesty, boiling down to a simplest term, avoiding every softball — the truth was simple. Kruger was dead wrong. Melody smashed into a mountain of bricks that, once upon the time, was the Infirmary’s cafeteria, and tumbled down a stone-stair littered with broken wood and stone. She bled and hobbled. Bruises patterned her face. The amber tinged in her eyes was unfocused. The once shining crimson hair now matted with sweat and soot. Melody Solarmaria was on her last leg. All it took was 1 minute and 43 seconds with Wayward. “You are good,” Wayward walked down the stone-step calmly. “But not enough.” Melody breathed fire. Wayward causally trapped the column of flames with a runic circle. “You breathed genuine dragon fire?” Wayward studied the ball of fire suspended in front of him. “Impressive, you have some unique ability. What a shame. If thing go differently, I might recommend you as my successor in the royal-mages.” Melody rushed in for punch with all her strength. She twisted out of Wayward’s attempt to throw her with [Heavenly Eyes]. But even her Inherent Skill was not enough, Wayward easily nullified the opening her natural superiority provided with a waiting back-fist in the face. “Mana and movement reading,” Wayward theorized. “Given your race, it must be [Heavenly Eyes]. Who would have thought I will meet a royalty here, Princess of Demonic Continent?” Wayward chuckled. “Shut the hell up,” Melody raised her guard. “You keep talking about the royal-mages like you care about them!” Wayward’s expression softened. “I care about them.” “Really? Never would have from the way you took your Vice-Captain’s arm” Wayward chuckled. “What is so funny?” “Nothing. I know three Princesses in my life, including you,” Wayward reminiscent. “The stupidly naïve Velnia, the kindest flower of this Empire, and you—someone who cares about the foot-soldiers. Why does Princesses must be so extreme? You should take life more easily.” Melody blinked. “Why is someone like you doing this?” “Professionalism,” Wayward explained. “While I have personal reason to destroy this empire, this is nothing personal. My contract outweigh my friendship, that is all?” Melody snorted. “I know about the real deadline. For someone who spoke so highly of the princess, you have no problem about flattening her.” Wayward raised his eyebrows. “So, you are part of the reason while the ritual started early,” Wayward quickly deduced the rest. “I see. Someone cornered Mehest to the point he ran for the back-up plan. How regrettable, if you are not here, it will be far kinder.” “Kinder?” Melody waved her arm to the fire and carnage. “How is this kind?” “They would die in a blink of an eye,” Wayward said. “I originally plan to use a slow-acting poison on the royal-mages. Let them die peacefully in their sleep, believing their Captain is not a traitor and they never fail their duty.” Wayward looked mentally exhausted. “But it seems fate is never kind,” Wayward stated. “Because of you, they needlessly suffered.” Melody gritted her teeth and launched a flying kick at Wayward. “Too temperamental,” Wayward grabbed Melody’s foot out of the air and threw her to the ground. “You have a high-level [Martial Art], but that is only a part of the puzzle, Princess. Fighting power centers on many factors — raw [Martial Art] and Stat only get you so far — tactic, timing and supplement also play a part in combat.” Melody struggled up but Wayward punted her flying into a statue commemorating the 31st Emperor of the Grand Empire. She crashed through a solid bronze statue, breaking it in half and rolling across the pavement. Melody got up and stumbled. Everything looked so blurry.  Then she saw a punch closing in too fast. Wayward sent Melody hurtling into a wall separating the Fire from Earth-quarter, cracking the brick so hard the reinforced wall caved. Melody staggered up as Wayward materialized in a column of bonfire. She punched with all her strength, but Wayward halted her by the wrist. “Commendable effort,” Wayward wrestled her arm away and pried her guard wide. “But you are beaten, too exhausted to use [Heavenly Eye], and outclassed in every stat category.” With her body exposed, Wayward went to town. A sucker punch fell, followed by three rapid combo of swings in her face, an uppercut and a push-kick send her bouncing into the wall. Melody slammed into the brick and slipped to the floor. Brutally and painfully, she got up again. The girl was bleeding, tattered, bruised and broken by the beating deliver by a much superior warrior but she didn’t give up. She didn’t even have a strength left to speak—but with her back against the wall—she refused to roll over and die. Wayward admired that. “Geez, with that kind of tenacity, I can swear you are related to a dragon,” Wayward put up a stance. “Out of admiration, I will teach you something. Skills quality alone does not underlie power. It is the art of meshing them together that grant you genuine invincibility. If you survive today, you better remember this move.” [Wayward Original’s Blue Spear] It was a punch made of many jigsaw pieces. A fire-base cultivation technique formed the combustion fuel. [Elastic Body (A)] granted toughness and agility. [Runic Mastery (B)] allowed utilization of magical rune to compress, sped up, spun and amplified the blue flames as propellers and armors. [Breathing Meditation (A)] granted focus and extra power to an attack. [Martial Art (A)] ensured its accuracy. [Hot Iron Strike (A)] ensured Wayward’s arm could take the immense recoil and that his attack burned even hotter. Blue Spear was Wayward’s brainchild—a punch hit faster than a ballistic missile and burnt hotter than torches. Melody was lucky Wayward mercifully telegraph the punch for her to pour her entire stamina into [Dragon Manifestation] and block it with both her for arms. Not that it mattered. The force of the punched shattered the section of the wall dividing the two quarters, blasting Melody through five building, skidding across the ground in a plume of dust and fire for 1.68 kilometers. Her body smashed into what was once a post-office, caving the building from the impact. Melody Solarmaria was in critical condition. Her arms remained intact, but her bones got powdered from that attack, not to mention multiple organ's damage and internal bleeding. She would need several years of recovery, but she won’t have that anymore. Wayward reappeared in a burst of flame, covering a kilometer of distance in less than a minute. He walked toward the grievously injured Melody to finish the job. “Sorry but that cow is my friend.” Wayward glanced at the sky with contempt. “People these days keep asking for a fight above their paygrade,” Wayward turned to face an elf sporting a gold highlight. “Do you want me to go easy?” Luxinna Latoria gritted her teeth for the fight of her life. “Do your worse.”

Hikma exhibited his improved muscle by decapitating a skeleton with a metal cane. Beside him, behind a shabby barricade, Alexi Martynov swung his shotgun, systematically blasting three undeads with headshots. The Russian man crouched to reload as one of Elder Lochwain’s men covered his post with a spear’s jab. Around their rank, mages lobbed spells at the hoard, while ground troop mopped the straggler. They held the line, but nothing lasted forever against unlimited shock-troop. The grueling battle worn the defender low on ammo, stamina, and Mana. “God dammit,” Alexi threw a grenade over to the enemy’s line. “When would Ahoy finish cordoning the area with Holy Blues?” “Not a chance!” A mage next to him grimaced from the communicator. “There are too many of them. We have to fallback.” Then the mage’s eyes widened. “Shit! Wraths incoming! Prepare the exorcism spells!” “You are already dry,” Hikma gritted his teeth. “I will handle this.” Hikma leapt over the barricade to face the creeping army of undead surrounded by a hoard of ghost. The street looked awful. The grinding assault turned the road into the field of shatter concrete. Smokes rose from several craters where the shells landed. Shells of building encircled the battlefield, marking the ruin of civilization.  Hikma grunted. All this effort and they barely held 10% of the Wind-quarter. This entire endeavor resembled an attempt to extinguish forest fires with a water-pistol. Their best effort was failing. The hoard was tireless, countless and merciless. Orwell Mehest launched an attack on all three-remaining quarters with his pocket change, and he unarguably won. It was a war of attrition against a necromancer with home-advantage. Hikma wasn’t a tactical mastermind like Rem, but even he realized this battle was pointless. Still, he had to try. The ground lighted up with white [Conceptual Seal]. “[Sacred Hall]” White light shone from the ground, reducing the hoard of undead standing to mere ashes. The army of wrath vanished as the light penetrated their shadowy body like a high-wattage laser through tissue paper. It was a grand display of magic with one penalty. Hikma cast five [Sacred Hall] in the last one and a half hours. Board-wiping might be powerful, but it cost dearly. Hikma collapsed on one knee. In that hour, he already deployed ten massive anti-units Arcanes, half-dozen anti-squadrons, and five tactical board-wipes. The young French/Arab’s eyes blurred. He was on his last leg. Then the building on their field of view exploded, revealing a worm made of blood and flesh. The towering monstrosity rose 30 meters tall and turned toward them. “A flesh Golem!” A mage screamed. “Everyone retreated!” Hikma fought down his exhaustion with raw determination and stood-tall. He raised his white [Conceptual Seal] against the humongous construct of blood and misery falling down on them. His eyes glimmered with bark-orange glow. [Holy Force] … “[Holy Force]” Inside the Earth-quarter, a separate beam of exorcising light plowed through a different hoard of undead, towering higher than the ruined surrounding. The graceful light cleaned the road from wrath and impurity. Very concept of divine punishment scrubbed all obscene elements and purified the very air itself. “Wow,” Bruno stared gob-smacked at the street that once-upon-the-time contained an uncountable number of undead. “That attack destroyed everything. Kids, when did you learn that trick?” Bruno suddenly heard a thud sound. He turned to see the boy tumbling face first onto the floor. “Hey, are you okay?” Bruno hurried to help Rem, but the boy got up before Bruno reached him. “Keep moving,” the boy squeezed. “We must get these people out of here.” Bruno peeked back at the crowd they saved. The Liberator put their chip on Rem after his speech. With successful recruitment, Rem quickly showed his competence in the first ten minutes, declaring the necessity to evacuate every citizen in proximity and regroup at the Wind-quarter. The boy tossed each team of Liberators a communicator and split them for a search and rescue missing, setting the rendezvous point at the wrecked wine shop. The mission was horrific. Corpses piled up in the street everywhere, but luckily there were some survivors. In a short stint of thirty-minutes the Liberator’s force gathered the surviving citizen — mostly woman and children — for transport back to Wind-quarter. That was when the undead hoard attacked, forcing Rem to blast them away. Rem rose — undeterred — keeping his pain inside and marching on. The kid’s determination scared them all. Sasha balked under his energy, and Bruno now decided fighting this kid a futility. “We need to get them to safety,” Rem dragged himself to the crowd. “What are you waiting for? Do you want—” “Stop it!” One kid they rescued screamed. “Just stop it already!” The boy gestured at the surrounding ruin. “It over! We are all going to die! Only the gods and the generals can save us! None of them are here! The city is gone! Even if we survive, we lost everything! Tomorrow will be worse! Dad is dead! And mom…” The boy teared up. “Mom is…” Rem struggled next to the boy and knelt down in front of him. “Listen here, kiddo,” Rem mustered painfully. “The world is beautiful because you constantly find something to believe in.” Rem had plans hibernating behind his mind. It was a risky play he never wanted to commit. But seeing the surrounding faces of despair, he realized they couldn’t win this without sacrifice. Phantasia needed a symbol of peace and justice to believe in. A group must become a symbol of tomorrow these people never received. That moment Rem finally realized why the Hikma in his mysterious vision wore a symbol. That symbol carried hope itself on its shoulder. Hope needed to rise against despair. … The Venistalis’ central palace was the home of the Grand Emperor and his nobles. However, facts that stood true for centuries fell alongside the final garrison soldier. With the palace’s forces annihilated by the brunt of Orwell’s undead, the noble either scattered or rounded up as prisoner. Before the Emperor’s golden throne room, a debauchery was taking place in the middle of the crowded court. “Hey, Lord Chloric, how are you doing?” A half-naked Sol Grandy kicked a quartered corpse a few times. “Oh yeah, you are already dead! Hey, Lady Chloric, why don’t you laugh. You are already smiling!” A woman — nailed to the wall by her shoulder — shivered and looked up toward Sol fearfully. Sol had mutilated her mouth into a bloody, ugly, permanent grin. Her dressed caked in her blood from multiple cuts and wound on her body. Dried tears coated her blood-soaked cheek as she sobbed. “Oh, come on!” Sol grabbed a naked girl he rape and threw the bruised wreck at Lady Chloric’s feet. “Your daughter just offer her virginity to a royalty. She should laugh with joy!” The mother looked in the vacant, broken gazes of her daughter and wept. “Boring!” A blade of wind flashed, and Lady Chloric’s head fell to the ground. The young girl watched her mother’s bloody head rolled toward her. She watched the face that once smile at her every birthday looked up at her with vacant eyes and deranged smile. The young girl’s sanity snapped in two and she crackled madly — howling with laughter of despair as a curse toward heaven. Sol clapped with glee. “That! Is! It!” Sol emphasized with every word. He turned toward the group of capture nobles in chains. “What about you guys?!” Sol Grandy demanded. “Laugh!” The group of capture noble looked at the tragedy before them. Some gulp. Some refused. All of them mustered a hoarse laughter a minute later. One somber chuckle led to another. Soon the entire room was guffawing at this tragedy with shame and despair in their eyes. “Good!” Sol kicked the newly made an orphan girl in the face, sending the madly giggling girl to bleed on the floor. “I want a new lady to wait me. Volunteer please! Or I will start killing randomly.” The noble panic. Among them all, the maidens and teenage girls started pointing at each other in a display of desperation. “Melia, you go!” “No, Eliza, you do it!” “No. No. No. Just not—”  Suddenly, a voice echoed across the room. “That is enough, Third Wave Sol.” Sol’s face scrunched up with annoyance. “Are you grandstanding again, Princess Velnia?” Sol moved toward the Princess being chain to a pillar separate from the nobles. Next to her, chained a beaten and naked Mercia. “I recommend you stay silent, you dumb cunt!” Sol grabbed the Princess’ face and forced her to look at him. “Do you know how tiring it is to listen to your droning about that boring utopia? This is what we are, imbecile. Animals rule by power! Those animals wouldn’t laugh like a madman if they have powers to resist me! Your bodyguard won’t become a naked little duckling if she isn’t so pathetic. Power is the only judge in Phantasia! Yet, a little girl with no power except for a flower-garden where her brain should be dare to preach a royalty like me! Don’t make me laugh, Princess!” “Power is not everything!” “Oh, you stupid idiot!!” Sol screamed. “How can you—” Then his face lit up. “Why don’t we play a game, Princess?” “A game,” Velnia blinked. “Yes,” Sol walked toward the golden throne of the Grand Empire and sat like he owned every single marble-tiles in the room. The self-appointed ruler watched his chained subject huddled like herd animal on the velvet carpet stained with body fluid and tragedy. He admired the chandelier. Stupidity aside, uncle Solomek got an acceptable taste in the decor. Then he decreed to the princess. “Offer your body to satisfy me, Velnia and I will spare these moronic fools,” Sol joyfully declared. “A night for a life. Your dignity, for the sake of all. Isn’t that fair princess?” Velnia gulped, but when her eyes met the pleading nobles. She steeled her resolved. “Fine! I-“ “He is lying, Princess,” an unexpected voice spoke fearlessly. “Knowing that sick bastard. He will free them by cooking them alive and feeding their flesh to each other. Then he will force you to watch Mercia being eaten alive to break your will.” Velnia’s eyes widened at the sight of her savior. The noble too barely believed what was happening. As for Sol, he bit back a screech of frustration. “Not you too!” Sol threw a tantrum. “First that dickhead Wayward and now you! Why is it that my worst obstacle are my own allies? What the fuck is wrong with you, MEHEST!” Orwell Mehest strode into the room. His eyes scanned the laughing girl crawling toward the head of her mother, a quartered corpse on the floor and the chained nobles by the side. His lip sneered first in disgust, then downright anger when he saw Velnia in chain. “I am perfectly fine, jackass,” Orwell glared at Sol. “And please don’t refer to us as allies. The very notion of joining forces with a scum like you sicken me.” Velnia’s brain jammed as she tried to process the information. “Lord Mehest,” she pleaded. “It must be a lie, right? You can’t be res—” “Everything you heard is true.” In a display of honesty, Orwell Mehest did not hide his crime. “I am the one who dropped this dome on top of Venistalis. I am the man who ordered the undead army to kill anyone they can find in this city. I am the man personally responsible of 3,323,456 deaths and counting. I am the man who destroyed Venistalis, Velnia.” “It must be a lie! You said this city inspires you!” “It inspires not to forget the fact that the previous Emperor committed genocide on my clan,” Orwell Mehest explained gently. “You should learn to read between the line. However, the rest of that night wasn’t a lie, I sincerely care about you, Velnia.” Velnia blinked. She didn’t know how she should feel about this. “Bullshit!” Sol said. “You drop your plan right on top of her head!” “Shut. Up.” And column of ice froze everything on the throne but Sol’s head. “When I lent you my troop to take the palace,” Orwell’s voice coldly unveiled an immense killing intent. “I tell you not to harm the Princess in any capacity.” The ice trapping Sol crumbled as the former third strongest of the royal-mage freed himself. “I follow that order to the letter! She is spotless! Just look at her!” “In. Any. Capacity.” Orwell pointed his thumb at the insane girl sobbing beside her mother’s headless carcass. “I don’t recall anyone watching your horrific horror show coming out psychologically unharmed, Grandy.” “There are no—” Orwell then pointed to the naked and injured Mercia, completely ignoring Sol’s protest. “As I recall, they treat an attack on a retainer as a direct attack on said nobility, isn’t that right, Princess?” Velnia nodded. Her brain gave up on processing the development tonight gave her. “Any excuse, Sol?” the air around Orwell was suffocating. A noble suddenly felt a tee bit more hopeful. “Lord Mehest! Please save us! We promise to serve you—” “Shut the fuck up,” Orwell murderously replied. “I originally plan to kill you all horribly, but the Princess already suffers too much. No worries. You will still die for your participation in Deathless Clan’s genocide, but for the Princess’ sake I will give you a chance to go out gloriously like my ancestor. Count yourself lucky this scum ruined my inclination to execute you on the spot. Stay there. Thank the Princess. And watch me erase this walking bag of shit” “Thank you very much, sir,” the noble answered hurriedly, grateful to have his lifespan lengthened. “I don’t know you such a flip-floppers, Orwell!” Sol prepared for a battle. Suddenly, a tower of azure fire fell behind the confident Sol Grandy. It’s heat symbolically melted the golden throne of Grand Empire to golden slag. A shadowy man flickered behind the veil of flames. “Your timing is great as usual, mate!” Sol arrogantly called. “Our partner is flaunting the deal, Wayward! Help me kill him!” BANG! Instead of helping hand, Sol ate a kick in his face. The surprise attack sent him somersaulting in three acrobatic mid-air spin and landed his head on the marble hard enough to break it. Sol struggled up and sensed something wet on his forehead. He wiped the blood flowing down and licked the fluid to control his growing rage and bloodlust. He glared balefully at Samael Wayward. “Heh, heh, heh,” Sol laughed. “You finally did it, wooden-plank. My father and the Street will kill you for this. I remembered you not being this rash, Wayward! You just trade all those efforts spent climbing up our ladder for a suicidal kick in my face! Finally, at last, I got to see what you look like when you beg for me to kill you. Great! Fantastic! Just wait until we get back to the Street, WAYWARD!” “No worries,” Wayward coldly replied. “I quit.” Sol blinked. “What?!” “Yes, you heard me right,” Wayward repeated. “I am quitting the Willow Heart Street. This is my last day on the job. And Orwell, I am here to bargain. This is my deal. You better keep him alive.” Blue flames carried something to Orwell. It was a burnt, blackened body cladded in barely recognizable armor. Stump replaced its right leg and left arm. The remaining hand was unusable. Intense heat already melted its skin and partially blinded its eyes. But Orwell still recognized Stuart Hex’s bulky frame, despite the state he was in. The noble tensed at the state of Hex — their dying last hope. One woman fell down to her knee in horror. Few fainted when they realized the situation was unrecoverable. Sol blinked at the barely living body, then at Orwell, who was wrapping it with a green Amalgam bandage. A dreadful realization suddenly hit him the moment he turned back toward Wayward. “Hey, Wayward,” Sol sweated. “How did you turn Stuart Hex into a badly cook meat? With his sturdiness, you need to overwhelm his defense completely.” It was Orwell who blessed them with the answer. “Because he overwhelms it utterly. Don’t tell me you are so high on dopamine you don’t notice a massive explosion taking out half the Water-quarter, moron.” “Isn’t that yours?” “No, it is him,” Sol gestured at Wayward. “Impossible! That moron only slightly stronger than me.” “You are the arrogant moron who cannot see your former-partner is only a step away from S-rank.” Sol tried to deny the reality, but his soul already gave in. Did he just threatened the strongest monster in the city? Wayward cracked his fingers Sol cursed his big mouth.

Wayward v Remus stare-down of the century lasted past the thirty-seconds deadline into a one-minute extension. Finally, Satholia’s personal devil won out. Wayward cast a rune, shrouding the area from prying eyes and ears. “Interesting offer, but I have an obligation to support Orwell Mehest.” Rem nodded. Wayward’s professionalism was a hell of an obstacle, but Remus Breaker never entered the battle without a counter punch and unfair advantage. “I know your order: help Orwell Mehest’s scheme, destroy the royal-mages and protect the investment,” Rem recited. “It is a set of orders you received a month ago. As a fellow professional, I salute you. You slam-dunked the objectives.” Rem continued. “Orwell Mehest’s scheme already went belly-up. Nothing you can do about a third-hand yanking easy victory from your grasp. You fulfilled the second aim perfectly. Only Kruger survived your purge in a wipe so clean the royal-mages will never recover. As for the investment — look around us — Orwell blew Venistalis beyond recovery. Win. Lose. Watching Home Alone. Grand Empire’s major capital just get a karmic sacking of the century. The royal-mages? Reduced to one A-rank. The royal-knights? Fruitlessly bashed themselves against Mehest. Sol Grandy is high from robbing the royal treasury and burning their freaking database. I don’t need [Clairvoyance] to tell you that the decimated garrison will need to pay in blood to survive tonight. Several noble households—especially those aided the Deathless Clan’s genocide—will receive a bloody awakening. I am near omniscience and I can’t invent a single way to overturn the disadvantage. The unholy combination of power vacuum, external enemy, rebuilding cost, civil-unrest and decimated law enforcement’s veteran will spawn an era of carnage for the Empire. Even if I cart Mehest away in a coffin, the Willow Heart Street still got their wishes: a crippled Grand Empire toiling away helplessly as the 33 Stars flips Phantasia upside down in their petty conflict, perfectly open for annihilation.” Rem applauded. “You—Samael Wayward—already met and smashed your boss's expectation. Kudos. But one question, why do you stick around? None of your leader order a trench warfare, so why you are dispensing charity to dear Orwell. No need to answer the obvious. Composed as you are, the Leviathan’s attack left its mark on you.” Samael’s fist clenched. “You are the best [Clairvoyance] user in Phantasia,” Wayward grudgingly admitted. “Wisdom, prediction and insight you displayed already prove that you forecast this conversation. You discover my only weakness and make an offer I can’t refuse. But let ask you one question, Hal Jordan, how can I trust you?” The illusionary Rem disappeared. A wall beside Wayward collapsed, and Rem stood up from his Remote Viewing’s trance. “Because I am here in flesh,” Rem greeted Orwell face-to-face. He walked over and grabbed a knife, projecting the illusion. “Now, my only guarantee to make it out of here alive is to convince you I am useful. Is that enough of a guarantor? And Hal Jordan is fake names—my title is Samadi.” Wayward took the kid seriously. Tonight Samadi proved his fortitude. … Rem spun the knife in his palm and the world around them change. Rows of Corinthian white-walls, stone pavement and stick-like trees planted on the open plaza painted over the burning ruins, fire and smashed road. Wayward recognized the place. It was his home. “Centuria,” Rem narrated. “Alongside Starland and Frisnia they form the Tengen Continent’s Coalition of Tengen. Compare to the Aurora Continent we are on, Tengen is in the sense of any language a cluster fuck. In the south, Majistopia—a sham nation sponsor by of Holy Church and Aurorin—warred with the Vampire with the Solovar’s city-states being a buffer. Meanwhile, the Coalition of three belligerent countries are on paranoia watch against opportunistic fairies in the north. Seriously, Wayward, overthrow a country there and lead it. That will be an improvement.” “Get to the point.” “Sorry, side-tracking, but I will replay the past. Are you sure you don’t want sometimes to-“ “I already overcome my trauma, kid. Go ahead.” Rem clicked his finger, and the image started playing. The sky darkened. A long serpentine torso snaked from the cloud. Around the two, illusion of people ran for their lives—yelling and crying for salvation that never visited. A massive head of a serpent with an elk’s horn peeked from the cloud. It was a beast that defy the gravity and the square-cubed law. It’s body that dwarfed cities. The head — large enough to feast on cruise ships — roared and bathed the town in a breath of fire. “Grand Empire’s Leviathan,” Rem narrated. “A guardian beast under the control of Grand Empire. Its power is an equivalent to upper S-rank. 17 years ago, this monster appeared mysteriously and destroyed your hometown. The late King of Centuria accused the Grand Empire of mass-murder, but they denied any involvement. With no evidence or power to contest the Empire, this case went cold. To add insult to injury, the Empire counter-sued for defamation causing your nation suffered an international humiliation. The scandal booted the late king’s flailing health to a critical point, leading to his death two years later. The ensuing civil unrest assured the current 14 years old Queen's job is way over her head.” Rem turned toward Wayward. “You survived this ordeal and tried to deduce the truth of that night. All the power you gain is for getting justice. This is the reason you become Captain of the royal-mages next to the learning opportunity. However, even with your status, you discover no clue to get you closer to the truth.” Wayward stared at the Leviathan in a mixture of determination and acceptance. “You are absolutely, right?” Wayward said. “No record about this attack exists in the confidential archives. Even the Generals think Centuria is slandering the Empire for a quick credit. The Emperor is either a master of acting, or he is clueless.” “You are on point,” Rem confirmed. “The Emperor and the Grand Empire are hopelessly clueless. The Emperor is an exemplary leader, but expecting him to deduce this mystery is like expecting chicken to learn algebra. He never cared about it.” Rem clicked his finger. The image rewound back to the beginning. “My modification on [Clairvoyance] allows me to get a bird-eye view of the event,” Rem stated. “This included the aerial image.” Rem clicked his finger, and the imaged around them changed into the night-sky.  Rem replayed the past. Both of them saw it. A metal ball flying across the sky at high-speed and stopping right above the town. A second later the ball activated, creating an enormous summoning circle in mid-air. The scene of the same carnage replayed itself. “Enhanced,” Rem clicked his finger, zooming in on the mysterious ball. The closer inspection revealed a state-of-art propulsion system, advance magical navigation and sophisticate welding on the metal joint. Wayward absorbed the mysterious ball into his mind, not willing to forget it even for a second. “A high-end magical stealth-drone,” Rem pointed at the image. “It is enough clue to relight the kindle that is this case. Now two questions remain: who sent the drone and why? Only three suspects can expend such level of advance technology: Arden Christy, Balperia and the Isle of Knowledge.” “Balperia is out,” Wayward stated. “Yes, Balperia gain nothing from having its ally suffer a political collapse,” Rem confirmed. “I don’t know about much Arden Christy to wing a conclusion, but we have another clue: The Leviathan. Don’t you think it strange that a foreign force can control the Grand Empire’s biggest guard dog without them knowing.” “You worked out something,” Wayward ordered. “Tell me now.” “It is suspicion, but I ponder two possibilities: either someone fake the Leviathan staying home, or there are two Leviathan.” Wayward froze. “Tell me about the second scenario?” Wayward said. “There is a stage-tricks,” Rem told him. “A magician saw an assistant in half and — surprised — she alive. Most of this trick often includes a stage-help hiding in another box. I searched for anything that might point us to the stage-help and discovered a noble connected to the Leviathan died from a suspicious case of food-poisoning few years before the attack begun.” “Assassination?” Wayward—a trained assassin—had full-knowledge on the exact lethal-poison to fake a food poisoning. “That theory is debatable, but the mystery unravel there,” Rem got back to the point. “Our noble—George Grigios—is responsible for animal-husbanding the Leviathan. I used [Clairvoyance] to check his activity and turn out he made a shady deal to sell the Leviathan’s shaving and organic debris to a mysterious party — it was enough to tell me everything.” “How did Leviathan’s junks mark the culprit?” Rem smiled and shone the light of truth upon the tragedy. “Do you ever heard of a concept called cloning?” Wayward’s eyes widened. “I now present the time-line. Roughly Seventeen-years ago, George Grigios sold Leviathan’s genetic material to an unidentified third-party. The buyer assassinated him. And with the only witness gone, they began an experiment to clone the Leviathan as their personal weapon. They succeeded a few years later and test-run their shiny new toys on a unimportant town in Centuria, either for political brownie point or for kicks.” Rem continued. “But judging from lack of repeated Leviathan’s attacks down the years, the project didn’t go as expected—cloning such a monstrously powerful magical creature from scales and dead-skins must have limitations. Factors in this assumption with our drone, only one organization has resources, connections and manpower to fund this project.” “The Isle of Knowledge,” Wayward arrived at Rem’s answer. “Good theory, but is there any proof?” “Grigios’ autopsy report was inside the Water-quarter’s Medical Database,” Rem stated. “You are good enough assassin and physiologist to identify the poison used by skimming through those papers. His family also lost peerage after his death. They sold most of his paperwork including his financial record and diaries to rot on a shelf inside Grand Empire’s Nobility Museum. You are much better paper-tracker than me, Wayward. If I smell conspiracy by looking at the poor sod writing his doubt, then you can go further by naming the drug he took to cope with stress after reading those papers.” That seemed to convince Wayward, but Rem gave him some bonuses. “Oh yeah, and leave here as fast as possible,” Rem pointed out. “You need every man, elf and demon to help you with this case, and I believe Orwell Mehest will be too busy to help you after barrier come downs.” “I don’t need your help.” “You need it,” Rem shut the Wayward’s excuse into the shadowrealm. “The attack on your hometown look impressive enough to call the project a partial success. You know what this means, right?” Wayward understood where Rem came from. If they weaponized one Leviathan clone then they might as well go for a second and a third. It was already fifteen-years. There was no telling how much Isle of Knowledges perfected the process. Best-case scenario is five S-ranks monsters. But that was optimistic, knowing the world’s sick humor, the number should be a range of thousands. Thousand S-rank monsters unleashed upon the world was enough to upturn Phantasia's fragile status quo. Wayward foresaw the brutal war even greater than the current carnage in Grand Empire. If he hoped to fulfill his goal, he needed every single blade available. The boy won. If his highly convincing theory was spot-on, then every second wasted in this pointless war-zone meant more Leviathan reared by the Isle of Knowledge. He needed to leave Venistalis as soon as possible to avoid more wasted of time. He successfully convinced Wayward that his mysterious group worth too much to trade for any promises from someone like Orwell. Those girls showed too much raw potential to ignore. Against the coming carnage, a [Heavenly Eye] was an invaluable asset. The elf wielding ungodly reflex and lightning affinity also showed more promises in her brief stand than the entire royal-mages. More important of all was Samadi—the most skilled [Clairvoyance] user in Phantasia. With the craft they displayed today, Wayward knew they would become an irreplaceable asset against the Isle of Knowledge. But the sale was their character. If this group of misfits would risk everything to fight for the people worth nothing to them out of empathy and honor, then they were trustworthy to watch his back against in the coming war. Honor was something no amount of power could buy, and all their action from interfering with Mehest to saving Kruger sang nothing but praise for these groups’ integrity. Wayward had one choice to make. Who would be more helpful to him if he had to fight an army of S-rank monsters between Horizon Dawn and Orwell? In that hypothetical scenario, Wayward already saw Orwell and the Willow Heart Street selling out to the Isle. As for these kids, not so much. So Wayward stretched out his hand. “I want your contact detail,” Wayward asked. … Rem stood there—a blink away from collapsing from the pressure of this negotiation. Wayward and he parted ways after a few more exchanges of words. Rem breathed erratically. What an immense pressure, negotiating with his life on the line with no Scathach or back-up plan to help him.  Worst, the crisis was barely reaching the mid-phase. Rem wanted to fall to the floor and roll into a ball. Barely mid-game and the board-state was already hopeless. Orwell had an army with graveyard recursion and unlimited resources, meanwhile he was down two permanents. Next turn, his counter-play kicked into play. But how much value could it generate against the current board? “Easy,” said a voice. “Let me take over.” The white-hair bastard in suit faded into existence, sitting by a ruin with a shit-eating grin on his smug face. “[All-creation] is your only shot at beating the odds,” REM advertised. “And I don’t mean the lame-duck version divided between us, but the real-deal. The power to create spell and artifact imaginable to existence. A meteor that wiped away only evil. A magical spear that banished the World Enemy away with a thrust. A Deathnote to kill Orwell. You can save this entire city with a single short-cut.” “Then you go nut,” Rem pointed out. “And started killing anyone you think is unworthy. One slip-up before you march to Tengen and started lopping off families.” “It is for the betterment of all!” “The 2nd  Constitution of Dawn,” Rem answered. “Horizon Dawn shall not impose fate beyond redemption. Sanctity of life is law and rehabilitation will be the first goal in mind.” That pissed REM off. “Are you serious? We are facing an unprecedented crisis!” “Keeping our value true in an unprecedented crisis is the reason the constitution existed. If you keep flaunting the law, then no one will respect it. That how you end with the cycle of damnation you keep obsessing about. The soul of the organization is destroyed the moment the constitution croak.” “You must realize you play right now is two critically injure morons, a naïve simp and a useless goddess, right?” “Is that your conclusion?” “You believe they are your equal? They are not even close. You change destiny with an action. Your True Magic bring miracle. Malice worst mistake is losing you to Superman. How can anyone of them be a match to you?” “And that is where you will fail because they will stop you.” Rem was faithful and calm. “I know your endgame, invading my dream every night until you eventually breached my mind and takeover. There is no cheating that fate. I don’t need [Clairvoyance] to see you succeed. I am all but a fragile human—doom to fall, eventually. But that is the different between us. I accept my humanity and plan. My death is a fate I cannot change. But they will stop you.” Rem turned back toward his darker half. “Until that time arrives, I will you every fragment of my spirit to delay your ascension. I will stall you for as long as I can. The Horizon Dawn will surpass [All-creation] just sit there and watch that miracle, REM.” Rem waved his hand, and a banished REM away in a flash of light.

“What is he talking about?” Scathach asked everyone. Right on cue, the answer arrived as a group of visitors graced the front porch. After several debacles, the gang was familiar with the smell of trouble. Leading the group was a middle-aged man wearing a well-trimmed leather jacket, a necktie, and a bowler hat. By his right was a muscled warrior wearing a breastplate and an uncomfortable expression. Completing the trio was a beast-man with cat ears, green hair, and spectacles marching arrogantly by the left of Mr. bowler hat. “Ma, the Mayor’s here,” Melody said. “Guildmaster Aion is here too.” “Let me deal with this,” Ebony said, walking off to handle the problem. … “Hello Majestia,” the middle-aged man started. “I need to talk.” “What brings you here, Port?” Ebony said. A long time ago, she contemplated whether it was a good idea to craft her alias in memory of her husband. In the end, she decided to keep Majesty’s memories alive. For all the love he had, her husband deserved this much. The uninvited cat-man shoved the mayor asid and answered in his stead. “Your eviction, of course,” the Catman smugly waved a letter in front of Ebony. “Majestia O’ Mara, you are evicted from this premise with until further notice. You have a day to pack your pitifully belongings and get out of my sight.” The man in a breastplate, Aion, turned toward the beastman. “That’s enough, Enma,” Aion said, then painfully glanced at Ebony. “I’m sorry, Maj, but we need you to…” “Excuse me,” the cat-man cut Aion from the conversation and glared at the Guildmaster in disgust. “Who allows you to speak? Do that one more time, and I will have you remove from your office. You are simply a speck of dirt under my boot, ‘Guildmaster’. Remember that” Aion bitterly swallowed the rest of his word. In the back, the Mayor wished he could flee the premised. “Listen to me, trash,” the cat-man jabbed his finger at Ebony and continued. “I need you to move. Better yet; do me a favor and die in the gutter.” The cat-man peered at the wrecked house. “Speaking of which, what happened to your little mouse hole? Did something explode? Your kind is famous for exploding themselves under stupid reasons, but this is the first time I see a demon burning her own house. Even for your insignificant kind, this is pathetic.” “What do you want with my place?” “Not. Your. Concern,” the cat-man jabbed with each syllable. “Now get out. Do you know how hard it is to remove those miserable garbages of my street? You disgusting blood stick so hard I have to dry-clean my boots twice.” Ebony noticed it. “I am not the first, am I?” Aion avoided Ebony’s eyes, but the cat-man decided he had enough. “What would you trash gain from even knowing!” The cat-man ranted. “Fucking retard like you should be grateful for the scrap we are feeding. Now move out of my sight!” The cat-man inched back to spit in Ebony’s face. He never had a chance. The demoness pre-emptively struck with her fist. However, Aion’s ‘Guildmaster’ title was there for a reason. With incredible speed, he caught Ebony’s flaming punch with his bare hand. The cat-man was enraged. “You dare attack me,” the cat-man screeched. “Aion, beat this bitch up and make her lick my boot as an apology. Do it at once!” Aion looked conflicted, but in the end, he stepped in front of Ebony threateningly. Thankfully, a person stepped in before things went physical. “Enough,” the newly freed Cytortia stepped into the ring. The angry cat-man turned toward the girl with insult primed and readied, but immediately stopped the moment the goddess whipped out a black wooden plate. “I hope you recognize this, right?” The plate bore the symbol of a stylistic tiger’s face amidst the coiling dragon. The cat-man backed away in fear. This reaction took everyone by surprise. Ebony looked at the plate and the goddess in disbelief. Aion and Port also recognize the special pass, and they considered diving underground for safety. “Enma Enterprise VIP pass!” The Catman’s jaw hung open as he felt the pressure from the plate. “Impossible! That must be a fake! Only a highly regard members of Enma Clan can issue that!” “Sacred Beast Wood can be faked?” Cytortia raised her eyes brows. “Geez, what bullshit. What is your name and which branch do you belong too?” “Taku Enma of the Yellow Tulip branch,” the cat-man gathered himself. “Answer me! How do you have the clan special issue pass!?” “Taku, huh,” Cytortia said. “Very well, I will mention your name to Shyme.” “Shyme!?” Taku nearly keeled over from fright. “Shyme gave you that… but Mistress Shyme only issued a pass for one person. You must be…” “Yes,” Cytortia said. “Heavenly Daughter Cytortia Tianshang, Rank 33 in the 33 Stars Ranking.” Taku flashed a look of ridicule, but knowledges of the fox-girl behind the goddess muted him. The cat-man spitefully bowed to the detestable goddess in fear of the monster behind her. “Lady Tianshang, excuse me for my rudeness, but this is a truly auspicious occasion,” the cat-man gave Cy a door-to-door salesman grade smile. “I will have a suite prepared in our most luxurious…” “Save the effort,” Cytortia explained. “I am here on an official business transaction, but since Enma clan decide to evict my business partner. I will take my cue and leave. But trust my word, I will bring this issue to Shyme. Don’t bother saying anything else. I already decide to leave Milian within 24 hours.” “Please, lady Tianshang, allow me to…” Taku scrambled in a panic to salvage the situation. But Cy already dragged Ebony out. … Ebony wasn’t pleased. “I can handle this,” she said. “I know,” Cytortia said. “But it will ruin the plan.” “The plan?” Ebony looked confused. “What plan?” Cytortia showed a piece of paper Rem left behind before he went to shopping. ‘To Cy, truth is we are in quite a pickle. If the vision is correct, the dragon is right beneath Milian. Logic-wise, the best option is to leave the town, staying under a sleeping dragon is a recipe for disaster. If I am right, the ghost fiasco will attract authority figures. Use that opportunity as an excuse to move our base of operation — it will draw less suspicion that way. Set up a base of operation a few kilometers from Milian. When 5 a.m. arrive, fire one of our emergency fares so I can find you that way.’ Ebony read the note. “He knows they are coming?” Ebony looked astounded. “Are you sure he don’t have [Clairvoyance]?” “Trust me, Ebony,” Cytortia said. “You aren’t the first to ask that question.” … Several hours later in a deserted area 2 kilometers from Millian. “At last!” Cytortia dropped several heavy briefcases and laid spread eagle to absorb the sunlight. “I hate camping so much.” “It only 2KM trek,” Luxinna said, as she finished putting up the camp. “Do you think Rem can find us?” “He can. The only question is how long,” Scathach checked the stove and handed the exhausted Ebony a spanner. “Is your end set?” “Do you think setting up a forge in literal nowhere is easy?” Ebony, covered in grime, clay, and dirt, accepted Scathach’s spanner and tossed it at Melody. “Dear, is the hut up to the specification?” Melody, covered in dirty bandages and dirt, was gently drying a clay-hut with her fires. The demoness had tied her hair in a bun and tossed away her more refine clothing for a tank-top and worker pants. She compared the hut’s height to the spanner. “Given Ma’s height, about 1.65, 2 meters sound right,” Melody confirmed. “Yes, 16 spanners would do the trick.” Ebony and Scathach hurried into the clay hut to reassemble the forge. As for, Melody handed her mother back the spanner and rejoined the girls. “So, what next?” Cytortia took out a fish fillet and started cutting. “Rem won’t return until five. What do we do now?” Luxinna had an answer. “Training,” she said. “If the vision is right, we are up against a Dragon. Something like that won’t go down easily. Rem must know this, that’s why he is hitting the book.” “Yeah, you need training,” Melody nodded smugly. “You got your ass handed the last time.” “So do you,” Cytortia pointed out. She finished the fish and started handling a bundle of celery. Luxinna didn’t believe how fast Cy chopping was. Cytortia was, without a doubt, the queen of the kitchen and the test-tube. “A fluke,” Melody argued. “Who would know he will be throwing house and tear gases?” “You can try to change the story all you want, but you lost,” Cytortia diced a carrot on her chopping board. “Take it from someone who regularly got her ass booted. The quicker you stop trying to alter what happens in your brain, and accept the fact, is the faster you move on. Change it all you want, but you lost, and will continue losing to Rem.” “Shut. Up.” Melody got a bag of chip and started munching. “I will take the throne one day.” “Yeah, and Rem will visit your coronation with a smile and banquet of flowers,” Cytortia snarked. “Get real.” A distance away, Luxinna sat. She didn’t bother joining their conversation. Instead, she was reflecting on her fight with Melody. Why did Rem win while she fails? Luxinna opened that battle banking on her speed, but Melody’s [Heavenly Eye] nullified that. Even her range attack got dissected and overpowered by the [Heavenly Eye]. Finally, her all-or-nothing gambit only rewarded her with molten slag and a punch in the face. Rem didn’t have her magic or speed. His lack of tool forced him to use mind-games, gimmicks, and trickeries to disable Melody’s advantage. Lucian Drakokia, her father, would call them party tricks, but that slap-dash bag-of-tricks brought the invincible [Heavenly Eye] to its knee. It was hard to admit, but strings of words and a run-down house had overpowered magical technique her clan lusted for. In Luxinna’s view, ingenuity allowed the mortal Remus Breaker to defeat the Princess of demons. Melody was smart. She also had a physically and magically stacked deck. On the other side, Rem got terrible stamina and no super moves to speak off. So he optimized. Rem was a better cheater. So he cheated with everything he could; speeches, magical eye-poking, illegal house-shot to the head. Now, Luxinna had to ask herself: how should she optimize? … “Hey girls,” Luxinna said, getting up and calling on the bickering Cytortia and Melody. “What is my weakness? I want you guys to answer me honestly? Control is one of them, right?” Melody arrogantly huffed at the question. “Yes, your control is shit,” the redhead spoke airily. “You are fast, but you love piling up barrages of attacks you can’t sustain. Your gear design are so outrageously bogus I feel sorry for you.” “Eh,” Luxinna was shocked at Melody's sudden triad. Meanwhile, Cytortia blinked. This conversation was reminding her of Kar’Dia. “Your primary advantage is speed, right?” Melody passionately described. “Seriously, what are you thinking with those armor’s design? Bulky greaves and gauntlets modeled after heavy armor? Those things went out of fashion since the rise of Magical Artillery. Must be hard to look gallant when your entire squadron got shelled to death during those tortoise charges.” Cytortia and Luxinna stared at the smiling Melody. When did the demoness become this talkative? “And that last attack,” Melody happily droned on. “Nice concept — supercharged your blade with magic power, contained it and unleashed it all at once. Many advance magic attacks originated from that model, but it won’t work for you. Your lightning is too volatile. Ordinary sword will melt in an instant. Even a specially crafted blade will degrade in days. Unless you have a super sword that trumps even the [SS] rank, that final attack is both wasteful and unreliable. Speaking of it, how does your magic even work? A glass that conducts lightning is one thing, but a beam? Lightning can’t be shot in a beam, that requires a plasma career. And how did the lotus even float anyway? even my [Heavenly Eye] couldn’t work that out.” Then Melody noticed the two girls looking at her funny. “What?” The redhead said. “Why are you looking at me? Wait. I recognize those looks,” Melody started panicking. “Oh no, no fucking way, you two are going to do something crazy. Don’t you dare!” Luxinna and Cytortia looked at each other. “Where is your alchemy set,” Luxinna got up. “We need to run a test on the beam. Do you have a method to practice magic control?” “My master drilled some magic control training method to me,” Cytortia said, before running off to find her tool. The goddess stopped and yelled back. “Hey, Mel, call your mom! I have something to show her. World Greatest Sword! Here I come.” Melody watched the Anarchist Pill Goddess, and her minion went to work devising a new world breaking experiment. The young demoness cursed her fat mouth and begged the things divine to stop the next ghost hoard. … A green-hair Catman and Mayor sweated nervously. Taku wore the most modest clothes he owned — a garish tuxedo with plain white lining and plaided shirt. He couldn’t help but curse at the consecutive Trainwreck. First, a simple eviction ended with him offending Cytortia Tianshang. Cytortia was a joke, but Shyme was another story. Then there was this bitch. The Mayor tucked Taku’s tuxedo nervously. “What am I supposed to do when she arrives?” the Mayor Port whispered. “I don’t know,” Taku wasn’t even mad at the lowly Mayor ruffling his tuxedo; the situation was severe. “Just don’t piss her off and do as she pleases. Most of all, remember that Chuang Tianshang’s followers are lunatic who will eat you alive if you look at them funny.” Right on cue, an ominous flying ship blaring the image of a Pheonix floated down from the sky. It landed without a sound. The ship’s door hissed open, and out of the darkness, a woman in a blue gossamer dress and high-heel walked out. She was beautiful in a way a fire was to a moth, alluring face, enticing movement, and glowing with golden jewelry. But both Mayor Port and Taku knew better. This woman was a beast. “Gentlemen,” she opened her arms wide and addressed them. “I, Emissary Illma Zoldia Road, have arrived. I hope you provide the adequate space, I request.” “We are clearing out the area,” Taku said nervously. “But some former tenants are quite stubborn.” “Burn them to the ground then,” Illma stated, like she was ordering a cake. “Or my little ones will do it for you.” A sinister shadow began moving inside the ship. “Now,” Illma smiled sinisterly to both men's distress. “Tell me out about our dragon.”

Hikma's training went off to a horrific start.  Watching the boy sparred against a visibly bored Luxinna was an exercise in futility. His footwork was clumsy. His strikes were painfully predictable. The boy even tripped over himself five times during his attack sequence only to end with Luxinna disarming him a move.  Scathach watched the development in a fit. "This is impossible," the honey badger was analyzing Hikma's stats. "Miniscule power level, no elemental affinity, or unique skill; why did Satholia pick him of all people!?"  "Satholia must have an agenda," Melody watched the boy fumbled into the dirt. "She must know something, but to be fair, his True Magic is pretty versatile."  Rem looked on as Hikma, after much hesitation, brought himself to press an attack only to be brushed aside in one graceful swing. Rem nodded. Hikma's True Magic, [Conceptual Seal], was indeed versatile in everything but combat.  Languages were power. Rem hated that phrase, but he understood it. It was the statement championed by Hikma De Darwin's True Magic in all forms. Hikma could create a color ordinated symbols that represented anything: [Machine], [Fire], [Flowers], even [Death]. Those sigils could summarize any concept in stylized English. However, the sigils had no combat effectiveness. It only symbolized a concept--a mere presence of that particular entity. Despite being pretty useless in combat, [Conceptual Seal] existed permanently. Melody took one looked at it with [Heavenly Eyes] and concluded that it would conduct enchantment better than any spell formula in the world. But aside from improving their camouflage from okay to incredible, it wouldn't save Hikma from his trashing. Scathach sighed for the eight times in the last hour as Luxinna dodged a faulty blow to the head and sweeper Hikma off the ground.  "That is it," Scathach vented. "I swear the boy has no talent for hurting people." That gave Rem an idea. "Hikma!" Rem beckoned. "Come here for a minute! I need to talk to you about something." … Hikma found himself inside a more secluded forest. Rem sat down on a rock and gestured him toward the moss cover stone next to him. Hikma took his seat. "Are you here to talk about how terrible I am?" Hikma began. "Partly," Rem admitted. "But I want to ask why do you want to focus on swordplay in the first place." "I don't know," Hikma honestly replied. "Maybe, because all of you use it?" “If that is the case, why don’t you learn first aid instead. Cy is a pretty horrendous fighter but a phenomenon doctor. You can help contribute that way.” “I-" Hikma lost his track for a second. “I don’t want to be weak.” “The inability to beat people over the head isn’t a weakness, Hikma. Indecision to do what you must is, and your actions already prove your resolve phenomenally.” Hikma paused. “Back in the capital, I got beaten by Mercia’s goon because they think Velnia has a feeling for me,” Hikma spoke. “Deep down, I wanted to hit them back, but I know that was wrong. I promise my mother, on her death bed, that I will be kind and gentle no matter what. But that doesn't change how pathetic I am. I need to get stronger, Rem.” Rem sighed. “There are two kinds of the fight in this world, mate,” Rem replied. “A physical brawn where nothing matters and philosophical fight that you can’t afford to lose. You lost the physical fight at that time, but by refusing to break that promise, you won the philosophical one.” “You saw how much of a mess I was in.” “True, but we patch up your injury. A more important thing is you prove that Hikma De Darwin can be trusted to keep a cool head where most of us would fail. You are a gentle person, Hikma. You should be proud of that.” HIkma sighed. “That won’t help me won against Luxinna.” Rem laughed. “You can’t win against her--not fairly anyway. Luxinna is a natural fighter. She has talent, self-introspection, and hard work. Her mastery with the sword is already second nature. She even got the Skill to prove it.” “[Sword Grace]” Hikma recalled his sparring partner's Skills. “Scathach said it is proof that her form reaches complete mastery in its flawlessness.” “Oh, she not only has the sword. She has the complete set,” Rem handed a piece of paper to Hikma. “That is how strong your sparring partner is. Trust me. You aren’t supposed to win the sparring match with Luxinna.” … Luxinna Latoria Lightning Caliber Stat: Str: 339 [C] End: 523 [C] Mag: 950 [B] Wis: 478 [C] Dex:1210 [B] Skill Active Serene Glass [A] Glass Weaving [C] Animal Communication [B] Hyper Reflex [A] Overdrive [C] L2-$SBIO G [N/A] Passive  Child of Lightning (SS) Armory Grace [A] Hidden Potential [N/A] Natural Instinct [S] … Hikma stared and did the mental math. “3600,” Hikma said. “Isn’t that qualified her for a big wig position? And what with this [L2-$SBIO G]? How old is she again? Sixteen?” “She is fifteen,” Rem said. “A year younger than you.” Hikma couldn't believe this. “Did she start training from the womb? A guard protecting Velnia is ten-years older, and Luxinna is way stronger than him.” “No, she only received three months of proper training.” Hikma’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, that is part of the reason I told you not to be too hard on yourself,” Rem smiled. “True Magic-user like us grow quicker than the average joe on Phantasia. Within three months, you will likely be way stronger than the guard who picked on you, so there is no need to be too hard on yourself about it.” “What about you?” Rem tossed him the card. … Rem Breaker  Paladin Stat Str: 389 [C] End: 444 [B] Mag: 781 [B] Wis: 1025 [B] Dex: 720 [C] Skill Active  Arrival of Dream [N/A] Simplicity Blade [C] Supercharge [A] Knife Throwing [D] Tactician Analysis [B] Passive Territory [E] Reality Breaker [Ex] The Way of Optimism [N/A] … Hikma looked at the card. His jaw dropped from total surprise. “The Power-level was 800 months ago,” Rem explained. However, Hikma was onto another subject. “No, it doesn’t make any sense,” Hikma said. “There must a scientifically sound explanations why True Magic is this strong. I remember what you said about how it is unique to the individual growth, but this kind of power quadrupling in a quarter of a year is too ridiculous. There must be a mechanism behind this.” “You can ask Melody about that,” Rem said. “She is still trying to explain our growth speed ever since she noticed about it.” Suddenly, Rem’s eyes narrowed. “But I want to talk to you about another thing. I think we need to change your battle style. Do you ever heard of Obi-wan Kenobi.” “You mean Star Wars Obi-wan?” Hikma frowned. “What does Star Wars got to do with this?” It was a rare case where Rem smiled. “Hikma, he has everything to do with my plan?” Rem said. “Tell me, do you know why Obi-wan is such a renowned duelist?” … That afternoon, after listening to Rem’s batshit crazy idea, Hikma approached Melody to discuss his suspicion about the True Magic theory. “Yes, you are right,” Melody confirmed. “The growth speed is too absurd. I spent most of my childhood training to reach B-rank. Those two shouldn't close that gap in only a few months. What doesn’t help is that idiot elf is too simpleminded to contemplate deeper. Rem might think of a possible explanation if he cares, but the problem is he don't.” “And what do you think?” Hikma asked. “I have no sure answer, but my only answer is that those two are always leaping from one conflict to another,” Melody said. “So I think the extensive usage of True Magic pushed there body stat’s growth to overdrive.” “But what about Cytortia?” Hikma asked. “I ask about her growth-rate, and she said she barely got stronger despite continuously using her [Sage Force] in alchemy refining.” “Yeah, that is where my theory break,” Melody said. “Cytortia hit her limit much faster than Rem and Luxinna, but she exhibits almost no growth. I don't think I know anything about its mechanism at this point.” Hikma contemplated deeper. Just what exactly did Rem and Luxinna had in common that was different than Cytortia? But there was a more vital question that he must ask. “What about you? What exactly is your True Magic?” Melody showed him a silver card the appeared in her hand. ... Melody Solarmaira Dragonoid Str: 1000 [B] End: 1320 [B] Mag: 742 [B] Wis: 100 [D] Dex: 386 [C] Skill Active  Dragon Manifestation [A] Recovery [B] Flame Magic [C] Heavenly Eye [A] Forging [A] Passive Regeneration [D] Martial Art [A] Material Sensory [B] … Hikma stared. Two of her stats were a thousand, and her skills mostly bend around fast recovery from the fight, but just what was the [Dragon Manifestation]? “Oh, you seem to be interested in [Dragon Manifestation],” Melody said, noticing how the text drawn in his eyes. “It is my True Magic.” Melody raised her hand, and with a surge of power, caused a glowing outline of the dragon’s scales to appear on her skin. “It allows me to use the biological and magical attribute of a dragon.” Hikma frowned, thinking back to the book Velnia read to him about Spell-casting and cultivation mechanism. The brain that was adept at sorting logic and historical fact detected several discrepancies in an instant. “It doesn’t make any sense,” Hikma said. “This isn’t a more advanced version of the system. They are something completely different. Spell-crafting changes Mana into another type and utilizes it. Cultivation refined atmospheric Mana into a particular Internal Energy and stored it to refined to be implemented with a technique. But your magic isn’t like any of them.” “Yes,” Melody agreed. “It surprises me you notice this. You are right. True Magic doesn’t involve energy exchange at all. Luxinna’s Static Glass, for example, created a physics-defying material out of nothing.” “Isn’t water spells already do that?” Melody laughed. It was the first time she had this kind of intellectual debate with someone besides her mother. She could get used to this feeling. “Hikma, those spells only summon something that already exists. That is why only a powerful mage can use advanced water spells without a water source nearby. They needed a massive amount of Mana to gather atmospheric moisture or teleport water from a nearby water source. To create actual water out of thin air, they need to either manipulate the surrounding atoms or create matter using energy.” “E=MC^2,” Hikma nodded. “No mage in the world can supply the power to do that. The energy required to create 1 kilogram of matter from energy would be too immense for anyone. And there isn't enough material to convert to make the spell, assuming we reach such precision. “Oh, I know one person who could do that,” Melody covered her eyes and peeked at the sky with accusation. “Afterall, we are talking about her." “Are you sure Luxinna can really do that?” “[Static Glass],” Melody explained. “I analyze the material. It doesn’t make out of any of the elements in the periodic table. Luxinna creates a mystery matter that defies the classical subatomic categorization.” Hikma blinked. Melodina lost him on this one. “[Static Glass] isn’t made out of atoms,” Melody explained further. “They are pseudo-particle that conduct electricity. Imagine a bunch of neutron-like particles arrange into a crystal that able to display both infinite electrical resistance and Superconductor at the flip of the switch.” “You lost me there.” Melody sighed. “Let say Lux can break the rule of energy conservation and create something out of nothing. I would call her case unique if it is only a one-time thing, but it isn’t. Every one of us breaks the law of physics.” “Wait, you mean Cytortia and Rem as well,” Hikma blinked. “Thier power is just improving stuff, and I just create magic symbols.” Melody laughed. “Enhance stuff? Sure! But How? Cy has the potential to turn healing grasses into an elixir of immortality. She literally rewrites a biological property of chemicals in plants and defies the law of diffusion. Your power allows you to create a symbol that can substitute with any concept. It basically toys with reality. And I can turn into a literal dragon-in-human-form in less than an instant--something that throws a biology textbook into the trash.” “What about Rem? He just enhanced himself and his weapon?” “Hikma, do you ever hear Rem discussing his ability?” Hikma opened his mouth, but no memory resurfaced to give him an answer. “I think Rem doesn’t tell us everything about his True Magic. I guess the enhancing bit is only an application. I once saw him use his power to its maximum potential and created a legendary dragon-killing blade from thin air. His power likely strengthen something existence as a concept rather than reinforcing its structure.” “So you're telling that we are physics-defying reality-warper,” Hikma said. “Yeah,” Melody said. Suddenly, she sat up. Her eyes widened. “Hey, you are an Archeologist, right?” “One in training,” Hikma corrected. “But yes.” “Come with me,” the girl stood up hurriedly. “I have something to show you.” … Melody took him inside a van. Hikma recalled how impressed he was the first time he saw this place. His family wasn't wealthy. The closest he got to enjoy high-end luxury was when he was with Velnia’s entourage. The carriage the group traveled on was a high-end product fitted with glass Chandelier and expensive furniture. Mercia alone drowned more vintage wine than his father’s entire net-worth. Hikma was no fan of poverty, but the amount that the Starland’s party wasted for a country in crisis was excessive. Compared to them, the Black Mercy’s decoration was more down-to-earth. It looked likable and modern without the unpleasant gaudiness. It was a perfect combination in Hikma's opinion. Melody opened the door to a cupboard and showed a travesty to Hikma. “Who did this?” Hikma’s eyes widened in outrage. Hikma could barely speak. Before his eyes, piles of books laid littered chaotically on the carpet. How could anyone left the vessel of knowledge scattered without any semblance of order? Where were the shelves? Where were the sorting systems? What kind of barbaric tradition is this? “During our last mission, we got our hands on these books,” Melody said. “The shopkeeper hauled these to Rem. We managed to find the information about the dragon using these texts, but after the mission, we don’t know what to do with them.” Melodina tiredly sighed. “I want to research the historical document to find any historical record about True Magic, but I don’t know where to start. I don’t even know how to sort these books.” “You want me to sort these documents?” Hikma asked excitedly. Melody nodded. “Can I read it?” Hikma’s eyes glowed with anticipation. “Feel free,” Melodina replied. “You are part of the group. You have access to every book here.” Hikma couldn’t smile wider.

Scathach sighed in exasperation. She was in front of Venistalis’s front gate. At lease it should be the there. That statement got thrown into question by the opaque dome of darkness, shielding large patches of area in front of her. “Satholia will kill me.” “Wow, do I have to buy this ‘Satholia’ a box of chocolate,” a man beside her mused. “Shut up, Marley!” Scathach screeched. “Do you realize how much trouble I am in? If Satholia get wind that I screw up this badly, she will skin my soul alive. It is bad enough she haunts my dream at every opportunity. If Venistalis get blown out of the water, my happiness will face extinction!?” “You care?” “Of course I care! My livelihood is at risk here!” Marley wanted to pray for the gods to rid the badger of her apathy, but he didn’t because the gods were equally an asshole. He glanced up at the sky. If an embodiment of good truly existed, he wished for a divine lightning to strike the badger. While the Queen of Center Force would gladly dispense divine intervention, she couldn’t. However, the almighty Satholia still sneaked in a simple punishment. “Scathach-chan!”  The badger froze. A man in a pink polo shirt and a skirt flipped into view. He was buffed to the point his muscle drank protein-shake. His legs were broad, powerful, like an oar build for battleships. His make-up and hairstyle shone legendary, while his pink lipstick glinted attractively. Such beastly contrast of womanly charm and macho of manliness pressed Scathach’s bravado down the garbage chute. Untouchable S-rank — Judy Mann — the Indestructible Transvestite. At that moment, Marley became a believer in a benevolent god who granted his wishes. Scathach horrifically screamed at the musclebound juggernaut sprinting at her for hugs. She tried to dodge, but Judy snatched her from the air and snuggled the soul out of her body. “You should tell me you are coming, Scathach-chan!” Judy rubbed the squirming badger. “I miss you so much! Where is dear Cytortia? I want her to pick out my new dress. Don’t tell me you are too harsh on that poor dear?” Scathach believed her luck just hit rock-bottom, but she got no clue she was only midway down the cliff. “Yo! Scathach,” said a woman in glasses and lab coat, wearing her hair magenta-color hair in twin-tail. A pair of Saturn-shape earrings twinkled from her ear-robe. “Give Judy-chan some love, will you?” “Shut up, Christy,” Scathach squeezed her word out. Untouchable S-rank—Arden Christy—the Rebel Professor. Marley knelt and offered his prayer of gratitude. Oh god, how could this get any better. “Ha, ha, ha, stale as always, warrior-maid,” Arden Christy taunted Scathach, before shifting her interest to the black dome. “Fascinating, a paracasal barrier that penetrates to all my lab's defensive measures and boots me out of the city. Hey, geezer, is this something in your collection? Mind if I study it?” Marley froze — oh, no. An elderly man in a white toga with a long beard and hair tied in a ponytail glared at the group and spat at them. “Shut up, Rebel Professor, the Grand Empire forbade you from entering our territory ten years ago. Not only did you flaunt the decree, you are audacious enough to sneak right into our capital,” then the elder gnawed his teeth at Marley. “Same for you, Magpie. To think a Liberator's commander dare to hide beneath my nose. Do you want death that much, Marley?” S-rank — Telomer Grandy—the Royal Elder. “Nah, you won’t attack me or Marley,” Arden Christy pointed to the suit of green armor intensely watching the group. “The Preserver of Hilarity is right there.” Telomer gritted his teeth. He couldn’t risk getting into the fight with one of the strongest S-rank in Phantasia. S-rank—Preserver of Hilarity—the UNKNOWN. The green suit of armor held up a placard that read. ‘Hello, suckers, sorry old-fart but this is too funny. I am happy that you suck as usual, tranny. Good to see you too; magenta-nerd, woman-child. Anyway! Congratulation of joining us weirdos, Marley.’ It seemed the more powerful you become in Phantasia, the battier you get. … Inside Venistalis, on the tower of Spiritium, Orwell Mehest gazed down on the city below him. He never felt more powerful. The invisible spy Amalgam throughout the city showed him all the panic the recent situation caused, and it filled him with vengeful satisfaction. The royal-knights struggled to regroup despite Stuart Hex’s aspiring command to assault the Spiritium tower. In the Fire-quarter housing the military facilities and district, the royal-mages was firing up to be mobilizing — thankfully Wayward was still leading them to a slaughter. The citizens and the communities in the Earth-quarter was in a full-blown pandemonium as the citizen realized the miserable disaster befalling the city. Average people below only took one glance on the Dark One before running away screaming or dropping on the ground to cry and beg for mercy as they should. Families held each other as they run away from the chaos in the street. Looting started a while ago as opportunists exploited the chaos and the law enforcement hobbled to cope against overwhelming riots. Orwell watched the image of a young waitress in a coffee shop getting man-handle by several men and frowned. The scale was being balance, but he loathed such self-inflicted misery. None of these sinners should despair under the hand of humans’ degeneracy. Only he — not human's ugliness— had the right to collect his payment. Orwell synced his mind to the Spiritium tower and dripped Amalgams into the Leynode beneath Venistalis. Fives spot across the city — one inside each of the four quarters and the one more in Venistalis’ royal castle — glowed with black light and from it a green crystal of Spiritium rose. Originally, the ritual would obliterate the entire capital and resurrect its population and graves as his armies, but Hal Jordan’s excellence blew Orwell’s game-plan before he got to the start-line. This meant the child of Deathless Clan must improvise a new directive from the ground-up. Around the city, those crystals lit and thousands of ghostly hands emerged from the smooth Spiritium. Beneath the city, inside a catacomb of graves and bones, a black, misty being diffused into the cold crypt and dispersed its darkness. Bathed in the Amalgam of soul and vengeance, the skeleton moved. From the ground, violet fluid seeped out from the Leyline. Some puddle started emitting frost and producing snow, while other searched for raw material to make their bodies. As a first rule of all aspiring evil lords dictated: Every evil-mastermind needed an evil army. … Inside the small café called Lovely Coffee Shop. The young waitress fold after a punch landed on her stomach. She tried calling for help, but the barista already ran away the moment the fight began. Who could blame him? People died everyday in Phantasia. It was far easier to save himself rather than saving a friend. How could she blame him for doing what anyone would do? Then an arm of rock and dirt crashed through the windows, smashing one man into the wall. A spire of rock crashed through the ceiling and knocked another hoodlum into the floor. The last man tried to run, but the fountain of dirts burst from below, enveloping him inside earth and stone until only his flailing arms and legs was visible. Several crunching noises later, the arms and legs went still. The waitress froze, horrified by her rescue. Then the entire building rumbled as it got lifted into the air and thrown to the earth. The waitress screamed. Before she lost consciousness, she saw a golden light. … A second later, golden lightning burst from the rubbles that once was Lovely Coffee Shop. Luxinna sat inside a golden lotus, cradling the semi-conscious lady in her arm. She surveyed the carnage and contorted with horror. The entire street was in carnage. Several bloody bodies littered the pavement. Luxinna’s stomach flipped internally as she saw a body of a headless guard. Two brothers were trying to drag their injured mother from the chaos. Luxinna took a second to unleash a stream of electricity toward a woman looting the store of an elderly grandma, stopping the robbery cold. But it was nowhere close to enough. Everywhere people was shoving each other aside in a chaotic animalistic contest of getting away from the monstrous moon watching them. Then she saw the skeletons. A walking army of bones was rising from the ground. Skeleton hands shoot out to grab people by the ankle at random. The elf saw the ground fell away from under the group of fleeing citizens as an army of skeletons emerged from the sinkhole. One skeleton bit into a man’s neck, tearing into his flesh, and in a form of twisted spell works, reducing him into a husk. Luxinna’s eyes caught sight of a massive tidal column of dirt diving into and from the shattered road like a sea-serpent rising from the ocean. Every dive from the rock beast shattered the house and rearranged the Capital’s city schematic. Luxinna heard a thud. The waitress looked at the carnage in front of her, fell to her knee and sobbed. “We will die.” “No, we are not,” Luxinna said. “Get away from here. Find anyone in trouble and help them get away.” “There is no way left!” The waitress clutched her head in despair. “The gods won’t even care if we die! The royalties abandoned us. Don’t you get it! We have no hope left.” Luxinna clenched her hand and remembered her oath as a knight who would save everyone she could. She needed power more than ever. She needed power to bring hope back to this city touched by a darkness of the Primordial. “Are you still alive?” The waitress sobbed. Luxinna walked over and lifted her by the neck. “Listen to me here!” Luxinna yelled at the woman. “You are still alive! Your life has meaning, so protect it. Run! Struggle! Delay death as long as you can!? The end only come when you cannot fight anymore! Do you get it!? Survive! Don’t waste this chance I give to you” The waitress nodded, but suddenly she turned back to the mysterious masked woman. “But what about you?” Then the waitress witnessed a scene that would remain throughout her life. Beautiful, golden light beamed from the masked woman, as lightning rejoiced around her. There on that roof, surrounded by chaos and evil, that stranger shone like a golden star. “I will save as many as I can,” the masked girl peered down to the army of the dead. “This will be tough.” Luxinna leaped. Her sword transformed into a golden spear as she struck the undead hoard like lightning. … The royal-mages should assemble in Fire-quarter and deploy throughout the city to fight of the hoard from the start. Heavily emphasis on should. Royal-mages Captain Samael Wayward assembled his troop in front of the Fire-quarter's grand courtyard. What followed next was a tragedy. “Arrrgh!!!” “Everyone step back! The Captain have gone crazy!” “Captain Wayward… why?” A storm fire swallowed those mages whole. “Stop Captain! Please come to your senses!” That woman’s head flew. “It no use! Everyone! Attack that imposter together!” Three mages—two-man, one woman—tried to fight off Wayward. It was pointless. Lance of heat pierced a man’s brain. A sword flashed, cutting off another man’s arms and impaling his heart in a simple follow-up. Wayward shattered the female mage’s shield with a flaming punch and grasped her by the throat. The mage tearfully struggled as the flame burned her voice box, but soon the light faded from her eyes after a squeezed. A wall of fires rose to stop every mage trying to flee. The helpless lamb of the royal-mages trembled as they turned to face the embodiment of terror. “Aren’t you not the royal-mages of Grand Empire?” Wayward’s voice was cold. “You now face a traitor who murders your brothers and sisters, and you scramble like headless chicken. Let me impart to you a last lesson as your former superior: a chicken only lives as long as it produces an egg.” The mages knew they had no option. “[Grand Dynasty: Leviathan Entrapment]” Wayward broke that with a flaming kick and reduced the caster into blackened bones in a second. “[Snowstorm]” Wayward melt the intermediate spells and twenty mages behind it in a single throw of fires. “Please… Captain Wayward,” a mage fell to the ground and begged. “It me Joshua! I am the one who make you all those coffees.” “Thank you, Joshua,” Wayward expressionlessly burnt off Joshua’s face. “Those were superb coffees. I will miss you.” “WAYWARD!!!!” The yelling mage’s former-idol smashed a flaming fist through his stomach, burning his intestines to a crisp. His body barely hit the floor before Wayward impaled his wife’s heart in front of him. The betrayal continued. The royal-mages tried in vain and tears to fight their former leader. None survived. The only thing left behind from the wrath of the human killing machine was a mass of body parts and charred bloodstain. The only mage left alive was a young recruit in his early twenty. The mages dropped his wand in that hellish despair and fell down to his knee, crying. “Why? I admire you! When I graduate and got assign here, I was happy! I think how great it would be to fight alongside Samael Wayward. Please, Captain, why? What force you to do this? At least tell me why are you doing this, Captain!” Wayward stopped moving for a second. That moment, the boy received glimpses of hope for survival. Abruptly, his vision turned orange. A pillar-fire engulfed the young mage, leaving not a single ash behind. “I wish I can, Alexander,” Wayward said to the dead boy he saw a little of himself in. “But sometimes, knowledge is a burden.” The former-Captain of the royal-mages stood amongst the corpses of subordinates he butchered. Three minutes ago, 237 royal-mages of Grand Empire assembled proudly in this courtyard. Now only fires and burnt flesh remained. “You must be angry, Kruger,” Wayward said to a swaying man a distance away. “You are 2 minutes late like always. I know you already arrived here a minute ago and still you never moved an inch to save them, why?” The man stayed silent. His ears barely registered his friend’s words. “Stun? Or perhaps fear?” Wayward sighed. “Are you so flabbergasted at your friend for the last six-years killing all your comrades that you can’t even move an inch for a solid minute? Normally, you would come for my head screaming right now.” Kruger vanished and Wayward felt the light bathing him. Kruger brought a blade of light the size of a three-stories building down on Wayward. He uttered no word. He won’t waste a single iota of concentration on an action so pointless. Every cell in his body stimulated for a single purpose. His blood pumped furiously, fueling every calories into his tendon for one mission: rip Wayward to pieces. “My lord,” Wayward whispered, leaping away from the blade of light, digging a trench in the ground. “That is your best attack in the last-six years. Why can’t you apply yourself like this during the mission?” “Die.” Kruger swung the blade of light diagonally. The blow caught Wayward’s side like a guillotine’s blade, weighting several tons. Its raw energy blasted every window within hundred meters to oblivion. Wayward clenched his fist. That blow stung his arm. Kruger never accomplished that until today. “I remember you always want me to fight you seriously.” Kruger glared at him and gritted his teeth. Wayward’s shifted into a stance Kruger never saw him used before. Something big was coming, Kruger prepared himself for the greatest battle of his life. “No matter how fake our bond is. I enjoy that half a decade of friendship,” Wayward’s face was inscrutable, but the sadness was real. “So, I will fulfill your wish and take you seriously.” Wayward’s conjured a blue circle of glowing runes. [Wayward’s Original: Blue Spear] … Melody was staking out the military headquarter at Fire-quarter per Rem’s request when she saw one flash of blue light. The shock-wave rippled across her skin and rattled windows. Then an object smashed the building across her like a cannonball, reducing it into rubble. The dust a debris cleared to reveal a crater with Vice-captain Kruger of the royal-mages lying prone and puking up blood. Kruger coughed. He thought he understood how terrifyingly powerful Wayward was. But he underestimated that man. A single attack was all it took for Samael Wayward to break him. A blue bonfire flickered into existence — and from it — a spotless Wayward walked out.

If anyone asked Rem who was the worst person to engage in the Venistalis’ Incident — later nicknamed the Capital of the Dead by the survivors — his answer would be quick and precise. “Samael Wayward is the greatest heavyweight in Venistalis,” Rem told Hikma as he got carry across the sky by his flying buddy. “Orwell Mehest might have a home-field advantage, but we have a way to stop him. Wayward is an endgame piece. You either remove him this turn or come to face with the fact you will eat shit for the rest of this game.” “So how do we beat him?” Hikma asked as he flew as fast as his Arcane allowed. The boy already chucked down two stamina tablet to keep going. “We don’t because we can’t,” Rem’s reply cut any hope of rebuttal. “Wayward is not Chuang. That moron has exploitable flaws and pride. Meanwhile, Wayward is another breed of terminator.” “You sound like you admire him?” “I do. I ran Breaker’s CCC so many times I lost count and he repeatedly killed us to where fighting him is no longer an option,” Rem stated in the face devoid of all hope. “Trust me, if you learn Wayward’s info, you will run on sight from him too.” “Wait, how much do you know?” “Everything,” Rem sighed depressively. “Phantasia’s Pioneer in [Clairvoyance], remember? I know Wayward better than anyone but the man himself. Trust me, Hikma, that guy is a monster. If he signs up with Mehest, we should give up and write our obituaries—no hope of fighting in a slaughterhouse.” “Okay, explain to me why I should be so afraid of Mr. Wayward?” Rem laughed. “Buddy, that is a tale of horror and woe. Remember all those overpower Shonen protagonist. Wayward have their background minus the hot-bloodiness and morality.” … Wayward showed Luxinna a piece of reality in the first move. In a relatively simple exchange, he buttered the ground with blue fires so hot that it put the elf into a defensive position. Luxinna barely raised a lotus shield before Wayward shattered it with a punch, knocking her back. Wayward rhythmically unclenched and re-clenched his fist. “Impressive reaction time and sturdiness,” he praised the young elf. “Your reaction time is doubled at the very least. Exotic technique with multiple applications, but an obvious weakness. You can’t keep it up for long.” Luxinna summoned several lotuses and began showering Wayward with a beam of light. Wayward ran toward the beam casually dodging, weaving and sliding under them. Luxinna’s enhanced calculation power allowed her to track his superior speed and netted an immovable trapping maneuver. The net of gold eventually surrounded him like an enclosing net of golden sparks, closing in on the supremely agile mages. Wayward stopped playing around. [Wayward Original’s Blue Leap] He disappeared from the death-ground and reappeared suspend in the air. Luxinna open-fired. Wayward kicked the air, redirecting himself with flames and blazing fearlessly toward the golden streams. [Wayward Original’s Blue Leap] Wayward flickered away in a blaze of flames and reappeared right in front of Luxinna. His leg held high. … “Wayward is a pioneer in many aspects,” Rem explained. “He is born with no backing, no special talent, and his cultivation technique is a simple method that converted Mana into a highly oxygenate burning source stored in his dantian. This lent him an incredible affinity with fire and nothing else. Fire-base attacks are the only weapon the universe gave to Wayward. Life put him in the dump since the age of seven. He entered no school. He only had grit, dedication and exceptional expectation in himself.” “And that guy became a Captain of a royal-mages?” Hikma’s mouth hung open. “Traitor aside, got to respect the man.” “Captain?” Rem laughed. “Hikma, Wayward is several thousand times above someone like Hex. That monster took the only gift the universe gave him and brought it beyond the limit. He spent 3 years traveling on foot to several monasteries around Tengen Continent and observed its monks’ meditation to learn inner peace. He apprenticed as a blacksmith for 4 years to hone his body and perfected his meditation training. He read a textbook on physiology and determined his diet and training for an optimal body’s muscle for his selected battle-style. He spent 3 more years after that in a forest to hone his survival skill and re-forged his body through cultivation technique. Then he joined Willow Heart Street at 17 to learn assassination and martial art. A year later he accepted the assignment to infiltrate Grand Empire’s royal-mages for the purpose of learning Spell-crafting, tactic and leadership.” Hikma nearly lost control of his Arcane. Those backstories made Wayward from Captain of the royal-mages turned traitor into a larger-than-life superhuman who rivaled god by raw hard-work and grit. Rem did not finish shilling Wayward. “Every step he passed is a path of learning and self-improvement. He put in more effort than anyone else. We can’t catch him by surprise because [Breathing Meditation (A)] is a passive skill. That is right. Wayward’s constant practice of meditation put him in the realm where his mindfulness and emotional control is a step away from the Bhuddist’s legendary arahant. At that point, mental manipulation worth jack-all because he ignores it.” “So, you cannot touch his mind at all.” “Oh, I can, but there is nothing I can use to tempt him with,” Rem said. “My EAPS is like a devil offering visions and prophecies. Bhuddist’s version of Satan tried that with Bhudda and failed. Wayward’s mind is so calm he will notice any shift in it — influencing him in his sleep is also impossible because he mastered lucid dreaming to the point his mind is a fortress.” Hikma saw Rem despaired several times, but he never saw Rem trashed his plan in a mixture of respect and helplessness. “What about physically?” “Wayward self-invented a training to seep raw Mana into his muscle to stimulate its development. From the age of ten, he modified his body to be stronger and tougher than average elves and demons — even now his is still doing it. He also learnt fast-pace strength manipulation technique from working in the forge. Combine those training, an expert-level martial-art and a superb mindfulness, then name anyone in this city who can win a fistfight with that man.” “Err, what about Lancaster? He must be strong as Shyme Enma’s bodyguard.” “Nice try. That battle would be spectacular. But Wayward will win.” “You sound like fan-boys in a versus video, Rem.” “Hikma, let me explain Wayward’s ungodly willpower with a simple history, do you ever wonder why there are so few S-rank in Grand Empire?” “How does that explain Wayward’s invincibility?” “Hikma, the reason royal-mages and royal-knight Captain have power-level 15000 and not 45000 because the contract the Seven Continental Alliance have with the gods—the Mandatory Recruitment Order,” Rem cringed by just thinking about it. “A-ranker with power-level above 15000 is enlisted into the gods' army as their personal footstool. Some — like Luxinna’s mother—went willingly. Others got forced into service using multiple threat. That is the reason those 33 Stars are golden fishes, they have enough weight from the gods for most A-rank under them to avoid the Order. Only at S-rank does the individual gain a measure of freedom, mostly because they become too much for the god and authority to handle properly, assuming they survive the office politic.” “Wait, stupid rule like that exists?” Hikma’s eyeballs nearly spilled out. “Who would try to reach A-rank under that law?” “Righto, the Order is why people like Hex deliberately suppresses their training. Wayward don’t because he desires power. He is getting stronger while everyone else sleep and deals with his Stats by using Mana to stick a training weight on his cells. This docks all his stats except wisdom to mid 3000.” “Can he do that?” “Yes, but it will feel like having a hot-poker stabbing your body at every single moment,” Rem shivered. “Wayward live, sleep and eat in such state for two years and walk around like nothing happened. I will let his pain tolerance be up to your imagination. But I believe we need an S-rank stronger than Scathach and Marley to defeat superhuman threat like Wayward.” … Nearby, Wayward brought his foot down from up high. [Wayward’s Original Blue Axe] Blue flames slammed into the ground and spread through the material’s pores like a pressurize steam. Wayward’s foot flashed with a rune, softening the ground, turning the earth, 50m radius from him, into a super-heated sludge. Then with his [Motion of Tide], Wayward exploded the ground with a reverse suction force. All of this happened in an instant, Luxinna conjured up a multilayer glass lotuses to survive being at the epicenter of Wayward’s manmade volcano, praying for the creaking lotuses to hold out the onslaught. The effect was immediate. The grounds and the houses came apart. Melody’s unconscious body flew into the wind. The stone beneath the combatants emptied itself in a fountain of molten rock erupted a hundred meters high. Houses and building crumbled from the disappearing ground support. Every window that was intact broke in a thunderous applause of falling concrete and crushed metal. … Rem witnessed the small volcanic eruption that shook the Earth-quarter. “Hikma, hurry,” Rem asked the tiring Hikma. “I need you to pull off what I ask.” “Didn’t you said beating Wayward is impossible?” Rem let the question rolled inside his mind before answering. “Yeah, but Wayward is not the only superhuman in this city,” Rem replied. “It will be a gamble. But I can stop him.” … Luxinna’s rolled on the charred background and coughed. She was in over her head. Nothing Scathach taught her prepared for anything like that monster. The elf rose on her knee. Forget winning the fight, she must get Melody out of here. “Let me give you a tip,” Wayward’s voice floated from nearby her. “You can’t dodge surprise attack at point blank no matter how fast you are.” Luxinna’s eyes widened as Wayward disabled his stealth rune. The elf found it unbelievable that this man hid himself better than most Lightwell forest’s denizen, but the last minute taught her enough that Wayward was above any opponent life threw at her. Luxinna’s speed lent no help to her when Wayward already prepared his attack at such a close-range, but still she had to try. Her enhanced reflex conjured lotuses in the split second. Survival instinct dug out every battle she ever experienced to survive this exchange. In that split-second, things spun into motion. Luxinna’s body rolled backward. Four [Serene Lotus] appeared in the air and fired. Ten [Serene Lotuses] bloomed between her and Wayward. Luxinna again showed her enhanced calculation ability by taking three supremely accurate action in a split second. Wayward took only one action: a fire-augmented palm-strike. [Wayward’s Original Blue Pulse]. [Blue Pulse] was Wayward’s designate reverse-counter attack [Motion Tide] created Mana suction current, diverting opponent’s attack away from him. Wayward’s Mana lighted into a blue fire as he activated the second part of [Motion Tide], cycling Mana current from suction to repulsion, boosting his attack in the enemy’s direction. [Hot Iron Strike] and [Martial Art] added in extra weight to his attack. If [Blue Spear] was a rune-enhanced penetrator punch, [Blue Pulse] was a raw maximization of brute force martial-art. One pulse of blue later — a feat of Wayward’s overpowering might — sent Luxinna’s lotuses shattering to pieces. Her beam of gold bent away without landing a shot. All ten stacks of lotuses shielding her splintered into golden sand in a point blank pulse of fire. The strike knocked Luxinna away in a violent journey into too many buildings. The elf penetrated several walls of bricks, tables, countertops, a fountain and a kitchen sink, leaving a see-thought tunnel digging through a row of buildings. Luxinna tried to lift herself from the crater her landing created, but the broken bones and 3rd degree burn refused to budge. The elf fainted without landing a scratch on Wayward. … Fact was hard to accept. It was a bitter lesson for the two girls to learn that Wayward barely gave an effort to crush them. Harsher was how the brief battle between the rookie of Horizon Dawn and the unstoppable Wayward end. It didn’t end with epic battle to the death, or timely intervention by a third back-up. No, the duo got rescued not with justice’s fist but a deal with a devil. The devil in question was not Wayward. Wayward saw a throwing knife landed, accompanied by flashbang, which he blocked instantaneously with his rune. He noticed a slight flickered in the air — evidence of someone sneaking by. He realized the distraction was an attempt to rescue the girls. Wayward knew killing the rescuer was the best option, however the checkmate arrived with a pleasant conversation. Temptation, trickery and distraction failed against Wayward, but no one was immune to an offering — a trade. “Are you open for a deal, Samael Wayward,” A white-hair boy in a mask and a trench coat flickered into existence. Wayward took one glance to recognize an illusion. Two glances confirmed that the illusion was coming from a knife. He never planned to invest a third glance, turning away from Hal Jordan instantly to pursue the interloper. “Yes, that right,” Rem said. “You know better than to care about rambling madman. Your goal comes first—no distraction allow. That is your philosophy ever since the Grand Empire’s Leviathan annihilated your hometown 17 years ago, but what if I told you I can fulfill your deepest desire — your goal?” Wayward stopped. “You understand what happens if this is a trick.” Rem laughed. “Oh please, you are a half-step from S-rank,” Rem nodded to Wayward’s raising eyebrows. “Yes, I know about your attempt to avoid the Mandatory Recruitment Order — knowing your past — who would blame you? I respectfully tip my hat. Out of every variable in this city, you are the one I can’t deal with. I am down to only one play against you — an equivalent exchange. I will trade my wares for those two lovable morons’ lives.” Wayward barely cared. “What stops me from wrangling your rescuer and holds him hostage against you, Mr. Jordan?” Rem sighed sarcastically. “Because we are bargaining in good faith,” Rem smiled sinisterly. “And bargaining in good faith means we don’t extort each other. You don’t get to hold my buddy hostage, and I don’t get to tell the living assholes Sol Vice Grandy and Orwell Mehest where in the Tengen Continent you hid your dear Onee-san.” Wayward clenched his fist. “You get yourself a right to make an offer,” Wayward said. “All thirty seconds of it.” “Four for two,” Rem offered. “Spare the lives of my two comrades and I will give you four things you ever want — a closure, an ally, targets and justice. I have an ability to deduce the past and I already work out what really happened 17 years ago when your home got destroyed. I can point you to the culprit and I promise I will help you get justice.”

Cytortia thread into an open-air roof of a storage warehouse far from everyone. She needed every bit of courage for her duty. It was the center of the Wind-quarter. At such heights, she saw everything. The smokes and fires illuminating the eldritch night sky. The massive molten crater in the Water-quarter, the war-zone of the Earth-quarter, and the massive ruin that used to be the Fire-quarter. Cytortia could hear the army closing in and caught several flashes of colorful firework underlying the battle fought. The Heavenly Daughter of Wood took one last looked at the Central palace cladded in darkness and unleashed her resolve. Suddenly, the door to the roof flung open. Hikma hobbled to her with aid from Madam Marmel’s shoulder. What a stubborn idiot. “Cy, is this Rem plan?” Hikma asked. “Try higher.” “Satholia wouldn’t want this.” “She hinted this from the start. It is inevitable and Satholia know it.” The Madam cut in. “My, my, I am still funding your defense operation. Shouldn’t I know what are you doing?” Cytortia cusped her hand on her chest. An emerald glow emerged. A leaf-green spherical crystal-perfectly cut and smooth like pearls solidified in her hands. That orb guided the night, barren of hope, like the ever-distant North Star. “A god’s [Divine Core],” Madam Marmel whispered revelry. “Legend say the Ancient copied it to create the mage’s Mana Core and use that knowledge pioneer the path toward spell-casting and Mana utilization. It is an inherent trait belonging to the gods. A perfect crystallization of Mana that allowed to master any spells and craft as prodigal speed, granting them longevity surpassing even the elf and stimulated their stats beyond ordinary by linking them with elemental Mana. It is a condensation of all their potential pack into a gem.” Cytortia nodded. The one crystal she held mark her as the member of the most powerful race in Phantasia. Her affinity with wood, healing mastery, the immense divine reserve of Mana [Divinity], the special property of her cell [Goddess Origin], even her ability to communicate with animal — they all originated from this core. It represented her potential as a Heavenly Daughter of Wood and her biological superiority over 99% of the planet. “Isn’t that crystal unremovable?” The Madam said. “[Divine Core] has automatic defense and cannot separate from its owner, unless by god-killer level weapons. Cytortia, what are you planning to do?” “Lost Divine,” Hikma remembered that Arcane. It was one Arcane where no amount of [Conceptual Seal] can access, because for one honest reason. Hikma De Darwin was a human — the most humbled yet proudest sentient race in the multiverse. His life was already a struggle. He did not need to learn vulnerability and mortality. Lost Divine is a power to teach humility to the god. An acceptance that perfection and superiority did not gift one with wisdom or leadership. In a certain sense, it was an Arcane only performable by the immortal who finally realized the utter pointlessness of invincibility and beseeched the world to become something more. “Cy, are you sure about this,” Hikma gulped. “You can’t go back.” Cytortia let out a nervous laugh and waved the crystal summing up her existence for the two to see. “Too late, I already perform the first part,” Cytortia tried to cheer herself up. “There is no going back now.” Unlike the two, the Madam did not understand about the monumental earth-shattering bomb ticking to detonation. “What are you two talking about?” The Madam said. “Boy, what is Cytortia planning to do.” “She is going to break it.” “What?” “Lost Divine is an Arcane which a god sacrifices their Divine Core to get the audience to learn wisdom from the World,” Hikma explained. “They traded thier immortality and divinity to struggle as a member mankind and thus passing their trail for a Legend.” The Madam took an entire second to absorb the information She looked at Cytortia. The moment the gravity registered. “You mean you are trading away everything for… a lesson.” The gem in Cytortia’s hand cracked. “Not a lesson,” Cytortia explained. “I am a terrible learner anyway, but it is fine to be imperfect. True Magic is a poetic mockery of the gods from the World. The mortal appreciates the simple joy of living to the fullest because they know their life will end. Just like how falling sakura petal paints the unique path in the world. However, the closer you approach to immortality, the more such beauty elude you. Reality snicker at our divinity and used them to chain us from becoming more. Evolution gave god’s [Divine Core] as a proof of their closeness to the natural order and their hopeless distance from human’s strife and pride.” “And a proud heart of humanity stimulates True Magic,” Hikma hit a realization. “That is the reason your stat didn’t rise at all. Gods had horrible affinities with True Magic because of their distance to humanity.” The [Divine Core] cracked further. “Bingo, I realize this a month ago. Luxinna’s trail required her to accept herself as a move closer to humanity. But mine is far worse, it requires a sacrifice — an end to this gem I have since birth and the death of the Heavenly Daughter of Wood.” “The end?” The Madam said. Cytortia gazed at the breaking core with tears of doubt in her eyes. “The moment this thing shatters my ability as goddess will vanish. My Stats will sink. All my skills with few exceptions will evaporate. I will become a mere shadow of a goddess — a nature spirit even weaker than average human. The 33 Stars will have to find someone to fill my ranks because I will drop from the radar completely. Since every proof of my life tied directly to this core or my [Goddess Origin] — my life’s signal in Master’s and aunty Artio’s hall will go out. Everyone outside will think I’m dead.” The Madam got no sentence to placate the goddess. Throughout her neglected life, the only belonging Cytortia had in her asset column was that [Divine Core] — losing even that must be unimaginable. “Cytortia, are you fine with this?” Cytortia’s core was now an orb of spiderweb. “Fine? Not at all,” Cytortia tried to put on a brave smile, but her teary eyes betrayed everything. “I am about to blow up a part of myself. I am not okay, but I will hesitate no more. I have to thank you for that, Madam.” “Me?” It was an excruciating long time since someone confused Marmel. “Why?” The emerald pearl in the Goddess’ hand creaked. “Remember, when you tell Shyme to quit the 33 Stars. I think sentence fits me more. Like the position as a Heaven Daughter, this Core is something I grow out,” Cytortia gazed into the stone, hyping herself up. “A child must venture from home someday and find something to belong too other than her childhood. My life is no longer define by this orb alone.” Cytortia crushed into her [Divine Core], crumbling it to dust. “Who need divinity when I got you guys!” Brilliant light enveloped the roof, and for an instance the darkness broke. The light was faint, but it was enough to tip the scale of destiny. … Orwell Mehest was in a room inside his Spiritium tower. Wayward stood amongst the azure fire. Amalgam and patterned of Spiritium ink painted his body. Orwell observed the ritual from the edge of the fiery pit, scribed with runes and symbols. Statues of skeleton dotted the pool fires like a judge watching Wayward. “I must warn you, this experiment is purely theoretical,” Orwell said. Wayward didn’t bulk. “I give you Stuart Hex,” Wayward said. “It is your turn to live up to the end of your bargain.” “Very well,” Orwell waved his staff as the Amalgam surged into Wayward’s body. It was modification ritual theorized in the Achieve of the Deathless. This ritual would imbue the cultivator’s Mana with artificial soul and changed their body to optimize it. Orwell expected the increased in his stats would bring Wayward to S-ranks. Then he saw the light from the Wind-quarter — an immensely strange Mana pulsating in the air. Orwell instantly reached the inevitable conclusion. His certain victory was in doubt. Orwell Mehest cursed. What with the timing? He just let the nobles walk the plank into a hostile Fire-quarter, and now Wayward about to break S-rank and teleported out of Venistalis’ board-game. The most powerful piece is leaving, while an unknown variable entered the equation. The 33 Stars regcognized a reversal when he saw it. … In the Wind-quarter, Rem ordered his troop to salute. His friend broke the world most precious egg. Now it was his duty to make it the greatest omelette of victory in all mankind. … In Tengen Continent, the Iron Army marched to secure to pacify their turbulent territory in Starland. Out of nowhere, Tai Hua Tianshang noticed something breaking in her Storage ring. She hurried and took out the fractured jade tablet. “No way,” Tai Hua gasped. “But… who would dare?” Next to her, Kar’dia Tianshang trembled at the sight of a similar broken tablet in her hand. Each Heavenly Daughter had those tablets with them, signaling the current state of their sister-in-training. Just now the tablet for their youngest sister shattered. “Tai Hua, what happens!?” One of her A-rank commanders rushed to Tai Hua. “Cytortia is dead,” Tai Hua’s hallowed voice rang. The Heavenly Daughter of Steel was lost in a haze of regret. “What!?” A female commander glanced at her in an expression of bewilderment. “That weakling kicks the bucket already? Shit! I bet she will kick herself to afterlife much later. Fuck the betting ring!” “Shut. Up.” Tai Hua’s glare shoved the girl’s word back into her throat. “Double the marching speed!” Tai Hua order her troops. “If I hear one more person snicker about the dead, I will treat it as a class-2 offense!” The commander watched Tai Hua left in a hurry. “How? I think they hate each other?” Kar’Dia put her hand on the commander’s shoulder. “Those two might fight many times, but part of Tai Hua find Cy’s innocence and charity endearing,” Kar’Dia explained longingly. “Tai is terrible at showing her kinder side, but she puts Cytortia as a model Alchemist for her community spirit. Tai Hua cares about Cy deep down — like an ocean-floor deep.” Kar’Dia shed some tears at the tablet. At least, her junior sister — the pacifist of the five — could rest peacefully, but imagining that bitch’s laughter was enough to irk her. They need to punch LinLey at the funeral. They still owed Cy that debt. … “Wa, ha, ha, ha, ha,” LinLey Tianshang — that bitch — laughed her ass off at the broken tablet. She swiped the tablet to the bin, giggling like a spoil brat. “You finally done it, you dolt. I guess the way you go must be as pathetic as the way you live, naïve little idiot. Oh well, at least your death is useful.” LinLey yelled out to her servant. “Prepare my mourning dress. Cytortia’s funeral will have an important guest. I need to make a good impression. It is not every day you get an open recruitment season for talented Alchemists!” … In the hall of ancient redwood, a beautiful black-hair woman looked as a light faded from one out of five steles decorating her walls. She sighed. It was a shame it ended like this. She blessed the girl and hoped that one day she would defy the insult heaped in her name. Nu Wa wished Cytortia’s potential would astonish the entire Phantasia and earned her place among her sisters. Sadly, reality was cruel. The girl lacked the decisiveness and ruthlessness to succeed. Nu Wa’s worst fear born the moment she accepted the innocent goddess finally realized. Her student refused to change and overcome her weakness—remaining kind even in such cruel reality. What a shame. … In Artio’s palace, a similar stele turned dark. The assistant next to Artio blinked—eyes widened with worry. “Lady Artio! Is Lady Cytortia…” The bear’s word was gentle and sublime. “Do you believe she died?” Artio asked. Her faith never waver. The assistant shook her head. “She is still out there,” Artio assured. “This isn’t over yet. She will rise stronger than ever — I can sense it.” … Cytortia found herself in the plain of white sky and green grass. She gazed to the broken skies and shards of the cosmos raining down like fractured glasses. Then he appeared. An Asian man in a suit and tie walked down, untouched by the grasses and winds imposing on this reality. He reached out his hands and help her up. Cytortia stared at him and nearly dropped back to the floor again. For the first time, coldness and exhaustion grabbed her. Her legs were about to give out. Her breathing ragged. Her vision blurred. She could no longer touch her connection with the plant-life, nor the warmth of earth. Cytortia felt alone and helpless. The unknown feeling of powerlessness gripped her. What was this feeling? “That was the fear of uncertainty. The vulnerability of having nothing to lean on and no favor from nature to aid you,” the Asian man described. “What you are experiencing is the core essence of mankind — pain and suffering.” Cytortia laughed. This was what Rem and Hikma endured all their existence. Unbelievable. What strength did they draw to fight this bitter loneliness? How unimaginably powerful humanity must be to shrug away such horror with no extra aid from Mana. “It is why humanity possesses the potential of Will Over Heaven,” the Asian man answered the question in her head. “They marched tall and proud without aid of Mana and grew out of your pity. They have no need for Legend because their cycle of overcoming pain is already an unbelievable Legend. Because they overcome this pain, their potential in True Magic surpassed all.” “What are you talking about? Who are you?” The Asian man huffed. “To answer my question, I am imparting you the wisdom of Satholia’s creation. I am an embodiment of the multiverse’s balance. The creator of the trails stopping the unworthy from grasping the power to defy the multiverse. I am the seal preventing the mighty from attaining power beyond thier possesion. I am the WORLD.” The WORLD continued. “Oh, child of nature who rid yourself of your godly ignorance, you attain the right to receive my guidance. Ask and I shall answer your query.” ,,, Cytortia [Broken God] stats: Cytortia Stat STR: 20 [E] END: 50 [E] MAG: 100 [E] WIS: 50 [E] DEX: 15 [E] Skill Active Sage Force (Merged) [S] Alchemy [S]  Passive

The eyes of Primordial gazed down on the city of a puny empire and wept.  Do not mistake the act as the display of misery or gratefulness. The tears were products of sheer ridicule, border-line pity. The all-powerful World Enemy looked down on the puny mortals to the point it pitied the insect. Deathless Clan’s ritual kept the monster’s attention at bay. For the monster, the bacteria below was but a dream. Still, dream held power. Enough power for the conduit created by innocent souls to siphon. The energy was barely worth a drop of the Dark One’s blood. But even a drop of blood from an almighty, malicious mythologically apocalyptic planet eater birthed from all the malicious force of the universe was enough to send even a well-engineered plan into a spiral. … Everyone felt it — the oppressive evil pressure slowly sucking life out of the world. “What did you do?” Captain Hex glared at Orwell. “Build my headquarter. Can’t start a war without a command-center.” Beside him, the Orwell’s Manor shook and disintegrated as a spiral of obsidian grew from the earth. It was a black tower made of black marble transmuted from the bed-rock. Its emergence unleashed earthquake, sending tremor across the entire Water-quarter. Houses collapsed and windows broke as the ominous infrastructure of smooth, glinting obsidian penetrated the sky. Hex realized the situation had gone out of control “Attack!” Hex’s sword lighted on fire. “Not so fast,” Orwell flicked his finger and black obsidians erupted from the ground. The jutting rock formation, weighting over a ton, smashed Hex with a force of eighteen-wheeler and sent him flying into a row of houses. The army of the royal-knights charged in courageous, but a wall of black rock suddenly erupted, separating them from Orwell. “[Enma Style: Thousand Fox Flare],” Shyme cast. Tiny stars sparked around Orwell Mehest and burst into flames, blowing the pavement and setting any burnable object on fire. “[Air Palace: Billowing Crush],” Shyme cast again. A down-shaft of high-pressure air fell on Orwell, pressing everything in the circular area to grains of dust. “[Inferno School: Hell Field],” Shyme cast the spell she copied from Chuang. The ground heated, turning into a field of searing torrential fire. It was a testament to her position as 33 Stars for Shyme to launch three advance spells with immense destructive power in less than a second. Most opponent receiving the combo would be dust, but Orwell was above opponent. The dust and fires cleared to reveal a solid shell of ice, which broke apart to reveal an uninjured Orwell. “[Hell Field],” Orwell mused. “Isn’t that Chuang’s spell? So, the rumor that the daughter of Xerset Enma can learn advance spell from observation alone is true.” “Some people got the gift,” Shyme admitted. “But most — start with you — don’t have it.” Orwell shrugged. His confidence returned as the situation fell back under his control. “Yes, I don’t have your talent with spell-works,” Orwell stated. “But unlike you, I never fail to give my enemy the credit they deserved. And Shyme, you are in our way.” Orwell pointed his finger at Shyme. “[Snowstorm]” Shyme snorted. A spell with no school to its name like [Snowstorm] was a universally available spell. Such spells were at least intermediate and beginner level. It was how Phantasia’s upper-class controlled the populace, while weaponising the commoner as a viable force against World Enemy. By monopolising the advance, high-power spells to a special institute and restricting the public access to them, the nobility ensured no commoner would grow powerful enough to challenge the status quo. However — with Remus Breaker the good mastermind seeking to exploit the hell out of the status quo — how far could such ideological feebleness grandstand remain to be seen. Shyme met the [Snowstorm] with undented assurance. Everyone know intermediate spell had no chance against an advance grade. A slither of caution never graced Shyme’s brain. For her, the distance between herself and Orwell was taller than Mt Vesuvius. A fight between Shyme and Orwell commonly boiled down to Shyme sitting on top of the mountain and raining lava and pyroclastic ash down on Orwell.  But Shyme did not understand she was not a volcano erupting near the Roman. Like many humans before him, Orwell Mehest had climbed the insurmountable mountain and planted his flag of triumph. “[Enma Style: Haze Turbulence]” [Fire Turbulence] was a hybrid spell requiring high affinity with but air and fire to control. It generated an invisible, super-heated air-funnel that could attack, crowd-control and defend. In theory, the spell should overwhelm [Snowstorm] in an instant. But that did not happen. The haze of heat met the snowstorm and contested for supremacy. The attack churned and clashed, swelling and feasting on each other. It should not happen like this, Shyme realized. There should be no competition. It should only be a slight delay as the snowstorm melted and the heated air swallowed Orwell. Sadly, the impossible was happening. Shyme’s heated air was losing steam, while the snowstorm was getting stronger. The inevitable victor arose as the wave of snowy wind swallowed the heat and blasted Shyme down the street. Shyme got up on her feet. Her body quivered from the cold. The magical clashes taught her a lot. She glanced at the ominous tower that was attracting the maelstrom of Mana. “That tower gives your attack extra juices.” Orwell tutted. “The proper term is authority,” Orwell said. “As long as my tower stand, the entire Venistalis is my territory. You must know a little of spirit magic right, Enma?” Shyme flexed her Mana, blasting apart the surrounding pavement. She beat several spirits-expert before. As someone who regularly rattled sabers against Magnolia Drakokia and Arissa Holysworth, she did her homework. The spirit mage contracted with a multidimensional entity representing the natural world — the spirits — to aid them. Spirits could enter the battle to supplement spells or aid the contractor during the battle. But if Orwell Mehest contracted a Spirit, where was it? “Searching for my familiar?” Orwell lectured. “Deathless Clan do not pursue a contract with a mere nature spirit. We seek to understand souls and their darkness to further aid mankind.” “You must be so proud of your commoner heritage, Orwell,” Shyme retorted. Her ingrained habit as noble elitist inflated itself without the specter of terror called Rem hounding her mind. “I am proud,” Orwell declared. “My clan did something no elves nor demons accomplish. We weaponized a residual fragment of soul and engineered it into a familiar. An artificial spirit conceived by humanity.” “Still just an imitation,” Shyme muttered. Orwell was using a fake spirit-magic. She only needed to find that thing and removed it. “Not imitation, but an improvement,” Orwell corrected. “Don’t bother searching for its body. Let me ask you a question: what is a soul?” “[Enma Style: Falling Dragon],” Shyme cast, dropping a humongous projection of fire-dragon on top of Orwell. “A soul is an invisible and intangible fragment of life energy with memories,” Orwell impaled the projection with a sword of ice, destroying it in a single move. “When a life end, the dissipating soul left an imprint in a metaphysical plane my clan called the Astral Realm — the collective consciousness of life in the Multiverse.” Orwell waved his hand and conjured up green fires. “The Deathless Clan used these imprints in combination with spell-casting art to create Amalgam spirit that accomplish more than any spell-crafting of cultivation technique,” Orwell unleashed the emerald fires at Shyme. Shyme produced a translucent pearl and threw it, shattering the pearl and releasing a pale energy which surrounded her in the bubble. It was a magical artifact that disintegrated any attack from both magic and artifact once, while healing the user. The market price of the pearl ranged in at least a hundred-thousand credits, but for Shyme Enma it was a pocket change. Tragically, a shield worth hundred-thousands achieved nothing against the green fire. The flame soaked into Shyme, dispensing million of screaming torment inside her mind, and causing the Mana in her body to go berserk. Like a liquid sledgehammer, the rampaging Mana rocked throughout her body’s tissue and blood vessel. Bloody mist burst from Shyme's capillary, signalling the end of the fight. Shyme shuddered, falling to the shattered pavement in a pool of her blood, gasping in agony. “Like it?” Orwell smiled. “That one is an Amalgam that sent your internal Mana into a berserk state. I make it to fight against the gods and your [Divine Core]. As a member of Enma clan with absurd [Goddess Core] and Mana quantity, it must hurt.” Shyme struggled to get up, but collapsed. With her body in pain and her mind scrambled, only one question emerged inside Shyme. “How?” Orwell voiced her question. “How does a mere manifestation of nature scramble the Mana of the beautiful and great Shyme Enma? Simple. Communication. The Astral Realm connect all of us. These fire—these familiars—is an Amalgam of soul-imprint and a wrongly sequence [Mana Storm]. It force you to activate [Mana Storm] in a wrong order and injure yourself. Ingenious, isn’t it?” Shyme tried to rise using her blood-covered hand — she slipped pathetically. “You must wonder how did my clan fell when we had these powers?” Orwell sighed. “Soul imprint is impressive magic, but extracting resource from the Astral Realm to create these Amalgams took time and Mana—the two resources the Grand Empire never gave us. But thank to my preparation, the weakness is no more.” Orwell conjured a sword of black stone. “These stones are Spiritium,” Orwell showed Shyme the sword of mysterious black marble. “A condensed alchemical mineral grown by the power of a World Enemy. Its unique property allowed the material to pierce the Astral Realm and extracted soul like and oil-rig. It can even corrupt the natural Mana vein of the planet—the Leyline—like the one under Venistalis.” Orwell nodded to the tower behind him. “My base is a literal skyscraper of Spiritium. Don’t you get it, Shyme? With unlimited Mana from Venistalis’ Leyline, a constant supply of souls from the Astral Realm, and the Dark God’s power, I am the most powerful caster in Venistalis.” Orwell swung the sword, but a meteor of fire cannonball in front of him, cratering the floor and sending the tower of fire into the sky. Stuart Hex waded out of the flames, his sword struck Orwell with golden fire. Much to the Captain’s expectation, the fire dissipated into harmless nothing. “I see,” Captain Hex squinted. “An Amalgam that consume Mana in a spell.” “Bingo.” Hex stabbed his sword to the ground and unleashed a plume of fire to the sky. Without looking back, he picked the injured Shyme like a sack of potato and took into the sky as a fiery comet. Orwell Mehest dispersed the fire with a clap and glanced at the fleeing royal-knight. “He cut his loss, huh,” Orwell said. “Excellent strategy.” Orwell walked into the tower, grimacing from his bullet-wound. … Shyme was rampaging over her wounded self-esteemed “Let me go!” Shyme shouted. “I refused to lose to that guy!” “That is not an issue, Enma,” Captain Hex scolded. “Looked around us.” Shyme listened to that suggestion ans she saw the reality at hand. She saw the royal-knights retreating with their tail mangled. Several knights hung by their comrade’s shoulder. Most already fainted on the floor and wheezing in pain. Vice-Captain Chamomile leaned against a wall in tears, trembling. Several denizens of the Water-quarter already emerged from their houses to witness the carnage. Then Shyme saw the barrier. A dome of swirling night was covering the entire like a curtain of black liquid. Its diameter severed all 800-kilometer squares of Venistalis from the world. Then there were the eyes. Shyme fell to her knees in fear. “What is that?” A pale green moon suspended at the amplitude of the swirling black dome, dispensing the liquid night sustaining the barrier. But the celestial object was no moon. It was a circular sphere covered with eyes, blinking, moving and observing the world. A fragment of the World Enemy so powerful looking at it inspired madness. Hex looked at the sky. “Dammit,” he cursed. “How do we come back from this?” … Inside Horizon Dawn’s warehouse, an alarming development was taking place. Scathach felt the wrongness the moment it noticed her. It was also the moment the hole in the sky tore opened to reveal the creepy moon with countless eyes. Cytortia yelped the moment the fragment appeared and trembled like someone dropped her from a trap-hole and into a room full of dynamite. “Scathach!” Cytortia screamed. “You can do something now, right? This is beyond kiddie fight, right? You are a war goddess, right? You can save us, right?” Scathach grunted as darkness swallowed her. “Space-time spells,” the warrior maid groaned. Someone was teleporting her away from Venistalis. And with that, the S-ranker Scathach disappeared without an opportunity to throw a single spear. … Orwell Mehest grunted from the tower. Hal Jordan got him good. His original planned to wipe Venistalis in one ritual was now dirt. Now, he got forced into his back-up plan. Originally, he supposed to level the Grand Empire, finish his business and disappear within a week, leaving nothing but ash behind. Henceforth, he needed to improvise. The Dark One was the major concern. One slip and the entire Phantasia would get obliterated. The ritual advised against suggesting a malicious act to the World Enemy because World Enemy was infamous for being trigger-happy. Despite the setback, he still leeched enough influence to create an Amalgam barrier that teleported away those with higher power-level than him. Orwell would love to teleport away all his opposition, but the ritual suggested against arousing the semi-slumbering World Enemy’s suspicion. Getting it to pay attention to detail would be a splendid way to start an apocalypse. In conclusion, subtle suggestions such as cordoned the city with an impenetrable barrier, grew the stone tower, and banished anything above a power-level was a preferable choice. Gave it order to banish his enemy would be a marvellous way to get it interested in why this particular person was so troublesome. The World Enemy believed it was dreaming, and everyone realized nitpicking and dreaming mixed like a catastrophe of mayo and coffee. … “Rem!” A voice yelled from the communicator. “Scathach disappeared in a ball of darkness. What the hell is happening!” Rem held the device lofty as he looked at the monstrous moon in the black sky. As expected, Orwell had a redundancy. Good new: his group was alive. Bad new: he got no clue what happened to his allies. For all he knew, Orwell already got the luxury to enjoy Shyme the Chair. Worse news: Orwell’s back-up plan went off without a hitch. This operation went FUBAR (fucked up beyond all recognition) with no hope of a comeback. Rem played Evil Overlord Advisor in his head. As an evil adviser, he would advise Darth Mehest to destroy the enemy kill chain, then nutted up their chain of command. Rem would trade an arm to bet that Scathach was not the only S-rank to get BTFO. The Liberator in Venistalis would hyperventilate like a pack of kleptomaniac chipmunk with Marley the Magpie dragged into the pot of Leprechaun’s gold and flew away to dreamland. Rem frowned. With the royalties and the generals on border visit, the commanding authority fell to Captain of of royal-mages and royal-knights. Rem played the Evil Overlord Advisor again. He did not like what his imagination suggested. “Cy. Call the Madam and tell her we are pulling a Giorno Giovanna,” Rem talked calmly. “And tell Lux to save the Earth-quarter.”

The Madam planted her feet before the door. Behind her was a small army of workers and specialist. Super Rider Ω: General Good and Medicine. A goddess poked her head to greet the guests. “Are you part of Rem’s plan?” “His back-up plan in case Orwell starts a war rather than keels over and saves us the drama,” Madam Marmel confirmed. “Your friend tossed this idea onto the table for the scenarios where the city got thrown into an open conflict with anyone opposing Orwell crushed.” The Madam stared hopelessly at the monstrous moon. “My, to think the situation spins out of control this quickly,” the Madam mused. “Win or lose, we will never recover from this.” “Okay, what is Rem’s plan,” Cytortia looked at the army of blue-collar workers behind the Madam. “He said I only need to worry about Giorno Giovanna when it happens.” The Madam chuckled. “Simple, dear, your friend request the full aid of my capital might in the Wind-quarter to arm the civilian against the army Orwell might throw at us. I and my corporate partners are now pitching every workers, factories and machineries to mass produce tools and consumables needed to retake the city on a scale never seen before in Phantasia.” Cytortia nearly keeled over from the expectation. … Hence, Cytortia began presenting their humbled ventures to the cooperate guest. “Holy Blues,” Cytortia slammed a jar on the table. “Our prior investigation into Orwell’s activity revealed — to no one surprise — that Orwell’s brand of evil-sprit is vulnerable against holy energies and weapons.” Workers and engineers ran in a frenzy around the goddess holding the meeting. Two men stood next to the Madam. An ageing head of Phantasia-wide provider of private security and law-consultant infamous for his vehement opposition to the Mandatory Recruitment Order and reclusiveness — Zenith Lochwain. And a philanthropist owner of Phantasia’s largest food company — Santo Ahoy. The Madam had called the two men and told them about the Orwell Mehest’s case four-days ago in case of emergency. In a showing of their aged wisdom, the two men ordered an evacuation the moment they felt the oppressive aura and headed straight to their facilities in Wind-quarter’s industrial site to regroup with the Madam. Santo Ahoy peered at the chemical. “Must admire a craft of an S-rank Alchemist,” the middle-age entrepreneur peered inside. “I am surprise it is not an ointment. Traditional Alchemist either used liquid-potion or pills—not a slurry.” “It is not practical for industrial use,” Cytortia answered. “I am not my master. Moreover, solutions have a boiling-point below the application temperature I desire.” “Application?” Cytortia started explaining. “You can coat the slurry on the weapon during heat-treatment to create a Holy layer over the weapons and tools. For a more active use, the slurry is re-crystallizable in alcohol into a soluble-salt that produces holy radiation when activate with electricity. My friend suggests placing these electrified salts around our territory will be a perfect way to keep the undead at bay.” Lochwain rubbed his chin. “And may I ask what does this miracle substance made out off?” “Holy water and crushed Holy stone, catalyzes with electricity and a portion of Jade Moon Plant's solution,” Cytortia told him. “I can tell you more, but  my master dedicate a few of her useful lessons on not sharing specific formula with a merchant.” “I understand why the Queen of Heaven taught you that but we are in a crisis, dear,” the Madam chided. “Let me finished,” Cytortia sighed. “My organization has a strict contract agreement regarding protection in external dealing. In case anyone asks, my friend wrote the bell, and I signed it. The bill stated that the external contract must have a trustworthy guarantor. If they ever broke the deal, the guarantor must ensure reparation and punitive measure. If not, we will put both the guarantor and the under a blacklist and forbid anymore access to our future IP.” The trio of elderly business experts looked at each other. “I believe I can work as a guarantor,” the Madam spoke. “But why did you draft that law?” Cytortia sighed. “It is not my forte, but my friend has to balance his paranoia about our trade-secret getting leak, and obligation to increase Phantasia’s technological progress. He observes most organization in Phantasia is a monopoly that cannibalize smaller organization, or powerful families with muscle and influence. Chance of average people succeeding on their own is nil. My friend understands the system and strongly oppose to it. That why he wanted our organization as the first to universally celebrate the value of intellectual property.” Both men glanced at each other. They never heard of such an organization, but it took no effort to realize this newest group operated differently than the rest in Phantasia. A door opened to reveal one Alexi Martynov carrying a duffle bag, “That boy is always big on capitalism,” Martynov gave a slight smile. “He never changes.” Cytortia looked surprise. “What brings you here, Mr. Martynov?” Martynov sat down and unzipped the backpack. “The Argentum believes in networking and investing in crisis,” Alexi produced an M16 from the duffle bag. “I take a liberty of making out with as many guns I can hoard. Cugino told me you need mass-produce, easy-to-use weapons, and he suggested I bring these babies to you for modification and reverse-engineer.” Cytortia looked at the guns. “Mel will be overjoy.” Zenith Lochwain looked at the weapons with interest. “Earth’s weapons?” Lochwain lifted an Italian-made M3 Shotgun. “I heard several rumors stories about Earth. Most of my colleague thinks of your world as savage and primitive wasteland for lack of Mana or magical heritage. Seeing these arsenals, that statement is grossly ignorant.” Zenith investigated the gun. “Interesting, it had triggers like crossbow but more mechanically oriented. I don’t see any propulsion mechanism. How do you use it?” Martynov started explaining about gunpowder and firing-pin. Zenith was more than impress. “You used Alchemical process and mechanical principle to launch high-speed armor-piercing projectiles. It appeared lack of Mana heritage do not hinder your creativity at all. In fact, witnessing these sophisticated models, it seems to enhance your inventiveness. Excellent. Armories like these answers our most pressing problem — training. It won’t take long to teach the citizen-recruit to aim this thing and fired — so much for sword being a king of weapons.” Zenith turned toward Cytortia. “Your friend is re-designing this so-called gun.” “Yes, the weakness with guns is it had no answer for magic, so most in Phantasia ignores it. My friend is working to incorporate magical mechanism into guns to improve their performance against Phantasia’s threat.” “Hmm,” Zenith rubbed his white bushy beard. “Guess Ahoy isn’t the only man who needs networking. Madam Marmel, do you mind being my guarantor?” “It will be my honor, elder.” “Thank you,” Zenith happily replied. “Now, can you take me to your friend?” “I afraid that is no longer possible.” A familiar voice rang out. Rem and Hikma walked into the room with the critically injured Luxinna and Melody trailing behind them. “Ladies, Gentlemen,” Rem announced to the room. “I am Ms. Cytortia’s primary advisor, Samadi. Now that I returned, let me brief you on how fucked we are.” … They started with a briefing on consecutive clusterfuck that transpired the last 2-hours — no one took it well. “Solomek Grandy better wish I don’t survive this,” Santo Ahoy growled. “Emperor, my ass. All my fucking tax-money and you let your psychotic nephew slipped right under your nose. That moron should have thrown Saul and his psychotic wife in a dungeon, not banish them with little a wrist-slap.” Rem coughed. “I am as harsh a critic on the Emperor on anyone, but I only learn about Sol Grandy recently,” Rem said. “Can you tell me about Sol’s branch of the family?” Zenith Lochwain filled the information. “To keep it brief, Saul Grandy was never an Emperor’s material. Hedonistic. Violent. Arrogant. Unpredictable. That man used his royal authority to rule the Empire’s slave-trade and criminal den. He loved using the slaves to fulfill his every whim and twist desire—forcing them to fight to the death, forcing them to be his cannibalistic bloodhound, killed their children and served their fresh to the nobility as a practical joke. Even the most pro-slave nobles cannot stomach the depth of Saul’s depravity. But his royal-status and the slaves’ lack of societal importance stifled the prosecution to the stand-still.” Cytortia and Rem cringed. They were dealing with human-right-abuser on epic-scale — how wonderful? “Worst is that his wife also shared the same twisted sadism,” the Madam sighed. “But on the positive-note, the couple unrepentant sadism caused them to slip, resulting in a death of a noble girl, giving the court enough ammunition to force the royal family to banish them. Thankfully, the shadow Sual Grandy cast shifted public opinion to sympathize with the slaves, resulting in the current status-quo where the slave-trade is at its most humane in Grand Empire’s history. But who would have thought Saul’s child would come back to enact his vengeance?” “I do,” Ahoy gritted his teeth. “A monster like Saul deserves an execution. Solomek is too soft on that evil piece of shit. That devil-spawn just leveled the Fire-quarter.” “And now the son of Solon Grandy returned with a vengeance,” Rem concluded. “He took out the entire military-sector of Venistalis, removing our reserve military asset with it. To make the matter worse, the royal-mages got reduced to one able-body man. The question is; do we have anyway to contact the royal-knights and force them to retreat?” Zenith Lochwain snorted. “Don’t bother, boy,” Lochwain said. “Stuart Hex is a man of character and a staunch patriot, but his pride in Grand Empire is fanatical. Unless the order come from the Emperor, he would never taint the Empire’s valor with the prospect of retreat.” Rem got only disdain. “Idiot,” he said. “No one disrespects the secret art of Joestar’s family and survives for long.” “Joseph Joestar is surely a man of wisdom,” The Madam—the richest weeb in Phantasia—nodded in agreement. “Now that Hex is a lost cause. Our chance of recovering any fighting forces from the Fire-quarter is zero. The Earth-quarter—the civilian area—is a war-zone. Meanwhile, the Water-quarter—the recreation and financial section of Grand Empire—is the center of Orwell Mehest’s activity. Our surveyor showed that the garrison is holding the City-center, which enclosed the royal palace. Orwell was wasting no time to purge the nobilities.” Hikma walked into the room, and he only got bad news. “Guys, there are skeletons attacking the Wind-quarter,” he said. “I and several of Mr. Lochwain’s men repelled their attack and set up a barricade, but they just keep coming.” Rem activated his [Clairvoyance]. What he saw subtracted several odds in his favor, and he hated it. “Orwell put four Spiritium crystal in each sector of the city. These crystals are creating Amalgam wrath that is attacking us. The catacomb underneath is a lost cause, but luckily, they are in Water and Earth-quarter. His big hitters are seizing the city-center. Only one man can stop Orwell from taking the City-center, and I don’t see Samael Wayward taking our side.” Rem rose and announced to the room. “Ladies and Gentlemen, I don’t want to do this, but I am putting my name up as supreme commander of this alliance. I know I am a mystery, but the Madam and Alexi Martynova can vouch for my experience as a commander. All in favor?” “Aye,” the Madam agreed. “Aye,” Martynov replied. “Aye,” Cytortia said. “I trust Madam Marmel’s judgement,” Ahoy voiced. “Aye.” “I want to see for myself,” Zenith Lochwain spoke. “But the decision is unanimous, I guess.” Rem accepted the position and started directing. “Our directive is to rescue the citizen traps in Earth-quarter and bring them here. The Wind-quarter will be our head-quarter; thus, it must be airtight from Orwell’s attack. I am now appointing Elder Lochwain in charge of our security and border. Archeologist, Martynov, your expertise will help the men hold the line. The Madam and Santo Ahoy will be in charge of handling supplies. Cytortia, you are manning the medical. We are fighting a losing war. It will be a tough job, but I believe all of you can handle it. Last, if I never comeback tomorrow, the command will go to Elder Lochwain. I know it is highly improper for a commander to leave his post, but the strenuous nature of our situation force me to abandon my post for a private mission. Cytortia, is your newest anti-enchantment formula is effective against Orwell’s more sophisticated Amalgam?” “The Spark-in grenade is complete.” “Excellent, I need a set for my mission.” “May I inquire, what is this mission?” Lochwain asked. “I need a search and rescue division,” Rem spoke. “We need the Liberator.” Rem left, and Hikma blinked. “Acheologist?” “You need a codename,” Cytortia. “Start coming with a better one or Rem will settle on Mel-2.” … A man emerged from the smoking, corpse-filled ruin of Venistalis’ Primary Hospital. An hour ago, this place bustled with night-shift’s nurses and doctor. Now, any doctors or patients who stay-put laid dead on the floor. Blood splattered the pristine ward, turning the hospital into a gruesome house with body-parts scattered across the hallways. None of this disturbed Wayward who walked out of the Primary Hospital with a folder tucked underneath in his right-arm. His left hand grabbed an attacking skeleton and crushed it to dust. Orwell distastefully proved his thirst for vengeance by swarming the most prosperous sector of the Empire with Amalgam troops sourced from all the four-sectors. Citizens got to pick between flee or die. Wayward didn’t like this operation one-bit. He understood Orwell’s needs to enforce territory-control, but mass-murdering civilian hit below his standard. What made it worse was the folder he found proved the Grand Empire’s innocence. Grigios’ autopsies report pointed toward the use of sophisticate poison popular in the Willow Heart Street. It was bad. He must find the log in the Nobility Museum — fighting blind against the Isle of Knowledge is suicidal. Wayward stepped over the charred remains of bones he roasted a few minutes prior. Attempt to break into the overrun hospital was brief but destructive. Orwell’s army didn’t separate friend from foe to their detriment. The skeleton couldn’t scratch his body while the wrath was a joke. The heat and destructiveness of his attacks reduced the hospital land to crater filled ash and melted the window closed to the fight. Despite the intensity of the battle, the hospital’s white-paint remained pristine from Wayward’s habit of avoiding collateral damage. But facing the company in front of him, Wayward knew the collateral bill was inevitable. “Samael,” Hex greeted. Behind him was the entire royal-knight division with their weapon drawn. Shyme stood among them, her magical staff in hand. “You really are a spy.” “Stuart,” Wayward spoke. “I won’t deny that I am your enemy, but we both have a more pressing concern than petty spats. I am officially removing myself from this mess, so do a smart thing and don’t waste time better spent to evacuate the civilian.” “You betray the Empire,” Hex murderously rumbled. “You must pay a price fitting for a traitor.” “Hex, last warning, move aside,” Wayward’s posture was loose. “I am sparing you out of goodwill for my newest partner. Press further, and not even Samadi can save you.” “I don’t know who is this Samadi, but the Grand Empire’s honor will be avenged,” Hex drew his flaming sword. “The Emperor gave you status, power and fame. Is this how you repay his grace, your ungrateful scum?” Wayward snorted. “You of all people have no right to criticize my action,” Wayward stepped down. “Move.” Shyme decided that it was her time to speak up. “Why are you doing this, Samael Wayward?” Shyme questioned. “You abandon your fame, your wealth, your legacy to upset the status quo keeping the world balance. A mortal such as you should be grateful for these gifts.” “I am grateful enough to return your investment with six-years of service,” Wayward answered. “But let me teach you one lesson, Miss. Demigods. Mortals owed you nothing. That entitlement will end your precious system.” “The balance will never fall,” Shyme’s conviction was unshakable. “No one can shake the gods’ foundation.” “Someone plans to,” Wayward replied. “I bet my service that those sham foundations will crumble soon.” Wayward eyed the opponent. “Last warning — move.” “For the Empire,” Hex yelled. “All royal-knight! Bring him down!”

A window to reality shimmered inside Cytortia’s mental-scape, allowing her to see the grand reversal with her very eyes and it bought her to tears. “I succeed?” Cytortia was on the verge of tears. “Did I…” “Save them? Become useful?” The WORLD asked. “Yeah, you sure did, kid. You are now on the path to reach your full potential. Sad to say, an obligatory exposition time has arrived.” Two orbs of light appeared before the former goddess. “After ridding yourself of the shackle called the Heavenly Daughter of Wood, several paths present itself before you. Out of those, two of them suit you the best.” A green orb landed in front of Cytortia. “The master of life who controls the very nature and code of living to her whim, boasting an unrivaled offensive and defensive ability. The sage of wood who rules the earth; able to alter topology and the planet’s surface with a wave of her hand.” A white orb land next to it. “Next is the greatest of saint. The supreme holy woman who surrenders ability to harm and dedicates her very art to aiding and creating. In response, the world gifts her with ultimate immortality. She is the undying, loved by the very multiverse itself.” Cytortia looked between the two orbs and chose. The WORLD understood Cytortia, so it gave another warning.  “I must warn you that if you choose that path, you lose ability to harm. You remember your friend's, Luxinna, terrible affinity with Spirit, right? Selecting that route will end similarly. Your Mana will have an infinite negative modifier for any offensive oriented Arcane and action. You still want to go that way.” Cytortia made a sad smile. “Let be honest here. I am never good at hurting.” The WORLD sighed. “Yeah, you are right,” the entity believed it was a fair offering. Trading any ability to harm for the unmatched talent in supporting was an excellent arrangement for the goddess who missed the comatose Rem with her flying handbag. … The Dark One stirred an inch from the realm of sleep. It felt the grand movement. A force at the edge of his recognition — the grand fringe of the deep — whispered for it to act. But as powerful as it was, the Primordial was slothful by nature. Then it something caught its attention. A black, twisted residual of a thought. A summation of vengeful memory it could work on. The slumbering monster smiled in its sleep. … Rem got back to base, handed the refugees over to Santo Ahoy for re-organization. But before he could re-engage his next strategy, a familiar trio cornered him. “Hello there,” a bandaged Luxinna greeted. “Yo, Lux,” Rem tried to brush her away. “Glad to see you and Mel back on your feet. Report to Elder Lochwain. We need you two to push the frontline. I need rest, so can you drag Melody and Hikma from my long-deserve downtime?” Melody — still sporting a sling — snorted. “Rem, we are inside Cytortia’s god-field. It is impossible to get fatigued. You already recover, and now you are trying to brush us off because you guess what we want.” Rem sighed. “If you want to get stronger, go to Scathach,” Rem declared. “I am barely scrapping by.” The trio glanced at each other. “I tell you he will say that,” Luxinna threw her hand, “Yeah, what choice do we have,” Melody bit back and jabbed her finger at Rem. “Stop playing dumb, Rem. Everyone under the sun with a working brain already works it out. We are Scathach’s favorite, not because you or Hikma are weaker, but because she is afraid of your ability. A look into her eyes and anyone can tell. Scathach regret taking you as a student, because you are too much of a revolutionary. You are powerful to the point it broke an S-ranker’s confidence.” “You are hyping me like I am the second coming of Michael Jackson. I am barely A-rank,” Rem argued. “And I have more experience seducing a living-woman than teaching.” Luxinna played the good cop. “You drive Wayward away and save both our lives. That proves your credential more than anything.” “It proves I am the World's greatest sweet-talker,” Rem shut her down. “I am not an activist in a chameleon costume, Luxinna — claiming expertise while being a moron is not my style.” Melody’s patience wasn’t renown for its expanse. “What the hell is wrong with you! Where is the great Remus Breaker who turn Scathach and Marley the Magpie into footstool with only raw presence and reasoning? I know you are smart enough to see it! We need to get stronger! Unless you can magic Scathach back inside this barrier, the coaching duty automatically falls on your shoulder.” Rem stayed silent. He expected this was coming, but he didn’t want to cross that bridge unless the entire river bank was aflame. Finally, the silent Hikma spoke. “Rem, why are you so hesitant to teach us?” “Because I am the last person you want to learn from.” “Rem, we won’t regret it,” Hikma insisted. Rem let out a dry chuckle. “You will, mate,” Rem said. “My track record already spells the future out for us.” … Rem began his lesson by relaying the impossible standard. “The survivor’s current morale are shaky, so I have injected few litres of hope as a rally symbol. The catch of this method is simple. It gives them something to blame. If you harbor any hope of being thank after this debacle is over, crush it. Mercifully strangle that illusory for peace's sake. They are not awful people, mind you. But once the Emperor point fingers, they got to pick between gratitude and survival of themselves and their love ones, so don’t blame them for pushing us under the bus. After we beat Orwell, we will get hunted to the end of Earth, because we are strong enough to take it. Anyone who thinks saving people who will stab you in the back isn’t for them can go to Scathach. I won’t blame you. This is the most thankless job the universe ever conceive.” “Okay,” Luxinna groaned. Rem wasn’t joking when he said they would regret it. “Then why are you doing it.” Rem answered with a quote he heard somewhere. “If even one life improves for a better, isn’t our sacrifice worth it?” Every soul stood stunned at the depth of Rem’s conviction. “That is our primary edge over the uber loser facing us,” Rem sneered with disgust. “Evil has no higher purpose to serve. Orwell, Grandy — even Wayward — fight for themselves. Sure, there are nothing wrong with that. But it makes them self-center. Our ground over them is simple: we commit ourselves to living up to an impossible ideal, forcing us to see a bigger picture. Severe self-center moron like Sol Grandy, Scathach or good old Lucian Drakokia are blind to everything outside their benefit. This lend us a better situational-awareness.” Rem gestured. “Now, exercise one, use your self-awareness and tell me where did you screw up tonight?” ““We fight Wayward,”” Melody and Luxinna got Hikma’s memo on the monster that buried them into the pavement. “Incorrect,” Rem critiqued. “Your mistake is not engaging Wayward. It is failing to run away after discovering you were outmatched. Weakness is not a mistake. But disrespect for your own weakness is a massive blunder. Both of you are unaware of your greatest weakness — arrogance.” “Okay,” Luxinna squirmed under Rem’s lecture. Scathach was a way nicer master than Rem. Luxinna believed even Nu Wa was more chill. “Sure, Melody is arrogant, but me?” “Lux, then what is your weakness?” Luxinna opened her mouth, but no answered came out. “We die when a bullet punch through our brain. Arrogance by definition is a pretentious claim of one superiority. I am not sure, but I suppose two overconfident kids who assume they can survive dying is an example of wanton arrogance of highest order.” Rem finished the duo’s verbal funeral. “Humbling time, how much do you know?” “We know Wayward used fire…” Rem turned Melody into a verbal roadkill before she started. “What if Wayward appeared tomorrow as a ruler of Mar with an army of fireproof, conservative-hating Stegosaurus? There are infinitesimal chance that can happen. There are chances that he invented an acidic flame-thrower to hide the fact he is a master of illusion magic, pretending to be a kung-fu fire-wizard. Maybe he might be an accomplished mercenary musician pretending to be fire-kung-fu-god undercover as a Captain of the Royal-mages.” “That is ridiculous,” Melody lost her words. “Yet, it what I would do in Wayward’s position, stacking deception on ridiculous lies to bend the truth. Now realizing that, what do you know?” It was Hikma who gave the correct response. “We know nothing.” “Absolutely! I have [Clairvoyance] and even I make a blunder. What we have is prediction and intel, but we can’t confirm anything that happens outside our measuring device. First rule of discovery is admitting you understood nothing. The only sure assumption is that counter-punches exist to every trick in your book. Tomorrow you might run into the guy with enough counters to put the bullet in your brain, so arrogance is no longer acceptable.” Rem completed his sentence. “Confirm the sure-fire facts, build on that foundation to derive the truth. It is fine to be angry you lost. Use that fear. Feel the spite of defeat and construct a perfect counter-card. You are living in the game of Magic: The Gathering, where you can make any card you want and play them right from your deck. Exploit rules and create the perfect deck no one in the World can counter. The only ceiling is your theme. Time to admit you had nothing on the game and built your play-style from scratch.” Rem closed the statement as a speechmaker he was. “Neither I nor Scathach are your true master. The only one who decides which card to pick is you. Now scatter and show me your new game-play. We are under a time limit, so act quickly.” … Luxinna never played card-games. With Melody and Hikma sauntered off to brainstorming land, and Rem commandeering the strategy to prevent Orwell Mehest from hitting his five-million deaths land-mark. Luxinna got left alone with no clue to go forward. The elf had only one play left. She needed an example. Hence, she stuck to Rem until she found an inspiration. “Hey Rem,” she asked her tutor for guidance. “What is your play-style?” Rem raised his eyes-brows. Finally, someone asked a sensible question. “Sabotage control,” Rem explained. “My ability is themed for this battle-style. I can’t last a second in a fight, so I use combinations of [Mentalism] and [Clairvoyance] to read my opponent entire gameplay and take out their options. And with their win-condition removed, I tap them out with either bullets or mind-hacking — preferably from behind.” It took less than a microsecond to confirm Rem’s style isn’t hers. “What do you call running around and smacking people with swords,” Luxinna admitted that — as crude as that sound — that pretty much all she excelled. “Aggro,” Rem answered. “Don’t underestimate it. That tactic is mighty in its simplicity. Hack your opponent to death with raw damage before he fucks you up with his win con. You wore the opponent in the early game to the point the poor dude got no chance of winning the late-game.” Luxinna believed Rem was on track. “So, what is that play-style’s weakness,” Luxinna asked. “I am an amateur in these subjects. Can you please tell me more about it?” “Well, one of the most popular aggro in current period is mono-red,” Rem sneered in distaste. “The gameplay is simple. Overwhelm your opponent with fast early game, chipping away his lives and defense with heaps of cheap attacks and burn spells before your opponent set his board. If he somehow lives after those beating, you get him with a powerful finisher like a heavy hitting spell or over-the-top attack amplifier.” Luxinna fell in love with that narration. “Tell me more.” Rem looked at the elf and grimaced. Those were the eyes of the goblin player — fucking ugly goblins. … Stream of golden glass sailed across the warehouses. “Not fast enough,” Luxinna grimaced. It took fifteen minutes to wring everything on aggro play-style from Rem. Despite his distaste for the archetype, Rem’s knowledge about aggro went without question given how he got kicked in the face by them. The more Luxinna learned, the more she believed she found her calling. She ticked every the box. Her speed can overwhelm most opponent and even last a while against Wayward the Broken. She also had several powerful finishers she was working on for late games. Her fundamental problem was the burn spells. The golden pressurized beam took too long to cast and fire. Luxinna still remembered how they struggled to catch Wayward. Tracing attacks was good, but she needs something better. Something more subtle and efficient. The burnt spell Rem described worked because they are efficient and cheap — able to hit a target before they can react. Meanwhile, her lotus’s beam was easily telegraph, putting her in jeopardy several times. Luxinna need something faster and cheaper. Then there was mono-red aggro's conceptual flaws. Hundred fast attacks were useless against a board-wipe or a healing. If the opponent out-sustain the damage and built his position before her finisher, then she won’t have any fall-back plan. Luxinna faced with an interesting gridlock. She needed ways to protect herself and launched her finisher fast and often without overdrawing herself against meat-shield. Luxinna’s head pondered these problems so hard she wanted to knock herself out. Scathach training was hard but simple. She effortlessly mastered sword, spear and archery skill Scathach taught her. However, Rem’s exercise forced her to gauge her very foundation of critical thinking and creativity. Luxinna groaned. Why couldn’t a simple arrow solve her problems? Why everything was so complicated? Then the lightning struck. That might work. No, she needed help from Melody, from this grand new design. Luxinna walked away, smiling swimmingly at her creative breakthrough. That moment the EAPS feared as The Flowers of Victory — [Assault Flora]—was born.

Let it known that Rem, in the crudest term, never gave a fuck about anyone feeling. He smashed the brick on Melody’s face, leaving the demoness bruised and bleeding down her busted lips. If Melody counted on her national-grade beauty to save her from Rem, she was in for an immense disappointment. Rem gave as much fuck for the face worthy of Ms. Universe as he gave about feelings. At that moment, Remus Breaker hosted an avatar of an infamous image-board’s most helpful arseholes — judgmental, nasty, but genuinely wanted to help. “STOP!!!” Ebony rushed in. For her, the brawl was a hard pill to swallow. The savagery was appalling even for the Demonic Continent. Even the demons avoided the face. Most considered slapping a beauty’s face shameful. But exploding a tear gas in their mouth then bashed them with a brick? Even Aztellic Empire didn’t get that low. “Don’t tell me you are surrendering?” Rem replied sarcastically. “Did that unyielding confidence in your girl vanishes with your house. Don’t give up. Maybe [Heavenly Eye] have an anti-brick function? No? Okay, easy-mode then. Anyone mind exchanging the brick for a plank of wood.” Melody wanted to shove his insult back into his mouth, but Rem got both her legs pinned, not to mention her broken arms. Ebony’s hand blazed “Excellent,” Rem groaned sarcastically. “You beat up the daughter, and mommy come to the ring. Should I be expecting Majesty’s ghost after I floor you? Pathetic. The once-mighty Solarmaria Clan reduces themselves to bully a pubescent teen over hurt feelings. What are you? CNN? Your husband must be squirming in his grave.” “You don’t understand a damn thing!” Melody furiously tried to rise, but Rem dismissively dropped the brick on her. “Lame,” Rem said. “Lame beyond all comprehension. I know a gay priest who said that phrase when an insignificant kid beat the shit out of him after he reset the universe. At least, I will give you credit for the JoJo meme.” “Let her go,” Ebony said. After the disastrous string of defeat, she knew taking Rem in wordplay was suicidal — better keep it simple. “What will you do then?” Rem mocked. “Burn my head off? That only proves my point on how you will burn the world. You are not a victim, Ebony. You are the future culprit.” Ebony stepped forward to throw a punch before realizing the truth. There was no path to victory. If she threw a punch, Rem would forever be an unsurpassable shadow for Melody. An embodiment of an unyielding victor, a symbol for his comrade to rally against her. Melody’s only path to victory was conceding defeat and trying again. As long as Rem lived, Melody could erase this humiliation by beating him in a rematch. But… “Ma,” Melody managed. “Don’t mind me. Take the shot and wipe that smile from his face.” Ebony’s heart sank. She finally realized what Rem noticed in Melody. Melody Solarmaria never lost her entire life. Her flawed pride came from standing above those below her. In contrast, Rem prided himself on his ideal and the obstacle he overcame to achieve it. A demoness carried the same pride as those who butchered her father. Meanwhile, the human walked proudly under the beauty of his vision. One was pure arrogance, and another was glory in all its meaning. Rem lifted his foot from the demoness’ legs, and turned toward Ebony, opening himself to the attack. “Take the shot,” Rem demanded. “Your tormentor will do it. Your daughter will do it. Surely, a savage like you can do it too. Look in my eyes and roast me like a monster you are.” Ebony hesitated. The fire flickered. Melody watched with expectation, but then her smile faded. She never saw her mother looked utterly defeated until that moment. It was an expression fill with guilt. Finally, the flames faded. Ebony hunched and dispiritedly sighed as Rem walked past her. The greatest craft-master in Phantasia failed, not from magical power or physical might, but from an ideological truth. She successfully created a candidate for the greatest of empresses, but failed to raise a wise daughter. It was the mistake repeated throughout Aztellic’s history, and Rem had proved that, once again, they learned nothing. Behind her, Rem managed a few steps before swaying alarmingly. Sensing the danger, Luxinna rushed to catch Rem as he fell. As the elf caught him, Rem’s mind sank into another battle. A war he won time and again, but never achieved victory. … “How is Rem doing,” Luxinna asked Cytortia. The house was in ruin. That last attack ensured the abode would be missing half its rooms and the roof. Luxinna sat on the dust-covered table, gazing at the goddess crawling out of a tent they set. The camping experience was haunting for Luxinna. Cytortia nearly set the tent on fire twice despite fire not being involved. “Burst blood vessels, fractured right arm, muscles torn in several spots, and 3rd-degree burns,” Cytortia explained. “This is the worst injury I ever healed. Melody didn’t hold back at all during their fight.” Both girls looked to their right. Rem got battered, but Melody met a worse fate for her pride: utter humiliation. The reinforced brick in the face did a number on her cheekbone. Rem’s attack on her [Heavenly Eyes] didn’t affect her in the long run, but it left Melody seeing double. The teargas in the mouth would wreck her taste bud for weeks. Yet, the injury from the house-made those ailments sounded peachy. Considering this, Cytortia, being the generous soul, wrapped the demoness from head-to-toe in bandages soaked in a healing solution so powerful it left Melody screeching in pain. The goddess also applied a specialize gauze with even stronger remedies over her eyes and mouth. Thus, the current Melody resembled more of an immobile cucumber of bandages tied to the bed than a person. “Mmmm,” Ebony complained. Dr. Cytortia was not amused. “No! Right now, you need rest, a humble pie, and more lecture from Rem!” the doctor shouted at her squirming patient. “If you reopen your wound, I will go Rem on your ass and bury you under another house, before patching you again without anesthetic. Do you understand?” The squirming stopped. “I will go Rem?” Luxinna looked at Melody with a teasing expression. “Did Rem just become a verb?” “Yes,” Cytortia declared, showing the elf her notebook. “I have been keeping records!” “Record?” Luxinna glanced at the goddess in disbelief. “We have a record?” “Of course,” Cytortia handed the elf her notebook. “Here!” Luxinna took the notebook, flipped it open, and balked. “Cy, I never kept a record before, but I’m sure recording doesn’t involve stickmen and scribbles string together with a red pen. What with a triangle and pony? Plus, what with these curses threw at Chuang Tianshang and description of Rem kicking my behind.” “What?” Cytortia read her bizarre language in outrage. “The triangle is Rem. The pony is you under Paracis’ corruption. My noting is perfect!” Luxinna gave up. “Okay, so Rem and Luxinna are out. What about us?” “I don’t know,” Cytortia said. “Today event reminded me of one particular person.” “Who?” “LinLey,” Cytortia said. “Melody reminded me of her.” Melody started listening at the mention of her name. “She is the Heavenly Daughter of Water, right?” Luxinna said. “Yes,” Cytortia said. “I once asked how did she betray people without thinking. LinLey laughed in my face, claiming she will be the apex of Queens. Compare to her ambition, plights of mere mortals are worthless. LinLey often calls herself a dragon soaring above the waterfall, with the masses being mere rocks for her grand steps to glory.” Melody quietly listened, while the two ignored her and enjoyed their conversation. “She sounds like a bitch,” Luxinna said. “She is a bitch,” Cytortia said. “She is not as talented as Tai Hua, but her bottomless trick can press even Shuang. She has no empathy and sees everyone as a pawn to win her game.” “Kind of like Melody,” Luxinna commented. “Yep,” Cytortia agreed. Behind them, Melody’s finger twitched, but the bandage prevented her from retorting. The conversation continued. “But I am not afraid of her anymore,” Cytortia said, flipping over her notebook. “What change?” Luxinna asked. “Well, I realize it during Melody’s fight with Rem,” the young goddess said, looking at the tent fondly. “Do you realize that, despite the overwhelming odds, we believed Rem would beat Melody.” “Yeah,” Luxinna said. “Kinda obvious. Melody is strong, but she lacks the substance to defeat Rem. If I have to say, it is the fact that Melody looks tiny compared to him.” Behind them, the forgotten Melody listened in silence. “That is when I realized,” Cytortia said. “Melody spouted the same speeches people have been spouting since the dawn of time. And what do they have in common? They screw themselves over and over until they fail spectaculary. Rem must have known that. He could leave Melody to blow herself up like all the dictator before her and finish the job later, but he intervened.” “Are you telling me Rem beat her as a favor?” “What else could it be?” Cytortia said. “Look at LinLey. No genuine friend. No productive goal. Wanting to be a queen, but probably can’t decide what type of queen she wants to be. Like LinLey, Melody is in love with power. Isn’t that a type hero like Rem consistently defeats?” Luxinna conjured up a lotus of glass. “Hey, Cy,” Luxinna quietly looked into the flower. “I wonder why I lost, while Rem won. I think Rem is more innovative with his power compare to us.” “My master is not a fan of innovation,” Cytortia airily stretched. “Nu Wa emphasized on the orthodox doctrine and building something to the natural perfection. Life is about harmonizing with destiny and toying with nature is a forbidden evil.” “Really?” Luxinna dispelled her lotus. “I don’t think harmony can do shit when Rem throws a house.” “Ditto,” Cytortia said with a grin. “My master never takes my opinion seriously, so it’s time I ignore hers. Want to help me bends natural order.” “Hell yeah,” the elf grinned savagely. “Let burn the house down.” Soon the two left, leaving behind a demoness in deep reflection. … Meanwhile, far from the house, Scathach and Ebony were catching up. “That is how it happened,” Ebony finished. “My husband burned our manor to the ground, tricking Jekyll into believing he killed his wife and child in a fit of madness, before taking his own life. And you know Jekyll’s modus operandi.” Scathach sat, silent. His rival’s pathetic death would thrill Jekyll Aztellic. Given his sadism, the opportunity to draw and quarter Majesty’s body was a cherry on top of his victory. “I’m not much of a fighter,” Ebony said. “And you would never help someone who couldn’t afford the price. The Grand Empire and Aurorin would kill me on sight. The rest of Phantasia is hardly better. Enma might take me if I remarried into their clan, but how could I face Melody afterward?” “Then your daughter developed [Heavenly Eye],” Scathach said. “Do you know how elated I felt?” Ebony said. “Among the Aztellic history, only the founding emperor wield the [Heavenly Eye]. He was the strongest emperor, and Melody has the potential to surpass him. She could kill Jekyll and get justice for us. Her ascension will avenge our house’s humiliation. My bloodline will write the next grand chapter of Demonic Continent.” Scathach sat, tensely waiting for the maniacal light behind Ebony’s eyes to die, replaced with regret and pain. “Today must be quite a wake-up call,” Scathach sympathized. Ebony giggled madly. The laughter soon faded into depression. “A day,” Ebony said. “A day and a mere mortal disassembled my dream. Melody losing to that boy is already hard to swallow, but the fact a teenager is wiser than me is worse. What did you teach that kid?” Scathach chuckled dispiritedly. “I only teach him basic swordplay and knife-throwing,” Scathach replied. “The rest is all him.” Ebony stared at her old friend. “All of those?” “Yes,” Scathach answered. “His tactic. His speech. He innovates the unorthodox. He uses my knowledge as a ladder to discover a path to toy with the magical order. Brick-by-brick, he writes his manual using experimentation and my input. Those two girls don’t realize this, but they are sailing uncharted water.” “And you let them go down that route despite realizing that?” Ebony was aghast. “You let him break every tradition we ever wrote!?” “I know,” Scathach downed a cup of alcohol. “But once you understand Rem, you will discover innovation is inevitable. Just look at Rem and Melody. Rem disabled [Heavenly Eye] with a technique he came up by the seat of his pants! Those two girls must rival that abbreviation at all costs. We can’t survive the rise of an unrivaled Remus Breaker.” She rinsed another cup and handed it to Ebony. “Imagine it. All the 33 Stars, produces with the best teaching under heavens, pitch against the boy hailing the spirit of hero from the faraway stars. They won’t survive. Rem would dissect and twist the very essence of magical history and beat all of us with what he stitches up with its corpse. With the top of divine totem-pole gambling on him, my hands are tied from interfering. The only chance we have to preserve ourselves...” “...is for someone we trust to understand his invention and slow him down,” Ebony finished the drink. … In the yard outside the house, Scathach wished was coming true in the worse way possible. The goddess stirred a blood color-cauldron with a chilly, perverted smile. Sandy ground around them, cracked from the unstable heat. Ingredients inside the boiler of doom crackled ominously. “We are getting there! The Serene Sun Root and Burning Lemonade finally hit 92% purity,” the goddess laughed maniacally. “Time to add the lightning summoning pill. I always find it strange substances often got upgrade by lightning. Master will faint once she discovers I use an alchemical explosive in healing potion, but who cares! To hell with a perverted technique. I should have done this years ago and teach those bitches a lesson.” Luxinna handed her the pill to Cytortia, trying to look calm in the face of overwhelming odds. Weakest of the Heavenly Daughter? What sick joke was that? This witch wasn’t the clumsy but nice girl she knew. No, she was an incarnation of chaos, desiring the world drowned in anarchy. And thus, the Alchemist who would soon be renowned as the Anarchist Pill Goddess was born.

The discovery from that faithful meeting didn’t go unnoticed. Rem already made it the official policy that transparency between the fellow members must never be compromised. Of course, Rem left some loopholes. The draft said nothing about reporting on a personal issue. However, when it came to magical discovery, the rule was working at its top-gear. “So Satholia contacted you last night and said something about a Primordial,” Rem surmised. “She showed you some epic moon-making vision and declared that [Conceptual Seal] is more than it seemed.” “Yep,” Hikma said and bit into his corn beef. It was a good corn beef. Not surprising given that Cytortia was a cooking prodigy. “So, what do we do next?” “I am glad you ask,” Rem gave him a rarely seen warm smile. “First, we are going to fix Mel up, and then we will run some tests.” Rem turned toward the waking Melody. “I have a feeling it will be fun.” … 2 hours late “Umm,” Rem said to Hikma, who was slumping like a bag of potato after his marathon. “It is not about the heart rate.” “I don’t think it is,” Hikma said, lying flat on the ground and huffing on the ground like dead meat. A distance away from Rem, Cytortia was grilling Melody. “I saw dragons,” Melody said as Cytortia started noting her words. “After Hikma did his thing, this image came over me.” “Uh-huh,” the goddess wrote. She already took the demoness’ blood-pressure, analyzed her blood, and her heart-rate. Cytortia even looked at her diet for a possible cause of the migraine. So far, she got no hint. Melody continued. “I remember standing on the desert of grey sand, and the groundbreaking down beneath me. I fell down the darkness, and I think I see this--I don’t know--spiral of cosmos.” Cytortia nodded. Meanwhile, Scathach and Luxinna looked confused. As Melody continued her description, the tone she used turned more and more frantic. “I think I saw a swarm of dragons emerging from that spiral. There must be a million dragons of different species coming out of that light. Some are more real than another. I recognize about thirty of them, but the rest, I can’t even believe some of those can scientifically exist. There is this one dragon that somehow made of bubbles. That one is barely recognizable. Although I prefer the black one with the galaxy pattern.” Scathach turned toward Luxinna. “I think she lost it,” the honey badger spoke. Rem started scribbling. “No, I think the problem is mental rather than physical. Let me get the event order. Last night you read a book, had a dream, got contacted, and woke up with psychic power?” “Yeah, but the psychic power parts come much later.” “Um,” Rem said. “Bring me the book?”  … An hour later Melody closed the book and deactivated her [Heavenly Eye]. “There is nothing special about this book as far as my eyes can discern,” Melody tossed the book back at Rem. “It is a normal fairytale.” Rem nodded. All of this narrowed them down to only one theory. Beside him, Luxinna also came up with the same conclusion. “We need to receive that vision,” Luxinna said. “I suggest we get the bed.” “No need,” Cytortia placed a tray of bottles between the three. “I already prepared this an hour ago. This medicine will send you into a dream-like trance.” “That is fast,” Melody said, grabbing the bottle and popping of the cork. “Because the potion is essentially child play,” Cytortia commented. “No heating. No extraction. No Expensive Ingredient. You just ground the herb in the correct proportion and dissolve the powder.” Cytortia looked doubtful. “I will be damned if something this cheap could trigger a goddess-induce vision.” “You guys are acting ridiculous,” Scathach said. “It is probably a stress-based hallucination. If someone could learn a levitation spell from reading old stories, Grand Empire would lock those books in a vault instead of allowing it to circulate." “You are right,” Rem drank the potion and sat on the camping chair, waiting for sleep to arrive. “But we have to get to the bottom of this, wasting a few more hours sleeping doesn’t seem like a terrible idea.” “Well, it is up to you, kiddo,” Scathach said. However, Rem no longer listened. He already sank into the land of sleep. … Rem founded himself on the plain of grey sand, watching the bloody creation of a moon. “Well, I will be damned,” Rem said. “It works.” ‘Yes, a beautiful place, isn’t it?’ Rem turned to see a column of fading light. He quietly breathed a sigh of relief. “Hello, boss,” Rem said. “I am waiting for your contact for weeks. What is happening in the Venistalis? Why don’t you contact us much earlier?” ‘I no longer have the window, Rem,’ Satholia replied. ‘It takes me everything to contact you through the Astral consciousness. Our enemies already start a ritual to summon a World Enemy strong enough to tip the law of the world. My ability to contact you is weakening exponentially ever since that annoying ant began to nibble at your reality.' Rem realized what she meant. “The Primordial,” Rem guessed. ‘Yes, it is one of many World Enemies that you can categorize as a planet-buster,’ Satholia said. ‘Rem, you must stop its summoning ritual at all cost. If that thing get summoned to Phantasia, there is nothing you can do to stop. Only a True Magic-user who masters all their Legend, and nothing else, can stop it once it fully materialized.' Rem froze. Luxinna told him about the Legend--the evolution of True Magic. Out of all of them, only Luxinna got one of hers, and she was still a newbie. All the countermeasures he devised for this mission curled over and died. He had nothing to use against that kind of raw power.  However, that fact raised another question. “Why would anyone summon an omnicidal monster they couldn’t control here?” Satholia snorted. ‘Because they don’t even know they are summoning an untamable planet killer. The summoner probably plans to tap the creature to power his design. The good news is that the World Enemy will only arrive when the ritual stops. Rem, whatever happens, don’t allow anyone but Hikma to dismantle the ritual. Only a specific Arcane can end the spells without releasing the World Enemy.' Suddenly, the skies around them turned static. Rem had a bad feeling about this. 'I don’t have much time,' Satholia’s voice started to fizzle out. 'Rem, listen to me. Arcane is a technique to alter reality by recalling a specific feat the multiverse witnessed and transplanting it into the world. A specific catalyst can aid this process. I arrange Hikma’s recruitment partly from his heart and partly because his True Magic is the universal catalyst for all Arcane.' “Wait!” Rem shouted at the fading Cytortia. “Can you explain what Arcane is again?” Another static arrived, and the sky darkened. 'The Primordial stirs,' Satholia scowled. 'The Arcane you need is from the Holy Book of Immortal Sun. Hikma will know which one when he get his hand on it.' Sinkholes appeared across the desert as the dream world started crumbling. Tornado of sand roared, but Rem still managed to catch his goddess parting message. “Tell Cytortia to read the Lost Divine,” Satholia yelled. “It will tell her exactly what to do about her stunt growth rate. Only through that Arcane can she gain her Legend!” And the world faded to black. … Rem woke up in a dark chamber of stone. He took one look around him and decided that this must be the place the PR agents went to die. The décor was the ultimate publicity murderer. Skeleton adorned the cavern’s ceiling like a catacomb from hell. The skulls embedded into the wall gleamed with dirty emerald light. It was a black pit with no trace of hope to find. Meanwhile, the cracked stone-floor leaked with the sinister green light as the castle of darkness rumbled like the belly of an oppressive beast. Rem couldn’t feel or hear anything from the vision, but given the raw depressive power of this hall, he expected to find of wailing souls and the world's worst metal band somewhere in this pit. Rem turned to face a stair of alien-looking bone leading up to a cloud of darkness. It was then that Rem saw a hooded man climbing up the stairs. The newcomer looked horrible. His coat was full of tears and holes. Rem thought that this guy must have been dealing with the constant attack for months to look this bad. However, his back still stood upright as he proudly marched up the stair. He was wearing a smooth, white mouthpiece, and black goggles. Rem watched silently. Even when he covered most of his face, something about him gave Rem a familiar feeling. The man climbed, and Rem saw a symbol on the back of his coat: a stylistic shield sigil of a man praising the sun. Rem had a feeling this symbol spoke something to him at a deeper level. The man finally walked past the last step of the stair. He rose to meet a figure in a dark hood waiting for him. Behind the hooded figure was an image of Venistalis in ruin. The rampart had collapsed in several sections. The once prosperous Water-quarter laid in a pile of rubbles. Flame rages across the Earth-quarter. Rem couldn’t see what happened to the Wind and Fire section, but he was willing to bet it was in lockdown. At the center of it all, the once shining palace cracked in dozen places as corpses and battle-scars dirtied the building. A bolt of green lightning struck in the distance, sending the plume of green fires that could be seen from a kilometer away. Amid that hellish backdrop, the two men began talking. Rem couldn’t hear their conversation. His vision didn’t come with audio, but the masked man nodded to himself sadly before pulling out a metal handle. The hooded figure summoned a cloud of green flames and a bloodthirsty skeleton in response. The man flourished the handle, a 1.6-meter-long metal protracted from the hilt and flashed with sigils of power. Rem watch the man shifted into a very familiar defensive stance. The hooded figure pointed and released a swarm of undead fire at the masked man. In return, the man threw up his hand and created a circlet Rem knew very well. “[Conceptual Seal],” Rem spoke. “Hikma?” The circlet unleashed the torrent of scarlet flames. The green and red deluge of fires clashed, blasting Rem out of the vision. … Rem woke up in the evening in the middle of the concerned crowd. He quickly relayed what he had seen to the group. Each of them took the news differently. “You saw me?” Hikma asked “Yes, unless someone else has the [Conceptual seal],” Rem said. “I believe I know how you can use the Arcane now. You need to use it’s through the seal, Hikma. That is how you in the vision do it. I guess that using it without a catalyst would drain your stamina. That is why you fainted.” Melody wrote that down. The young demoness put the pen away and asked the question that was pin-balling inside her brain. “Aside from the fact that we have a world-ending event on our hand,” Melody said. “How did Rem see what I assume to be the future.” Scathach nodded and stretched her hand. “Rem, your Status ID, please.” Rem handed the silver card over without much of fuzz, and Scathach showed it to the gang. … Rem Breaker  Paladin Stat Str: 403 [C] End: 457 [B] Mag: 800 [B] Wis: 1255 [B] Dex: 720 [C] Skill Active  Arrival of Dream [N/A] Tactical Form [C] Supercharge [A] Knife Throwing [D] Clairvoyance [B] ***New*** Passive Territory [D] Reality Breaker [Ex] The Way of Optimism [N/A] … “Oh my god,” Luxinna only felt dread. Rem was already too unpredictable without an ability to see the future. Now the evil bastard who didn’t mind waterboarding people to get what he needed could peak into the future. She glanced at the sky, fearing it might turn acid green as the sign of Armageddon. Melody shared the feeling, but she was better at prioritizing. “Let put the fact that Rem has the ability that half of Phantasia will kill for and focus on what is important. How do we stop Rem’s prediction? As much as I dislike the Grand Empire, I prefer their capital intact.” Rem stayed silent before muttering out loud. “I have no idea.” Melody and Cytortia looked at each other. Then they broke out laughing. “Rem, this isn’t funny,” Cytortia gasped. “People are in danger here.” Rem visibly sank. “Come on, you always have an idea,” Melody said. “You are more creative than all of us combine. You must have a plan, right?” Rem refused to look at her. Melody smiled vanish. Luxinna’s mouth hung open from shock, but Cytortia took it worse of all. “What the hell, Rem?” Cytortia yelled. “You must have a plan! A secret countermeasure just for this! I went into your room, Rem. I know you have a plan in case Tai Hua launched a surprise invasion on Earth. I saw the one you created in case a sentient continent stole the Isle of Knowledge’s superweapon and dropped it on Hokkaido! You must have a solution to this.” “Venistalis have a population 12 million and the area the size of New York,” Rem listed the static. “There is no data collection. The authority uses spells, and millions of spirit familiars, to maintain security and they can't find anything. There is no way I can cover that area. Moreover, I know next to nothing about the ritual. We have no way forward and knowledge to progress. I am not a wish-granting machine, Cy. I can do nothing about this, but look at the clue from the future.” “Then do that then!” “Cy, this thing manages to block Satholia from giving us more hint. Do you think I can do better with my new [Clairvoyance].?” Cy sank into the sofa. Everyone turned silent. Finally, it was Cytortia who spoke up. “It can’t be True Magic, and no Cultivation technique can do otherworldly shit like that. The ritual must be a spell,” Cytortia said. “Yeah, kinda obvious,” Melody said sarcastically. “How could that help us?” “My best friend has eyes everywhere in Venistalis,” Cytortia said sternly. “And she collected enough ancient spell and ritual to become an expert on it.” Scathach suddenly worked out what Cytortia was thinking. “Wait, you are going to her? Are you sure she can ever be trusted?” “I trust her with my life, Scathach. She is my best friend.” “Hold up,” Luxinna said. “Who are we talking about?” “Shyme Enma,” Scathach said. “She is the 2nd fastest rising star of Enma clan and this dolt only friend before you guys got in the picture.” “Wait, we are going to ask the motherfucking Enma clan for help?” Melody wanted to gag herself. “Do you remember what Enma enterprise does to my bloody continent.” “You won’t,” Rem said. “You and Hikma need to research the Arcane. I, Cytortia, and Luxinna will negotiate with the member of capitalistic divine beast men.”

Rem’s philosophy on fortune best represented as intertwining strings. A blessing arrived after a disaster. If anyone asked him, REM would say his alternate-self had the worst luck of mankind, but Rem wouldn’t care. A little bitch who slept 16 hours a day didn’t concern him. Ignoring the above, Rem must admit his current luck was shit given the rundown bookstore before him is his last hope. The entire afternoon saw him crawling after straws. It started when he discovered Millian’s public library burnt down three years ago. Local stores were hot on magical beast rearing, spell-casting, and alchemy; something as useful as tapeworm. It appeared cultural history was a jinxed subject for Millian's economy. In the end, this leaking book shop was his only hope. ... The old dwarf behind the main desk woke at the sound of the first visitor he had in years. Well, it was technically six-months since the last visitor, but the dwarf refused to acknowledge a burglar as a guest. He rubbed his pure white bushy beard with fascination. Interesting. Grey button-up shirt, black jacket, and pant, the boy either loved black or hated doing laundry. The dwarf wagered on the later. Brown hair speckled with a patch of white, and a golden octopus sat on his head. He was strange, but that smile was familiar. “Hello,” said the boy. “I am looking for the book on Cultural History linking Millian to the Forbidden Zone. Other bookstore said you might have something like that here. May I look, please?” “I am Obi-wan,” the old dwarf told Rem the blatantly fake name. “You copy that from Star War.” “A good movie, just watched it yesterday,” Obi-wan winked. “I think you Earthling are busily dealing with Demonic Continent. So what brings you this far to Millian, Earth-boy?” Rem cursed. One screw-up and his cover were in pieces. “Well, Obi-wan, I am Dream,” Rem said. “Got Lost during the transmigration. Now I am doing odd-job to find a way back home. So do you have the book, I kinda need it.” “Half-truth?” Obi-wan sagely called out. “Young man, I fought in battles that we make you crap your pant. I faced a monster that give your daddy nightmares.” Rem didn’t doubt the last part. His dad was an arrogant ass. “Once in a blue moon, I will see your type,” Obi-wan said. “The type who smiles to comfort scare children. Martyrs who barely remembers happiness, but tried to smile despite a breath from dying on their feet. Truth is you are empty, but instead of bemoaning fate, you forged that overwhelming despair into a weapon. Ignite yourself as an unsung hero, so the kiddies don’t have to feel your despair. Your type is not the one hitting book for research. Your folks pick the book to hack your opponent to pieces.” Rem’s smile slowly faded, revealing a tired and depressed face. “Now, what do you want, Dream?” Obi-wan said. “I discovered a rumor of a dragon underneath Millian,” Rem explained, looking at the table like a man reading his death-sentence. “I need information. Folklore, legend, anything that clues me about how to beat this. I don’t have the money now, but I promise I will get some tomorrow.” “Forget the money,” Obi-wan jumped from the modified chair and waved at the shop. “The shop is yours.” “What?” Rem blinked. “Kid,” Obi-wan rolled the rug and opened a chest beneath it. “Let me tell you the truth. I’m looking after this graveyard for an idiot who got speared through his anus. For the last ten years, I dream of shoving these stupid books to someone else. So congrats, this dump is yours.” Obi-wan took his travel bag from the chest and flipped a button near one bookcase. He glanced back at the boy with weary eyes. “Wish you luck, kid,” the dwarf waved. “I honestly do. The like of you always die unrewarded for the cause. But I have a feeling fate has something different for you. Just remember you owe me a drink for today's favor.” “You must be joking!” Rem looked around. “You can’t just throw a shop at me like this.” “Of course I can,” Obi-wan replied, leaving through the front door. “You better hurry. I’ve flipped the switch. You have 24-hours to move everything until the self-destruction kick in.” Rem stared in disbelief. “Dream, I am not joking,” Obi-wan winked. “May the Force be with you, kid.” The dwarf ran away speed that shouldn’t be possible for a 0.8 meters tall elderly. Rem didn’t even have time to complain. “Za Wa! Open the bloody [Storage]!” Rem yelled. “We have to clear the place in five hours!” … A campsite stood kilometers away from Millian. Let be honest here. It wasn’t a campsite, but a miniature fortress. Yes, the tent inside those high-wall were standard issue. The clay hut and the shoddy test-range was normal for the two craftswomen inhibiting the camp. Even the Green campfire ranked as a common artifact founded in Alchemist’s workshop. The departure from the mundane came at the moat. It was a joint project. Cytortia, sporting new haircut after fiery incident, cooked the gooey soup of acid to fill the trench. In the ditch, the camp members dug without complaint except for the complaining elf. “What the fuck,” Rem looked at the scene. “Yeah, scold them, Rem!” Luxinna threw down her shovel. “Illma Zoldia Road is here at Milian,” Ebony yelled. “We have to prepare the defense!” Rem’s mouth hung open. “Who?” ... Finally, the meeting begun. The gang stood around the glow of the green campfires to tell ghost stories under the defense of wall, acid moat and drawbridge. “So you waste valuable time building an obsolete medieval defense, because one woman got sighted in our vicinity,” Rem said; hand clasped, fingers crossed, and his face sinisterly framed by shadow. “You are S-rank goddess, for heaven's sake. What could this woman do that scare you this much?” “I agree with Rem,” Luxinna nodded and ate her marshmallow. “The moat idea come out of nowhere.” Instead of Scathach, it was Cytortia who answered. “Scathach can’t do anything against Zoldia,” Cytortia tossed away her burnt marshmallow. “Zoldia held a special status. She is an Untouchable.” “Can she bleed?” Rem’s eyes shone like the sunglass of one amoral scientist hellbent to unite with his wife's soul trapped in a giant robot. Melody sighed “You don’t get it,” the demoness explained. “To manage the World Enemy crisis and the god’s detached response to it, several nations joined force and created a Special Responder status to support potential special asset against World Enemy. We call them the Untouchable.” Rem knew this couldn’t be good. It was a power play. He never got the status type. Why chase after something so pointless when death is inevitable? “This status grants Illma Zoldia Road diplomatic immunity in the region controls by Seven Continental Alliance.” Scathach tossed more logs into the flame. “This is on top of the fact that you have to be sponsored by at least three gods to become an Untouchable.” Luxinna looked into the flame. She was new to power play, but having that kind of immunity was transparently disastrous. Her father was the prime example. “So you are telling me these people are immune to the law?” Luxinna said, sparks running down her hair. “They can hurt someone and get away with it?” “Yes,” Melody nodded with depression. “They can’t be prosecuted with anything. Unless the Alliances unanimously agree to oust them, but that rarely happens.” Opposite of Rem, Ebony sipped her third bottle of rum and went on a drunken triad. “Great job, Scathach,” she mocked the warrior maid. “You idiots created a system where jackasses with Inherited Skill got to play god. At least where I come from, the jackass has to fight for the throne. Your jackasses only need to be liked by three of your perpetual man-children and pay GDP of a small nation to be a god-king. Pathetic.” “The requirement is Aurorin’s idea.” “Good job!” Ebony slammed. “And what did it accomplish? You make a monster an Untouchable.” Luxinna looked at her teacher, begging for an explanation. Scathach replied with silent. Cytortia sat next to the elf, refusing to meet anyone's eyes. Meanwhile, Rem cut to the chase. “Why is Illma Zoldia Road such a threat?” “Why?” Ebony ranted, downing another drink. “Because of her fucking father, Gregory-fucking-Road took my biomechanical research during my IK’s day and turned it into a bloody weapon project. Then he downloaded the control right into his unrepenting sadist daughter’s fucking brain.” Ebony cursed the unpresented man in pent-up outrage. “Thank for the blood, Greg! Yeah, sent your bloody offspring on the murder spree! If you are still alive, I hope you die in a fire! Shame on you, you motherfucker!” Melody watched the development; horrify. “Ma, you help create the X-cution?! Why?!” ... One more house burned down. How many was it? Five, ten, or maybe a hundred; he no longer counted. What did he get by counting? Nothing. Why would he count it? Why would he want to count the number of microchips in his body, the wiring sewn into his muscle, the cuts the doctor-blade drove into his skin? Yes, nothing was gained from counting the pain. The suffering will go away if he followed the sweet, sweet voices. “You monster!” Monster? Where was the monster? He robotically turned toward the man charging in with a spear of wind. The man was bleeding. Good, the bleeding one was the easiest to squeeze. The red color was so pretty. The chunky bit was so fun to play with. He reached out with a hand, a grotesque creation of metal, and squeezed. Strange, the spear broke faster than tissue papers. It barely hurt; nothing compared to the cane or the whip. What should he do next? The man in his grip looked so in pain he felt sorry for him. ‘Kill.’ He squeezed. The man burst open like a balloon of blood. He must be in less pain now. Why should he be worried? Life was simple. He followed the voice and the pain would go away. What was wrong with that? The voice never lied. “Good job, children,” said a pretty voice. “We are nearly done wiping the garbage in this slum now. Let move on to the next one, shall we?” That’s right; the angel had spoken. He must move as the angel commanded. Every fiber of his being was an offering to her. He moved his lumbering body after the angel of his dream. ... Ebony downed another bottle of liquor. “The X-cution’s is the most advanced robotically enhanced militia unit in Phantasia,” Ebony garbled. “I originally designed those robotics as a biomechanical marvel. A prosthetic that will bring disabled soldiers back to the fight.” She sobbed. “Navy, Airforce, ground troop, I designed it to help the war-veteran. Then that son of bitch cannibalized my work for those things.” “What things?” Luxinna sipped her third orange juices. She had a bad feeling about this. Beside her, Cytortia grabbed her notebook. “Gregory Road has a connection with the slave market,” Ebony drunk the stomach poison without looking away from the fire of repentance. “My guess is he bought children from a war-infested area and psychologically destroyed them. Probably with a combination of torture or pain transmitting cybernetic implant.” Ebony shivered. “That is pretty much all I can say for sure; the rest is guesswork. But somehow that bastard successfully augmented at least 87% of the children's body with my cybernetic. Fitting that many robotics into children shouldn’t be possible unless he sewed antenna right into their central nervous system and replaced their nerve with connecting wires. He also bio-engineered their blood, given the cybernetic’s mana requirement. God knows what he did to their brain, but he reprogrammed the kid’s broken shell into killing machines.” “Bucket of dopamine will do that,” Rem exhaled. Everyone felt the pressure dropped with that wrathful calmness. “So Gregory’s daughter, Illma, uses daddy’s cyborg-orphans to wipe out anything that doesn’t go her way. And no one can do anything because she is an Untouchable, am I right?” Cytortia noted that down while Rem posed the final question. “Why not use artificial intelligence?” Rem said dismissively. “Fine. I agree Gregory Road has no soul. And from your expression, I guess Illma have a pile of bodies under her name.” “Mutilated bodies,” Cytortia added, and Melody nodded in agreement. “Mutilated gore of man, woman, and babies. She’s infamous for being set-off by almost anything.” Rem mentally chalked Illma Zoldia Road on his beyond-saving-list before continuing. “But why go to the effort of modifying a living human? AI is much cheaper.” “That because an only a living-brain can use magic,” Melody answered that question. “It’s basic Magic Engineering. But Ma, why do you ever go near that project?” “Welcome to family’s shame club,” Luxinna couldn’t help but verbally kicked Melody. “But seriously, why the hell did you go anywhere near that project?” Face with a united front of her daughter and said daughter’s nemesis, Ebony threw her alcohol away and cried. “Don’t look at Mom that way,” Ebony sobbed. “Who would know a collaboration project will go that wrong? The money made from that collaboration practically funded the Demonic Continent for half a decade.” “Who paid for it?” Rem said. “Enma Enterprise,” Ebony wanted to drown herself with her answer. “Of course, it is the mega-corp,” Rem groaned and cursed Hollywood. “Keep this up, and I have to send a naked man back in time.” The gang ignored that joke. “Rem’s joke aside,” Luxinna asked the collective, “How did someone like Illma even become an Untouchable?” Everyone turned toward Scathach the Accused. “What!?” Scathach felt attacked. “What this got to do with me?” “Buddy,” Ebony glared at the woman in punk clothes. “You only got yourself to blame for this one. So start explaining why your kind made Illma above the law.” “You know what,” Cytortia said. “Lux, get me a recorder. I am mailing the confession to Marley.” That ticked Scathach off. “Screw all of you,” Scathach yelled. “Leave Marley out of this. It is Gregory’s and Ah Punch’s fault Illma’s application got approved. The project might be amoral, but X-cution is an excellent method to develop quick shock troops against the World Enemy. Gregory downloaded all his research note into Illma’s brain and destroyed every copy. We have to protect that loose canon because she is the only being who knows how to reproduce the X-cution!” “Trash,” Luxinna responded. “Garbage,” Melody added. “Scum,” Ebony spat. “Scathach, only pieces of shit will use that excuse,” Cytortia politely noted and finished recording. “I will mail the entire thing to Marley.” “Anyway!” Scathach tried to divert the negative PR. “Illma and her X-cution was spotted in Millian. My source said she left Aurorin in one of Heavenly Daughter of Fire’s Pheonix Ship.” Cytortia facepalmed. “Dammit, Chuang won’t give a ship to a normal Untouchable,” the goddess said. “This pretty much confirms their alliance. But it doesn’t make sense. Chuang is gathering her forces to tackle Tie Hua. She won’t spare Zoldia unless...” Cytortia turned silent. “Unless what?” Luxinna asked, dreading the answer. “Unless it is for a rare creature,” Cytortia looked traumatized. “Chuang love catching rare monsters and turning it into war puppet.” Everyone turned silent. Everything clicked. “Chuang… Illma… they know about the dragon,” Luxinna whispered. “They are planning to turn it into a weapon.” Rem stood up, commanding the room's presence." “Comrades,” he spoke. “Hear me out. I know we have our difference. I know two of you hate my gut.” “Understatement of the year,” Melody snorted but failed to stump Rem’s momentum. “Regardless of how you feel, a crossroad is upon us. We have many reasons for being here, but we have one purpose. Our enemy stands above the law of man. She can’t be reasoned or prosecuted. But that isn’t true.” Rem announced to the world. “The gods may put made her Untouchable, but we are not crowned by god. We are appointed by good incarnate. We are the line. It is time we will remind the world why you don’t cross the line. Screw the dragon, screw Illma, and screw the Untouchables. We are taking the stand.” Scathach inched back while everyone rallied forward. “Gather your knowledge, your magic, and your blades. Tomorrow we prepare for war.”