Chapter 152 – Twilight

“Anyone wishing to withdraw, speak now. I’ll arrange an escape route.”

Hermilla’s heavy voice fell upon the war-torn ruins.

“This will be a war unlike any we’ve faced. A war we’re likely to lose.”

Her cold gaze swept over the Liberation Army, Erden’s opposition.

“We defend this place for one reason: to protect the one undergoing the trial.”

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The Ursphere contingent reacted most fiercely.

Hermilla chuckled softly.

“No objections, then.”

She was about to unleash a surge of destructive energy when—

—Serr stepped forward, blocking her path.

Hermilla tilted her head, but Serr continued.

“We will win.”

“S-Serr?”

Boom! Serr stomped her foot, and a billion starlights ignited across the ruins.

“Are you afraid of death? Of Erden? Do you think they can still frighten us, break us, kill us?”

Cracks appeared in the air around her.

“We have survived this long. Through endless schemes and assassinations, through staring death in the face, we have endured.”

The cracks widened, revealing the highest-ranking spirits: Karma, Rin, and Avalon.

“We didn’t survive by luck. We survived through strength. They didn’t fail to kill us; we refused to die.”

A massive magic circle formed around Rin, unleashing a spell beyond human capability. Behind Cartia’s barriers, Avalon raised towering walls.

“I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again.”

Karma launched a five-colored light skyward.

The sun began to set, painting the sky a deep navy, casting long shadows over the ruins.

“Forget ‘world peace.’ Don’t fight for some abstract ideal. Don’t fight for something you can’t grasp.”

But their vision wasn’t dark. Serr’s spirits illuminated the sky.

“Fight for your families. Your loved ones. Your children. For the meals you share. For peaceful sleep. For a quiet smoke. For a drink after work. For the stories you’ll tell your friends. Fight for yourselves.”

Hermilla smiled and unleashed her destructive power skyward.

Gong. Gong. Gong.

The bells of war tolled.

“Fight.”

Fwaah! The spirits’ power erupted. The Empire’s flames roared to life.

Alex, the second challenger, swung his hammer, summoning steel thorns that encased the walls.

Mia, the third, loosed an arrow that multiplied a thousandfold, merging with the spirits’ power and raining down on the enemy.

Delia, the fourth, cast a spell that intertwined with the highest spirits’ magic, creating a devastating force.

Yuria, the fifth, summoned roots that burst from the earth, creating a path for the Liberation Army, while divine beasts roared around her.

And then—

“—Uwaaaaaaaaaah!!!”

Heinzel’s roar drowned out the sounds of battle as he led the Liberation Army’s charge.

***

“They’re holding, but they’ll break soon. Time for our grand entrance.”

Serr, receiving reports from her spirits, observed the battle calmly. Despite their initial push, they were being overwhelmed. Outnumbered ten to one, it was a miracle they’d lasted this long.

“It’s a shame we don’t have a broadcasting artifact.”

“Then we’ll make it a spectacle everyone can see.”

The three highest spirits gathered around Serr.

“Still no word from Sirin?”

“No. She’s been gone awhile. Tch.”

Stars descended, encasing Serr in their light. She rose into the air, surveying the battlefield with arrogant eyes. Not seeking the weakest point, but the largest concentration of enemies. Her ideal stage.

“I’ll take the north. Hermilla, you take the east. There’s a brawler there who needs a lesson.”

Serr smiled faintly at Hermilla and set off.

It took mere seconds. Reaching her chosen spot, she absorbed the onslaught of enemy killing intent and scoffed, waving her hand.

The night sky twisted and collapsed.

Avalon shook the earth. Rin’s magic tore through the enemy ranks. Karma’s power obliterated regenerating foes.

At the end of the path she’d carved stood an old man.

The former pinnacle of magic, the Sage of Creation, Serr’s one-time goal.

The Third Master, Helen.

Serr sneered at the broken remnants of her ambition.

“Doesn’t this wound your pride?”

“The process is irrelevant to those seeking the end of magic.”

“Always with the ‘end of magic.’ You prattle on, but have you even glimpsed it? Seen its shadow? Smelled its scent? I have. I’ve touched it. I’ve felt it.”

Helen’s eyebrow twitched. He raised his staff.

“That staff, too. Powerful, but slow. Why cling to it? Use a wand. Haven’t you noticed? Modern magic is faster, more efficient, perfectly balanced. Complete mana utilization. The current Tower Master is remarkable. He’s overturned your ancestors’ antiquated spells.”

Serr reached out, a short root of the World Tree sprouting from her hand. Space distorted around Helen.

“Oh? Grand magic, so openly? Go ahead. I’ll show you how wrong you are.”

A void gate emerged from the distorted space. Helen’s unique magic, Pantheon, summoning the souls of all he’d slain to create a new being.

“Pantheon? Child’s play. Calling that unique magic is an embarrassment. That smug look… you think I spared you because I couldn’t kill you?”

Serr wove an ancient magic, lost to the End.

Dragon’s Breath.

The magic circle opened like a dragon’s maw, crackling with power.

“I spared you because an old fossil like you is no threat.”

Thousands of homunculi poured from Pantheon. Dragon’s Breath, an ancient spell of annihilation, engulfed the battlefield in white-hot fire.

***

BOOOOOOM!!

Serr’s spell ripped through the battlefield, an earsplitting roar.

“Hahaha! Amazing!!”

A sweat-slicked bald head moved with ferocious energy.

Boom! A lesser explosion, but still devastating. His halberd, imbued with crushing gravity, pulverized the earth, scattering enemies into fragments.

But they were still losing. The Masters’ relentless attacks and the endless undead hordes were pushing back the mortal soldiers.

Yet Heinzel, undeterred, carved a path of destruction.

Halberd swinging, fists flying, feet kicking, teeth tearing, he led his bald-headed battalion forward.

Then—

Slash. An almost imperceptible attack grazed his boot.

Heinzel stomped, scattering his presence.

A sharp pain lanced through his head. He sensed it—a shadow writhing beneath the earth. He detonated a burst of gravity, pushing his troops away.

“—Uwaaaaaah!!!”

Roaring, he swung his halberd, a viscous shadow coiling around it, erupting into a thousand spikes that tore through the ground.

Where the spikes fell, not even corpses remained. Only a gleaming bald head.

Step. Step.

A man made of shadow approached.

Boom! Heinzel obliterated the surrounding spikes with gravity, wiping the blood from his nose.

The shadow-wielding Black Knight. Slain by Noah, then resurrected.

Master Kalt.

The revived calamity advanced.

“Hehahahaha!!”

Even facing death, Heinzel was filled with joy. This man, whom Noah had defeated, reminded him of his own lost daughter—strong, despite her seeming fragility.

He’d endured hellish training, survived brutal experiments to gain his prosthetic arm, all to keep a promise: to arm-wrestle Noah again.

He’d survived for this.

To keep that promise.

To beat Noah.

“COME!!!”

He roared, laughter replacing fear, willpower steadying his trembling body, memories of his friend overcoming the terror of death.

He gripped his halberd.