"Boom!"
The entire structure of the gallery collapsed under the sweeping force of magic and raging flames, crumbling into a heap of ruins.
Sunny ignored it and ran toward the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization mages who had gone to aid Ortolan.
He raised the golden staff in his hand.
A damp, blue-green gust of wind howled forth, sweeping toward the gallery shrouded in thick smoke and fire.
All the mages gripped their staves tightly, sweat forming on their foreheads, too tense to wipe it away, their eyes fixed intently on the gallery.
Miguel also began chanting, conjuring a blue magical barrier before them, separating them from the street where the gallery once stood.
"Whoosh—"
The thick smoke that blanketed the entire street could not withstand the fierce wind; in an instant, it was blown away.
The blazing fire, its source torn apart by the wind, quickly died out.
Where the gallery had stood, only a vast stretch of blackened, smoldering ruins remained—nothing else.
"Where is he?!!"
Sunny's face darkened as the Ban Ard mages erupted into anxious uproar.
They searched warily in all directions but found no trace of a figure—until Miguel, sensing the growing, oppressive aura in the air, raised his head and noticed a flicker of green light flash through the sky.
"He's up there!" Miguel shouted.
Sunny snapped his head upward. The moment he caught sight of the figure in the air, he began to cast a spell—But the "Wild Hunt" in the sky flashed green once again and vanished.
Two blinding bolts of lightning and a sharp ice spear shot through the space where the green light had been—but hit nothing—racing skyward toward some unknown point.
They had been cast by a few Ban Ard mages fast enough to react.
"Where? Where did it—"
Before Sunny could finish shouting, he saw it again—the emerald flash appearing higher in the sky.
Flash!
Emerge!
Flash!
Emerge!
-----------------------------------
Several streaks of green light flashed across the sky in rapid succession.
Everyone, including Sunny, was stunned.
What kind of strange skill was that?
Since when could spatial magic be used like this?!!
To outsiders, it might seem like mere short-range teleportation—only a few dozen meters—far less impressive than the way sorcerers could open a portal and, in the blink of an eye, appear thousands of miles away.
But for the mages—for those who truly understood the nature of portals—it was as shocking as watching a mortal rearrange the heavens with his bare hands.
Because spatial magic almost always required passing through the "interstice" to execute its operations.
That demanded massive calculations to ensure that the portal opened where it was intended to—rather than inside a rock crevice, a volcano's crater, or thousands of meters in the air.
Even for portals—which merely required calculating two points in space within a reasonable amount of time—only a few senior sorcerers from the Brotherhood's high council could truly master it.
Yet what they were witnessing now involved instant, continuous displacement—requiring calculations, control of magical energy, and affinity with space itself on a scale that made one's scalp crawl.
And this wasn't just a single or double teleport—it was a chain of consecutive jumps.
To put it simply…
It was like trying to burn a charcoal map of every city, town, mountain, and river of the Northern Continent—using only an unstable fireball spell.
And it had to be accurate to within a hundred meters.
That was an impossible task!
"Sunny, what the hell kind of monster is that?!!" one of the more radical mages asked, lowering his staff, unable to hold back.
Sunny glared fiercely at him but was equally powerless against the flickering green light in the sky.
No matter how fast a spell could be cast, it still required time.
Their perception could keep up—but their casting speed couldn't match the "Wild Hunt's" leaps, nor could they possibly predict where in the vast sky the next flash of green would appear.
At this point, strength hardly mattered; even if Ortolan himself were here, he would struggle to track the "Wild Hunt" with elemental attack spells alone.
And now, the "Wild Hunt" had already teleported completely beyond the range of any instant-cast spell.
Was it an artifact—one that manipulated the spheres' conjunctions—that granted it such power?
Greed flickered in Sunny's eyes.
Just one "Wild Hunt" with such power could toy with them all with ease.
If he could seize that artifact himself—then the Ban Ard dissenters, Hen Gedymdeith, Ortolan, the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization…
Would any of them still stand against him?
He would become a god walking among men!
"Sunny, what do we do now?"
Miguel's scalp tingled.
What made him—and in truth, everyone—shudder in terror was that the "Wild Hunt" wasn't even trying to hide its intent.
It was moving rapidly toward the massive object falling from the sky.
If the two were to collide… what would happen?
Miguel trembled and, after asking the question, instinctively turned his gaze toward where Ortolan and the fallen host of the Wild Hunt had landed.
Then he suddenly remembered—Ortolan and the entire Wild Hunt army had fallen because of its strange roar.
Of course, Miguel didn't believe that fall alone would kill Ortolan or the Wild Hunt forces.
But even if they were unscathed—could they still fly?
If they couldn't move freely in the air… how could they possibly stop that "Wild Hunt"?
Ban Ard had already suffered one complete annihilation—
Would they have to endure it a second time?
-----------------------------------
Sunny fell silent at those words.
In the sky, the flashes of green light drew closer and closer to the massive object falling with a long trail of smoke.
"Let's go!" Sunny gritted his teeth and said fiercely, "We're going to find those two traitors—Vilgefortz and Lydia van Bredevoort!"
"They took Hen Gedymdeith together with the 'Wild Hunt'. The Dean is what matters most to us."
"And besides… they must know the truth about the 'Wild Hunt'!"
As for that artifact capable of manipulating the conjunction of the spheres—so long as they stayed alive, and as long as Ortolan, the Wild Hunt, and that monster tore each other apart—when they were all wounded and weakened, the one left standing would become the artifact's final owner.
Let them kill each other!
Let the blood flow like a river! Let them destroy one another!
Miguel and the surrounding mages of Ban Ard all let out a breath of relief when they heard this.
"Shouldn't we check on Master Ortolan?" Miguel suddenly remembered—the legendary mage whose fate was still uncertain.
Sunny looked toward the thick columns of smoke rising a street or two away, his eyes flickering.
"That's Ortolan, Miguel. Ortolan of the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, Ortolan of the High Council, Ortolan of Chapter of the Gift and the Art…"
"Hen…"
Sunny paused for a moment, skipping over a name that felt uncomfortable to say: "…after him, Ortolan is the strongest mage in this world."
"Ortolan doesn't need us to worry about him!"
Miguel hesitated, his mouth half open.
Was this really about strength—or about whether they even had the right to care?
The radicals had no one left. To hold onto Ban Ard's "throne," they had to rely on Ortolan and the Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization.
And with Hen Gedymdeith's life or death still uncertain—if he survived… what then?
Miguel's heart was full of unease, but he kept it all to himself.
All the patrol mages and guards who had been sent out were now gathered here, alongside Ortolan.
The entire city of Ban Ard had become a tangled mess—flooded with fleeing citizens, refugees, and nobles.
If Hen Gedymdeith really had been taken away by Vilgefortz, how could just a few of them possibly find him in all this chaos?
Sunny… he was simply afraid.
Miguel felt lost for a moment.
This wasn't the Sunny he used to know.
They'd known each other since their apprentice days.
Back then, Sunny had dared to defy his mentor for the sake of his companions.
After graduating and being appointed by the Brotherhood as an itinerant sorcerer, he had fearlessly exposed countless cases of corruption and collusion between nobles and supernatural forces.
He had survived countless assassination attempts—yet with sheer courage and defiance, he uprooted many of those dark powers entirely.
When he returned home in triumph, he refused the Brotherhood's attempts to placate him with high office.
At Hen Gedymdeith's invitation, he came back to Ban Ard to study the most fundamental magical principles, uniting the younger mages disillusioned with both worldly and supernatural power, to plan together how to reshape the world.
The Sunny he knew—
Would never have abandoned his comrades.
Even if those comrades were rivals like Ortolan or the mages of the Rissberg Group—he would never have run away in panic and disgrace.
Then one year passed, two years, three…
And now, nearly a century later—when had he, when had they, become like this?
Was it after Hen Gedymdeith was gravely injured, when Sunny began to seize power?
Or even earlier… when that witcher appeared—
"Miguel! Hurry up!" Sunny had taken a few steps before realizing Miguel hadn't followed. He turned and urged sharply, "If we're any slower, those two traitors will escape with Hen Gedymdeith!"
Without waiting for a reply, he glanced up briefly, then hurried away.
Miguel's mouth opened slightly as he watched Sunny and the Ban Ard mages running—silent and flustered—toward the edge of New Ban Ard.
After a moment's thought, he sighed softly and followed.
They wanted to escape—but could they really?
—
The answer, of course, was no.
They hadn't even made it out of the upper district when—
"Boom!"
A crushing force exploded outward, as if countless mountains had fallen at once.
It was like being struck by a thousand battering rams—skulls shattering, vision going black, breath stolen away.
"Ahhh!"
"What's happening?!!"
Through the screams and groans, Sunny, Miguel, and the gathered Ban Ard mages finally managed to recover from the suffocating pressure in their chests—and turned their horrified eyes toward the sky.
The green lights in the sky kept flickering, though the flashes had begun to slow.
The massive object wrapped in thick black smoke and mist had, at some point, stopped falling and now hovered in midair—like a colossal gray egg, reflecting the light of the dark sun above the horizon.
It was a vision straight out of the end times—an omen of the coming White Frost that would bring ruin to the world.
Time seemed to freeze in that instant, until a strange sound suddenly echoed through the air.
"Thump!"
Someone's heartbeat—yet it was so clear that every person could hear it.
Under the crushing, suffocating pressure of that vast and tangible presence, Sunny, Miguel, and the others stopped breathing altogether. An instinctive fear welled up in them, like prey sensing a natural predator—like hiding in tall grass and suddenly feeling a starving lion brush past.
The next second—just as they exchanged terrified looks, searching for a place to hide—
"Thump!"
Another heartbeat. The smoke around the massive form dimmed, revealing black scales with a metallic sheen.
The pressure grew heavier still.
"This kind of magical presence… even we can't stop our hearts from trembling…"
"What is that?"
"Those black scales—is it a serpent? Or maybe—"
Before he could finish speaking—
"Thump!"
The final heartbeat shattered the smoke entirely.
Freed from its haze, a long, curved tail descended from the sky—its arc nearly perfect. At that exact moment, the green light flashed once more and merged with the tail.
Then—
Two enormous black wings unfurled, blotting out the heavens. The sudden gust swept through the skies, tearing apart the clouds and sending whirlwinds of ash and smoke billowing over Ban Ard.
The creature's massive body was fully revealed.
What a being it was—!
Its brilliant crimson eyes gleamed with ferocity, and its scales were so dark and smooth they looked painted on with ink.
Its wings spread wide like those of a bat, and those blood-red eyes gazed down upon them, filling every soul with instinctive dread—as though they stood before their worst nightmare.
The matte-black scales could not conceal the power of the limbs and body beneath.
A mix of savagery and grace—beyond words, yet perfectly fused.
"…A dragon…"
Miguel's throat tightened; it was less a question than a desperate whisper to the world itself.
"A black dragon! That's a black dragon—long extinct from this world!"
"Don't be ridiculous! The world's already withered—how could such monsters still exist?"
"Then what's that in front of you?! You can feel this power, this pressure—do you think mere illusion could cause it?!"
-----------------------------------
The mages of Ban Ard broke into hushed but fierce argument.
Fear had stripped them of their usual calm and composure.
Dragons were unlike any other creature—they were living embodiments of magical power, and once, many times, they had ruled the Continent.
And the black dragon—was the most unique among them.
In the oldest prophecies, they were the claws of the White Frost, the natural enemies of all living things—including dragons themselves—the destroyers of worlds.
In the past, they might have longed to witness such beings of divine might. But now…
Now that a black dragon had truly appeared before them, pure terror gripped their hearts—they wanted only to run.
"Silence!"
Sunny hissed, lowering his voice, gesturing sharply for them to move. He crept along the shadows of the ruined buildings, preparing to flee.
But the next second—
An overwhelming, focused pressure slammed down on them. Sunny froze in place, instinctively turning his head.
"ROAR——!"
The dragon let out its first furious cry upon descending into the world.
Its crimson pupils narrowed.
The black reaper had chosen its prey.
...
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