The tide of the battle was shifting.
Everdawn's defenders were fighting fiercely, their determination turning them into a formidable force against the Blacktroops.
Yet, despite their courage, the Blacktroops still held the upper hand.
The clash continued without rest. The Everdawn soldiers were exhausted — their arms trembling, breath heavy — while the Blacktroops fought as though tireless, their dark energy never fading.
And worse still, there seemed to be no end to the Dark Entities. From newly appearing magic circles, more of the black-armored horrors emerged, flooding the battlefield like a nightmare that refused to end.
In front of the Magic Association Tower,
The chief, the advisor and the commander of the Elite Guards, and every remaining soldier were putting up a desperate stand. Their blades gleamed, striking down entities and monsters one after another.
"There's no point in sending these little creatures at us! Why don't you come yourself?" the commander shouted toward Lacey.
Lacey's lips curved into a wicked smirk. The commander froze for a second — something about that smile felt wrong.
Then—
Boom.
A thunderous explosion ripped through the air.
Everyone turned toward the sound. Smoke billowed upward — and when it cleared, they saw the remains of two guards, their bodies torn apart, scattered in a bloody crater.
Before anyone could react, another explosion erupted —from a Shadowfang that had been stabbed moments earlier.
"What… what's happening?!" the Chief shouted, his voice shaking with disbelief.
One by one, more monsters — Shadowfangs, Iktomis, Stromclaws — began to detonate. The ground trembled as a chain of explosions engulfed the battlefield, tearing through the ranks of the guards. In a matter of seconds, nearly half of them were dead, their screams echoing in the chaos.
"Don't kill the monsters!" the Chief ordered desperately.
"If you don't kill them…" Lacey's voice rang out, mocking and sweet, "…they'll kill you."
Her laughter echoed as the monsters, half-dead but still moving, lunged forward once more.
The guards tried to hold their ground, pushing the monsters back instead of finishing them off, but it was useless, they kept coming back.
"We're… in a bad situation," the commander muttered, gripping his sword tighter, watching his men fall one by one.
At Aize's Side…
The ground was soaked with blood. The bodies of guards and elite warriors lay scattered — some missing limbs, others beheaded, their lifeless eyes staring into the void. Aize stood among them, his blade dripping red, his expression calm yet menacing.
Across from him, a lone swordsman from Everdawn struggled to stand. Their blades clashed — steel against steel — echoing through the ruined street.
"Is this all you've got?" Aize sneered, pressing forward.
The swordsman's breath was ragged, sweat and blood mixing on his face.
"Where's that Everdawn spirit everyone talks about?" Aize mocked, slamming his blade down. The impact sent the swordsman flying into a nearby building, crashing through the stone wall.
Injured mages and swordsmen nearby tried to rise, trembling, their bodies refusing to move. Around them, the dark entities they had slain moments ago began to rise again, shadows reforming with eerie whispers.
"It looks like… this is the end for us," one of the wounded men murmured, letting his sword fall. His voice carried defeat.
Aize was walking slowly towards him.
Then—
"A true swordsman never yields." A voice came to them.
That voice — steady, sharp, filled with power — made Aize turn. A figure approached, walking through the smoke and rubble. His mana radiated so strongly that the air itself trembled.
"Drelvan," Aize muttered, his smirk fading.
"It took you long enough," the wounded swordsman whispered with a faint smile before losing consciousness.
"How did you escape?" Aize demanded.
"I'm Drelvan," the man said, his tone confident, calm, and filled with pride. "The greatest magic swordsman in existence."
"Did you heard clearly what I asked?" Aize said to Drelvan, remembering he has hearing problem.
"Did that brat free them?" Aize thought, his eyes narrowing. "Impossible. Master Dareth's spell can't be broken that easily…"
"Let's end this like swordsman," Drelvan said, drawing his blade, the wind swirling around him.
Aize grinned. "You think you're the greatest swordsman? I'll show you what true swordsmanship looks like."
At Gluth's Side…
The streets trembled under Gluth's heavy steps. Guards tried to retreat, their hands shaking as they pointed their spears toward him. Dozens of soldiers already lay sprawled along his path — some still alive but paralyzed, drained of mana, drained of strength.
"Don't let him get any closer!" a guard shouted desperately.
Gluth smirked, his monstrous eyes gleaming. "Oh, come on… don't make me chase you. I'm starving."
Two guards charged at him. Gluth caught their swords with his bare hands and grinned as he absorbed their mana. Their bodies went limp instantly, collapsing like puppets with cut strings.
"I'm hungry," Gluth said in a low, guttural tone. "Why don't you let me have a feast… on you?"
"Enough."
The voice was calm — but powerful.
Gluth froze. His grin vanished as he turned his head slowly. Standing before him was Liraeth, her presence radiating pure mana like a storm about to break.
"Well, well…" Gluth said, eyes widening. "I see a delicious meal standing right in front of me."
With a feral grin, he lunged toward her.
At Omiria's Side…
The battlefield was quiet now — unnaturally quiet. Omiria sat casually among the corpses she had just created, the edge of her blade glinting crimson in the sunlight. She hummed softly, wiping the blood from her knife with a torn piece of an elite guard's cloak.
"What a disgraceful scene," a calm voice said from the distance.
Omiria looked up and saw Selvana standing a few feet away, her golden aura faintly shimmering.
"You made me wait for too long" Omiria said, smiling wickedly.
"Were you waiting for me?" Selvana asked coldly.
"The moment I saw you, I knew you were different," Omiria replied, standing up and spinning her blade. "I've been itching to fight you."
Her grin widened. "Did that boy free you?"
For a moment, Selvana's expression faltered — a flash of concern breaking through her calm composure.
Omiria noticed immediately. "Judging by that look… something must've happened to him, huh?" she teased. "You're thinking about finishing this fast so you can go help that boy."
Selvana's eyes narrowed.
"Too bad," Omiria laughed darkly, stepping closer. "You won't get rid of me that easily."
At Dareth's side…
Dareth sat upon the dark throne, surrounded by towering dark entities that guarded him like shadows made flesh. His father's lifeless body lay beside him, blood still glistening faintly under the dim crimson light of his mana.
Footsteps echoed across the broken ground.
Zorayel walked toward Dareth — his eyes burning with fury, his face cold and merciless. Every step he took felt heavier, fueled by anger and grief.
As Zorayel approached, the dark entities stepped forward, blocking his path.
Dareth flicked his finger to the side. The creatures obeyed instantly, drifting away like smoke.
Now there was nothing between them — just silence.
Zorayel's eyes fell upon his master's body. He said nothing. His lips trembled, his fists clenched, but no sound came out. All the memories — every lesson, every moment of pride, every smile from his master — flashed before his eyes like fragments of a broken dream.
After a long silence, Zorayel finally spoke in a low, trembling voice:
"Secret Art: Divine Staff."
A brilliant light formed in his hand. From that light, a magnificent staff appeared — glowing with gold and azure runes.
Dareth's eyes widened in disbelief.
That staff… was identical to his father's.
The Divine Staff — one of the three legendary staffs said to be summonable only by the most gifted mages in history. Ordinary mages could only dream of touching its power.
"How… how can you summon that?" Dareth muttered under his breath.
Without a word, Zorayel absorbed the staff into his body. His aura burst out, shaking the ground. Dareth realized in that moment — he had underestimated him.
Dareth rose from his throne, his crimson eyes glowing brighter.
The air between them turned heavy — a storm of mana and hatred swirling around.
A battle between two of the most powerful mages in the world was about to begin.
A few minutes earlier…
"Demon Art: Devil's Gravity!"
Arcane's voice thundered as a dark pulse spread from his hand. The spell crushed hundreds of dark entities to the ground, pinning them under a heavy invisible force. They screeched and writhed, unable to move.
"There's too many of them," Arcane muttered, panting. He sprinted through the ruined streets, surrounded on all sides by endless dark entities.
"I can't use my powers carelessly or it'll expose my identity" he thought, gritting his teeth. He punched through another entity, its body dissolving into smoke.
The town was in ruins — buildings shattered, fire spreading through the streets, and the air filled with screams. The corpses of townspeople, pets, monsters, and even Blacktroop members littered the ground.
"There's no end to them," Arcane said under his breath, frustration and sorrow mixing in his voice. "If we want this madness to stop… we have to kill the caster."
He glanced toward the center of the chaos — where Dareth's power pulsed like a black sun.
"We're counting on you, Zorayel," Arcane said quietly.
He stopped for a moment, breathing heavily. "And that idiot Aeron…" he clenched his fist. "You better be alive."
He turned his gaze toward the burning horizon. "Allesio… We're counting on you. Bring him back."