Two years had passed. Much had changed.
Isla finally emerged from his long isolation.
Having fused the Elder Dragon Heart and Demon Heart, he was no longer the man he once was. He had ascended—both in power and in detachment. Now a 5-star Aura Master, he strolled through his snow-laden garden with no shoes, no shirt, and eyes like frozen coals, as if reborn from the harshest elements.
The Hollows, his silent and ever-loyal guard, stood watch in the distance. It was winter, and the garden, buried under fresh snow, still bloomed with white lilies — a result of Isla's altered mana aura seeping into the ground.
His long hair cascaded over his shoulders, brushing against his scarred chest. Enlightenment had changed him, but not softened him.
From the side, Arman approached quietly, a heavy black cloak folded in his arms.
He offered it without ceremony, nodding once.
"Congratulations," he said. "On becoming a 5-star Aura Master."
Isla gave only a thin grin as he took the cloak and draped it over himself.
"Where is Lucas?" he asked, his voice low and cold.
"Still training in the northern reaches," Arman replied.
Without another word, Isla vanished, his presence dissipating like smoke.
Deep beneath Dracia — in the World's darkest prison
A man sat shackled in a cell, his hair unkempt, eyes wild, body reeking of neglect and madness. It was Roderick, once the proud King of Valte. Now, nothing more than a whisper of authority, forgotten by history and abandoned by allies.
The torches flickered—and then died.
Silence swept the corridor.
Roderick, ever perceptive even in madness, sat up.
A chill ran down his spine. He felt it.
Him.
And in the blink of an eye, Isla appeared.
Unshaken. Unchanged. Except now, the air around him seemed to hum with a presence darker and older than anything Roderick had felt before.
The fallen king chuckled.
"So… You've come for revenge?" he rasped.
Isla's eyes remained fixed, cold.
"Where is Teslon?"
Roderick exhaled, letting out a bitter laugh. "How would I know? He was never my ally. I only used his daughter to control him. Not that it matters anymore. He's likely figured out she's long dead."
Still, Isla remained quiet. Calculating.
Roderick's tone sharpened. "Are you here to kill me?"
Then he screamed.
"You DARE?! You dare raise your sword against me, The King of Valte! The rightful ruler of this world!"
Isla unsheathed his blade.
"You are no king," he said calmly. "Valte is nothing more than dead land. And when I become Emperor… I'll erase even your ashes from this earth."
Roderick shouted, calling for the guards.
But none came.
He was alone. Forgotten. Powerless.
A madman laughed from a nearby cell. "Long live the King of Nothing!"
And with a single slash, Isla beheaded him.
The next morning, Roderick's severed head was found impaled on a black pike in the ruined capital of Valte.
A message burned beneath it in the snow:
"No kings remain."