The winds of the Cardinal World had changed.
It wasn't just the weather—it was the air itself.
Everyone could feel it. The battle with Saphielle had left a mark on every ruler, every warrior, every champion.
The powerful had survived… but they had not come out unscathed.
On the frozen cliffs of the Ice Continent, the wind howled like a thousand wolves. Snow spiraled through the air, clinging to the dark coat of a man whose crimson eyes glowed with frustration.
Guy Crimson stood in the middle of a shattered battlefield of his own making. Pillars of black ice jutted from the ground, each one scarred by blade marks, explosions, and scorch burns. The ground beneath him was nothing but cracked, frozen earth.
His chest rose and fell slowly. The magicules swirling around him were enough to crush a lesser demon to dust… yet Guy's expression was one of irritation.
"Tch… still not enough." His breath fogged in the icy air. "This is child's play now. I've crossed into the realm of a Transcendent Demon, and yet…
I'm only scratching the surface."
He summoned another spear of black ice, crushed it in his hand, and let the shards scatter into the wind.
Deep down, he already knew.
If he wanted to push beyond this plateau, there was only one place to do it.
His eyes narrowed. "…The Storm Kingdom. Veldora."
In the grand war hall of the Eastern Empire, chaos reigned. Soldiers shouted, couriers ran with urgent messages, and generals pored over maps with strained expressions.
The golden-armored Emperor Rudra strode down the hall, his cape billowing, his eyes sharp and unyielding. Beside him, his trusted generals trailed, muttering about the strange disappearance of their divine dragon guardian.
Then, without warning, the massive doors swung open.
Velgrynd walked in.
Her fiery red hair swayed with every step, her golden eyes glowing faintly. The room froze—the tension so thick it could be cut with a blade.
Rudra's voice thundered across the hall. "Velgrynd!"
In a flash, he was in front of her. "Where have you been? The day you vanished, the Empire nearly collapsed into panic! What happened?!"
Velgrynd exhaled slowly. "It's… a long story."
They moved to a private chamber, just Rudra, Velgrynd, and his closest generals.
There, she told them everything—how Saphielle had appeared, how the orbs had forcefully teleported her, how overwhelming the enemy's strength had been.
She also told them about Veldora's warning.
"He said Saphielle was not the last," Velgrynd finished, her tone serious. "More will come—stronger than her. And when they do, I will not be caught unprepared again. I'm going to train. Harder than I ever have."
One general frowned. "Train? You're already—"
"—Not enough." Velgrynd's eyes burned like the sun. "If the Storm King says the next wave will be worse, I believe him."
Rudra leaned back in his chair, silent for a moment. Then he smirked faintly. "Very well. Go. Train until even the gods tremble when they hear your name."
Far away, in the dragon-scorched valleys of the Forgotten Dragon Kingdom, Milim Nava was a blur of motion.
She darted between collapsing mountains and roaring rivers of molten rock, smashing boulders to dust with her bare fists, sending shockwaves through the earth with every step. Her hair whipped wildly as she grinned, panting in exhilaration.
"Haa! Haa! Stronger, stronger, STRONGER!"
Servants watching from a safe distance could only shake their heads. She hadn't stopped training since she returned from the battle. Her childish enthusiasm was now paired with an almost frightening determination.
Even her dragon companion Midray had to stop her occasionally just to make sure she remembered to eat.
"Lady Milim, maybe rest for a—"
"NO! Rest is for weaklings!" she yelled, smashing another mountain into rubble.
The sun blazed mercilessly over the cracked earth of the Barren Lands.
Draguel stood in the middle of a massive dust storm, his golden armor gleaming despite the grit in the air. His massive fists slammed into boulders, shattering them into sand, each blow sending tremors across the land.
Beside him, a much less enthusiastic figure was reluctantly throwing lazy punches.
"Dino…" Draguel's voice was a low growl. "Put your back into it."
"Ughhh… I'm not built for this kind of—"
Draguel grabbed him by the collar and threw him at a rock formation. Dino yelped before smashing through it.
"You will train," Draguel said, cracking his knuckles. "Because when the next battle comes, I'm not dragging your corpse back."
"Fine, fine!" Dino grumbled, brushing sand off his coat. "…But I'm still taking a nap after this."
In the beast kingdom of Eurazania, Carrion trained like a predator preparing for the hunt. The sound of steel clashing against steel rang through the royal arena as he sparred against ten of his strongest generals at once.
Sweat glistened on his brow, but his eyes were sharp and unyielding. His mane of golden hair clung to his face as he deflected blow after blow, each counterattack knocking opponents to the ground.
"Again!" he roared, not allowing them a moment's rest.
The generals exchanged nervous glances but obeyed.
Carrion's thoughts were crystal clear: I will not be the weak link when the next war comes.
High in the cloud-piercing towers of the Harpy Kingdom, Frey trained with silent, graceful precision.
Every movement of her spear sliced the air with deadly accuracy. Her wings flexed, testing their strength against powerful wind currents generated by her own magic.
She did not smile, did not speak—only moved.
When one of her attendants approached to ask if she needed a break, she shook her head without looking.
"Not until my strikes feel effortless. Not until my speed leaves even light behind."
In the great cathedral of Ruberios, stained glass windows cast rainbows of light on the marble floor where Luminous Valentine stood. Her silver hair flowed behind her as she wielded her rapier in a dance of precision and grace.
Hinata watched from the steps, arms crossed.
"You've been at this for hours."
"And I'll continue for hours more," Luminous replied without stopping. "Saphielle reminded me that I've been too complacent. That ends now."
In the golden city of Sarion, Leon Cromwell stood opposite Empress Elmesia on the dueling grounds. The sun caught on his gleaming sword, while her magic circled her in a swirl of violet light.
"Ready?" Leon asked, smirking.
Elmesia smirked back. "I was born ready."
They clashed, magic and steel sparking against each other in a dazzling display that could be seen from the palace walls. Neither held back—both rulers knew that in the next war, hesitation meant death.
The world was sharpening itself like a thousand blades.
When the next storm came, the Cardinal World would be ready… or it would be destroyed trying.