Castrum Kremnos - Old City Ruins, Frontline.
The horizon was swallowed by a seething, writhing mass of Black Tide entities. Like a filthy tidal wave, they endlessly battered against the crumbling defensive line.
And then—
A shriek that tore through the heavens abruptly crushed all other battlefield noise!
It was a streak of light, moving faster than the eye could capture, carrying unparalleled destructive energy. At a terrifying speed of one hundred Mach, it swept across the edge of the battlefield like a divine judgment!
*Whiiine—BOOM!!!!*
It was the Rod of God!
It did not fall directly into the densest concentration of monsters. Instead, with a miraculously precise angle and trajectory, it acted like the sharpest scalpel, "scraping" with surgical accuracy across the flank of the advancing Tide!
Where it passed, space itself seemed to tear and distort! Those snarling Black Tide creatures—whether massive beasts or swarming smaller units—had no time to struggle before this absolute speed and force.
They were instantly vaporized, shredded, disintegrated into primal particles, utterly annihilated! A brief, glaring blank zone was forcibly carved through the surging black tide!
Upon a relatively intact, ancient section of Castrum Kremnos's crumbling battlements.
Phaethon's figure stood there. The howling wind whipped at the hair on his forehead, revealing eyes beneath that were calm to the point of indifference. He had just remotely controlled that earth-shattering strike.
Behind him, the once-dead ruins of Castrum Kremnos had transformed into a vast, bustling construction site.
A great number of soldiers—both Okhema defenders and re-gathered Castrum warriors—were, under the command of officers, racing against time to build defensive works using the rubble.
Many robed scholars weaved among them, using various instruments to survey the terrain, calculate energy flow, and set up temporary protective sigil arrays.
Shouted orders, the clang of metal, and the chanting of spells intertwined into a peculiar symphony.
"Little Snowy," Tribbie appeared beside him at some point. Her small stature required her to crane her neck to see his profile. Her voice was full of worry. "Are you *really* okay? The 'Strife' trial only ended a few hours ago. Your mental load was so great, and now you rush to the battlefield and use your power so intensely..."
Hearing her, the ice in Phaethon's eyes quickly melted. He looked down, giving Tribbie a reassuring, firm smile. "Don't worry, Teacher Tribbie, I'm fine. Now is not the time for restful relaxation."
He paused, his tone turning serious. "It's the logistics and resource allocation that are the real tangled mess. I'll need to trouble you with overseeing that."
"Mhm!" Tribbie nodded vigorously, her little face instantly brightening. She waved a small fist. "Leave it to us, Little Snowy! *We*... haven't seen so many different people working together so united for the same goal in such a long, long time!"
Her excitement lasted only a moment. Her eyes suddenly dimmed again, tinged with a melancholy and sorrow spanning vast ages. Her voice lowered:
"If... if back then, everyone could have been united like this... would *we*... have ended up with only three of us left...?"
Phaethon was silent for a beat. He reached out and gently ruffled Tribbie's hair, his touch soft. His gaze returned to the busy figures below, his voice low and filled with emotion.
"I didn't expect so many to answer the call either."
"Not just the people of Okhema. Even the displaced people of Castrum Kremnos, scholars from The Grove, and almost all the priests from Janusopolis have stepped forward."
"It seems people's hearts have always known right from wrong in matters of great importance."
"The desire to survive, to protect one's home—these are the simplest truths."
"In the past, they were often just... manipulated by a few ambitious schemers with ulterior motives, or had their eyes clouded by lies and prejudice."
Tribbie nodded, seeming to understand somewhat, her mood apparently improving. She turned and skipped away to resume her busy work.
Once Tribbie was gone, the warmth on Phaethon's face faded rapidly, replaced once more by sternness.
A twisted, blurry, shadowy projection—visible only to him—coalesced beside him like a ghost.
The projection couldn't even face him directly. It stood sideways, speaking in a tone dripping with scorn and apathy, as if reciting a long-written verdict:
"How truly... laughably naïve, pathetically foolish. To dare attempt blocking the Black Tide—the world's source code, the ultimate destination—with the strength of ants?"
"Asterion, the struggles of you and this rabble beneath your feet are nothing but a clumsy farce on the stage of the apocalypse."
"Even if the authorities of 'Earth' and 'Law' have fallen into your hands by chance, so what?"
"How long can you possibly delay this inevitable end of annihilation with them?"
"The Tide engulfing the world is already ordained. Not to mention..."
The projection's voice took on a malicious pleasure, "...I have *kindly* adjusted the Tide's spread rate to its maximum, just for you all. Enjoy this final, futile running. Heh..."
Phaethon didn't even turn his head fully. He merely glanced coldly at the blurry projection from the corner of his eye, the corner of his mouth lifting in a supremely mocking arc.
"Lygus, I must say, you're becoming more and more like those pathetic, ridiculous minor villains."
"Skulking around, doing a little bit of what you think is 'mischief,' and then you can't wait to jump into the spotlight, winking and chattering at the audience, desperately trying to prove your pitiful, despicable existence?"
His words were sharp as blades. "You're so pathetic you can't even muster a proper projection that can face me head-on?"
"What? Are your permissions too frozen? Or are you too guilty to even look me in the eye?"
"All you can do now is chirp powerlessly in my ear like a cricket hiding in a corner. What else can you do?"
Phaethon snorted in derision. "You can't even spit on me. Utterly useless, except for being disgusting. Save your breath."
He knew Lygus, suspended high in the heavens, would receive every word clearly.
The projection's fluctuations clearly hitched for a moment—someone evidently pricked on a sore spot—before rapidly switching to a new image. "Asterion! Has no one ever told you that your mouth is really—"
"Nope."
Phaethon cut him off without ceremony, simultaneously raising his hand with indifference and snapping his fingers with a crisp *click*.