Axcel swung his sword with a deadly intent, the aura around him sharp and suffocating, aimed directly at her.
But she was ready. Calm, precise, and unyielding, she met his strike with a clang of steel. The sound rang across the battlefield, echoing like a bell tolling doom. Her movements were fluid, almost serene, yet every strike carried the weight of lethal precision. One hand moved with elegance, the other with ruthless force—beauty and danger intertwined.
Ryuji joined the fray, his blade slicing through the rain. Together, they pressed him—two against one. The Plum Blossom Sword Style flowed through their attacks, swift and beautiful, leaving multiple scratches across Axcel's body. Yet none were deep enough to pierce his core.
The battlefield erupted further as more warriors arrived, swelling their numbers. Fifteen humans now surrounded him, swords and spears gleaming under the stormy sky.
Axcel's laughter cut through the chaos, wild and unrestrained. "MOREEE!"
For the first time in fifty years, a spark of joy ignited within him. The battle that should have been torture felt… exhilarating.
His sword danced like a shadow, striking, blocking, and retreating in perfect rhythm. His Demonic Eyes—the fabled Nirvana Eyes—read every movement, every intention. He knew where every sword would strike before it left the wielder's hand. With every swing, he pushed back his attackers, an unstoppable force amidst a storm of steel.
Yet, even as he moved with terrifying grace, the cost became clear. Stamina bled away faster than he expected. Sweat poured down his face, and each breath came heavier than the last.
The rain fell harder, soaking his robe, mixing with blood and mud. The fight had not been a mere minute—it had raged on for hours. Five hours of relentless combat, and Axcel still stood, his eyes burning with an exhilaration only a true predator could feel.
"What kind of monster is he…?" someone gasped, voice trembling. "It's already been an hour and we've barely scratched him. What kind of talent is this…?"
But talent was the least of their worries.
From the original fifteen, only twelve remained. Half were exhausted to the point of collapse—broken bones, crimson wounds, qi exhaustion—and the other half stood on the brink of death, holding on through sheer will alone.
Axcel, meanwhile, moved as if the battle were merely an inconvenience. His breathing steady. His eyes calm. His steps unhurried.
Then he reached inside his robe.
A small red marble glistened in his hand—ominous, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat.
Yuna's eyes widened. Her voice cracked.
"No—don't. Don't you dare eat that!"
She launched forward, Plum Blossom Footwork exploding beneath her feet, but she was already too late.
Axcel swallowed the marble.
And the world trembled.
An overwhelming death qi erupted from his body, far denser, far darker, far more violent than before. His muscles swelled, his veins bulged with corrupted power, and his height grew by several inches. His very presence bent the air, as though reality itself feared him.
Axcel exhaled slowly.
"Finally… true power. This is how it should feel."
He vanished.
He reappeared directly in front of the group, and a head flew into the air—cleanly severed.
Screams erupted.
Another blink—another head flew.
Within two seconds, four bodies hit the ground, headless.
Blood rained.
But then—
Clang—!
Something struck him. Something sharp and swift. Axcel blinked, shocked to feel his wrist soar into the air—his hand had been severed.
Not from the front.
From behind.
"…What?" Axcel turned, eyes narrowing. "Another one? Who—?"
A woman stood there, robes fluttering, aura oppressive yet elegant.
The Demonic Empress. His second-in-command. His shadow. His knife.
"You…" Axcel muttered, stunned by her sudden betrayal.
But before he could move, someone else appeared—flames dancing like a solar storm.
A blazing sword sliced across his chest.
"Hanju…?"
His right-hand man. The Fire Blaze Sword. The one who once vowed to follow him to death.
The slash cracked through flesh and bone, sending Axcel skidding back several meters. The cut was deep—far deeper than anything he had received in the battle so far.
Axcel stared at them, eyes darkening.
"A traitor… I never expected this from you, Hanju," he said, voice low and cold. "I won't ask why. Betrayal has no reason. But I'll make sure—"
His sentence died in his throat.
Because dozens of shadows emerged behind Hanju and the Empress.
Figures stepped forward—one by one.
The Six Demonic Kings. His elites. His monsters.
And opposite them, the Four Heavenly Kings of the Orthodox Faction—the strongest pillars of the righteous world.
Axcel's expression twisted—not in anger.
But in amusement.
And confusion.
"Ehh…?" he tilted his head slowly. "What exactly… is the meaning of this?"