The air in the chamber was thick with smoke and the metallic tang of blood. Paul's hands trembled slightly as he clutched the glowing fragment—its pulsating rhythm mimicking the frantic beat of his heart. Across from him, Kaela leaned against the crumbling wall, her face pale, breathing ragged. Both bore wounds from the harrowing battle that had just ended.
"We got it," Kaela murmured, her voice strained. "Let's get out of here before—"
The atmosphere shifted.
A crushing stillness descended upon the room like a sudden storm. Paul's breath caught in his throat. An unnatural pressure pressed against his chest, as though the dungeon itself were holding its breath.
Then—footsteps.
Measured, deliberate, echoing with authority and confidence. Not the hurried scuttle of another monster, nor the reckless charge of a reckless warrior. These steps belonged to someone who had no fear.
Paul turned toward the chamber's entrance. His eyes narrowed. He recognized that rhythm.
"No…" Kaela whispered, her voice barely audible. She took a step back instinctively, clutching her staff.
From the shadows emerged a man clad in armor that gleamed despite the soot and grime of the dungeon. Silver plates reflected the glow of molten rivers, etched with golden symbols that seemed to pulse faintly with divine energy. A snow-white cape billowed behind him, unstained by the filth of the underworld. His blade rested elegantly at his side—curved, ceremonial, yet radiating lethal intent.
"Ardyn," Paul said through gritted teeth. "The Sword Saint."
Kaela's face was pale. "One of the Five Heroes… What's he doing here?"
Ardyn's steel-gray eyes scanned the room before settling on them. He gave a small nod, polite but cold. "So the two of you survived. I suppose I should have expected no less."
Paul took a cautious step forward, keeping his blade ready. "Why are you here?"
"I've been observing your journey," Ardyn said. His voice was refined, deliberate. "You've overcome formidable obstacles. You've earned my attention—and my respect." His eyes flicked to the fragment in Paul's hand. "And you've found another piece of the key."
"Key to what?" Kaela asked, feigning ignorance.
"The rebirth of this broken world," Ardyn said. He took a few steps into the room. "The world we know is a shattered relic of what once was. Ravaged by gods, demon lords, and humanity's own arrogance. But the fragments you now possess—those were once part of a divine core. With them, I can rebuild everything."
"You mean rule everything," Paul said, his voice sharp.
"No," Ardyn replied, unbothered. "I mean correct it. There will be no more pointless war. No more tyrants. No more famine or monsters. A new world, with laws shaped not by bloodlines or chaos, but by reason—and strength."
"You're not a savior," Kaela said bitterly. "You're a tyrant with a prettier speech."
Ardyn turned his gaze to Paul. "You've seen firsthand the suffering this world inflicts. I offer you a chance to fix it. Stand by my side, and together we can reshape reality into something worthy."
Paul gripped his sword tighter. "If you really believed that, you'd destroy the fragments—not collect them like trophies."
Ardyn sighed. "It's a shame. I thought you might understand."
He raised his hand.
From the tunnel behind him, dozens of armored soldiers poured into the chamber, each bearing the crest of a sun split in half. Their armor gleamed with discipline, their faces hidden behind emotionless helms.
Kaela raised her staff. "Here we go."
Paul didn't wait. He charged.
Steel met steel in a violent clash. Paul carved through the first line of soldiers, his movements precise, brutal, honed by countless battles. Sparks danced through the air with every blow. Kaela unleashed wave after wave of arcane energy—searing flames, binding frost, bolts of raw force. Her spells burned across the chamber like divine wrath.
The Sword Saint's men fought like a single organism—each covering the other, attacking in formation. But Paul and Kaela were relentless. Together, they moved with deadly efficiency.
A spear nearly pierced Kaela's side, but Paul was there, parrying it away and countering with a crushing backhand that shattered the attacker's helm. A sword grazed Paul's ribs, drawing blood—but he didn't flinch. Kaela's magic surged, creating a barrier that shielded them both as she gathered energy for a massive counterspell.
"Arcane Tempest!" she shouted.
A storm of spectral blades exploded outward, shredding the enemy ranks. Armor cracked, and bodies fell.
Silence.
The last of Ardyn's soldiers collapsed to the ground, smoke rising from their scorched armor.
Paul staggered slightly, his chest heaving. Blood dripped from a gash along his arm. Kaela clutched her side, clearly drained, but still standing.
"Well done," Ardyn said.
He stepped forward, unbothered, drawing his sword with a whisper of metal. It shimmered with holy energy, resonating like a tuning fork struck by divine will.
"Now," he said, "let us see what you've truly learned."
He vanished.
Paul barely raised his blade in time. The impact rang like thunder, and the force of the blow hurled him across the room. He rolled, coughed blood, and sprang to his feet.
Ardyn was already upon him.
Blades clashed in a brilliant display of speed and precision. Ardyn was faster, stronger, and terrifyingly efficient. Every movement was surgical, every strike carrying the weight of centuries of training.
Paul fought back with everything he had. He channeled lightning through his sword, fire through his limbs. He cast speed buffs, enhanced his strength—but it wasn't enough. Ardyn countered everything with maddening grace.
Kaela joined the fight, launching spell after spell—but Ardyn parried them mid-cast, his sword singing through the air like a conductor's baton dismissing a tune.
Paul was slowing. His breath came in ragged gasps, his strikes growing sloppy.
Then—a flash of silver.
Ardyn's blade shattered Paul's guard, slicing into his shoulder and sending him sprawling to the stone floor. His sword clattered away.
He looked up, dazed and bleeding.
Ardyn approached, calm and composed, his blade raised.
"A waste," he said. "You had such potential."
Paul closed his eyes. He didn't have the strength to rise.
Then—light.
A radiant pulse swept across the room, casting away the darkness. Time seemed to slow, and the air shimmered like a dream.
From above, a small figure descended—a fairy.
She glowed like a fallen star. Her wings shimmered in hues of soft lavender and silver. Her eyes were ancient, filled with sorrow and wisdom.
Paul's eyes widened. "A… fairy?"
The fairy didn't speak. She raised one hand. A glowing sigil flared to life beneath Paul and Kaela, forming a protective circle of arcane symbols.
Ardyn lunged. "No—!"
The spell activated.
Light exploded outward, engulfing Paul and Kaela. The sensation was warm, like being lifted in the arms of something both kind and powerful.
And then—they vanished.
The light faded.
Ardyn stood alone in the ruined chamber. His blade hung at his side, humming with restrained power.
He stared at the place where they had disappeared, his expression unreadable.
Then he turned, cape flowing behind him, and walked away without a word.