On the deck of the alchemical airship, Grantham stood silent and unmoving. The sky above him churned with unnatural clouds. Before him floated the summoned shadow of the most feared man in history—Gilgamesh, the Hero King.
> "As expected... even his specter stands at the edge of the Seventh Level."
He exhaled, his breath slow and steady.
> "The airship is no longer enough. It's time I step in—personally."
Until this moment, he had let his invention do the fighting—ten thousand Slimes, pumping tirelessly at their bellows, turning kinetic force into spiritual power. The ship's circuits glowed with magical energy, casting spells of the Sixth Level with industrial precision.
Ten thousand lowly Slimes had matched the Empress of Death.
Such was the potential of alchemical technology.
Such was the weight of his genius.
> "But now—"
He leapt from the ship, descending into open air, staff in hand, shield aglow.
> "Witness this world's evolution. Magic fused with steel. Sorcery reborn through science."
He laughed, not out of joy, but from the overwhelming weight of accomplishment.
> "I can't stream this moment, but I'll capture it in memory. Ninety years of preparation… and now I stand alone at the summit. This world? Conquered."
Dark sigils crawled over his shield. Light gathered on the tip of his staff. He raised it high.
> "There is no such thing as immortality. Not for gods. Not for heroes. Even if you're dead—I can end you."
Below, the onlookers grew pale. They had seen this magic once before.
Circe's Final Art: The Goal of All Life is Death.
He roared the spell's name.
Behind him, a monstrous mask surfaced from a writhing pool of slime. Black steam hissed from its pores, thick and suffocating, blood-colored and slow.
Boom.
The air shuddered. Crimson mist coiled into a solid wave of power, colliding with Gilgamesh's descending blade.
The very sky twisted.
A great vortex tore into the heavens.
And then—silence.
When it cleared, Gilgamesh was gone.
The sky was clear. The clouds obliterated.
> "Is that… still human power?"
No one could answer.
The King of Heroes—gone in an instant.
---
Above the battlefield, Medusa trembled.
Her lips parted.
> "That… that was everything I had."
Her voice was a whisper of disbelief.
> "Even if that was only one-tenth of Gilgamesh's true might… not even I could survive it. And he—he crushed it with someone else's spell…"
She trembled, eyes wide, limbs weak.
> "How… How can I ever defeat a monster like this?"
For the first time in three centuries, the Empress of Death tasted fear.
She had always been supreme—invincible, unmatched. But now? Her arrogance collapsed under the weight of something far greater.
Her pride cracked. Her mask shattered.
Tears welled in her eyes, unbidden.
> "Is this what fear feels like?"
> "Is this… what it means to face death?"
She hovered, shivering.
> "Such terrible power… enough to snuff out all hope, to crush the will. I am Medusa. I am death incarnate. I am… I am—"
> "MOVE!!" she screamed, voice hoarse, broken.
Tears fell in torrents.
> "You will not stop me! Gate that bars my path—I command you to OPEN!!"
BOOM!
The heavens shook.
The world responded.
A massive force surged from within her—long buried, now finally awakened.
The skies churned.
Grantham narrowed his eyes.
The Rose Witches looked up in horror.
The people of Babylon began to scream.
> "Stop her!"
> "It's too late—"
Medusa rose higher, arms spread wide.
Behind her bloomed a blood-red rose, its petals massive, its aura suffocating. Her magic surged—twofold, fivefold, tenfold. It did not stop.
She was breaking through.
The Seventh Level.
The realm of myths. A domain the Three Witches never reached. A height touched only by Gilgamesh.
She was there.
At last.
She stood motionless in the sky, breathing heavily, her face flushed with disbelief. Then slowly, she turned to Grantham.
> "You've given me this gift."
Her voice was calm. Too calm.
> "Though I command death, I have never once felt it. Never once feared it. But because of you, I understand it now."
She smiled.
> "For that, I will spare your life. You will be my consort. Together, we will rule this world."
She approached him, gently taking his hand.
> "You can rule Babylon. Just continue supplying us with men."
Grantham blinked.
> "...What did you just say?"
Medusa chuckled softly.
> "Still dreaming of resistance? I'm seventeen times stronger now. You can't—"
> "Only seventeen?" he asked, expression disappointed.
She froze.
BOOM!
She leapt back instinctively.
> "Flower of Death!!"
An enormous crimson force tore through the sky, rushing toward him.
Grantham calmly raised his staff.
> "Guardian of Spring."
A sound like glass shattering echoed across the mountains.
The rose exploded.
Medusa was hurled backward, blood spilling from her lips.
Grantham exhaled slowly.
> "I was cautious because I thought you had reached the Seventh Level long ago. Turns out you just broke through moments ago—on the edge of death."
---
Everywhere, eyes widened.
The Rose Kingdom's throne room stood frozen in silence.
In the streets, witches and mages stood like statues.
> "She's been defeated…"
> "Just like that…"
> "He didn't even fight her before… only the ship did."
> "Now that he's lifted his own hand—"
> "That's not a man… that's a god."
Medusa's entire body shook.
> "You're lying. Your aura—it's Sixth Level. And yet you… you fight as if you're beyond even me…"
Grantham stepped forward.
> "This is alchemy. A science of design. A craft of mastery. The great Creator once said: The ability to wield tools is the hallmark of intelligence."
He reached out and gently helped her up.
> "Would you like to learn? I can teach you."
Medusa jerked away.
> "You're insane…"
---
From that day, a new chapter was etched into The Spear of Witchcraft:
> Year 398, Kingdom of Babylon. Grantham—the Emperor of Alchemy and Master of the Gate of Truth—emerged from the shadows. In a single strike, he crushed Empress Medusa, shaking the foundations of the world.
---
Far away, in a quiet orchard...
Ethan sat beneath a tree, biting into a crisp apple. His eyes lingered on the floating sandbox in the distance.
> "Ninety years in there... nearly a full day out here. And the guy finally handles it."
He sighed.
> "But really… what a leech. One woman after another. First the seven little witches, then Lilith. Always hiding, waiting until no one else could stand against him before making his grand entrance."
> "Shameless."
He shook his head, utterly speechless.
> "Could've won at Level Five, even before breaking through. Instead, he hides behind a giant robot until the last possible second. Even now, he's holding back in case someone else shows up."
He chuckled bitterly.
> "Coward."
Ethan bit into the apple again.
> "But I have to admit... it worked."