"Mr. Edgarth… Ryan," Leo said with a smile that broke through his exhaustion.
"Give her the potion," Edgarth instructed, his tone clipped, leaving no room for hesitation.
Leo nodded quickly. He lifted Elna's head with care and poured the vial's contents into her mouth. The liquid shimmered faintly as it slid down her throat, and for a breathless second he thought it hadn't worked. Then her eyelids fluttered open, her blue eyes focusing weakly on him.
"Elna," Leo whispered in relief, his chest loosening for the first time.
"There's no time for sentiment," Edgarth cut in, adjusting his glasses with two fingers. His calm voice carried like steel across the battlefield. "Your other friend still needs help."
Leo's gaze darted to Briva. She was locked in a desperate struggle with the colossal green skeleton, her massive wooden form already streaked with black veins of corruption. Every swing of her arms scattered splinters as the poison spread deeper.
He tensed, ready to charge, but Ryan's firm hand pressed on his shoulder. "You'll need your strength for the Shadowland," Ryan said, his eyes gleaming with battle-readiness. "Leave this to us."
Before Leo could argue, the two men moved.
"I'll take the giant," Edgarth said evenly, his voice steady as if he were announcing the start of a lecture.
Ryan tilted his head toward the sky, where Arthur's light clashed against Aran's tide of death. His lips curved into a wolfish grin. "Then I'll save the golden boy." With that, he kicked off the ground, his form vanishing upward in a streak of speed.
A door appeared before Edgarth, glowing with quiet authority. He stepped into it without hesitation, and in the same heartbeat another door spiraled open high above the skeleton's skull. Edgarth emerged and hurled a vial straight down.
It shattered on impact. Blinding radiance erupted outward, swallowing the battlefield in white fire. The giant skeleton recoiled with a guttural screech, and when the light faded Briva's monstrous form was gone. She was limp in Edgarth's arms, her breathing faint but steady.
Another door snapped open beside Edgarth. He tossed her gently through it, and she landed safely in Leo's grasp from another door near him. Relief flooded him, though his arms trembled at the weight of what she had endured.
Then Edgarth turned back, standing alone before the towering abomination. The glow of his doors reflected in his glasses as he adjusted them. His posture was utterly calm, even though surrounded by ruin.
"So… am I to fight you now?" Hakan asked from within the giant skeleton, his hollow voice vibrating through the bones like an echo from the grave.
"You could say that," Edgarth replied.
The skeleton's massive hand swung forward, its claws tearing through the air like a guillotine. Just before impact, a door unfolded. The hand plunged through it, and then the door snapped shut. Far away, the severed limb fell uselessly to the ground, already turning to ash as it lost connection with the main body.
Hakan let out a low, humorless chuckle. "Interesting ability." His grin widened, green flames flickering brighter in his eyes.
Edgarth's voice was cold. "Didn't they teach you not to harm nature when you were a child? …It seems I'll have to give you a lesson myself."
The air grew heavy. Poison and rot pulsed from Hakan, while quiet, light gathered around Edgarth. The battlefield trembled as the two teachers prepared to clash.
…
Up in the sky, the clash of light and death raged. Though Arthur held the upper hand, every strike against Aran felt like trying to cut through fog, necromancers did not die easily.
Arthur steadied his breathing, his blade humming with radiance. He had just leapt back from the shockwave of their last exchange when a new presence slid into the battle.
"Hey," came a familiar, easygoing voice. "How's the Light Champion holding up?"
Arthur's golden eyes narrowed. "Ryan Alston Law. What are you doing here?" His tone was clipped, his guard still raised.
Ryan floated at his side with casual grace, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. He jerked a thumb downward toward the battlefield below. "That kid down there? He was once my student. What's wrong with a teacher lending a hand when his pupil's about to get swallowed by death?"
Arthur didn't relax. His gaze flicked between Ryan and Aran, whose skeletal fire-eyes flared with faint amusement at the interruption.
Ryan's grin sharpened. "Besides… you can kill him, Arthur. But you'd need to use your last sword."
Arthur's jaw tightened. His last sword was not something he wanted to use here. "…Do you have a better plan?"
"I do," Ryan said, his tone losing some of its playful lilt, replaced by steel. "I'll fight him. You go on ahead into the Shadowland. We'll catch up to you."
Arthur frowned. "He's an A2. And last I knew, you were only A1."
Ryan's grin widened, teeth flashing. "I was." His eyes glinted as mana flared around him.
Below, the land trembled. From the ground dozens of meters beneath, massive branches burst upward, twisting like living spears toward Aran. Their tips gleamed with faint runes, each strike heavy with raw force.
"Go!" Ryan shouted, his voice booming with authority.
Arthur's gaze lingered on Ryan for a few moments longer before he turned and streaked toward Leo. His heart clenched when he saw Briva limp in Leo's arms. He pushed himself faster, landing hard beside them.
"What happened? Is she all right?" His voice was sharper than he intended.
"Yes. Just drained," Leo answered quickly. "She used the magic item Count Errenor gave her."
Arthur lowered himself, his expression softening. He took Briva from Leo's arms with a gentleness that contrasted the battlefield chaos. Leaning close, he whispered a few words, and a cocoon of pale light wrapped around them both, easing her breathing.
"I'm sorry, Arthur," Leo said. "I got distracted for a second…"
Arthur shook his head. "Your enemy was A2 rank. Not getting hurt would've been impossible." His tone was calm and steady.
Rising with her in his arms, he glanced toward the distant clash of powers tearing the sky apart.
"What should we do?" Leo asked, his jaw set tight as he looked from Briva to Elna's pale form.
"We do as they said," Arthur replied. His golden aura flickered faintly against the encroaching dark. "We go into the Shadowland."
Leo didn't argue. He wasn't worried about his two teachers. If killing a necromancer was hard; killing an illusionist was a nightmare. He gathered Elna into his arms, her body still too weak to keep pace, and fell into step with Arthur.
Together they ran. The battlefield roared behind them, but they didn't look back. The black wall of shadow loomed ahead, pulsing like a living wound on the world. Normally, they would have tested a few things, probed for weaknesses, but time was gone, every heartbeat risked losing the chance given to them.
Then, with only a few more steps, the world shifted. The air grew heavy, the sounds of battle cut off like a door slamming shut. Light bled away until only darkness surrounded them.
They had crossed the threshold.
They had entered the Shadowland.
…
On a nameless island swallowed by jagged cliffs and barren rocks, a single tower clawed at the sky. No trees, no grass, not even soil softened the land, only black stone and the endless roar of waves battering the shore. The tower itself, built of weathered gray blocks, rose like the spine of some long-dead beast. It was a place few knew existed, prepared in secret by Nikolaus Graf as a refuge should the world ever turn against him.
Here he had hidden since the battle with Timon, the Nightforged Knight.
A monster of shadow, steel, and enchantment, Timon's art was not to cut flesh, but to carve into the soul. Nikolaus had endured the clash, but not without cost. The scar Timon left still burned within him, a wound no magic could mend. Timon had suffered wounds of his own, yet his body had remained largely whole. Nikolaus bore the heavier price: his body weakened, his spirit raked raw. Each step since the battle had been agony, and even within the safety of the tower, the pain clung to him like iron chains that refused to break.
Even so, the uncertainty gnawed at him. Alone in the black tower, with no word of allies or enemies, Nikolaus had nothing but silence and the ache in his soul. Each day dragged like a century, every hour heavy with the question, had their cause triumphed, or had everything fallen?
As he had done countless times before, Nikolaus sat at the highest chamber, in front of the vast arched window that looked out over the endless sea. The horizon stretched in steel-blue stillness, waves crashing far below. That sight, so vast, so eternal, offered him a measure of calm, as though the sea alone understood endurance.
But tonight was different.
A prickle ran down his spine, the unmistakable weight of a presence entering the world. Not physical, not shadow, but something ethereal, vast, and ancient. Instinctively, Nikolaus reached for his weapon. The Space Cutter materialized in his hand, its blade humming with azure light. The room dimmed in response, blue glow dancing across the stone walls.
Then he saw it. The world outside froze. The waves halted mid-crash, suspended droplets glittering in the air like glass beads. The clouds no longer drifted. Even the salt wind through the shattered shutters stilled. Time itself had been bound.
Nikolaus whispered a word and layers of protective wards shimmered faintly around him. His first thought was Timon, that the Nightforged Knight had found him. But then came the sound.
A shrill, piercing resonance, like a thousand bells shattering at once, filled every corner of the tower. The stones trembled beneath his feet. A light, searing and absolute, poured through the window, blinding in its purity.
And Nikolaus knew. This was no mortal. Not even a high rank's aura could weigh so heavily upon existence. This was divinity.
At once he dropped to one knee, head bowed. "I am honored by your presence."
The voice that answered was everywhere, within the walls, the sea, the silence itself. Cold, resounding, and eternal.
"Nikolaus, my loyal champion. Rise, and hear my command."
He obeyed, though his gaze stayed low, reverence etched into every line of his posture.
"Through your hand, the sinner Pope is dead," the voice declared, pausing like thunder after lightning.
For a fleeting moment, triumph curled Nikolaus's lips into a smile. But it faded the instant the next words fell.
"But my old enemy, the Goddess of Fate, has spent her final strength to seal me."
Nikolaus's jaw tightened. The air itself seemed to shudder. Yet his voice remained steady. "What is your command?"
"You shall go to the land without light. There, you will find his son. He must die."
Nikolaus breathed the name like a curse. "Arthur…"
The brilliance outside pulsed once, shaking the tower to its foundations.
"My light cannot pierce that abyss of shadow. You shall seek him yourself, and strike him down. Soon, the last shackles will splinter… and when they do, the world shall be drowned, bathed, and remade in my light."
And then the radiance faded. The sound collapsed into silence. Time lurched forward again, the waves crashed, the wind howled through the window, the sea resumed its restless motion.
Nikolaus stood still, breathing hard, as though awakening from a dream. Then he noticed, his soul no longer burned. The scar Timon had carved into him was gone, mended by the touch of divinity.
"Praise the God of Light," he whispered, closing his eyes. A tremor of awe passed through him.
When he opened them again, a smile curved his mouth, calm, cruel, certain. His voice rang through the empty tower, echoing against bare stone and out into the storm-tossed night.
"Arthur Caelum."