"Kill him!" the voice demanded once more.
Alberto unleashed his full power, space itself bending around him.
The night sky began shifting colors.
Ron instinctively stepped back—then felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Damn, you scared me!" Ron exhaled.
"You okay, Ron?" the old man asked.
"What the hell is happening?"
"The Black Sorcerer's giving him even more power," the old man said grimly.
"How do we stop him?"
"Let's kill him. Give me an opening," the old man said, drawing his sword.
Ron smirked. "Sure. The one thing I'm confident in… is my endurance."
He teleported in front of Alberto, kicking—but an invisible force blocked the strike and hurled him backward.
"Destroy that shield!" the old man shouted, slamming his sword into the ground. A ritual circle flared to life—white and black ashes spiraling from the blade.
Ron's eyes lit up. Lightning surged around him as he charged again, driving his sword toward Alberto's throat. The invisible shield stopped it—but Ron kept pushing.
His lightning shifted from blue to purple, then to blazing crimson, driving Alberto backward across the globe.
Mountains shattered. Volcanoes erupted. Tornadoes howled. Oceans raged and continents split apart beneath their clash.
From afar, the old man muttered, "A few more seconds… Alberto's body is still human. The Black Sorcerer's power will tear him apart. Once he overuses it, he'll have only a minute before he turns to dust."
Ron's eyes burned red; lightning turned blood-red around his blade. The shield began to crack.
Even the hidden dimension where the old man had evacuated the people started collapsing under Ron's unleashed power.
The screen they were watching through shattered, and everyone fell back into what once was the capital of the Recroun Empire.
"How—?" Ron heard the Black Sorcerer's shocked whisper.
With a final push, the shield shattered. Ron's sword pierced Alberto's heart. Alberto coughed blood.
The old man appeared behind him.
"This is the end… for the Black Sorcerer."
With one stroke, he severed Alberto's head.
The three of them crashed into the ruins of the capital.
Ron looked down at the lifeless body. He turned, sword in hand, left hand in his pocket. After a few steps, he stopped and looked back over his shoulder, to Alberto's head.
"You were strong," he said quietly.
Then—another memory struck Alberto.
That same dark night.
The dying man on the ground looked up to see a figure walking away—stance identical to Ron's.
Left hand in his pocket. Right hand holding a sword.
He stopped… turned slightly. His red eyes burned through the fog.
"You were strong."
He took a step—then paused.
"You were never meant to see this."
Alberto froze. He… sensed me?
Everything went black.
Alberto found himself in a void. Trembling, he turned around—
Two enormous red eyes stared back at him from the darkness.
Ron stood on the battlefield, his sword slipping from his grasp. His knees trembled, blood still dripping down his arm. The silence that followed the clash was deafening—until the sound of clapping echoed around him.
He looked up.
He was surrounded.
The King, the Queen, the two Princesses—even Henry—were all applauding. Henry leaned on Iris for support, her hand steadying his shoulder. Behind them, the old man stood a few steps ahead, his eyes soft, his palms meeting in slow, deliberate claps.
For the first time in what felt like eternity, Ron allowed himself to exhale.
Then—
A scream tore through the air.
Alberto screamed—
—and woke from the vision, gasping for air.
Ron spun toward the sound. The severed head of Alberto, lying where it had fallen, was screaming. Its eyes snapped open—wide, terrified—and then, in an instant, both head and body vaporized into nothing.
Ron froze. "What… happened?"
The old man's gaze narrowed. "He saw it—a memory of the True Black Sorcerer."
Ron's voice dropped. "So the Black Sorcerer is dead?"
The old man shook his head slowly. "No. Sealed. He tried to use these people—to descend—to find a vessel capable of containing his full power."
"The True Black Sorcerer…" Ron murmured. "You know, old man, he was the cousin of the First Watcher."
The old man's expression shifted. His eyes sharpened like blades.
"How did you know that?"
Ron gave a casual shrug. "I read it somewhere. In a book."
After a long pause, the old man sighed. "Yes. They were cousins."
"So that means," Ron continued, "Wulkranoth is related to the current Watcher."
"Indeed," said the old man.
Ron's brow furrowed. "Tell me something. What exactly is a Watcher? I know they observe the universe—but what are their powers, really?"