The techniques of the Nine Gates of Hell were all martial arts, and the Ninth Gate was no exception. To an outside observer, the "Night's Armor" of the Death Gate appeared to be nothing more than a simple, powerful flying kick.
But the power it contained was beyond any mortal comprehension.
Even Claudia, who had compiled the ancient texts describing these gates, had never in her long life witnessed anyone actually unleash the Night's Armor.
The dazzling crimson lion of energy charged forward with an unstoppable force, aimed directly at the heart of the Primordial Nightmare. Blood-red steam trailed in its wake, like a path scorched directly to hell.
Through the projected images of the recording stones, every citizen of the Empire watched this final, decisive strike. In this moment, Leon carried not only the hopes of the Lionheart Society but the collective, desperate expectations of every person who had suffered under the Empire's rule.
He had to win. He must win!
Intense, violent energy raged through Leon's body, searing every vein and scorching every bone with crushing pain. The epicenter was his heart. Without the protective layer of Rossweise's Heartguard Dragon Scale fused over it, the backlash would have already reduced him to ash.
Just as he was about to release the full force of Night's Armor, the silver dragon scale on his chest shone with a brilliant, gentle light. The glow reflected on his determined face, a tangible presence of its owner standing with him in spirit. As the energy erupted outwards in a powerful shockwave, a fleeting look of profound gratitude and tenderness crossed his fierce eyes.
"Thank you, Rossweise."
The crimson lion pierced straight through the monstrous abomination. For a single, horrifying moment, the anguished wails of the countless lost souls that constituted the Nightmare echoed across the entire Empire, a collective scream of release.
Then, silence.
The explosion that followed originated from the Upper District and rippled outwards. The blaze was so intense it lit up the night sky, as if the sun had decided to rise hours early.
In the distance, Constantine narrowed his eyes against the blinding light, staring at the utterly devastated battlefield.
"So, this is the true power of the Ninth Gate..." he murmured, a note of grudging respect in his voice.
Hearing this, Claudia turned to him, a serious expression on her face. "Didn't he say that move was originally meant for you?"
Constantine: ?
"Then I suggest you carefully reconsider the nature of your alliance with him," the cunning Sea Dragon Princess said, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Constantine snorted, flicking his sleeves in dismissal. "A self-destructive martial art is nothing for a Dragon King to fear."
Claudia simply smiled, saying nothing. Dragon kings were famously stubborn.
"Leon!"
The moment the light of the Night's Armor faded, Rossweise spread her magnificent dragon wings and shot toward the center of the battlefield. Claudia shifted into her majestic dragon form, allowing Rebecca, Martin, and Nacho to climb onto her back before following.
Once again, Constantine was left watching them depart. "...I hate the Empire," he muttered for the second time that night, and began his sprint toward the scene.
.
.
.
The group rushed into the smoldering ruins of the Upper District. Rossweise and Claudia beat their powerful wings, clearing the thick dust and smoke with great gusts of wind.
"There!" Rebecca shouted, pointing ahead.
They ran without hesitation.
Leon stood tall and unwavering amidst the devastation. The last traces of red steam were dissipating from his body, and the angry, glowing veins on his skin were returning to normal. Lying on the ground before him were the three brothers of the Blade Trio, finally separated from the corrupting form of the Primordial Nightmare. They were so weakened they could only lie there, unable to move.
Kai slowly opened his eyes, his vision focusing on the figure standing over him.
"Leon... You really are... unbelievably strong."
Leon remained silent, waiting.
Clutching his chest, Kai staggered to his feet. "So now... the Empire is finished, right? We... we don't have to be enemies anymore... Please, spare the three of us. Can you...?"
Leon's expression was blank. "Spare... you?" he repeated, his voice flat.
Kai nodded desperately, his ashen face a mask of false sincerity. "Yes! We were just pawns, controlled by the Empire! Now that it's over, we're free!"
Beside him, Jax shakily stood up, supporting his brother's plea. "Leon... we were on opposite sides, but with Canter gone, there's no need to kill us now, is there...?"
Leon's tone was still indifferent. "No need to kill..."
"You... you're the hero everyone admires," Kai pressed on. "Killing us now, when we can't fight back... it would ruin your reputation, wouldn't it?"
"Exactly! We're thinking of your image! Spare us, and one day we three brothers will repay you!" Jax added.
They continued their desperate begging, hoping to appeal to his mercy.
Meanwhile, the one-armed Ren, positioned off to the side, had quietly drawn a concealed blade. He edged closer to Leon, using his brothers' pleas as a distraction.
When he was close enough, he lunged, aiming the blade directly at Leon's neck.
But—a swift figure darted in. Nacho tackled Ren to the ground, pinning his head against the rubble in an instant.
"You'll need more practice if you want to pull a cheap shot like that," Nacho smirked.
With their deception exposed, Kai and Jax dropped all pretense. They pulled out their own hidden blades and charged Leon for a final, desperate attack.
Jax was quickly intercepted by Martin, who wrestled the blade from his grasp.
Kai, however, kept shouting as he rushed forward. "Cosmodeous! I'll take your life! You'll die with us—"
Bang!
A single, crisp gunshot rang out. The bullet struck Kai's hand with perfect precision. The blade clattered to the ground.
"My... my hand!!!" Kai collapsed, clutching his bloody right hand and wailing in agony.
Leon stepped toward him, looking down with pure, unadulterated disdain.
"You spoke of being forced. You spoke of taking a stance that made us enemies."
"You thought the Empire's fall was a reason for me to spare you."
"That reasoning is completely flawed, Kai."
"The reason I'm going to kill you has nothing to do with the Empire, or stances."
"I'm killing you because you hurt my mentor."
"In other words..."
There was no warmth in his eyes, only the purest, coldest intent to kill.
"This is personal."
With that, Leon raised his right hand. Three thin, precise streaks of lightning shot out, attaching themselves to the chests of the three brothers.
"Leon! Leon, please, spare us!—Leon! I'll never forgive you, even as a ghost! I'll—"
Snap.
A single snap of his fingers, and the three lightning streaks erupted simultaneously, shattering their hearts.
"Say what you will in the next life."
"Captain!" Rebecca called out, holding her sniper rifle and pointing. "Over there!"
Leon followed her gaze to see a bloated, overweight figure crawling out from a pile of rubble, trying to sneak away.
"It's your turn," Leon said.
Rebecca smirked. "Got it!"
She raised her rifle, aimed with calm expertise, and pulled the trigger. The bullet flew in a perfect line, piercing King Canter's knee.
The fallen Emperor stumbled and fell with a heavy thud.
"Why didn't you just put a bullet in that pig's head?" Nacho asked, walking over.
Rebecca shouldered her rifle, smiling. "The Captain has his reasons."
Leon walked slowly toward the disheveled, pathetic king.
Canter, lacking even the cunning of the Blade Trio, dropped to his knees immediately, groveling.
"Leon, I'm sorry! I shouldn't have done those things to you... You're not a traitor; you're the Empire's hero—"
"Save your breath, old man."
"Please... don't kill me, I beg you."
"I'm not going to kill you."
A wave of relief washed over Canter's face.
But a moment later, he heard the sound of hundreds of approaching footsteps and the rising murmur of an angry crowd. He looked past Leon's shoulder and saw the citizens of the Empire closing in, their eyes burning with long-suppressed fury.
"Your crimes should be judged by the people you betrayed."
With those final words, Leon turned and walked away.
Canter reached out a trembling hand, trying to stop him, but he was soon swallowed by the swarm of men, women, and children.
"Down with the tyrant! Down with the Emperor!"
"Let's kick him to death!"
"Strip him and parade him through the streets!"
"Throw him to the sharks!"
The people's justice began.
.
.
.
The revolution was over.
Leon, utterly exhausted, limped toward the edge of the battlefield. His body screamed in protest with every step. Many citizens and members of the Lionheart Society wanted to celebrate with him, to shower their hero with praise, but he politely declined them all.
He was tired. So tired he could have slept for a week right there on the broken pavement.
But before he could rest, he needed to see one person.
After a moment, his eyes found her—a silhouette of silver against the smoky ruins.
Leon clenched his jaw, forced his right leg to hold his weight, and looked up, a weary but genuine smile gracing his features.
"I won, Rossweise."
The Silver Dragon Queen lifted the hem of her gown, pushed through the crowd and the debris, and ran to her beloved.
There, in front of thousands of cheering citizens, under the light of the moon and the fading embers of battle, they embraced and kissed, a symbol of a hard-won peace and a future built together. The sound of their victory was the roar of the crowd, and it was the quiet, shared breath between them.