The Glamer Holy Sword seemed to sense Aurek's indomitable will.
Its violent struggle ceased at once, the ancient runes along its blade dimming into silence.
Aurek didn't spare it another glance.
He simply lifted the sword and stepped up the jade-white staircase, overlooking all of Eryndor City.
A surge of powerful mind power swept across the land.
"Ancestor Aurek… perhaps your departure three centuries ago only gave them an illusion."
"They should be grateful—grateful that they lived in your era."
He murmured softly.
The Glamer Holy Sword could hear his words, but could not comprehend the depth behind them.
Time would reveal the truth.
Was this a feast—or the final supper before the end?
Only time would tell.
He turned back toward the palace.
The Firstfall Festival was approaching.
In the span of twenty-eight days, the Emperor's Scepter had birthed fifty thousand and four hundred warriors—Among them, twenty-two thousand and four hundred were Level 7 Doomsday Warriors.
