Duke Sant stood on the broken ground.
His body was still covered in blood. His whole body was a mess. His ribs were broken and every breath sent pain through his chest like a knife twisting inside him.
But his back was straight.
And in his hand—
He held a sword made of pure white light.
The blade was calm and bright, shining softly in the dull sky.
It did not burn like fire or flash like lightning. Instead it gave off a steady glow, quiet and noble.
Duke Sant looked at the sword for a long moment.
A faint smile slowly appeared on his tired face.
"Finally…" he said in a low voice.
"I have surpassed the Grandmaster stage."
His voice carried no excitement. Only calm acceptance, like a man who had walked a very long road and finally reached the end.
"And now… I have reached the Ascended Stage."
His old eyes softened.
Memories still floated inside his mind like fading shadows.
Childhood. Youth. Love. Family. Friends. Dreams.
All of them were there.
