It wasn't just the three previously unconscious gryphons that rose again with bloodshot eyes.
The moment the harp's melody echoed through the air, even Griffith—the "Swift Eagle," a Third-Class Fantasy Species—felt his thoughts begin to unravel.
As the harp's notes grew clearer and the tempo quickened, even Kasukabe Yō's mind began to blur, her expression tightening in confusion.
Of course, both Yō and Griffith were significantly stronger than the three hybrid gryphons. Though the music clouded their minds, it wasn't enough to completely dominate them.
But that was the limit of it.
They could resist total control—but nothing more.
As massive figures surged over the horizon, it was clear they would be of little help in what was about to unfold.
"Bakudō No. 63—Chain Restraint!"
Radiant chains burst from the earth in every direction, erupting upward like spears of light. In seconds, they wrapped tightly around the three berserk gryphons, binding them to the ground.
Yuto scanned the battlefield and turned to the only two still fully combat-capable: Izayoi and Pest.
"We split up."
His voice was calm, decisive.
"Pest, stay here. If Yō or Griffith lose control, restrain them."
"Izayoi—track down the one playing that harp."
"And I'll handle the giants."
The cause was obvious.
The gryphons. The giants.
All of them were being manipulated by that melody.
If knocking them unconscious only made them easier to control—
Then the only solution was to eliminate the source.
—
Before them stood hundreds—no, thousands—of giants.
Each towered like a moving fortress, their strength comparable to six-digit class beings. Among them were even larger individuals—leader-class variants radiating far greater pressure.
Without hesitation, Yuto activated the same ability he had used earlier to suppress Sara and the leaders of the Dragon Horned Gryphon.
"Demon Lord's Pressure."
An overwhelming torrent of aura burst forth, sweeping across the battlefield like a tidal wave.
The ground trembled.
The air groaned.
Yet—
The giants merely faltered for a single step.
And then… continued advancing.
"That's impossible!" Griffith gasped, clutching his throbbing head. "Back in the conference chamber, even Lady Sara and I could barely withstand that pressure! These giants are inferior to us in both lineage and strength—how can they be unaffected?!"
Yuto's gaze remained steady.
"They're not unaffected," he said evenly.
"In fact, they're worse off than you were."
Griffith froze.
"The moment my pressure hit them, they lost consciousness entirely," Yuto continued. "But just like the gryphons earlier… once unconscious, they became easier for the one controlling them to manipulate."
In other words—
They were no longer resisting at all.
They were puppets.
"With numbers like this, restraining them all with Bakudō would drain too much power," Yuto muttered. "And we don't know what else lies ahead. Conserving strength is essential."
His grip tightened on his blade.
"I have no personal grudge against them. But this isn't the time to play the saint."
His eyes hardened.
"If it comes to it… I'll cut them down."
And with that—
He charged alone into the sea of giants.
—
From a distance, his figure was almost laughable.
Compared to the towering giants, Yuto's body was smaller than the width of a single palm.
Yet in the next instant—
A flash of steel.
A scream.
A giant collapsed.
Then another.
And another.
To beings in the lower levels of Little Garden, six-digit class giants were walking disasters—forces capable of crushing most communities outright.
But before the man cutting through them like a storm—
They couldn't survive even a single exchange.
Yuto moved like a phantom amidst the encirclement.
Each swing of his blade carved through flesh and bone, cleaving enormous bodies in two. With every step forward, corpses fell like harvested wheat.
The more he killed, the heavier the air became.
A suffocating aura coiled around him—killing intent so dense it felt tangible. Behind him, it was as if a demonic war god had taken form from blood and slaughter.
Even the mindless giants began to falter.
Though stripped of reason, they still retained instinct.
Instinct warned them.
The existence before them was death incarnate.
Even under the harp's forced compulsion, they no longer surged forward recklessly.
They hesitated.
They feared.
—
Far behind the ranks of giants stood a woman holding a golden harp.
Her name was Aurora—a female Demon Lord.
As she plucked the strings, she felt the connections between herself and her giant "pieces" snapping one by one.
The battlefield reeked of blood and killing intent.
Her fingers trembled.
She had heard descriptions of Yuto's strength before—from His Highness and from Rin—but she had believed that even if he could resist her music, sheer numbers would secure her position.
Thousands of giants.
How could anyone cut through them all?
Yet the reality before her shattered that assumption.
At this rate—
Her giant pieces would be slaughtered to the last.
She had thought this assignment would be the easiest.
Now she bitterly regretted not choosing the operation targeting the South District's central residential zone instead.
—
Yes.
This battlefield was not the only one.
Even as Yuto carved his way through the giants, the South District's residential area was under assault.
And the enemy there was far more troublesome.
Flooding into the district were white-scaled, red-eyed two-headed dragons.
To most people, these creatures would have seemed unfamiliar.
But to veterans like Sara and Leticia, the sight alone was enough to drain the blood from their faces.
They recognized them instantly.
One of humanity's Final Trials.
The Zoroastrian evil god.
The embodiment of "Absolute Evil."
Avesta-class calamity—
Azi Dahaka.
These were its avatars.
Azi Dahaka possessed a terrifying ability.
Any blood shed from its body would transform into a subordinate incarnation—slightly weaker than the original. If those incarnations were slain, they would divide again into lesser forms, continuing until the spiritual essence within the blood was too diluted to sustain a body.
The first-generation avatars—
Were divine-class entities.
In simple terms, even these so-called "clones" were comparable to gods or beings possessing divine authority.
And now—
Though the number of first-generation two-headed dragons invading the South District wasn't vast—
There were still dozens of them.
Behind them surged hundreds of second-generation forms.
And that was only the visible count.
The most terrifying aspect?
They could not be killed in a single stroke.
Each death only gave birth to another existence—one rank lower, but still deadly.
The South District was no longer facing a mere raid.
It was facing the shadow of Absolute Evil itself.