Meanwhile.
Gazef Stronoff was cutting down the cultists.
“[Six Point Slash]!”
Six blades tore through the air.
It was no mere sword strike.
It was a series of slashes reinforced by martial arts—six streaks of pressure pouring down at speeds and angles nearly impossible for a human body to achieve.
The pressure sliced through the night street, flying toward the cultists clad in black robes.
Six cultists were cut down simultaneously.
Black robes were shredded.
Blood splattered across the stone pavement.
Necklaces engraved with the crest of Shub-Niggurath snapped and rolled across the ground.
Yet, the cultists did not stop.
They raised their hands in unison.
Magic circles flared beneath their black robes.
It followed the form of tier magic, yet it was laced with the dark sorcery of the Black Goat.
This was no normal magic.
It was a defiled ritual borrowing the shape of a spell.
The group of cultists began a collective chant.
“[Mass Fireball]!”
As the words fell, multiple orbs of flame manifested in the air.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Dozens of fireballs hurtled toward Gazef all at once.
Gazef grit his teeth.
It was impossible.
Normally, he wouldn't have been able to dodge this many fireballs. Even if he blocked them, his armor would melt. Even if he tried to evade, he would be caught in the blast radius. He had no shield, and his soldiers were not by his side.
But his body was different now.
The enhancement magic Iel had cast upon him—a power that felt like it was burning within his veins. Mana flowed through his nerves, and a strange sensation cleared his mind.
Gazef activated his martial arts.
“[Possibility Perception].”
In an instant, the world slowed down.
The trajectories of the fireballs became visible. The direction they were flying, the points where they would explode, the range the flames would spread—all of it.
Even the movements of the cultists' fingertips and the rhythm of their breathing as they prepared for the next chant appeared as lines to him.
Gazef lowered his stance.
The first fireball grazed the top of his head.
The second fireball flew toward his left shoulder. He twisted his body to avoid it.
The third fireball aimed for his feet. Gazef kicked off the stone floor and leaped into the air.
Explosions followed. Flames licked his back, and heat scorched the nape of his neck. But he wasn't hit.
Gazef’s perception continued to expand. Perhaps because of the enhancement magic the woman had cast, his body felt lighter than ever before.
Yet, it was dangerous. His body was moving too fast; his muscles and bones were struggling to keep up with his own limits. His heart pounded violently, and his fingertips throbbed with heat.
Still, he couldn't stop. Citizens were dying. The cultists were heading toward the shelters. If he stopped now, he would protect nothing.
Gazef stacked another martial art.
“[Ability Boost].”
Strength surged into his arms and legs.
“[Greater Ability Boost].”
His heart raced wildly. His veins bulged as if they were about to burst. The mana within him became as sharp as a blade.
“[Flow Acceleration]!”
Gazef’s body tore through the air. He didn't just run; he flew. The stone pavement shattered beneath him as he pierced through the afterimages of the flames.
One cultist raised a hand to react. Too late. Gazef’s sword reached him first.
The tip of the blade shredded the robe. A wrist was severed. The chant was cut short. A second strike followed, aimed at the neck. The cultist collapsed.
A second cultist backed away.
“[Bind]—”
The spell was never finished. Gazef was already before him. His sword swung horizontally. The cultist’s staff was sliced in half, followed by his abdomen.
Third. Fourth. Fifth.
Gazef did not stop. His sword was far faster than before. His body was lighter, and his eyes saw much further.
But as he fought, a sense of dissonance grew. It was strange. Their power was by no means weak. Their magical output was high, and the aura of death and necromancy was extraordinary. Individually, they were entities no ordinary soldier or average adventurer could handle.
And yet, they were cut down so easily. They couldn't predict his martial arts. They didn't understand the reach of a sword. They misplaced their footing. They fixated their gaze on a single point. They failed to take a defensive stance during their chants.
Gazef slashed a cultist’s shoulder. He spun and kicked another’s magic circle. The circle disrupted, and the cultist froze in panic—like someone facing an opponent at close range for the very first time on a battlefield.
In that moment, Gazef realized.
‘These people are amateurs who were simply granted power.’
They had no combat sense. They lacked the mastery to wield their strength. They had received potent magic and sorcery, but they were not people of the battlefield.
A single conclusion took root in Gazef’s mind.
‘Ah. They are just ordinary people.’
He didn't know how they had obtained this power. He didn't know which god they served, what contract they had signed, or what price they had paid. But right now, they were enemies on their way to slaughter citizens.
Gazef adjusted his grip on his sword. He couldn't hesitate. He had to annihilate the enemy.
He turned again. The commercial district. A few cultists still remained there. Merchants and residents who hadn't been able to evacuate were hiding in warehouses, inns, and the basements of shops. The cultists were preparing dark sorcery to break down those doors.
Gazef kicked off the ground. His body shot forward. Wind whipped against his face. His reinforced muscles screamed, and his joints creaked. But he did not stop.
When he reached the main road of the commercial district, three cultists stood before a warehouse. From inside, he could hear the muffled sobs of people. One cultist raised a hand, and a black magic circle manifested over the warehouse door.
Gazef roared.
“Lower that hand!”
The cultists turned their heads. In that instant, Gazef was already among them.
The first cultist’s arm flew into the air. The second tried to deploy a defensive spell, but Gazef’s sword pierced through a gap in the barrier. The third backed away while chanting.
“[Negative]—”
Gazef threw his sword. The blade impaled the cultist’s shoulder and pinned him to the wall. The chant broke. Gazef lunged forward, grabbed the hilt, and pulled the sword from the wall, cutting the cultist down in the process.
Someone inside the warehouse burst into tears. Gazef didn't look back. It wasn't over yet.
He listened. An explosion in the distance. The eastern alleyways, toward the refugee shelters. Gazef ran again.
His body felt even lighter. No, it wasn't lightness. His senses were dulling. The pain was fading away. That was not a good sign. Iel’s buffs were pushing his body beyond its limits, and the toll was mounting. But he couldn't stop to calculate the cost now.
Gazef grit his teeth. He had to cut down one more. He had to save one more person.
Turning a corner, he saw four cultists cornering E-Rantel guards. The guards were holding their ground with shields, but they were falling to their knees one by one under the dark sorcery.
Gazef leaped onto a roof. Roof tiles shattered. He kicked off the roof and dropped down.
“[Six Point Slash]!”
Six streaks of steel poured down. Two cultists collapsed instantly. The remaining two barely managed to evade. One of them reached out toward Gazef.
“[Fear]!”
A fear spell struck him. Death flashed before Gazef’s eyes. Carne Village. His severed memories. His fallen subordinates. An unknown black entity. Something tried to resurface, but the memory remained locked away.
Gazef grit his teeth.
“I am the Warrior Captain of the Kingdom!”
He took a step forward.
“I will not retreat for something as trivial as fear!”
His sword swung. The cultist who cast the fear spell fell. The last cultist tried to flee, but Gazef didn't pursue him. He checked the fallen guards first. They were still breathing.
Gazef spoke briefly.
“Those who can move, retreat. Take the citizens and move toward the walls.”
One guard asked in a trembling voice, “What about you, Warrior Captain?”
Gazef didn't answer. He looked in the direction the last cultist had fled—deep into the commercial district. Black light surged from there once more. There were still more left.
Gazef raised his sword. His body had already surpassed its limits. His fingertips trembled, and his breathing was ragged. But his sword could still move.
He ran again.
The cultists were strong. But having great power and knowing the battlefield were two different things. Gazef knew that better than anyone. He had lived his entire life by the sword. He breathed on the battlefield, lost people on the battlefield, and protected the Kingdom on the battlefield.
They had received power, but they didn't know how to use it. If that was the case, he could win.
Gazef threw himself into the darkness of the commercial district. The tip of his sword gleamed once more.
---
After cutting down the last cultist in the commercial district, Gazef stood atop the roof of a collapsed building. His breathing was heavy. His body still felt light, but that lightness was now dangerous. The sensation in his fingertips was fading, and his heart was beating too fast.
Iel’s enhancement magic had pushed him beyond human limits, but his body was not a vessel meant to contain such power. Nevertheless, Gazef did not let go of his sword. It wasn't over yet.
He turned his head toward E-Rantel’s central square. There, the mysterious mage woman and Nivs were fighting.
Gazef watched the battle. At first, he couldn't comprehend it. Purple light surged into the sky, and black necromantic mana tried to swallow it. But the light would not be consumed.
Iel stood in the middle of the square. Her black robes fluttered in the wind, and her purple hair floated in the flow of mana. The staff in her hand was no mere magical tool. It looked like a staff that grasped the laws of the world and rewrote them.
Nivs continued to pour out necromantic magic. Black skulls formed in the air and flew toward Iel. Ripples of death spread across the ground. Hundreds of necromantic spears split apart, attempting to transfix her.
But Iel did not break.
“[Orbis Limitis].”
A purple barrier expanded. The black spears shattered the moment they touched the barrier. Nivs raised his hand again.
“[Reality Slash]!”
A black rift tore through space. Gazef held his breath. That wasn't an attack one could dodge. It wasn't a strike one could block. It felt as if space itself was being severed. Yet, Iel did not retreat a single step.
“[Dialectica En].”
A magic circle of overlapping purple and white light manifested before her. The tearing space stopped. It looked as if the world had momentarily frozen at her command.
Gazef’s eyes widened. He had experienced many battlefields. He had seen mages. He had seen the strong. He himself was called the strongest warrior in the Kingdom. But this was different. This wasn't a fight of sword and shield. It wasn't even a duel between mages. It was as if one part of the world was clashing against another part of the world.
Nivs manifested the crest of the Black Goat. A massive, fleshy mass began to rise from the floor of the square—an incomplete [Giant Dark Young]. Even before the form was finished, the entirety of E-Rantel felt a crushing pressure. Several guards fell to their knees from the aura alone. Residents swallowed their screams behind their windows.
Iel’s expression hardened at the sight.
“[Catharsis Field].”
A semi-mental barrier spread from beneath her feet. The dark sorcery was pushed back. The form of the [Giant Dark Young] wavered. Then, Iel raised her staff high.
“[Tempestas Ignis].”
A firestorm erupted. But the flames were no ordinary fire. Purified flames. Purple ether. White light. The three powers tangled into one, becoming a massive storm. The square became as bright as day. Nivs’s dark magic circles were incinerated. The altar prepared by the Spiral of Death collapsed. The atmosphere, which had been covered in necromantic mana, was torn away as if purified.
Gazef tightened his grip on his sword as he watched.
‘Ah. This is a battle of gods.’
He realized it then. The cultists he had just cut down, the citizens he had protected, the guards of E-Rantel, the Kingdom’s warrior band—this was on a completely different level from any human battle. That woman had the appearance of a human, but she was not wielding power on a human scale.
It was then that Nivs was pushed back by Iel’s firepower. His body was scorching. His black robes were shredded, and lightning scars remained on his shoulders. Nevertheless, he tried to attempt something again. The crest of the Black Goat manifested behind his back once more.
At that exact moment, the sky behind Nivs silently split open.
Gazef saw it. A white face. White wings. An angel of dazzling beauty. She was descending without a sound.
An angel. But she was different from the merciful angels Gazef had seen in temple murals as a child. Her beauty was cold. Her gaze was expressionless. She looked like a being created solely for the purpose of judgment.
In her hand, she held a bizarrely shaped halberd. The blade was curved like a scythe, the tip was long, and unknown divine characters were engraved on the axe head. The entire weapon held both white light and black rifts simultaneously.
Nivs had not noticed her yet. Iel was aiming her staff at Nivs. In that instant, the angel moved.
Her white wings folded and then snapped open. Space was briefly torn. The angel reached Nivs’s back and swung the halberd.
Squelch.
Nivs’s right arm flew into the air. Black blood and necromantic mana erupted simultaneously. Nivs screamed for the first time.
“Aaaaaaaargh!”
The severed arm was engulfed in white flames before it even hit the ground. It burned. It vanished. The angel stood behind Nivs without any expression. Her white wings slowly folded.
Gazef gasped. Iel also turned her head. Three beings now stood in the square: Iel, Nivs, and the angel with the white face and white wings. The angel raised the bizarre halberd once more.
---
Gazef ran up onto the city walls. The stone steps beneath his feet echoed as if they were about to break. The enhancement magic Iel had cast was still active, but the more that power remained, the more clearly Gazef could feel it—that he was nothing between the three beings standing in the square below.
The mysterious purple-haired mage. Nivs, the leader of the Black Goat cultists. And the beautiful angel with the white face and white wings. Gazef looked down at them from the wall, his hand tightening on his sword. But he couldn't go down. He knew instinctively that the moment he stepped into that square, he would be more of a hindrance than a combatant.
The white angel, Michael, didn't even look at Gazef. Her gaze was fixed solely on Iel.
Michael spoke. “Variable.”
Her voice was clear and cold. “I have conceded a move this time.”
Iel looked at Michael. Fatigue was visible on her face, but her gaze was unwavering.
Michael spoke again. “You know who we are.”
Iel nodded slowly. “Of course.”
Her purple eyes scanned the white angel’s wings, her armament, and the faint traces of the Thousand Kingdom’s mana remaining behind her.
“The aftershocks of the 100-year cycle.” Iel’s voice lowered. “Invaders.”
She adjusted her grip on the [Genesis Staff]. “The… power that follows the Eight Greed Kings.”
Michael smiled. The smile was beautiful, but it was not merciful. “Correct.”
Michael rested the halberd on her shoulder. “We are power.”
Silence fell over the E-Rantel square.
“The absolute power that came in place of the Great Tomb of Nazarick.”
As she spoke, the air around them grew even heavier. Gazef heard those words from atop the wall. Nazarick. The name was unfamiliar. But he could tell by her tone—it was the name of another catastrophe that could have come to this world.
Michael continued. “You cannot stop us.”
Her white wings slowly unfurled. “Not our narrative.” The tip of the halberd glowed faintly. “Not our power.”
Iel looked at Michael in silence. She was already exhausted. She had purified E-Rantel’s undead army, blocked Nivs’s instant death magic, analyzed the structure of the ritual, and collapsed the manifestation of an incomplete deity. Yet, she did not back down. She gripped her staff tighter, her purple hair fluttering in the night wind.
She spoke shortly. “I will protect it.”
Her voice wasn't loud, but no one in the square missed it.
“This world.”
Michael looked at Iel for a moment and then burst into laughter. The sound was as clear as a bell, but it was laced with mockery.
“As you wish.”
In that moment, Nivs moved. Clutching his severed right arm, he manifested a black magic circle beneath his feet. His body was broken and his necromantic mana was in disarray, but he still had enough strength to flee. Iel turned her gaze, but Michael moved a step to the side. With that short movement, a gap opened between Iel’s line of sight and Nivs. Nivs took advantage of that gap and threw himself into a black rift.
The rift closed. Nivs was gone.
Michael looked at the spot where he had vanished and laughed coldly. “Rat.” She spoke with derision. “I'm only letting him go because he’s necessary for the plan, anyway.”
Iel glared at Michael. “Did you let him go on purpose?”
Michael didn't answer. She slowly withdrew her halberd. Her white wings spread once more.
“Variable.” Michael looked at Iel again. “We shall meet again.”
With those words, a white light enveloped her body. Gazef watched the scene from the wall. The angel was vanishing. The light folded, the space closed, and Michael was gone.
Only Iel remained in the square. The collapsed altar, the incinerated magic circles, the vanished Nivs. And Gazef, watching it all from the city wall.
The night in E-Rantel was not yet over.
Gazef looked down at the hand holding his sword. It was trembling. He couldn't tell if the trembling was from fatigue, fear, or anger. He had just seen it—the power to fight to protect people, the power to use people as an altar, and the power that let it all happen as part of a plan.
Gazef grit his teeth. A war he knew nothing about was beginning in this world—a war that could not be reached by the sword of the Kingdom alone. But that didn't mean he could let go of his sword. There were still people alive in E-Rantel.
Gazef slowly looked down from the wall. Streets where the fires hadn't been extinguished. Fleeing citizens. Fallen soldiers. And Iel, standing alone in the square.
The night was not over. But until the dawn came, someone had to hold the line.
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