Ethan looked down at him, expression calm—almost indifferent.
He raised his hand.
An Energy Greatsword formed in his palm, the blade angled low, but already locked onto its target.
"Calrakk," Ethan said, his voice devoid of anger—just a cold, measured conclusion.
"You made such a big show. I expected more."
"But this… is all you've got?"
Malrakk's throat bobbed violently.
He wanted to argue, to rage—but even that fire was gone.
And then—
His gaze drifted past Ethan, toward the battlefield in the distance.
His heart sank.
Calrakk's army was collapsing.
The lines had broken. Soldiers were scattering in panic.
The elite force he'd brought personally—more than half were already dead.
The rest were just buying time for a defeat that couldn't be stopped.
This wasn't a war with a chance to turn the tide.
This was—
Total failure.
Ethan raised the greatsword.
No hesitation. No emotion.
Like this ending had been written long ago.
"W-Wait—!"
