After returning from Leon's country, I continued to travel across the world—relentlessly.
It wasn't because I enjoyed wandering.
It was because we didn't know when the enemy would strike.
And when war arrives without warning, the ones who survive are not the ones with the loudest courage… but the ones who prepared before fear had a reason to exist.
I had already created an emergency transportation network between the Demon Lords.
So it was only natural that I extend that same lifeline to the nations that stood with us.
My first stop was the Dwarven Kingdom.
Agera had been dispatched to King Gazel. I'd received word that Agera was training him directly—so I decided to see the results with my own eyes.
I teleported to the main gate of Dwargon.
As always, a long line of merchants and adventurers stretched out like a river of noise and steel. I walked past them without slowing, took the noble passage, and addressed the gatekeeper.
No waiting.
I was escorted straight into the royal castle.
Even now, a part of me recognized the difference in treatment.
But unlike my past self, I didn't let it inflate me.
A king does not show excitement over small privileges.
A king accepts them as the natural flow of order.
King Gazel greeted me in the royal hall.
"I've been waiting for you, Atem."
Agera stood with him.
"My lord," Agera said—and dropped to one knee with perfect form, speaking like a warrior out of an ancient chronicle. "I am glad to see you are well."
The movement was clean. The timing flawless. The respect unquestionable.
And this Agera…
He was the reincarnated form of Hakurou's
grandfather. Carrera had told me, but seeing him in person made it undeniable. The way he held his breath. The way he steadied his posture. Even the subtle angle of his gaze—it all carried the same discipline Hakurou possessed.
I had once wanted to speak with him properly.
Now I finally had the chance.
I returned the greeting.
"It has been some time, King Gazel. And Agera."
Gazel laughed.
"You're still too formal. I always tell you—just call me Gazel."
I answered honestly, but not weakly.
"I understand. But whenever I stand in this place, I remember the trial. Old instincts surface."
I didn't call myself "cute."
That wasn't my nature.
But I did acknowledge something deeper:
Even the King of Games does not pretend the weight of a throne is light.
Vaughn and Dolph watched with quiet approval.
Souei observed as always—calm, calculating, unreadable.
Agera interjected, voice firm.
"My lord, you are an ally of Dwargon and equal in standing. You should not shrink before King Gazel. I ask you to respond with dignity."
"I am responding with dignity," I said plainly.
Not defensive. Not offended.
Just certain.
Gazel's expression softened, then he sighed.
"I understand you. Even I get tense when I'm in front of the Heavenly Emperor Elmesia."
"Oh? So even you—"
"But!" Gazel snapped, half irritated, half impressed. "You speak to her like it's nothing, and that's what I can't understand!"
He was right.
So right there was nothing to argue.
He told me again to relax my formality, and I answered that I would keep it in mind.
But respect is not something you turn off like a lamp.
I respect Gazel because he has earned it—and because when things collapse, he is the kind of king who stands in the wreckage and still refuses to kneel.
Gazel leaned forward.
"But you always respond correctly when it matters. So it's not a fatal flaw."
Then he struck like a hammer.
"You idiot. Habits reveal themselves on the big stage. If you want to avoid failure, you correct yourself before the moment arrives."
I accepted the lesson without complaint.
He was right.
We moved to the parlor.
With drinks in hand, we exchanged reports. Information mattered more than comfort now.
Gazel went straight to the point.
"So how do we avoid war?"
"We don't," I answered. "Not anymore. I've set up magic transfer circles between the Demon Lords for emergency travel."
Gazel's eyes narrowed.
"One problem ends, and another begins. I thought it was over when Velgrynd became an enemy. Now she's on our side… Michael, was it? He's not the one we should fear now."
He believed our strength was enough.
Demon Lords. Velgrynd. Veldora.
But that confidence was dangerous.
"No," I said. "They're stronger than the Empire ever was. The scale is incomparable."
Gazel didn't deny it.
"I'm not underestimating them. I'm doing the opposite."
"The opposite?"
"I've come to the point of resignation," he admitted. "No matter how hard I try… Dwargon may not be able to help you."
I understood.
If Velzard targeted Dwargon, there would be no "battle."
Only annihilation.
Still, Gazel's fists tightened.
"But I won't let them destroy us easily. Worst case, we'll take our chances."
His resolve wasn't performance.
It was real.
I nodded.
"If you can't win, you create the conditions to survive."
Quality was more terrifying than quantity.
And Velzard being hostile made Veldora
unreliable.
"The only ones who can face Velzard properly are Guy, Velgrynd… and you, Atem," Gazel said.
I met his eyes.
I didn't smirk.
I didn't joke.
I stated a fact like a verdict.
"A war between True Dragons looks like the battle of gods only because their powers are close enough to clash."
"True," Gazel muttered. "That's what it feels like."
He hesitated, then asked anyway.
"Do you really think you can win?"
I answered with calm authority—no arrogance, no theatrics.
"Of course. For your information, Gazel… there is no one in this world who can defeat me."
The room fell silent.
Gazel's eyes widened. Agera's posture stiffened. Even Souei's gaze sharpened slightly.
Then Gazel exhaled, amused despite himself.
"Fufufu… you little bastard."
But even as he laughed, he nodded—because he could feel it.
Not pride.
Presence.
A king can hear truth in another king's voice.
I didn't continue boasting. That wasn't necessary.
"So," I said, returning to the real matter, "I need your help."
Gazel's reply came instantly.
"Very well. I'll cooperate. Do what you want."
I requested the installation of a magic transfer circle.
Unlike the Demon Lord circles, this location needed to be functional for an allied kingdom—placement mattered.
Gazel examined the material.
"I'm amazed you created magisteel of this purity."
"I'm bending the rules with my Skill," I admitted. "Normally I'd wait for the craftsmen to mature. But the enemy won't wait."
Gazel nodded. "Leave the adjustments to me."
I installed the circle where he instructed.
Once the main goal was complete, the tension eased—slightly.
Then I asked what I came to confirm.
"So. How are the results of your training?"
Gazel exhaled through his nose.
"Agera-dono has made me realize I still have a long way to go."
Agera replied immediately.
"Do not be modest, King Gazel. You have already mastered the secret art—Five Flower Strikes: Gokatotsu—and you are reaching higher still."
Oboro-Ryu was not a style that handed out praise carelessly.
Zakuro—Rokkazan, a high-speed slash meant to be non-lethal.
Yanagi—Nana Nagi, a soft parry that redirects force like flowing water.
And beyond those…
Yaezakura—Hakkasen.
The highest technique.
I remembered something.
"Hakurou told me… you showed him Hakkasen."
Agera nodded.
But I kept the flow of the moment.
"Hakurou is my master as well," I said. "Your praise honors him. And it honors the blade that carried your will."
Gazel smiled.
"The teachings of Agera-dono passed into Hakurou-dono… fate is strange."
Agera listened, moved, nodding deeply.
Then Gazel turned to me again, serious.
"So, Atem… if you don't mind, I want your thoughts."
"Speak."
"I want to ask about Ultimate Skills. If I continue honing my sword… can I defeat an Ultimate Awakened?"
A direct question.
And it deserved a direct answer.
"Ultimate Skills are normally countered only by Ultimate Skills," I said. "At the Unique level, you should assume you cannot compete."
Gazel's jaw tightened.
"So there's no path?"
"There is," I said. "But only if conditions are met."
Gazel leaned forward.
"What conditions?"
I didn't mention names you told me to remove.
So I gave examples without dragging unwanted pieces into the story.
"There are rare cases—abilities or methods that can block, distort, or bypass power itself. And there are beings whose sheer mastery can overwhelm a gifted opponent through skill and magic alone."
Gazel's eyes narrowed.
"Meaning… willpower?"
"Yes," I said. "Willpower."
Then I invoked the authority behind my knowledge.
"Solarys, Sovereign of Wisdom, confirms it. A mental life form sustained by will can resist ultimate authority even without an Ultimate Skill."
Gazel absorbed that slowly.
"So if I strengthen my will until it rivals a spiritual life form… then the way of the sword—"
"There is a quicker way," I cut in.
Gazel blinked.
"What?"
"If you are recognized by mythical-grade equipment, you can become equivalent to a spiritual life form."
Silence.
"Mythical-grade…" Gazel muttered, staring at his sword.
The blade was legendary-grade—high-ranked, treasured.
But it was scarred. Wounded.
"This sword clashed with Kondou's blade," Gazel said quietly. "It survived… but its life is over."
I studied it.
Then I spoke.
"It isn't dead."
Gazel looked up sharply.
"Kurobee may be able to restore it."
"What?" Gazel's voice rose. "Is that true?!"
"I can't promise," I said. "But Kurobee renewed Gabil's spear. It rebirthed just short of mythical-grade. With continued use, it can evolve."
I still had surplus hihiirokane.
I did not say it like I was doing him a favor.
I said it like an order accepted.
Gazel stood halfway from his seat.
"Please. Even if it fails—ask Kurobee."
I nodded once.
"I will."
I accepted the sword from Gazel.
Then I asked what came next.
"Besides that… is there any other way to obtain mythical-grade equipment?"
Gazel snorted.
"Do you think there is? Even legendary-grade is a national treasure. You won't find mythical-grade lying around in an empire—let alone nowhere."
Souei confirmed quietly.
"Our searches across the Western Nations found only a handful of legendary-grade items."
So the remaining hope was Kurobee.
Souei's twin swords had been renewed too—not mythical-grade yet, but with growth potential.
Gazel returned to the earlier question.
"If I become equivalent to a spiritual life form… can I compete with an Ultimate Skill?"
"It still isn't absolute," I said. "There are differences between individuals. Age. experience. density of spirit. A newborn archdemon can be useless. But if will and mental energy are high enough… ultimate authority can be resisted."
Gazel scowled.
"Too vague."
I understood. So I stripped it down to the core.
"In short—spirit."
Not enthusiasm. Not shouting.
The kind of spirit that cuts through fear, distortion, even law itself.
In this world, swordplay and magic were not separate roads.
They were two methods of carving reality.
Gazel fell silent, thinking.
Agera also looked inward.
Then Souei spoke.
"It is as Atem-sama says. If I put my spirit into my blade… I feel I can kill any opponent."
Agera nodded.
"That is true. My will became the blade. With the will to kill, my body itself becomes a sword—and then even the formless can be cut."
That was Agera's essence.
Blade Transformation.
Compared to mythical-grade, his existence might not rank higher.
But his sharpness—his intent—was beyond simple materials.
Mythical-grade had will.
But a human's will, refined like steel through suffering and discipline, could surpass it.
From my shadow, Ranga lifted his head and quietly joined the circle of silence—watching, listening, sensing the weight of what was coming.
And in that moment, Dwargon's parlor felt less like a meeting room…
…and more like a forge.
Where kings sharpened kings.
Where steel met spirit.
And where the world's next war was already being shaped—long before the first blow fell.