Though the Nexus knights' morale was rising bit by bit, the tide of the Tartagalian soldiers refused to break. Every swing of a sword, every cast of magic, still left the Nexus forces fewer in number.
And then—shadows loomed. The largest Tartagalian fleet finally cut through the waves and reached the shore. Its towering masts and iron-plated hull cast an oppressive weight over the battlefield.
All eyes turned. Even the bravest of Nexus knights faltered, breath caught in their throats.
"Hah…" Zuleika muttered, sword dripping crimson as she carved down another soldier. Her gaze narrowed at the massive flagship. "Now it's the Emperor's fleet."
The tension spread like wildfire among the ranks. Even without seeing the Emperor himself, the very presence of his fleet gnawed at their courage.
Then, from the massive ship's deck, two figures descended.
The first—a tall young man with silver hair that gleamed like moonlight, though his posture was careless, almost bored.
The second—an older, scarred woman with eyes like sharpened steel, standing close at his side, every step precise.
Zuleika clicked her tongue.
"Hm. Now here come the big shots."
The man was Malveron, commander of the 1st Fleet—a wicked mage-dweller, infamous for his devastating magical might. The scarred woman at his side was none other than Amadea, the 0th Fleet Commander, feared as the Emperor's right hand.
Malveron's gaze swept lazily across the battlefield. His sigh was long, theatrical.
"Do I really need to be here? Tch, I just finished a long-term mission."
Amadea's voice cut through the air, cold and without sympathy.
"It is the consequence of your failure." Her eyes didn't leave the battlefield, sharp as blades.
"You were inside the second prince's body for years, yet you failed to keep him alive until the strike."
Malveron rolled his eyes with a groan. But then—his gaze lifted to the upper walls of Nexus.
"Ohhh?" His lips curved into a wicked smile. "Who would have thought the Princess of Revazkerio is still alive." His tone suddenly brightened, gleeful.
"I'll go to her."
He strolled forward, careless, weaving destruction with every step. A group of Nexus knights rushed to bar his path—yet with a flick of his hand, his magic burst outward, vaporizing them in an instant.
"Out of my way, small fry," he muttered, irritation curling through his tone.
Zuleika's eyes narrowed sharply, her instincts flaring. She stepped into his path, sword raised.
Malveron's easy smirk faltered into annoyance.
"Urgh, can't I just approach my lady in peace?" He muttered before lashing out—a sudden wave of wide-range magic tearing through the battlefield toward her.
The aand quaked, the air cracked with force—yet as the dust cleared, Zuleika stood tall, unscathed. Her blade shimmered with the faint glow of oceanic magic, water-like ripples coursing over its edge.
Malveron's eyes widened, then narrowed with intrigue.
"Ah! I see!" He clapped his hands together, almost delighted. "You're the Nexus Princess."
Zuleika's crimson gaze stayed fixed on him, unimpressed.
"Well, Princess," Malveron continued, his grin sharp, "I don't actually have business with you. So… mind letting me pass?"
Her brow twitched at the absurd request.
"Yeah, no," she answered flatly.
Malveron sighed, slumping like a child denied a toy.
"Annoying…"
On the far side of the battlefield, Sir Wesley's calm presence carved through the chaos. His steady gaze shifted until it locked upon Amadea, the scarred woman whose aura rivaled his own.
"It's been a while, Sir Baton," she greeted, her voice smooth yet heavy with history.
Wesley's hands remained clasped behind his back, his stance calm as the sea before a storm.
"Indeed," he replied evenly.
The clash of titans was about to begin.
....
Malveron's magic unfurled like a storm. Despite the silver hair that caught the light, his power carried no brilliance—only pitch-black tendrils of corruption that seeped into the air, twisting and warping it.
Zuleika's lips pressed into a thin line.
"Dark magic…" Her voice was cold, her grip firm around the hilt of her sword.
It was the kind of sorcery she loathed above all else—tainted, suffocating, and born from greed.
With a snap of his fingers, Malveron sent a shockwave rippling through the ground, a black surge erupting like wildfire. Entire lines of stone shattered and ruptured as shadow-flames clawed toward her.
Zuleika dashed forward, her movements precise. Her blade gleamed, drawing in threads of azure light, forming a shimmering barrier of cutting wind. She swung, cleaving the surge apart—the clash between dark fire and oceanic magic sparking an explosion of smoke and shards.
Malveron chuckled, his expression bright with twisted amusement.
"Good, good! Don't bore me, Princess!"
He raised his hand, and a massive wave of dark tendrils erupted from the ground, writhing like serpents. They lunged from every direction, encircling her, their sheer number threatening to overwhelm.
Zuleika pivoted on her heel, her blade slicing in arcs too clean to be human. Every swing of her sword wasn't just steel—it was wrapped in the flow of her magic. A crescent of light burst with each cut, shredding the shadows into mist. Her stance was steady, unwavering, like a storm-bound sea refusing to be swallowed.
But Malveron wasn't done. He clapped his hands together. The tendrils converged into a towering mass of shadow, then split into dozens of spear-like spikes that rained down like a deadly storm.
Zuleika planted her feet. Her sword hummed with power as she thrust it into the ground. The magic within her blade flared outward in a dome-like wave, a translucent barrier that rippled like water. Every spear shattered as it struck, the sound like steel breaking on glass.
Malveron's eyes lit with exhilaration.
"Yes! Resist me more!" He hurled his hand upward, pulling the very shadows of fallen soldiers into a colossal blade that formed above them, blotting out the sunlight. Its edges writhed like a nightmare.
"Let's see you stop this!"
The colossal weapon came crashing down.
Zuleika narrowed her gaze. She lifted her sword high, magic flooding into it until it blazed like liquid light. The faint glow she carried before now roared, her blade expanding with the brilliance of condensed energy. With a sharp cry, she leapt upward, slicing through the descending blade.
The clash detonated, splitting the air with a shockwave that threw soldiers—Nexus and Tartagalian alike—off their feet. Dust and smoke engulfed the battlefield.
Through the haze, Zuleika emerged, landing firmly, her blade still shimmering faintly.
Malveron stepped out of the smoke opposite her, his clothes torn at the edges, yet his grin never faltered.
"Oh, you're better than I thought," he said, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. His tone was light, playful, though his eyes burned with madness.
"But how long can you last, Princess?"
Zuleika raised her blade, her breath steady despite the heat of battle.
"As long as it takes to cut you down."
Malveron's gaze drifted upward, lingering on the high walls where Aquila stood. His eyes locked with hers for the briefest moment, though Aquila's attention was solely fixed on Zuleika—her silver eyes soft with worry as her fingers fidgeted against one another.
Back in the chaos of battle, Malveron suddenly placed both hands over his chest, grinning like a fool.
"Ah… my princess just looked at me," he sighed dreamily, voice dripping with giddy delusion.
Zuleika froze, blinking in disbelief. Her lips parted as she followed his gaze, then whipped her head back toward him. Then to Aquila. Then to him again.
Finally, she jabbed her sword at Malveron like a child tattling on someone.
"Hey! Back off! She's mine!?" she barked.
Malveron blinked, stunned. Then, with a stomp on the sand that sent a puff of dust up, he whined like a sulking brat.
"HUH!? SAYS WHO!?"
"ME!?" Zuleika shouted, her crimson eyes blazing hotter than her blade.
"Oh, don't be silly," Malveron sneered, swinging his hand to fling a streak of black magic at her.
"There's no way Princess Aquila would like someone like you."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY!?" Zuleika roared, cutting clean through the blast as sparks crackled around her blade.
Nexus knights and Tartagalian soldiers alike paused mid-clash, stealing bewildered glances at the two bickering warriors.
"Well, I doubt Princess Aquila would ever like someone as rotten as you!" Zuleika snapped, her words sharp enough to slice deeper than her blade.
The insult struck Malveron like a dagger. He staggered back dramatically, clutching his chest.
"Guh! You wound me…!" He gasped, then puffed his cheeks like a child and spat back, "Well, I'm still better than you! You smell like a stinky fish!"
Zuleika froze. Slowly, her eye twitched.
"WHAT DID YOU SAY!? DON'T YOU DARE INSULT FISH, YOU—YOU ROTTEN EGG!"
"HUH!? WHO'S THE ROTTEN EGG!?" Malveron shrieked back, his dark aura flaring up with each stomp of his boots.
Their blades and magic clashed again, but this time it looked less like a deadly duel and more like two children brawling in a sandbox—shouting insults louder than their strikes.
Meanwhile, high above on the Nexus wall, Aquila pressed her hand to her forehead, brows furrowing deeply.
"What in the world is she doing…" she muttered under her breath.
They both panted like children who'd run too far in the sun—chests heaving, hair plastered with sweat and sand. The battlefield ground around them still smoked, but for a moment the duel had turned into something absurdly petty.
"Is that all a Nexus Princess can do?!" Malveron sneered, chest heaving theatrically.
"Shut up! You still won't get her!" Zuleika snapped, teeth bared.
Malveron fluffed his silver hair and preened. "Don't be silly. What you feel for her is as light as a feather—unlike me!"
"WHAT!? I LOVE HER FIRST!" Zuleika bellowed, and the shout carried farther than she meant. Heads turned; swords hung in mid-swing.
Then Zuleika scoffed. "I bet she doesn't even know your name."
"WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU STINKY NEXUS?!"
Malveron lunged, and they clashed again—this time with all the grace of two puppies fighting over a scrap. Blows were exchanged and dodged, but the insults were louder than their strikes: hair-pulling threats that became sword parries, theatrical stumbles that ended in dramatic recoveries.
"I SAID I LOVE PRINCESS AQUILA MORE THAN YOU DO!" Zuleika screamed—and the words echoed down the shore like a bell. The surrounding soldiers froze, mid-battle, and for a ridiculous, suspended heartbeat the whole war felt absurdly, painfully small.
Zuleika jabbed a trembling finger at Malveron. "SO YOU DON'T HAVE A CHANCE WITH HER—PRINCESS AQUILA IS MINE!"
She immediately felt every eye on her and flushed two shades red. "Oh…" she mumbled, the bravado draining out of her in an instant. Embarrassment made her cheeks hot as coals.
Right then a sudden burst went off beside her—a sparkling explosion of butterfly-magic that sang through the air. Zuleika stumbled back and hit the sand, coughing as petals of light drifted like confetti. Her heart slammed once, loud and stupid in her ribs.
Aquila on the wall above them, hands blazing with the last of her spell. She'd heard everything.
"Y—YOU IDIOT!" she shouted, cheeks flaming; her voice cracked somewhere between fury and mortification. Magic still flickered across her fingertips, sharp as a warning.
"I'LL BE THE ONE TO END YOU BEFORE THAT TARTAGALIAN!" she bellowed, the threat ringing out—half promise, half exasperated scold—as the archers on the wall nocked arrows and the battlefield snapped back into motion.
Around them the soldiers blinked, then the roar rose again—this time edged with a new, harder sound: a tide of resolve.