The battlefield froze into silence when, from atop the largest fleet, the young Emperor of Tartagalia appeared. He stood like a shadow carved from stone, his eyes devoid of warmth, pouring out an aura so suffocating that even his own soldiers felt the weight of it.
It was as if the world itself bent beneath him. Breath became a luxury—every soldier, Nexus or Tartagalian, held it tight in their chest, terrified that exhaling would invite death.
"Why," his voice cracked through the hush like ice breaking over a river, "have you not yet slaughtered them?"
The words were simple, but the coldness behind them struck like a blade. The Tartagalian soldiers, though already bloodied and faltering, trembled. Then—like puppets forced by unseen strings—they threw themselves back into the fray with a frenzy so desperate it turned them into beasts. The ground drank more blood, Nexus knights fell, and cries of despair laced the sea wind.
"This is absurd—we're going to lose!" a Nexus knight shouted, voice breaking.
And when the horizon darkened, despair deepened. Behind the Emperor's fleet came another—hundreds more ships cresting over the ocean's curve like a tide of death.
"H-how… how are we supposed to fight them all?" one knight stammered, his sword slipping from his trembling hands into the sand. The last flicker of morale drained from the line.
Zuleika's teeth clenched so hard they nearly cracked. From atop the walls, Aquila's silver eyes widened.
"I knew we were outnumbered," she whispered, her breath thin as glass, "but… what in the hell is that?"
Even Sir Wesley, locked in combat with the 0th Fleet Commander, briefly faltered. His usual calm was cut with a rare seriousness.
"You look rattled," Navea observed coolly, blade steady in her hand.
"Who wouldn't be?" Wesley's voice was even, but edged with steel. "That force is enough to drown nations."
And then—
The sky broke open.
The storm clouds were swallowed by a radiance so pure it painted the battlefield in unearthly light. Golden circles of incantations bloomed one after another, unfurling above each Tartagalian fleet like celestial halos. They shimmered with intricate runes, too divine to have been crafted by mortal hands. The sea stilled, the wind bowed, and even the Emperor—Valerian De Casuevo—lifted his gaze, his lips curling into something between awe and reverence.
"My Princess…" he murmured, the words a prayer to a goddess.
Every soldier—friend and foe—stared, their fear replaced by the kind of wonder reserved for miracles.
Zuleika's lips parted in disbelief. "Don't tell me…" she breathed, her crimson eyes widening.
And then, before the awe could settle, the heavens themselves answered.
"NEXUS—ANTOVER!" Zuleika's voice thundered from the battlefield.
The Nexus knights moved as one. Shields slammed to the ground, barriers flaring alive in unison, their timing precise as if guided by fate.
And then the sky fell.
Each circle ignited, unleashing torrents of destructive brilliance. Explosions cascaded like falling stars, bursting into light so blinding it was beautiful, so beautiful it hid the massacre beneath. In a single breath, over hundred thousand Tartagalian soldiers were annihilated. Ships shattered like paper, men turned to ash before their screams could reach the air.
To the eye, it looked like a divine festival of lights—fireworks spun by gods. To the body, it was death beyond comprehension.
The battlefield quaked, but in that moment, no one dared speak.
For they had just witnessed the hand of a goddess descend.
After the long silence, after the deafening roar of magic and the hellish brilliance that swallowed the sea—only the sound of crackling fire and the hiss of boiling waves remained.
Aquila coughed, her chest burning, her hands trembling as she braced herself against the stone of the wall. Her silver eyes flickered weakly as she tried to steady her breath.
"That power…" she rasped, her voice hoarse. "Who could it be…?"
She struggled to rise to her feet, legs quivering from the aftershock of the spell. Below her, the battlefield had become something unrecognizable—a graveyard of splintered masts and shattered hulls. Crimson mixed with seawater, the sand soaked in rivers of blood. The entire Tartagalian reinforcement fleet… gone. Annihilated in the blink of an eye.
Her heart clenched as she searched the chaos. Knights and soldiers staggered, some still frozen in disbelief. And then—her eyes caught her.
Zuleika.
The princess of Nexus, coughing, brushing the sand from her armor, but alive. Aquila's breath hitched, relief flooding her chest.
Zuleika herself blinked, dazed by the destruction. But when the cheering rose—when the Nexus soldiers realized, truly realized, who had unleashed such divine devastation—they roared. Their morale surged back like a wave reborn.
"The Chosen of Nexus…!" one soldier cried.
"She's here!" another shouted.
The name carried through the ranks, echoing louder than the clashing steel, louder than the sea itself.
Zuleika turned, her crimson eyes widening. There—standing amidst the chaos—was Princess Stella. Her hand still faintly glowing with remnants of the spell, her body trembling, one eye bleeding from the strain.
"Stel!" Zuleika bolted to her side, catching her as she swayed. She slid an arm around her sister, supporting her weight.
"You didn't need to do tha—"
"Shhh…" Stella cut her off, her tone soft but firm. Her one good eye locked with Zuleika's, steady despite her weakness.
"There was no other way," she whispered, and then—though her lips were pale—she smiled. A smile that only deepened Zuleika's chest with worry.
But then—
A sound cut through the air. Not cheers. Not cries. A laugh.
Low at first, but rising. Wicked. Unhinged.
From the wreckage of the once-mighty flagship, a shadow stood tall. Untouched. Unscathed.
The Emperor of Tartagalia.
Valerian De Casuevo stepped forward, the chaos parting around him as if the battlefield itself dared not stand in his way. His white eyes gleamed, alight not with love, but with something far more terrifying—obsession.
"I knew it…" his voice carried over the silence, every word dripping with madness. His lips split into a smile too wide, too hungry.
"I knew I should've taken you the moment I first saw you."
The way he said it wasn't a confession. It was a claim. A vow of ownership. His gaze never left Stella—piercing, suffocating, filled with a hunger that felt inhuman.
Then, as if descending from the heavens themselves, he leapt. His boots struck the sand with a resounding thud, and each step forward was deliberate, calm—like a predator savoring the inevitable kill.
"Damn it…" Stella hissed, clutching her bleeding eye. Her voice trembled not from fear but from fury. "How the hell is he still alive…?"
The battlefield, moments ago triumphant, now felt colder than death.
The Nexus Knights surged forward, forming a wall of steel and courage against the Emperor.
"Protect the Princess!" one of them cried.
But before their blades could even gleam under the dim light of fire and ash—Stella's voice broke out, trembling with urgency.
"Stop! Don't!"
They didn't listen. Loyalty outweighed fear.
And then—
In a blink of an eye, their loyalty was for nothing.
One heartbeat, they stood tall, shields raised. The next, their heads fell soundlessly, rolling into the blood-soaked sand. Their bodies collapsed like broken puppets. Not a scream. Not a sound.
The Emperor had not lifted a finger. His expression hadn't shifted. His boots crushed the earth as he simply… kept walking.
The silence that followed was deafening.
Zuleika's breath caught in her throat. Her heart hammered. For the first time in her life, a shiver colder than death ran down her spine. Her hand trembled at the hilt of her sword, a tremor she couldn't suppress no matter how tightly she gripped.
The other soldiers froze in place, their knees locking, their wills shattered. None dared move. Fear wrapped around them like chains, stealing their voices, their strength, their courage.
"Zuleika…" Stella's voice came low, steady despite the blood dripping from her eye.
"Don't you dare."
Zuleika's head snapped toward her sister, disbelief flaring.
"He's way above anyone's league," Stella continued, her calmness laced with steel. With effort, she straightened her back, her breaths shallow but her presence unyielding.
"But Stel—"
"I'll be the one to face him." Her words cut through Zuleika's protest like a blade.
Zuleika's lips parted, but no sound came. Her chest ached with helplessness as she watched her sister step forward, each stride deliberate despite the exhaustion pulling at her limbs.
She wanted to follow. To fight. To protect.
But her body froze—paralyzed not by weakness, but by the crushing realization of the gulf between them and this monster.
All she could do was watch. All she could do was pray.
The Emperor finally halted, mere paces away. His shadow stretched over Stella, dark and oppressive. His lips curled into a smile, his white eyes glinting like polished bone.
"My, my…" Valerian purred, his tone dripping with amusement. "How sweet of you, to entertain me alone."
"Shut your mouth." Stella's reply came sharp, her voice trembling with restrained rage. "Every word you say disgusts me."
For a moment, silence. And then—he smiled wider, his expression almost childlike, though the madness twisting behind it made it grotesque.
"Oh, my sweet Princess Stella…" His voice softened into a mockery of affection. "I hope this time, I can finally take you home."
He raised his hand slowly, casually, as if the act of claiming her was already certain.
But Stella didn't flinch. Didn't move back. Her gaze locked onto him, her body tensing like a coiled spring.
Every muscle readied, every nerve alive.
This was no longer a battlefield.
This was an arena of monters.
And the next moment would decide everything.