The wind screamed across the mountain ridge, sharp and cold.
The slopes were littered with broken blades, thousands of them, half-buried in the rock like gravestones. The land reeked of iron and old blood.
Arione Vale climbed the last rise, boots cracking the frozen soil beneath him. His coat fluttered like a banner in the wind.
"Garon!" His voice boomed through the valley. "Quit hiding and face me!"
From the fog near a stone hut, a dry voice answered, "And here I thought the mountain was collapsing. It's just you again, shouting."
Garon stepped out of the mist. He looked older, leaner, his long black hair streaked with white, his single visible eye bright as steel. The sword at his hip shimmered faintly, a whisper of wind dancing around the blade.
Garon shot a small pebble using air pressure at Arione, who did not bother to stop it.
"Tch! You've grown slow, Arione," Garon said. "All that noble peace made you soft."
Arione cracked his neck. "Soft? I could level this mountain before breakfast."
"Then let's see you try."
The air stilled. Even the mountain seemed to lean closer.
Garon drew his sword, and the wind drew with him. A single motion became a symphony: the air split, howled, circled. Then hundreds of swords made of air materialized in the sky, gleaming with translucent edges. They pointed down like judgment.
Arione's eyes widened. "You've been busy."
The blades fell.
The mountain lit up with silver streaks. Each impact sliced through stone, carving deep, perfect scars into the earth. Arione roared, slammed both fists into the ground.
Walls of earth rose around him, thick and jagged, forming a fortress of stone. The air blades struck it one after another, exploding into bursts of slicing wind. Dust and rock filled the air until the world vanished in smoke.
Garon narrowed his eyes. "Hiding already? I expected better."
The smoke stirred.
A sound rumbled from within the haze, slow, heavy footsteps. Then the wall shattered outward as if punched from inside.
Arione emerged, half-covered in stone. Sharp plates of jagged rock had grown around his torso, his shoulders, and arms. Armour born from the mountain itself. His eyes glowed faint amber under the shifting light.
Garon gasped. "You mad bastard… that much Earth resonance would've turned anyone else into a statue."
Arione flexed his hands, stone grinding as he moved. "Anyone else," he said with a grin, "isn't me."
The ground cracked beneath his feet as he charged, each step an earthquake. Garon's air swords darted forward, slicing toward him, but Arione raised a fist and shattered them midair with sheer brute force.
He leapt, impossibly high for his size. Then slammed a punch down. The earth erupted like a bomb, boulders scattering. Garon barely sidestepped, the shockwave flinging his cloak into tatters.
He spun in midair, cutting through the falling debris. "Stop behaving like a beast!"
"Better than being an eternal virgin!" Arione bellowed, throwing a slab of stone the size of a wagon.
Garon sliced it in half, but Arione was already there, breaking through the dust. His fist connected, not with Garon, but with the air between them. The shockwave hit like a landslide.
Garon tumbled back, landing hard, sword scraping the ground. The wind around him screamed as he regained balance, his aura surging. "Fine," he hissed. "No more games, you henpecked twerp"
He raised his blade skyward. The clouds bent inward, spinning. The air twisted into a vast cyclone that wrapped around him like wings. His sword glowed white-blue.
"Tempest Wrath!"
The mountain shook as a torrent of blades, hundreds, then thousands, burst from the air. Each one moved faster than sight, a storm of razors converging on Arione.
Arione stood his ground. The air burned around him from sheer friction. He stomped once, and pillars of rock erupted in every direction. "Earth's Judgment!"
The two forces met. Storm and stone, sky and ground. The clash tore the mountain apart. Swords shattered against walls of granite; shards of rock spun into the sky like meteors. The noise was unbearable, like gods tearing the air in half.
Then, silence.
When the dust finally cleared, the landscape was unrecognizable. Half the ridge was gone. The once proud mountain lay torn open, its heart exposed and glowing with molten veins.
Arione stood in the middle of it, his stone armor cracked and smoking. Garon knelt a few paces away, his sword broken at the midpoint, blood trickling down his arm.
For a long while, neither spoke.
Then Garon laughed, hoarse and breathless. "Still alive. That's a good sign."
Arione smiled faintly. "Still standing."
They stared at each other through the haze, both exhausted, both unyielding. Then, as if by unspoken agreement, they lowered their hands.
"Draw?" Garon offered.
"Draw," Arione agreed.
They clasped forearms, stone and storm meeting once more, firm and wordless.
Far above, hidden behind a jagged ridge, Guison Vale watched it all.
The eldest son of Arione had arrived just in time to see the storm and the quake collide. Even from afar, the pressure had nearly flattened him. The shockwaves had made the air ripple and the rocks around him hum like struck glass.
Now, seeing them stand together amid the ruin, Guison could only stare in awe. His father, cloaked in broken stone, and Garon, the living tempest, laughing among the wreckage of their own power.
Arione met the gaze of his eldest son and gestured towards Guison to join them.
Then the two old friends began their slow walk down the mountain, talking, laughing as though they hadn't just torn the world in half.
"So why are you here? Came to see your pup? He is doing good, if he keeps his thoughts under his pants, will probably reach rank A in two-three years"
"Of course he will, but this time it's for a favor I need from you" Arione became serious.
"How many favors have you gotten from me? You did not even brought any wine this time"
"I did bring wine, plenty of it, but before that, I want you to look at something," Arione said, his tone carrying that familiar spark that usually meant trouble. He motioned for Garon to follow him down the mountain path.
Garon groaned, dragging his boots through the gravel. "You've got that look again. If this turns out to be another one of your noble pet projects, I swear I'll throw you off the cliff before we get there."
Arione smirked, saying nothing. "It's a surprise," he said, voice low and full of pride. "And something else, an assassin from the Silent Court managed to sneak into our estate a few nights ago."
Garon stopped in his tracks. "You're joking."
Arione shook his head. "I wish I was. The bastard made it to my stable before my son found him."
"Your son?" Garon blinked, then barked a laugh. "You mean that brat who isn't even a teenager yet?"
Arione's lips twitched upward. "The same. He and Kael handled him themselves."
Garon turned sharply toward him. "You let children fight a trained assassin? Are you insane, Arione? What were you doing, writing poetry?"
"I was attending a meeting with an important imperial agent, and the assassin used a silencing skill," Arione said, unbothered. "And they handled it before I could even reach them."
Garon muttered under his breath. "Gods help me, you're raising monsters."
Arione stopped beside the Vale carriage and, without another word, pulled back a thick canvas sheet. Beneath it stood a reinforced iron cage.
Inside, a chicken sat perfectly still.
Garon stared at it. Then at Arione. "You dragged me down here for a chicken?"
Arione crossed his arms. "Not just any chicken. Look closer."
Garon leaned forward, frowning. The bird's feathers shimmered faintly, each strand glinting like polished steel. A small pair of horns curled above its head, and its eyes followed him, calm, intelligent, unblinking.
"It's a rank one magical beast," Garon said finally. "So what? They pop up in backyards these days."
Arione's expression didn't change. "Have you ever seen a rank one beast sit quietly in a cage? No panic, no bloodlust, no attempt to break free? It just sits there."
Garon's frown deepened. The creature didn't flinch, didn't move, it only tilted its head, studying him as if he were the strange one.
"That's not right," he muttered. "It doesn't even feel… feral, in the normal way."
Arione smiled faintly. "Heh. Old man, you're looking at a miracle. That's not a born magical beast, it was made from a normal house chicken."
For a heartbeat, Garon didn't react. Then his eyes widened, sharp and clear. "Made? Who in the nine hells could…"
"Who else?" Arione interrupted with a smirk. "My youngest son. The little doom-bringer himself. Clearly inherited my genius."
Garon stared at him, speechless for a moment. Then he sighed, rubbing his temple. "Your ego's growing faster than your beard, Arione. And if what you're saying is true…"
He turned back to the cage, his gaze hardening. The chicken sat there, calm as ever, its breath slow, its aura faint but unnervingly steady.
"If lower rank beasts can be made like this," he said quietly, "What about the higher ranks? What if the beasts did not form naturally but….."
Arione's grin faded. "That's the question keeping me awake at night."
The two men stood in silence. The wind whispered through the mountain pines, and the cage creaked softly as the creature shifted.
"Guison, you go back with your father, you have learned everything from me." Garon turned to look directly at Arione "I am going to find someone".
Garon did not look back and with every step he moved hundreds of meters away.
Guision came closer to his father,"Who is he talking about?"
"His lover, heh, calling me henpecked, let's wait and see who gets whipped more" Arione's lips curved up. "Let's go we have to meet with Hans and Charles, and beat some people up"