Arc III Part 2 Chapter 36-40: Lyselle Resolve's

The previously gray sky in Ardellon had turned a deep purple, as if night had fallen sooner than expected. A cold gust of wind swept across the rubble-strewn plains. In the distance, thunder rumbled, though it hadn't rained at all.

Lyselle looked west, feeling a pulse of energy that was foreign yet terrifying.

That aura... wasn't just magic.

It was like the breath of the world was being forced to reverse, as if a hand was tearing at the fabric of reality itself.

“Remiel…” he muttered softly, his heart beating fast.

Soon, at the top of a black tower that rose in the middle of Ardellon, a blood-red light burst into the sky. Clouds swirled around its peak, forming a giant vortex.

Caelan, who was standing beside Lyselle, gritted his teeth. “She really did it.”

Lyselle stared intently at the tower. “Dimensional weapon…”

Inside the tower, Remiel stood in a giant magic circle. His body was surrounded by dozens of black crystal pillars that pulsed like hearts. His hand was outstretched, and in front of him, a large orb with glowing patterns began to rise from the ground.

The orb wasn't just magic. It was an Arcanist Dimensional Weapon, an ancient relic from a time before the four kingdoms stood.

A weapon that is said to be able to tear dimensions and connect Eirenthal with other worlds.

Remiel chuckled, his eyes burning with a terrifying madness.

"This world is rotten to the core. The kings, the church, even the people themselves… all are bound by false chains. If I want to save this world, I must first destroy them."

One by one, the crystal pillars radiated light toward the orb, sending energy flowing through them that made the entire tower tremble. A cracking sound like shattering glass echoed, even though nothing physical was collapsing—it was a dimensional rift.

Lyselle clutched her chest, her body trembling. “If it were fully activated… Eirenthal could collapse. This world could become connected to an entity it should never have touched.”

Caelan drew his sword, staring at Lyselle with determination. “Then, we must stop him before it’s too late.”

However, before they could move, a wave of energy exploded from the tower.

The ground split open, the air trembled, and from the crack that appeared in the sky, a strange light pierced the sky of Ardellon.

It was like there was a giant eye peering out from another dimension.

The air in the dungeon vibrated even more violently. The blue light emanating from the crystal core grew even more dazzling, seeming to devour every color around it. The ancient symbols on the walls emitted a faint glow, then began to merge with the magic circle on the floor. The ear-piercing buzzing sound grew louder, causing the demon soldiers behind Remiel to cover their ears.

“No… this isn’t just an ordinary magic weapon,” one of the demons muttered, his face pale. “This… this feels like it’s summoning something from beyond our world.”

Remiel stood at the center of the magic circle, his body awash in lightning. His black robes fluttered wildly despite the lack of wind. His white hair shone with reflected energy, and in his eyes, two slits seemed to open, peering into a foreign dimension.

“This weapon wasn’t made to destroy just one enemy…” Remiel said, his voice echoing in a double echo, as if speaking with two voices at once. “This weapon… was made to shake the balance of the world.”

The giant crystal in the center of the room shook violently, and cracks appeared on its surface. From within, golden and black light mingled, like two energies that should never have been combined. The vibrations spread outward, causing the ground to crack and the castle itself to shake.

The demons standing outside the castle collapsed, some staring up at the sky in horror. Fine cracks began to appear in the sky—like glass being shattered from the other side. The night sky was a deep purple, as if layered, and from within the cracks, a strange light shone out.

“Is that… the sky breaking?” a demon commander shouted, unable to believe what he was seeing.

But Remiel just smiled faintly, his eyes gleaming madly.

“No… that’s not the sky. That’s the wall of the world… and I’m going to tear it down.”

The magic circle on the floor lit up completely, then slowly floated into the air. Chains of light emerged from all directions, binding the giant crystal and connecting it to Remiel's body. Strange voices began to be heard—a language that didn't belong to this world, echoing throughout the castle. Several demon soldiers knelt, their bodies trembling violently as if their brains couldn't handle the sounds.

“Arghhh!!!” several demons screamed, blood pouring from their noses and ears. Just being so close to the ritual had torn their minds apart.

Remiel raised his arms high. Behind him, a giant shadow began to form—an alien, vague, seemingly layered form, with countless eyes slowly opening. Each eye gazed out at the world, judging, penetrating.

“Behold… the dimensional weapon. The weapon that will be the key to our domination of this world!” Remiel shouted. His voice trembled, mingling with the voice of the alien entity now enveloping his body.

Light exploded in all directions. The demon castle shook as if it were about to collapse. From the top of the tower, light pierced the sky, creating a pillar of energy that shattered the night. The crack in the sky widened, and from it, something inexplicable began to stare down. Glowing red eyes, writhing tentacles of light, and a low, unworldly laugh.

“Remiel… you’ve truly gone mad…” whispered one of the noble demons watching from a distance. “If this gets out of control… not only the enemy, but even we will be doomed.”

But Remiel didn't care. He stepped forward, his left hand pressing on the crystal core, and his right hand pointing north—to the vast land where the neutral villages lay.

“As a first test… let us see how strong this world can withstand the wrath of my weapon,” he said with a cruel smile.

The pillar of light trembled, then leaned northward. The enormous energy began to concentrate, forming a spear of light that slowly shot into the distance. The ground trembled, the air split, and an invisible scream filled the atmosphere.

The neutral village sleeping peacefully at night, unaware of anything… would be the first target.

The sky north of Eirenthal was trembling that night.

The stars seemed to be swallowed up by the purple vortex that spread from Ardellon, then focused into a line of light that was drawn like a giant spear. The wind stopped blowing, the air seemed to hold its breath.

Down below, a small village known for its neutrality in the kingdom's conflict was sleeping peacefully. The last bonfire had been extinguished in the square, the children were asleep, and the peasants were hugging their families. There were no guards, no fortifications—because they believed that neutrality meant safety.

But that night, that belief was shattered.

The spear of light shot out.

In an instant, the night sky seemed to burst into flames. A purple-red flash swept across the village grounds, piercing the earth and igniting every wooden house. The first explosion destroyed half the village, igniting flames that spread to the wheat fields.

Heat waves shook the air. Babies cried, women screamed, and men awoke in panic, trying to drag their families out of the collapsing houses. But the ground continued to tremble. Cracks appeared, and from them, a strange light sucked the souls that had just been released from their bodies.

“My God… what the—”

A village elder tried to step forward, but his body immediately melted into dust when touched by the sweeping light.

Dimensional weapons don't just kill. It eats.

In the tower of Ardellon, Remiel raised his hands high, his eyes shining golden red. The strange aura that surrounded his body seemed to be getting more and more layers, as if he was standing in two worlds at once.

"Very beautiful…"

A lopsided smile formed on his face.

“Screams, screams, and struggling souls. Behold… this is the price of a world that pretends to be peaceful.”

The pillars of energy around him pulsed. With each soul swallowed in the village, the dimensional weapon grew more stable. The cracks in the sky widened, and the strange voices grew clearer.

“False worship, fragile agreements… I will tear them all apart. This world will know: there is no such thing as neutrality. All must choose—either submit to me… or perish.”

The demons around him froze. They were not only afraid of Remiel's power, but also of something strange—as if it wasn't just Remiel speaking, but something else was speaking through him.

In the village, the destruction continues.

Fire spread to every corner, the sky lit up with a red glow like a false dawn. A young villager, Irlan, dragged his sister Mira to the edge of the forest. His face was covered in wounds, but his eyes burned with fear and determination.

"Mira! Don't look back! Run!"

“But… everyone—mom, dad—”

The little girl's voice choked, but Irlan forced her hand to grip tightly.

The last building in the plaza collapsed, leaving behind a scream of despair. From the rubble, steel warriors coated in purple aura—dimensional warriors—emerged, striding emotionlessly. They stabbed at anyone who moved, swinging their swords in all directions.

“No… not just a light attack?”

Irlan staggered as he saw the creatures emerge from the cracks in the air.

“He… he sent troops from another world…”

The soldier raised his spear, aiming it at the two of them. But before it could reach them, a low voice echoed in their ears.

“Not everyone has to die. Let some live… to tell their stories.”

The soldier stopped, then took a step back. Irlan looked up at the sky—and there, Remiel's figure was faintly visible in the cracked light, as if his eyes were staring directly at them.

“Sis… that… who…?” Mira whispered in fear.

Irlan didn't answer. He simply lowered his head, dragging his younger brother deeper into the forest. He knew—he and his younger brother were being kept alive. Not out of compassion, but to spread this terror to the outside world.

By dawn, the village was gone. Only a blackened crater, soulless, desiccated corpses, and the ruins of burned buildings remained. Crows began to flock, though even they were reluctant to get too close to the strange energy still pulsing in the air.

Remiel closed his hand, and the spear's light faded. The crystal pillars in the tower spun faster, absorbing the victim's energy. His body trembled, but his eyes held a cold satisfaction.

"With one village, the foundation is solid. Tomorrow, the kingdoms will turn on each other. They'll think it's the work of elves, or demons, or humans. The cracks in the alliance will begin to open."

He raised his face to the purple sky full of cracks.

“And I will be the ruler over those ruins.”

In the distance, the black-robed figure who had been observing from the start sighed heavily. The light of the burning village still reflected in his eyes.

“Remiel… you have chosen a path of no return.”

He turned, his steps immediately carrying the news westward—toward Lyselle and Caelan.

Because tonight, the world has officially changed. And the blood of a neutral village is just the beginning.

That night, the city of Ardellon seemed shrouded in a thin mist. Bonfires blazed in the vast combined military encampment, reflecting the silhouettes of soldiers from four kingdoms: Virelion, Drezhen, Selvaria, and Ardellon itself. They all gathered with one goal—to stop the threat of Remiel and his demonic army.

But amidst the excitement of the line, there was an unseen anxiety.

Lyselle stood on the edge of the hill, gazing out at the expanse of tents that stretched like a sea of ​​light. Beside her, Leinhardt of Drezhen lowered his head and clenched his fists. “This alliance… it looks grand from the outside, but I can feel the cracks, Lyselle.”

“A crack?” Lyselle asked quietly, turning her head.

Leinhardt nodded. "The nobles from each kingdom have their own interests. They came not just to fight Remiel. Some are looking for profit from this war... some are fed up with the power of their own kingdom."

Lyselle sighed. Those words confirmed what she had felt from the beginning. This great alliance wasn't built on trust, but on fear. Fear of Remiel's power, fear of the demons, fear of the collapse of civilization.

In the distance, the war horns blared, signaling that the commanders were holding their evening meeting. Lyselle lowered her hood, intending to return to camp. But before she could take a step, light footsteps approached her from the darkness of the forest.

“Lady Lyselle...”

Someone emerged from behind a tree—an elderly man in the robes of a Selvarian noble. He bowed deeply, his voice trembling with tension. “I came in secret… for the safety of my family. I know it’s dangerous, but I must tell you something.”

Lyselle stared at him sharply. “Say it.”

"Not all nobles support their king. Some of us are fed up with being used as puppets by the Selvarian priests. We believe... the future should be in the hands of someone like you."

Lyselle's eyes widened. She hadn't expected to hear such a statement in the middle of the night, let alone from a Selvarian noble. The old man lowered his head even lower, his voice barely a whisper.

"If you truly fight Remiel... and survive this... then know that some of us will stand by your side. We have prepared secret routes, logistics, and information. Use them when the time comes."

The atmosphere was silent, only the wind rustling through the trees.

Lyselle stared into the nobleman's eyes. She could see fear, but also determination. This wasn't just betrayal—it was a hope they could no longer trust in their kings.

“I will remember your words,” Lyselle finally replied, her voice cold yet respectful. “But understand... once you step onto this path, there's no turning back.”

The man nodded firmly, then turned, disappearing back into the darkness of the forest.

Leinhardt took a deep breath, then said, “So... it's true. The cracks have already begun.”

Lyselle gazed at the tents flapping in the night breeze. Small cracks were beginning to appear, and one day they could shatter the foundation of this seemingly solid alliance.

But for Lyselle, this could also be an opportunity—an unexpected path to change.

The great meeting room in the neutral citadel of Ardellon was still filled with the scent of incense and torches burning on the walls. The shadows of rulers and nobles stretched across the stone floor, as if depicting the dark shadows of the future.

King Drezhen slammed his fist on the oak table, the heavy sound echoing.

"Are we so blind that we don't see it? Pope Elvarien has mobilized his cult to massacre neutral villages! And what is Selvaria doing? Silence, as if it were all just a passing wind!"

The usually calm Prince Virelion, now couldn't hide his frustration.

“If it’s true that Selvaria turned a blind eye… how can this alliance possibly survive?!”

The Archbishop of Selvaria stood up, his face full of anger mixed with guilt.

“Don’t scapegoat our kingdom! We too are disgusted by Pope Elvarien’s actions, but Selvaria is not of the same constitution as him! Don’t confuse us with the Pope’s insane ambitions!”

But her words only added fuel to the fire. Several nobles stood up, some shouting for revenge, others defending Selvaria, others cursing back. The voices thundered, making the room feel like a battlefield without weapons.

Amidst the chaos, Lyselle, who had been sitting with her face pale from the wounds from her battle with Remiel, stood up with unsteady steps. Though her body was still trembling, her voice broke through the din:

“If you continue to fight, you’re just dancing to the enemy’s game! Elvarien wants this alliance broken—and you’re all giving him what he wants!”

But even though the words were sharp, some rulers were too carried away by their emotions.

King Drezhen pointed towards Selvaria.

“If Selvaria does not sever ties with their Pope, then from this day forward the Drezhen will no longer recognize this alliance!”

The call was met with cheers of agreement from some of the Drezhen and Ardellon nobles, who had long been secretly suspicious of Selvaria. Meanwhile, Selvaria's side stood there, their faces flushed, considering the accusation an insult.

Lyselle stared bitterly, and at that moment—several nobles silently advanced to her side. They weren't from just one kingdom, but from various regions, faces that had previously appeared neutral.

An old duke of Ardellon whispered softly, just enough for Lyselle to hear.

“Princess Althariel… many of us are fed up with the blindness of our own rulers. If you oppose Elvarien, we will quietly lend a hand.”

Lyselle stared at them—eyes glistening, not from weakness, but from the bitterness of reality.

“Even you don't believe in your own king and nobles anymore…”

In the distance, Valt clenched his fists, his heart burning. He wanted to speak up, but he knew Lyselle had to stand up for him at this point.

King Virelion finally rose, his voice firm, trying to hold back the cracks.

“Enough! We can’t just break up because of a momentary emotion! If we split up now, Eirenthal will be destroyed, and—”

Suddenly a young nobleman from Drezhen interrupted loudly, his voice sharp as a knife.

“Better to be destroyed with honor, than to be led by an alliance that allows our villages to be slaughtered in the name of the Elvarien ‘God’!”

The atmosphere immediately exploded. Nobles shouted at each other, some even drawing their swords in the audience hall. Each king's guards stood at attention, nearly staining the neutral space with blood.

And in the midst of the chaos, Lyselle whispered softly to herself, but it was audible enough for Valt at her side.

“This alliance… is beyond saving.”

That night, the Ardellon citadel was the first witness to the destruction. The alliance that was supposed to protect Eirenthal, was now beginning to split, and the rift was only waiting for time to turn into open battle.

The shadow of a great war is creeping fast. And his next target was clear—Selvaria.

The night mist that had previously shrouded Ardellon was now swept away by the blast of war horns. From the south, the Alliance forces began to move—thousands of Virelion, Drezhen, Ardellon, and Selvarian rebels hidden in the shadows marched toward the holy city.

But in the hearts of every soldier, there was an undeniable tension. They all knew this battle was more than just a matter of capturing territory. Tonight, history would be written in blood.

Lyselle rode her white horse at the forefront, her cloak billowing in the moonlight. Beside her, Prince Caelan of Ardellon, in his black and silver armor, his piercing blue eyes staring at the city walls of Selvaria. The two figures, though from different origins, now stood shoulder to shoulder.

“This is it,” Caelan murmured softly, his hand gripping the hilt of his sword, which was emitting a faint blue glint. “The battle that will determine whether the world will continue to sink… or rise again.”

Lyselle turned, her voice cold yet fiery. “Then let us make sure, Caelan. That tonight, Selvaria’s corruption is burned away—even if it means we ourselves are burned within it.”

Caelan smiled faintly. “Those words remind me why I chose to stand by your side.”

The city gates are open.

It wasn't gallant knights or well-trained troops that came out first—but hordes of deformed creatures, their bodies covered in fresh blood, skin torn, blank faces with gaping mouths filled with silent screams.

The alliance soldiers gasped in horror.

“By… the gods…” a soldier whispered, taking a step back. “Those… are Selvaria’s own people…”

On the walls, Pope Elvarien's voice echoed, loud and fanatical.

“Behold! God’s purified people! Those who surrender their flesh become immortal warriors! This is the blessing, this is the light! You heretics—shall be nothing but sacrifices!”

His mad laughter erupted, accompanied by cultish chants.

And that's when the first wave of monsters ran wild.

The first clash broke out brutally.

Deformed monsters pounced on the vanguard. Blood gushed as alliance soldiers were torn apart, their heads bitten off. Screams echoed, human bodies falling in heaps, only to rise again as an army of darkness.

“HOLD ON! DON’T LET THEM BREAK OUT!!” shouted one of the Drezhen commanders.

But the formation soon fell apart. Bodies were ripped apart, stomachs ripped open, intestines dangling from the ground. The iron scent of blood filled the night air.

Lyselle jumped down from her horse, her sword clad in a glowing green aura. With a single slash, ten monsters were sliced ​​in half, their bodies exploding in a spray of flesh and black blood.

“YOUR SOULS… RETURN TO THEIR PROPER PLACE!!” Lyselle roared, her dimensional magic sucking the green light from the bodies, freeing their souls from the shackles of darkness.

At her side, Caelan drew his legendary blue sword. With a single swing, a wave of energy shot out, decapitating dozens of creatures at once.

“DON’T BLINK!” Caelan shouted, slashing forward. “THIS IS NOT A WAR FOR COWARDS!”

His sword traced a blue path of light across the blood-soaked ground. Each step cut through the monster's body, sending pieces of flesh flying.

However, Selvaria's counterattack was even more terrifying.

The cultists on the walls chanted mantras, and the bodies of the recently deceased alliance soldiers trembled and rose again, becoming enemy troops.

The soldiers screamed hysterically as they saw their own comrades tearing at them with their teeth covered in blood.

"THIS IS CRAZY! THEY'RE PLAYING—AARRGGHH!!" a soldier is killed, his body immediately changes and attacks another.

Lyselle looked up, anger burning in her eyes.

“Elvarien!! I will silence your lies tonight!”

He activated dimensional magic. From the air, a dense green vortex formed, creating a magical tornado that sucked dozens of monsters into the air, their bodies disintegrating into bits of bone and flesh.

Meanwhile, Caelan leaped onto the pile of corpses, his sword gleaming blue with lightning. He slammed the blade into the ground—a blast of energy rippled out, destroying dozens of creatures within a radius of tens of meters, the ground cracking, and blood exploding into the air.

“Lyselle!” Caelan shouted, turning to face her, enemy blood dripping down his cheek. “Let’s break through to the gate! Otherwise, our troops will be wiped out outside!”

Lyselle nodded. “With you!”

They both shot off.

Lyselle slashed swiftly, her sword carving a circular green light, decapitating enemies one after another. Caelan, at her side, slashed brutally, each strike like a thunderstorm, shattering bones.

Blood, flesh, and screams filled their footsteps. However, none of them stopped.

The two figures, the rebellious High Elf and the human Prince, now fought as one—opening a path to the heart of Selvaria's hell.

On the balcony, Pope Elvarien stared with glowing red eyes, his mad smile growing wider.

“Good… very good! Show me your hatred, Lyselle! Show me your resolve, Caelan! The more you slaughter, the closer you get to true ‘baptism’!”

He raised his hand. The ground trembled.

From under the arch, something crawled out—a monstrous creature as tall as a tower, its body composed of thousands of corpses stitched together and forced to life. The human faces on his skin screamed, hands clawing emptyly in the air.

The alliance troops were silent, horrified.

"…That… is not… no longer a creature of this world…" whispered a commander.

Lyselle stared at him with burning eyes. Caelan, beside her, raised his sword, gripping it tightly, breathing heavily but determinedly.

“Together, Lyselle,” he said without looking up. “We will bring down this monster. We will open the gates of Selvaria’s hell.”

Lyselle nodded. A green aura exploded from her body, mingling with Caelan's blue lightning aura.

Two different lights, merging.

And that night, before the walls of Selvaria, began a battle that would be remembered as one of the most brutal in world history.

The ground shook violently as the giant creature, made of thousands of corpses, stood fully erect, obscuring the moonlight. The sound of bones clashing and organs grinding against each other made a disgusting sound. Blood dripped from its patchwork body, soaking the path leading to the city gates.

The alliance soldiers screamed, some falling to their knees in horror.

“D-god… that’s no longer war. That’s blasphemy…”

The creature roared—or rather, the thousands of human mouths on its body roared in unison. The sound was ear-piercing, causing soldiers to vomit their guts onto the battlefield.

Lyselle took a step forward, her sword glowing green like a torch in the darkness. “This creature… shouldn’t exist in this world.”

Caelan stood beside her, blood dripping from his face and armor. The blue lightning sword in his hand trembled, as if responding to the threat. “Then let us ensure that tonight marks the end of this blasphemy.”

The giant creature raised its arms—hundreds of human hands dangling from them—and slammed them into the ground. Dozens of alliance soldiers had no time to flee. Their bodies were crushed like crushed insects, their blood splattering all the way to the back of the line. The screams stopped, replaced by the sound of flesh breaking.

“BACK!! RETREAT FORMATION!!”

The commander's screams were drowned out by the cacophony of death.

Caelan leaped forward. With a thunderous shout, he slashed through the air, unleashing a massive wave of blue lightning. The attack struck the creature's chest, blasting dozens of corpses from its body. However, the wound quickly closed—new organs stitching the gap shut with a disgusting wet sound.

“He regenerated from a fresh corpse…” Caelan hissed, his teeth clenched.

Lyselle closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, dimensional light swirled wildly around her body. “Then… let’s destroy it until nothing remains.”

They both charged.

Caelan slashed across the path, his body a storm of lightning. Each slash severed dozens of rotting limbs, each swing shattered bones. Beside him, Lyselle summoned a vortex of dimensional magic. The ground cracked and buckled, and the monsters' bodies were sucked in, disintegrating into fragments of bone and flesh that flew into the air.

But the more they destroyed, the more brutal the monster's resistance became. One of its arms swept across the battlefield, sending dozens of alliance soldiers flying. Their bodies scattered, organs strewn across the ground, their heads bursting like rotting fruit.

Screams, the smell of blood iron, and magic smoke mixed into one.

On the balcony, Pope Elvarien opened his arms, his face filled with fanatical ecstasy.

“THIS IS THE PURIFICATION CEREMONY! BLOOD FLOWS, SOULS SPLIT! A NEW WORLD WILL BE BORN!!”

Her voice echoed, seeming to energize the cult. Around the city, hundreds of cultists drew daggers, stabbing themselves in prayer. Their bodies exploded into balls of dark fire, devouring the alliance ranks.

A single explosion engulfed hundreds of Virelion soldiers, leaving only charred flesh behind. Their screams still echoed even after their bodies had been destroyed.

Lyselle screamed, her anger and despair mingling. Her dimensional aura shattered, forming glowing green blades in the air.

“DIMENSIONAL OBLITERATION!!”

Hundreds of energy blades pierced the giant's body. The screams of thousands of mouths rang out simultaneously, and blood gushed from its wounds. The monster's body shook violently, but it held on, sealing the wounds with new flesh.

Caelan raised his sword high. Blue lightning enveloped his body, his eyes glinting wildly. “Lyselle! Now—combine our powers!”

Lyselle nodded, jumping beside him. The green aura of dimensions and the blue aura of lightning collided, then merged into a blinding white light.

They both charged.

Caelan's sword slashed straight through the creature's core, while Lyselle thrust her dimensional blade straight through its chest. White light exploded, the sound of the explosion deafening.

The monster's body disintegrated, exploding chunks of flesh, bones, and organs across the battlefield. A shower of blood enveloped the team, covering the earth in a red puddle.

The surviving alliance soldiers could only stare, a mixture of relief and trauma.

Lyselle and Caelan stood breathless from behind the thick smoke. Blood dripped from their faces and their bodies were covered in wounds. But their eyes remained fixed on the ceiling.

Pope Elvarien was still standing on the balcony, his mad smile not fading one bit.

“Good… very good… you are indeed worthy opponents. But this is just the beginning, Lyselle. Do you wish to overthrow the throne? You must swim deeper into this sea of ​​blood…”

The sound of his laughter echoed, as if filling the sky covered in smoke and the smell of burning flesh.

Lyselle clenched her sword, her eyes burning with hatred. Beside her, Caelan stood tall, even though his body was covered in blood.

And under the red glow of the warfire, they both knew—the night was just the beginning.

The war against Selvaria was not just a battle… but the beginning of the end of the old world.

Smoke still billowed above Selvaria. The stench of burning flesh filled the cobblestone streets, and blood pooled in red rivers. The screams of the dying mingled with the unceasing chants of the cult. That night, the holy city no longer looked like a symbol of faith—but rather a giant altar of sacrifice.

Lyselle stood amidst a sea of ​​corpses. Her sword was still stained with black blood, and her hands were trembling. Beside her, Caelan was panting, his body covered in wounds, but his eyes remained fixed on the ground.

The remaining alliance troops huddled behind them, some disarmed, some kneeling with blank stares. Hundreds of soldiers had fallen, and the survivors were… almost heartbroken.

On the palace balcony, Pope Elvarien was still laughing, his eyes glowing red, cultist blood dripping down his white robes.

“Despicable heretics… behold! This is proof that opposing the holy will will only bring destruction. The world will bow to the true light! Your souls are but stepping stones for the birth of a new kingdom!”

Kultis knelt down, his voice echoing with fanaticism.

"Gloria Elvarien! Gloria! Gloria!"

Lyselle lowered her head, her teeth clenched. Thousands of lives had been sacrificed, all in the name of the rulers' arrogance. Her hands trembled even harder, not from fear… but from seething rage.

Caelan glanced at him, his breathing heavy.

“Lyselle… don’t let his words poison your mind. We can still win. We have to stand our ground…”

But Lyselle didn't listen. The sound of screams, the smell of blood, and Elvarien's laughter mixed into one in his head. His eyes that had only been filled with hatred now burned with another fire—absolute determination.

He raised his sword to the sky. A green dimensional aura spread wildly, enveloping the battlefield, sweeping away ashes, blood, and spirits that escaped. The once black night sky now vibrated with the light of dimensional cracks.

“Enough is enough… ENOUGH IS ENOUGH!!”

Lyselle's voice broke, stopping all the troops in their tracks, even the cultists gasped.

"Selvaria with her holy lies… Ardellon with her rotten politics… Virelion with his greedy ambition… Drezhen with his treachery… and Remiel with his cursed weapons! You are all the same—CORPUTE, BLOOD HUNGRY, and TRAFFICING IN HUMAN SOULS!"

Lyselle's voice trembled, but gradually became firmer.

"If this war cannot be stopped... then I will be the one to end it. If all these thrones must fall so that the world can be free... then LET ME BREAK THEM UP!!"

A dimensional aura exploded from his body, forming a giant green halo in the sky. The souls of fallen soldiers swirled around him, not as bloodthirsty ghosts, but as a serene light singing a song of freedom.

Pope Elvarien stared at him wide-eyed, then his smile broke out again.

“Good… very good, Lyselle. You’ve finally chosen the path of blood. But remember… every promise of war demands a greater sacrifice. You… will be the cause of the world burning.”

But Lyselle didn't budge. She stared straight at him, her gaze piercing like a sword.

“If the world must burn… then I will make sure the flames consume all rulers covered in sin. From this day forward, I swear… to overthrow them all.”

The alliance troops stared at him, some trembling, some crying, some just kindling a new flame of courage.

And that night, Lyselle's oath rang louder than a battle cry, sharper than the clang of swords.

No longer just a rebellion.

This is a declaration of war against all corrupt thrones… and against Remiel himself.

The silence that followed Lyselle's oath was more terrifying than a thousand war cries. The night wind rustled, carrying the scent of blood and smoke, as if the entire world awaited the next breath of the heir to the dimension.

Amidst the corpse-strewn field, the Alliance troops stared at Lyselle with eyes filled with a mixture of fear, awe, and hope. Some of them knelt, not to their thrones, but to the woman who had bravely stood up against all odds.

Pope Elvarien chuckled, his voice echoing like the mocking tinkle of silver bells.

“Look… even you, Lyselle, are nothing more than a bloodthirsty heretic. You think your oath will bring you freedom? No—you only pave the way for greater destruction. This world will swallow you up.”

A black aura radiated from his body, enveloping the palace balcony. Around him, cultists wailed in ecstasy, their bodies sacrificing themselves, their blood rising into the air, forming inverted sacred symbols.

But before fear could again overwhelm the troops, Caelan took a step forward, his scarred body standing firmly at Lyselle's side. His eyes, though tired, burned with the same determination.

“Lyselle is not alone.”

Caelan's voice was deep and heavy, but full of confidence. He glanced at the still wavering team, then looked straight at Elvarien.

"We have seen your corruption. We have experienced firsthand how human blood is traded for an empty throne. You are right, Elvarien… this world will devour. But from now on, we will be the ones to bite back."

He raised his spear, blood dripping from the blade, but his grip remained unwavering. “Listen carefully—Lyselle’s oath is my oath. If this path must lead through a sea of ​​corpses, then I will walk beside her without hesitation.”

Those words struck the alliance troops harder than any war cry. Some of the soldiers who had been limp now gripped their swords again. Some even cheered, their voices cracking with tears and anger.

Lyselle glanced at Caelan, her emerald green eyes trembling. For a moment, beneath the anger and determination, there was a glimmer of tenderness. “Caelan…” she whispered.

Caelan lowered his head slightly, smiling faintly despite the bleeding on his lips. “You don’t have to carry this alone.”

And as if those words were fuel, Lyselle's aura flared even more. The dimensional rift that circled the sky widened, revealing a shimmering green light mixed with deep purple. The spirits of fallen soldiers swirled around her, now singing not just of freedom—but of war vows as well.

Elvarien shouted, his face twisted between rage and joy. “Yes! Come, heretics! Show your teeth! The more you resist, the more I’ll be proven right!”

Lyselle raised her sword high, her voice echoing through the night.

“Hear my oath! From this night on—I, Lyselle, will no longer bow to any throne! I will topple Selvaria, Ardellon, Drezhen, Virelion, and Remiel! I will destroy all corrupt thrones, all the blood of oppressive rulers! This world will be reborn upon their ashes!”

The sword radiated green light, spreading like a second sun amidst the darkness. The alliance troops closed their eyes, but their souls trembled.

Caelan raised his spear, aligning himself at Lyselle's side. "And anyone who opposes her... will face me as well."

Kultis roared, Elvarien laughed, and the earth shook.

That night, Lyselle and Caelan's vows ignited a new, inextinguishable fire. A fire that refused to bow not only to Remiel, but to the entire old world.

And that fire—starting that night—would burn everything.