Chapter 41 – A Decision Has to Be Made…

The Kingdom of Elysium burns. Villages smolder, cities lie gutted, corpses feed the crows. Only the capital still stands, a lone island in a sea of chaos.

And now… its last card is revealed.

From the heavens, the “Archangel” descends—a colossal fortress-machine cloaked in radiance. Wings of steel unfold, blotting out the stars, its core glowing like a newborn sun. The capital trembles beneath its arrival, streets bathed in its divine glow.

Fwooooom!

Beams of energy lance from its body like the wrath of gods. Each blast rips the earth asunder, reducing entire legions of demonspawn to ash. The frontlines vanish in eruptions of light and blood, forcing even the goblin champions to stagger back.

Yasuke watches silently, his blade humming with hunger.
“...A trump card.”

Moonwhisper exhales a plume of smoke, eyes narrowing with dangerous curiosity.
“Deadlock, then. Neither side breaks… not yet. Which makes it… intimate.”

Her lips curl into a smile as she surveys the walls, calculating infiltration routes even as Tesla-tanks unleash lightning cannons. Sparks splash harmlessly against the Archangel’s barrier, useless against its divine shell.

Inside the palace, Aethone stands at the heart of her ritual chamber. Her hands caress the crystal that binds the Archangel, her smile curving like a dagger. Behind her, Alfian sits curled in a corner, trembling like a broken child.

“I don’t want to die… please leave me alone… sorry…” His voice cracks, tears spilling freely.

Aethone’s grin widens. “Then let me give you a gift, ‘hero’.”

She presses her palm to the crystal, and a flood of golden light bursts forth, wrapping Alfian like chains. His body convulses, screaming, until his voice is no longer his own.

His eyes open—no longer brown, but glowing yellow. His trembling ceases. His fear vanishes. His aura shifts to something alien.

Aethone whispers, almost moaning with triumph.
“Sleep now, child. Let another soul wear your flesh. Arise… Celesta, the Golden Arc.”

Alfian’s body transforms—wings of radiant energy unfurl, linen of celestial cloth floats around him, and his presence presses against the palace walls like the breath of a god.

Outside, Yasuke stiffens as the air itself bends. In an instant—

WHAM!

Celesta’s fist collides with him, sending the demon samurai hurtling through stone and fire. Yasuke digs Muramasa into the ground, rising, eyes glowing a terrible red.

“…Finally.”

Celesta raises a hand, fingers glowing like the sun.
“Veritas Decretum.”

The skies part. A column of blinding light descends, sweeping across the battlefield. Demon armies dissolve into ash. Tesla tanks sputter, retreating in panic. A dome of golden radiance envelops the capital, shimmering, unbreakable.

Moonwhisper tilts her head, smoke curling from her lips.
“My, my. The last gift of the gods… a wall without end. How inconvenient.”

Aethone laughs, embracing the kneeling Celesta as he bows before her.
“Well done. Rest now, my hero. When the time comes, we will rise again.”

Alfian blinks as himself once more, confusion etched across his face.
“What… what happened?”

“You unlocked hidden power, my beloved hero,” Aethone purrs, stroking his hair.

Alfian’s fear morphs into fragile arrogance. He clutches her, trembling.
“I… I do have power. I’ll wait for the right time… and crush them all.”

“Yes,” Aethone whispers against his ear, lust and manipulation entwined. “Wait, and grow strong.”

Beyond the barrier, Yasuke kneels, sword across his knees, Muramasa glowing faintly. His voice is low, unreadable.
“…I will wait too.”

Moonwhisper flicks her ash, smirking.
“And so the game resets. The kingdom burns, except this one city. A fragile candle in the dark.”

Meanwhile, in the Kingdom of Mana…

On a cliff above the border, Kline stands beside Oswald. His staff glows as he chants, words weaving across languages—ancient Sanskrit, Persian, tongues lost to time. Circles of light spiral outward, engulfing the land in radiance.

“Guhā Sanātana, Dharma Sanātana… Andhasya Utkarsa…”

His voice rises, carrying across the skies. The ground itself hums. The air vibrates. The Kingdom of Mana glows as if kissed by the stars.

Oswald shields his eyes, jaw slack. “What the hell…?”

Kline’s aura bursts into spheres of pure mana, his voice thunder now.

“Be Nām-e-Rāh-e-Rast Jīvadhanaṃ!!
Dīvār-e-Jāvīdān!!!”

BOOOOM!

A shockwave of light blasts from his staff. In an instant, an invisible barrier forms, wrapping the entire kingdom in a shimmering dome. Runes spiral like galaxies across the sky, pulsing with divine protection.

All of Mana feels it—every peasant, every knight, every child. The fear in their chests lifts, replaced with warmth. For the first time in days, they breathe without trembling.

Even across borders, the neighboring Kingdom of Ut Lo witnesses it.

From a palace balcony, a man with vast wings spreads them against the wind, his gaze fixed on the shimmering horizon.
“…That boy again. The student of Iris.”

Beside him, a young woman of royalty leans forward, emerald eyes glowing with an almost childlike wonder. Her lips curl into a knowing smile.
“Kline… you finally found your path.”

The war drums thunder.
Two kingdoms, two domes of light.
Two desperate stands.

And in the silence between battles… the storm only grows louder.

Kline lowers his staff, his chest heaving. A faint stream of smoke slips from his mouth like he’s just exhaled fire.
“Hahh… damn!! That chant nearly burned a hole in my lungs.”

Oswald in disbelief, looking him over.
“Yeah, no kidding. That was insane. But… what is this, Kline? It feels different from a normal barrier.”

Kline straightens, grinning despite the sweat dripping down his brow.
“Oh-ho, you noticed! This isn’t your run-of-the-mill magic dome. Nope. This baby’s running on recursive space-time inversion formulas. Any hostile force that tries to pass through…”

As if on cue, a squad of demon scouts creeps toward the edge of the shimmering circle. They step across the line—only to snap back instantly to where they started, disoriented, as if reality itself rejected them.

Oswald stares, eyes wide.
“…What the—? They got sent back in time?”

Kline snaps his fingers, smug.
“Bingo. They move forward, and the formula rewinds them a fraction of a second. Perfect precision, constant recalculation. Took me, oh, hours of practice on the Sky Island archives.”

He starts rambling, fingers waving in the air as if writing equations.
“You see, it’s all about functions—nested mana loops, feedback recursion, recalculating the inversion constant down to micro-intervals of—”

“Okay, okay, STOP.” Oswald pinches his nose, looking like his brain is melting. “My head’s about to explode just listening to you.”

Kline bursts out laughing.
“Come on, isn’t it cool though? I basically made a ‘time slap’ wall! Hah! Eat that, demon legions!”

Oswald sighs, but the corner of his mouth twitches upward.
“Fine. You win, genius. Let’s head back before my brain fries.”

The two mount Kline’s sleek Skybike. The thirty Sky Golems rise in unison, forming a metallic flock of wings behind them. The engines roar, tearing through the night sky.

As the wind rushes past, Oswald speaks up quietly.
“…Hey. You think Randy’s coming back?”

Kline’s grin fades for the first time. He stares at the horizon, eyes hard.
“Tch. Don’t be an idiot. Even I don’t know the guy that well… but I know he’s coming back. He has to.”

“…Yeah.” Oswald nods, gripping his blade tighter.

Kline smirks again, more softly this time.
“Believe in hope. Always. Have faith.”

Oswald snorts.
“You sound ridiculously sentimental right now, you know that?”

“Shut up!!!” Kline snaps, cheeks flushing.

The Skybike streaks toward the capital, its trail of mana flames cutting through the darkness—
While the storm of war waits just beyond the horizon…

On the other side of the border—
Morwenna halts mid-step, her long cloak swaying in the wind.
“Wait… hold the march.”

The demon legions freeze. Confusion spreads like wildfire as goblins and ogres begin snarling at one another. The very air seems twisted, as though the land itself refuses to let them advance.

“What is happening?” Morwenna mutters, her eyes narrowing.

A goblin warlock stammers, “L-Lady Morwenna… we cannot cross. The barrier rejects us.”

She steps forward, senses sharpening. The mana here hums with something more than defense—it mocks them. A trickster’s wall, playful yet unbreakable.

“…So. Someone dares toy with us.” Her voice is low, but her claws flex in irritation.

She beckons two figures forward: a stooped goblin mage and a dark elf sorceress draped in silver runes.

The dark elf kneels, pressing a hand to the invisible force. “Not lethal. Not destructive. But maddening. Like… time itself bends back on us. I can break it, but I’ll need a summoner and a sealing mage.”

Morwenna’s eyes flash crimson.
“Then get to work. No barrier will stop us forever. It’s a trick… but we have patience.”

The demon ranks shift into formation, horns blaring across the plains. The invasion stalls—but only for now.

In Carnac Village—
Valga, face pale, bursts into the guildhall.
“Devonshire!! They’re here—an army, massive! Bigger than anything we’ve seen!”

Devonshire, calm as stone, rises from his chair.
“So… Fu Xi was right.” He adjusts his sword belt, voice carrying like a general. “Evacuate the villagers. Gather every man who can hold a weapon. We stall them here until the capital is ready.”

“Yes, sir!!”

The village erupts into action. Mothers clutch children, men drag carts of supplies, while others haul planks and stone to barricade the gates. A small flame of resistance flickers against the tide of war.

Aboard the Stroud, sailing for Isle o’ De la Mansa—
The sea wind whips across the deck, but Randy sits hunched, tools scattered, eyes sharp with focus. Sparks fly as he tinkers with his flight suit.

Elowen tilts her head, arms crossed.
“…What are you building this time?”

Randy doesn’t look up.
“The settings were off in the last fight. I need more firepower. More versatility.”

Her eyes drift to what he’s working on—two flintlock pistols, their barrels polished but ancient, pulled from Drake’s chest.
“…Those are his.”

Luna leans closer, curious. “Randy, what are you creating now?”

He exhales, gripping the pistols and the jagged Silver Fang sword.
“…A gunblade.”

Both girls blink.
“A… what?”

Randy finally looks up, grin sharp.
“Close-range and mid-range in one weapon. Sword for the cut. Flintlock for the shot. A pirate’s pistol… reborn.”

Elowen stares at him like he’s lost his mind.
“Do you have any idea how insane that sounds?”

He shrugs. “That’s why, once we dock, I’ll need to find a gunsmith.”

She jabs a finger at herself.
“Excuse me? Am I not a blacksmith to you?!”

Randy scratches his cheek sheepishly.
“Well… a flintlock’s got tricky mechanics. Someone here probably knows better—”

Before she can strangle him, Arin staggers over with a bottle of grog.
“Arrrr, lad… ye be strappin’ a pistol to a cutlass? Madness or genius, I can’t rightly tell!”

Eira squints at the prototype.
“Looks like a contraption fit to blow yer own hand off, matey.”

Seraphina folds her arms, exasperated.
“Randy… could you, for once, just use a normal weapon?”

Harmonia beams, throwing her arms around him.
“He’s brilliant! My darling’s building art!”

“Darling—ack!” Randy flails as she squeezes.

Elowen grabs him next, shaking.
“And what about the last ‘brilliant’ invention, huh? The one that BLEW UP my forge and flattened half a golem?!?”

“Sorry! Sorrysorrysorry!!” Randy gasps, tapping frantically at her arm as she mock-chokes him.

Eira nearly falls over laughing.
“Arrrr, ye scurvy pups be a circus act! If ye want the finest steel, ye’ll need Granny herself. Lady Nu Wa’s blades be kissed by the gods—ships obey her sword like hounds to their master.”

Both Randy and Luna freeze.
“…She can do what?”

Arin wags his finger.
“Arr, true as tides. The Silver Fang steer clear o’ her waters. Cross Nu Wa, ye end up feedin’ the fishes.”

The Stroud sails on, cutting through the foam.

At the docks of Isle o’ De la Mansa—
Nu Wa is waiting. Draped in captains robe, sword in hand, she stands like a living tide, her presence carrying the weight of storms and seas. Her smile is faint, knowing—like she already saw their victory before they arrived.

“The seas return ye to me, young ones. May the winds guide your next steps wisely.”

“Arrgh, Granny!” Eira beams, almost childlike, running to her. “We sank the Silver Fang! Treasure, glory—the whole lot!”

Nu Wa chuckles softly. “Aye, fortune smiles. But every treasure has its price.”

Elowen bows. “We found clues, Lady Nu Wa. They may lead us closer to the truth.”

Luna bows as well. “Thank you… for your hospitality.”

Nu Wa’s eyes glint.
“Fu Xi’s teachings anchor ye, child. He and I once sailed the same seas of fate—back when he was just a wanderer, not yet the Battlemaster.”

Luna stiffens.
“…You knew my uncle?”

Nu Wa’s smile grows faintly wistful.
“Heh. And your mother, too. Esmeralda’s flame burns in you, girl. A fire that lights the darkest storms.”

Luna’s breath catches, her eyes wide.
“…Mother…?”

Randy watches quietly, unease stirring in his chest.

Nu Wa’s gaze turns back to him, her tone soft but deliberate.
“You carry Drake’s shadow in your hands, boy. But beware… shadows cut deeper than steel.”

The crew follows her into her mansion, the smell of salt and herbs filling the air.

Inside, after hearing their tale, Nu Wa nods grimly.
“Aye. The Silver Fang ignored my warnings. Now they pay the price. But you—what treasure be ye seekin’ now?”

Randy pulls out the pistol and blade, his eyes sharp.
“…A gunsmith. The best you know.”

Nu Wa pauses, then laughs quietly.
“A curious request. Very well… I’ll tell ye where to find him. But steel alone won’t win the coming storm. Be sure ye’re ready to pay the price.”

Her gaze lingers on me, sharp as the edge of the sword at her side.
“Aye. He’s rough ‘round the edges, but the lad’s got spirit. Head to the end o’ the docks, past the Stroud, and look for The Prancin’ Seahorse. Ye’ll find him with a bottle in his hand. Don’t let it fool ye — he’s a genius with iron and fire.”

“Got it…” I mutter. And why is it always drunkards? Oh right. Pirates. Can’t separate the sea from the rum.

“You want me to tag along?” Eira asks brightly.

Arin throws an arm around my shoulder, reeking of grog but grinning like the tide itself.
“Nay, lass. Let the boy and I chart this course. The seas be calmer if the ladies do the chatterin’.”

“Fine…” I sigh. “Show me the way.” And with that, Arin and I head down the wharf.

“Wait! I’ll—” Luna starts, but Nu Wa stops her with a single motion, almost regal.
“Don’t fret, girl. Arin’s got the swabby in tow. Let the lad prove himself, and let’s hoist the sails with a proper chat.”

“Huh?” Luna blinks, completely off balance.

Meanwhile, Elowen’s eyes lock onto a fresh barrel of alcohol, her smith’s arms crossed like she’s already decided her evening. “This’ll be fun.”

The women drift back toward Nu Wa’s mansion, while Arin and I continue down the docks.

Arin leans close, his tone shifting from casual to serious.
“Word of advice, lad. Don’t brag ‘bout yer contraptions here. The moment ye show it off, half the port’ll be tryin’ to steal it.”

“Got it.” I tighten my jacket. At least the flight suit’s grafted to me. No one’s prying that off.

We arrive at The Prancin’ Seahorse. The sign is cracked, letters peeling. Inside, the place is empty — not a soul in sight. A heavy smell of oil and powder hangs in the air. And on the walls… strange firearms, odd blades, and one piece that makes me freeze.

A gunblade. Real. Crude, but real.

Arin whistles low. “Aye, Roderick’s still mad as ever. Built a blade that scares away every customer who sets eyes on it.”

I take a step closer, when—

BANG! A shot explodes against the ceiling. Two inches lower and my head would’ve been gone.

“Oi!” A gruff voice bellows. “Who in the hell stomps into my shop uninvited!?”

From behind the counter stumbles a dwarf — spectacles crooked, beard singed, peg leg clunking. He hefts a massive blunderbuss longer than his torso.

“Roderick, ye damn fool!” Arin shouts, hands up. “Ye’ll sink yer own shop blastin’ strangers!”

The dwarf squints at me, lowering the weapon slightly. “Arin? And who’s the pup?”

“A swabby with business,” Arin replies. “Don’t shoot him, savvy?”

Roderick eyes me like a hawk sizing prey. “Business, eh? What do ye want, boy?”

I place Drake’s twin flintlocks and the Silver Fang cutlasses on the workbench. “A gunblade. Something that works. I’ll pay in materials, and help at the forge.”

Roderick snorts, picking up the pistol. “Pistol’s flawed. Cutlass? Scrap. Ye’d do better melting ‘em down.”

My jaw tightens. “Can you build it or not?”

The dwarf’s lips curl into a grin. “Aye. For two gold.”

“Two gold?!” I snap.

“Ye heard me.”

Arin slams his mug down. “Ye scurvy dog! That’s robbery, and ye know it!”

I glance at the gunblade in his display case. Heavy, five feet of crude steel bolted to a barrel. The design is insane, but the idea… the idea is right.

“Let me see that one.”

Roderick hobbles over, opens the case, and places the monstrosity in my hands. It nearly drags me down with its weight.

“What caliber does this use?” I ask.

“Standard small rounds. But the blade’s Kelnite stone. Heavy as an anchor. No one could swing it long.”

He watches me test the balance. I exhale. “I can’t pay two gold, but I’ve got something better.”

I lay out the loot — shards of Kelnite, mithril strips, and something from my world: titanium alloy, light and strong.

Roderick’s eyes widen, greed flashing like firelight. “By the seas… what metal is this?!”

“My world’s secret,” I say simply. “Strong enough for armor. Light enough for flight.”

Arin grins. “See? Lad’s not bluffin’. This be more than yer two gold.”

I lean in. “I’ll trade. I’ll help. And I won’t complain.”

Roderick chuckles, rubbing his beard. “Fine. A deal. Let’s see if ye survive the forge, boy.”

Arin winks as Roderick waves me inside. “Good luck, lad. If ye blow yerself up, I’ll keep the shop warm for ye.”

I follow Roderick into the workshop. The air is thick with smoke and sparks. Tools hang like trophies. For the first time, I see why Nu Wa recommended him.

Roderick slaps a hand on the anvil. “Alright, swabby. Show me this madness ye call a gunblade.”

I roll up my sleeves. “Let’s build it shorter. Revolver chamber instead of flintlock. Twin design.”

He squints at me. “Heh. Boy’s got ideas. Dangerous ones. Alright. Let’s make the sea tremble.”

The forge bellows like a beast.
Sparks rain down, lighting up Roderick’s grin.

“Oi, lad, hold it steady! If ye miss the groove by a hair, the whole thing’ll blow yer arm clean off!”
The dwarf gunsmith laughs like that’s the funniest thing in the world.

I grit my teeth, sweat dripping. Seriously… why do I always end up doing crazy things like this?
The blade and the barrel take shape — an impossible marriage of steel and powder.
A gunblade. My vision. My gamble.

Meanwhile, at Nu Wa’s mansion, the air is thick with grog and secrets.

“Lady Nu Wa,” Luna asks, voice soft, “why the Cloud Wall? Why does it exist?”

Nu Wa sets her sword across her lap. The Pirate King’s gaze drifts to the horizon where the mist curls like chained ghosts.
“Listen well, lass. Long ago, Drake and Lilith fought a battle that split the very seas. Islands rose. Land merged. And the Wall—” she gestures, “—was born. Drake swore on his blood that no soul would breach it. My kin guard that vow still.”

Elowen’s brows twitch. “You’re saying two people fought so hard, the world itself… reshaped?”

“Aye,” Nu Wa chuckles, though her eyes carry an old sadness. “Legends don’t come pretty. They come with blood, sorrow… and vows.”

Elowen hesitates, then pulls out a medallion. “Is this what you’ve been missing?”

Nu Wa freezes. “…Fu Xi?”
Her voice cracks, like a tide pulling back. “Blast me memory… so it was him all along.”

Before the weight of the moment can sink in—

BANG!
A pistol shot shatters the quiet.

Korvus stumbles in, face pale. “Silver Fang! A fleet at the docks!”

Eira slams her mug down. “Finally! I was gettin’ bored!”
She leaps to her feet, eyes gleaming.

Luna draws her blade with a flash. “I’ll fight too.”
Seraphina cracks her neck. “An exercise then. Fine.”
Harmonia hums, smiling. “Every war needs a song, doesn’t it?”

Elowen only sighs. “If Randy were here, he’d—ugh, forget it. At least he’s not making me lose my mind today.”

Nu Wa rises. Her shadow falls long across the floor, sword humming faintly.
“Blackwood Pirates—prepare yourselves. If it’s the twins, then this won’t be an ordinary battle.”

At the harbor, the sea is choked with black sails.
A fleet.
A trap.

Two figures stand at the prow: a man cloaked in blue and a woman draped in red.

“Sister,” the man sneers. “Uncle was a fool, dealing with demons.”
“Shut it, brother,” the woman snaps. “His death is proof enough.”

Nu Wa’s eyes narrow. “The twins…”

Eira’s jaw drops. “The twins?!”
Her voice jumps an octave. “Then it’s cannons, Granny! Line up every damn one and blast ’em to splinters!!”

Luna steadies her grip on her sword. “They’re that dangerous?”
“Aye,” Nu Wa says, lips curving into a dangerous grin. “Bad blood. Old debts. And tonight, we settle them.”

The Blackwood pirates rally, muskets raised, cannons primed, sails unfurled.

The island holds its breath.

At the forge, Roderick slaps the finished prototype into my hands.
“Lad… she’s heavy, temperamental, and liable to bite ye back.” His grin widens. “But she’s a beauty.”

I hold it — steel and fire, blade and barrel fused as one. My heart pounds.
Gunblade… huh. This is gonna be fun.

To be continued…