Chapter 47 – A Battle of Multiple Fronts

The battlefield around Carnac fractures into chaos.

What was once a single overwhelming tide is now splintered into bleeding fragments—each struggling to reconnect, each dying alone.

The adventurers of Carnac succeed.

Barely.

Marcus’s plan works.

Through deception, harassment, and relentless pressure, the enemy formations unravel. Orc units charge phantoms. Hobgoblins break rank in pursuit of lust and illusion. Dark elves hesitate just long enough to be punished.

Explosions bloom across the plains.

Kline’s turrets thunder again and again—mana-infused shells ripping through clustered ranks. Fire and debris tear through armor and flesh alike, the shockwaves scattering screams into the smoke.

Three thousand enemies fall.

The number is staggering.

And still—it is not enough.

The surviving forces adapt. They regroup faster than expected. Their banners still stand. Their drums still beat.

This is no victory.

It is merely survival bought with blood.

Marcus watches the carnage through narrowed eyes, mug dangling uselessly in his hand.

“…Tch,” he mutters. “They’re learning.”

The realization hits everyone at once.

This enemy was never meant to be crushed in a single engagement.

—Another Front—

Two hundred and fifty kilometers away, near the borders of Mana—

Smoke coils into the sky like a warning flare.

Elysia stands at the edge of a shattered roadway, her armor smeared with ash and blood—not all of it hers. Around her, refugees pour through the final checkpoint in panicked waves: children clutching relics, elders supported by trembling hands, wounded soldiers biting back screams.

“Looks like we managed to take them all in!” Elysia shouts, forcing strength into her voice.

Behind her, the last evacuation convoy clears the line.

She raises her arm.

“Fall back! Everyone—retreat to the safe zone!”

The barrier shimmers into view ahead—Kline’s construct. Translucent, vast, humming with layered enchantments. The moment the refugees cross its threshold, tension snaps loose, legs collapsing, sobs breaking free.

Marian drops to one knee, gasping.
“That was… that was way too close…”

Oswald scans the horizon, gripping his staff.
“At least the enemy is only coming from the front,” he says. “Right?”

“…Huh?”

Elysia doesn’t answer. She simply points upward.

The sky is alive.

Nyx dives like a black comet, wings slicing the air, releasing a condensed blast of shadow that detonates midair. Kline follows—hovering unnaturally, arcane circles spinning around him as mana bombs rain downward with surgical precision.

Enemy units scatter below, formations dissolving under aerial bombardment.

Oswald whistles.
“Yeah… basically the two of them are doing literal bomb runs.”

Kevin leans against a broken pillar, exhaling.
“With air superiority like that…” He smirks tiredly. “Might as well take a break.”

Another explosion rocks the earth.

Nyx pulls up sharply, laughing through the chaos.
“Hey! I heard that!”

Kline doesn’t even look down.
“Enjoy it while it lasts,” he replies calmly. “They’ll adapt.”

The barrier hums louder.

Elysia clenches her fist, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Because she can feel it.

Every front is holding.

But none of them are winning.

This war is stretching outward—threads tightening across continents, dragging gods, heroes, and monsters alike into its pull.

And somewhere beyond the smoke, the true enemy is still watching.

Waiting.

From Vista Valley — The Neutral Ground

From the high cliffs of Vista Valley, the world below looks like a moving scar.

Banners ripple in rigid lines. Boots strike the earth in perfect rhythm. Steel flashes beneath a cold sun.

The mercenary forces of the Northern Kingdom march toward Mana.

No songs.
No cheers.
Just discipline—cruel, mechanical, merciless.

The leaders of Vista Valley watch in silence.

Mickey leans forward over the cliff’s edge, hands on his hips, squinting like he’s sizing up a bad investment.

“Aww, ain’t that just the berries?” he drawls. “Look at ’em go—real fancy-like. Marchin’ in lines, flags flappin’, all puffed up like they own the joint. What is this, a goose-step parade? Ya hear me? Think they’re hot stuff with their funny symbols and shiny toys.”

Ilmar turns slowly toward him.

“…Nazi?” he asks flatly. “And what exactly are you talking about?”

Mickey waves a dismissive hand.

“Aw, shaddap and listen, pal. I’ve seen this kinda racket before. Bunch of big-shot high-hats spoutin’ nonsense about purity and supremacy like it’s the hottest ticket in town. Makes my skin crawl, see? But I ain’t picky. You pay your dues, don’t start trouble, we get along just swell. That’s the Vista way.”

Ilmar exhales sharply.

“You and your… colorful references aside,” he says, “we remain neutral. The important thing is ensuring they are not marching toward us.”

“Indeed,” Althaeon says calmly.

Mickey snaps his fingers and turns.

“Boss!”

“My lord,” Ilmar adds.

Althaeon stands tall, robes fluttering in the valley wind, eyes never leaving the marching columns.

“My people are already in position,” Althaeon says. “They will ensure no sudden movement is made toward Vista Valley.”

Mickey clicks his tongue.

“Aww, nuts to that, pal. If those mugs decide to start somethin’, it’s gonna be a real fireworks show. Machine guns chatterin’, magic flyin’, whole place goin’ haywire. Let’s just hope it don’t come to that, or we’ll be sleepin’ with the fishes, see?”

Althaeon chuckles softly.

“Hahaha… we shall see.”

Footsteps rush up behind them.

A guard kneels, breath short.
“My lord… it appears they are not marching toward us—but…”

Mickey spins on his heel.

“Whaddaya mean but, pal?”

“A detachment has split from the main force,” the guard continues. “Roughly one hundred men. They appear to be led by a representative.”

Althaeon’s eyes narrow.

“Well then,” he says quietly. “Shall we?”

“Very well, my lord,” Ilmar replies.

Mickey grins wide.

“Alright, pal, let’s take a gander. Spill the beans. Let’s see what’s cookin’.”

Vista Town – Front Gates

The gates of Vista Town loom tall, stone etched with old runes of protection.

Beyond them stands the delegation.

One hundred armed men.
Disciplined. Silent.
At their front, a single figure steps forward, scroll in hand.

He raises his voice.

“By the creed of the Northern Kingdom! This land is recognized as territory under our influence! We demand your men join this expedition. Failure to comply will be considered an act of hostility!”

Silence hangs heavy.

Then—

Mickey steps forward.

“Listen here, pal,” he says, voice low but sharp. “You’re gettin’ a little too big for your britches. You think you can stroll into my neighborhood, bark orders, and I’m gonna roll over? Fuggedaboutit. You wanna talk business, you give me the straight dope. Otherwise? You’re gonna be wearin’ concrete shoes.”

The messenger scoffs.

Before he can answer, Althaeon steps beside Mickey.

“I am Lord Althaeon,” he says evenly. “Ruler of Vista Valley. We remain neutral in your conflict. We cannot supply men. We may, however, offer provisions. Accept this—or leave.”

The messenger sneers.

“You think you can escape consequence so easily?”

Ilmar steps forward, hand on his blade.

“Our nation stands with Gildarts. I advise you reconsider your tone.”

The messenger laughs coldly.

“That divided nest of nobles?” he spits. “This is my final offer. Accept the Northern Kingdom’s protection—or face the full might of our army.”

The air changes.

Pressure descends like a storm.

Althaeon sighs.

And then—

His body erupts in light.

Scales rip through flesh. Wings unfurl with a thunderous roar. Stone cracks beneath claws as a colossal dragon towers above the gate, eyes burning like twin suns.

“What—?!” the messenger screams. “A dragon?!”

The hundred men stagger back, weapons trembling.

Althaeon’s voice shakes the valley.

“LEAVE. NOW.”

Flames curl between his fangs.

“OR YOUR ASHES SHALL FERTILIZE THIS EARTH.”

Mickey calmly raises his 1911, pointing it straight at the delegation.

“Told ya, pal,” he says with a grin. “Don’t mess with us.”

Ilmar raises his arm.

Vista’s guards snap bows into position, arrows aimed, strings taut.

The wind howls.

And for the first time—

The Northern Kingdom hesitates.

Kingdom of Ut Lo

Main Palace Hall — The Eve of War

The palace of Ut Lo stands carved from stone older than memory, its pillars etched with dragons, beasts, and kings long turned to dust. Beneath its vaulted ceiling, an army gathers—rows upon rows of armored warriors, banners hanging heavy in the still air.

At the highest balcony, King Kyokuren stands unmoving.

His gaze sweeps over his forces—not with pride, but with weight.

The silence breaks as his voice echoes across the hall.

“Men… my subjects…”
He pauses, fingers tightening around the jade railing.
“Our kingdom… our land… stands at the edge of calamity.”

Murmurs ripple through the ranks.

“I wished—truly wished—to keep Ut Lo distant from this war,” Kyokuren continues, his voice calm but edged with iron. “But the world does not respect those who remain still.”

His eyes harden.

“Our borders are tested. Our neighbors bleed. And now… so shall we, if we do nothing.”

A sudden shout cuts through the hall.

“My lord!!”

A messenger rushes forward, kneeling hard against the stone.

“Delegates from the border! They claim to represent the Mercenary Kingdom!”

A low growl moves through the warriors like a beast stirring.

Kyokuren does not even turn.

“Show them our blades and spears,” he says coldly.
“Then kick them out.”

The guards bow and march away at once.

Kyokuren exhales slowly, more disappointed than angered.

“Listen to that,” he says, voice low but carrying. “They believe Ut Lo can be commanded like hired dogs.”

The response is immediate.

“NO!!”
“NEVER!!”
“UT LO STANDS!!”

The palace shakes with the roar.

Kyokuren raises a single hand. Silence falls instantly.

“General Liong.”

A massive figure steps forward—horns curved like crescent moons, armor forged to fit a body born for war. The Minotaur General kneels, fist to chest.

“Yes, my liege.”

“March your legions,” Kyokuren commands. “Reinforce Mana’s outer defenses. Hold the line where others falter.”

Liong grins, teeth sharp beneath his helm.

“My men will make the ground remember their steps.”

Kyokuren nods once, then turns.

“Lady Ria.”

From the shadows steps a woman whose presence bends the air itself. Her lower body coils with scales of emerald and obsidian—a Naga, unmistakably of an ancient warrior lineage. Her eyes burn with calm vigilance, much like Seraphina’s clan.

“Yes, my lord,” Ria replies, bowing deeply.

“Bring your warriors to the walls,” Kyokuren says. “Ensure they stand. I do not trust this enemy to wait.”

Ria’s tail tightens against the stone.

“They will not fall,” she says quietly. “Not while we draw breath.”

Kyokuren allows himself a thin smile.

“Good,” he says. “Because I believe this war will knock on our gates sooner than expected.”

The banners above them stir—though no wind blows.

And somewhere beyond Ut Lo’s borders, steel is already moving.

Ut Lo — Beneath the Barrier of Jade and Thunder

Princess Vulpina steps forward across the polished stone floor, her fox-like tail swaying once before stilling. The throne room feels heavier than usual—war has a way of bending the air.

“My lord…” she says softly.

King Kyokuren does not turn at once. His eyes remain fixed on the horizon beyond the palace windows, where distant clouds churn like restless armies.

“My dear…” he finally says, voice steady but tired, “it seems war has found us after all.”
A pause.
“Let us hope that boy of yours survives what is to come.”

Vulpina’s ears twitch, but before she can answer, Arcana steps forward, robes whispering with latent mana.

“Well,” Arcana says calmly, almost amused, “I believe he will.”

Kyokuren finally turns, one brow lifting.

“And what gives you such confidence?”

Arcana folds her arms, eyes half-lidded as if replaying memories.

“Kline has always been… strange,” she admits. “A loner. Loud when he shouldn’t be. Quiet when it matters. He never once acted like a leader.”

She exhales slowly.

“But after seeing what he has built… what he dares to challenge… I sense something awakening in him.”

Kyokuren studies her carefully.

“Then let us see if instinct triumphs over chaos,” the king says. “General Liong is a seasoned commander. He will reinforce Mana’s defense.”

Arcana nods once.

“Then allow me to ensure Ut Lo stands unbroken.”

She steps forward, staff striking the floor.

“Jiàn lì bǎo huàn—fáng yù kāi qǐ!
Om āyur veda rakṣā—Vajra khaṁḍa prajñā pāramitā!
Hunter’s dṛṣṭi—sādhana sampannaṃ!”

The air screams.

Runes bloom across the sky like shattered constellations. A massive barrier slams into place around Ut Lo—layered jade light, crackling thunder, and ancient sigils woven together. The ground trembles as the spell locks in.

Vulpina stares upward, breath caught.

“…That’s excessive,” she mutters.

Arcana smiles faintly. “War demands excess.”

The March of Ut Lo

Beyond the kingdom’s gates, General Liong charges forward at the head of his forces.

Cavalry thunder across the plains. Archers ride with arrows already nocked. Wizards chant as they move, spell circles orbiting their staves. Above them, harpy warriors tear through the sky, wings slicing the wind.

Liong raises his axe high.

“MARCH!” he roars.
“We ride to our allies—no hesitation!”

The army surges forward like a living tide.

City of Magick — Capital of Mana

Atop the grand walls, Lord Fu Xi stands beside Mina, both gazing toward the distant battlefield.

“It seems Elysia’s forces have contained the northern invasion,” Fu Xi says calmly.

Mina cracks her knuckles, eyes sharp.

“Then it’s our turn.”

Fu Xi nods. “Indeed.”

The sky suddenly darkens.

A vast shadow rolls across the capital as an aerial armada descends—flying demons, corrupted wyverns, and dragon riders blotting out the sun.

At their head floats Morwenna, scythe resting against her shoulder, cloak fluttering like a torn banner.

She smiles.

“So… the barrier mage managed to interfere.”
Her eyes gleam with cruelty.
“Legions—erase this wretched city.”

She swings her scythe.

The horde dives.

—

A metallic whine cuts through the chaos.

Hovering above the capital like a silent guardian stands the Cloud Cutter—sleek, angular, and humming with unstable power.

On its deck, Anduril grips the railing, grinning.

“This ship may not match the Skybreaker,” he mutters, “but it’ll do.”

The Cloud Cutter fires.

Cannons roar. The sky erupts into flame and shrapnel. Demon wings tear apart midair. Dragon riders spiral downward in blazing wrecks.

Fu Xi allows himself a rare smile.

“That blacksmith…”

Mina shields her eyes from the explosions, laughing under her breath.

“Finally,” she says, “air superiority.”

Above them, war burns brighter than ever.

And this—
is only the beginning.

The Kingdom Engulfed

The Kingdom of Mana burns—not in flame alone, but in chaos.

From every direction, pressure closes in. Borders crack. Skies darken. Roads choke with refugees, soldiers, and fear.

This is no longer a single battle.

This is war on all fronts.

Within the Capital — Last Lines of Defense

At the heart of the city, Raul stands atop the inner ramparts, cloak snapping violently in the wind. His voice cuts through the noise like steel.

“Hold formation! Shields forward—do not break rank!”

Around him, the remaining defense force rallies. Veterans fight beside barely trained recruits. Armor mismatches. Weapons are chipped and bloodied.

Among them—students.

Not soldiers. Not yet.

But they move anyway.

They haul supplies. Carry the wounded. Relay messages through smoke and screams. Every pair of hands matters now.

Inside the academy, the grand hall is unrecognizable.

Desks are shoved aside. Banners torn down. Floors soaked red.

Teachers move with grim efficiency, converting classrooms into makeshift medical wards. Healing circles flicker erratically as mana runs thin.

“Injured coming in—again!”
“Clear space!”
“Next patient—move!”

The wounded line the corridors. Some groan. Some stare blankly. Some never wake.

And still, more arrive.

The conflict has begun.

Northern Skies — Kline’s Warning

High above the chaos, engines scream.

Kline’s skybike cuts through the clouds, sensors flashing violently red. Alarms blare in his helmet.

“Dammit—that fast?!” Kline snarls, gripping the handlebars.
“Master!!”

Beside him, Nyx glides effortlessly, wings beating once as she adjusts her position.

“So they’re striking the capital already,” she says coolly. “Desperate move.”

Kline grits his teeth.

“Is it because of Sphaera?”

Nyx hesitates—just for a fraction of a second.

“No,” she replies slowly. “I don’t think so. This feels more like—”

The air explodes.

A storm of black-feathered arrows rains down, tearing through the clouds.

“TRAITOR!!!”

A furious voice echoes across the sky.

Nyx’s eyes widen.

“…Ula.”

A dark-skinned elf woman bursts through the smoke, eyes blazing with madness, bow already drawn again. Her presence alone twists the air—pressure, killing intent, obsession.

“Yikes!!” Nyx shouts. “Ula!!”

Kline barely dodges an arrow, swerving hard.

“WHO’S THAT HOT BABE TRYING TO KILL US?!” he yells.

Nyx grimaces.

“She’s a general—Third Archers Corps,” she snaps. “And yes. She’s completely unhinged.”

Another arrow tears past Kline’s shoulder.

Nyx turns to him sharply.

“Go. Now. The capital needs you more than I do.”

Kline hesitates. Just for a moment.

“…You sure?”

Nyx smirks, already drawing her staff.

“Get out of here, inventor. I’ll handle the lunatic.”

Kline grins despite himself.

“Roger that!”

He guns the engine.

The skybike screams forward, vanishing toward the capital in a streak of light.

Behind him, Nyx turns fully toward Ula, wings spreading wide.

The northern skies erupt in battle.

And below—

Mana braces for impact.

— The Alchemist Arrives —

The sky howls.

A streak of blue-white light tears through the smoke-choked air as Kline finally breaks through the outer cloud cover. The capital city sprawls beneath him—and his stomach drops.

Burning towers. Cratered streets. Demons inside the walls.

“…Darn it,” Kline mutters, teeth clenched.
“Wow… they’re really inside the capital…”

Below, civilians scatter. Soldiers fight house to house. Mana barriers flicker, unstable and cracking.

No time.

Kline swings his skybike sharply, boots slamming onto a shattered rooftop. He rises in one smooth motion, magic staff already humming in his grip.

His coat snaps violently in the wind.

Eyes sharp. Breath steady.

“Alright,” he exhales. “Emergency protocol it is.”

He plants the staff into the stone.

Mana erupts.

— Rain of Dual Purpose —

Kline’s voice rings out, layered with arcane resonance.

“Vidyā dvitīyā—Tatvānāṃ caturthī!”
“Rūpāntaraṇaṃ kuru—Nidrā varṣaṃ!”

The sky answers.

Clouds spiral inward, compressing unnaturally fast. A heartbeat later—

Rain falls.

Not ordinary rain.

Each droplet glows faintly blue as it strikes the battlefield.

Demons stagger as the rain touches them. Their movements slow. Weapons slip from clawed hands.

“Wh—what is this…?”
“My limbs—so heavy—”

One by one, enemy soldiers collapse, eyes fluttering shut as enchanted sleep claims them.

At the same time—

Wounded defenders gasp as the rain washes over them. Cuts knit. Bruises fade. Mana stabilizes.

A knight laughs weakly as he stands again.

“I—I can move!”

From the palace walls, Fu Xi watches the miracle unfold, a calm smile tugging at his lips.

“…Talk about perfect timing.”

— The Demon Queen Takes Notice —

High above, amid the chaos of wings and fire, Morwenna freezes mid-air.

Her crimson eyes narrow.

“Fufufu…” she murmurs, amused rather than angered.
“So… you must be the alchemist.”

Her scythe hums hungrily as she pivots toward Kline.

In the next instant—

She launches, the air screaming as her demonic aura tears through the sky, straight toward him.

Kline looks up.

“Oh. Welp.”

He taps the staff once against the ground.

— Alchemist vs Demon —

Morwenna crosses the distance in a blink—

And slams into nothing.

A translucent sphere of compressed mana snaps shut around her like a cage.

“What—?!” Morwenna snarls, slashing at the barrier.

The sphere tightens.

Runes spiral. Pressure spikes.

Kline squints, adjusting a dial on the staff like he’s tuning an instrument.

“…You know,” he mutters,
“only a really dumb demon would charge an alchemist head-on.”

The sphere shrinks further.

Morwenna’s eyes widen just a fraction—

Too late.

Kline steps forward, plants his foot, and swings the staff like a bat.

CRACK.

The compressed sphere rockets away—

A blazing arc across the sky—

Before slamming Morwenna into the ground below like a falling meteor.

The impact shakes the city.

Dust erupts.

Silence follows.

Kline exhales, resting the staff on his shoulder.

“Told ya.”

Below him, the battlefield pauses—soldiers staring skyward in stunned disbelief.

For the first time since the invasion began—

The capital breathes.

Morwenna’s Gambit

Morwenna awakens beneath shattered stone.

Her vision snaps into focus just in time to see a blade descending toward her throat.

Steel whistles.

Raul charges through the dust, cloak torn, shield raised, eyes burning with resolve.

“—Surrender!” Raul shouts.
“Your crimes against this kingdom are beyond forgiveness! Surrender now, or—”

Morwenna’s lips curl into a lazy smile.

“Ah…” she murmurs softly.
“…darling. Is that you?”

Raul hesitates—just for a heartbeat.

Too late.

Morwenna twists, her massive scythe spinning in a crescent arc of blackened mana. Raul barely manages to block it, his shield shrieking as the impact throws him backward.

“Or else what?” Morwenna asks sweetly.

Before she can rise—

Raul slams his shield into the ground.

“Commence the capture!!”

Chains flash. Runes ignite.

Student warriors and seasoned adventurers surge in from every direction—binding spells, suppression talismans, enchanted restraints snapping shut around Morwenna’s limbs.

“Unhand me!!” she roars, struggling as mana-seals clamp down.

From above, Kline watches the scene unfold and grins.

“Well, don’t you know?” he calls out cheerfully.
“Playing with fire always ends with burnt hands! Ahahahahaha!”

Morwenna stops struggling.

She looks… amused.

“Oh?” she says softly.
“Well… at least many of you are here.”

Raul’s expression changes.

“…No.”

He turns sharply.

“Oh no—! We must—!!”

Kline raises a finger.

“Don’t,” he says calmly.
“He’s underground, right?”

The ground detonates.

KABOOM!!

A massive figure bursts upward in a storm of debris, crashing into the square like a falling titan.

“What—?!” Morwenna gasps.

Kline steps forward, staff glowing.

“Like I said,” he mutters.
“Fire always burns the one who plays with it.”

He raises his staff.

The Cleansing

“Śuddhiṃ kuru, malaṃ hara!”
“Om apavitraṃ pavitrikṛtam—Cleansing vibhūtiṃ!”

Blinding white mana erupts.

The restrained Morwenna screams as divine fire engulfs her—

—but then—

The flames peel away.

The body convulses.

And collapses.

Silence.

Raul stares.

“…What?”

The figure lying in the ashes is not Morwenna.

Kline exhales, lowering his staff.

“See?” he says lightly.
“No need to panic. They still can’t get inside.”

Fu Xi lands beside them, robes fluttering.

“…Possession,” he says quietly.

Kline nods.

“They found a loophole. They can’t enter the barrier without burning themselves alive—so they borrow bodies instead.”

He laughs darkly.

“Hahahahaha… desperate, aren’t they?”

Fu Xi folds his arms.

“Then the true enemy is still outside.”

“Yep,” Kline replies.
“And whatever they’re building out there—”

Mina steps closer, eyes sharp.

“—it’s growing stronger.”

Kline’s smile fades, just a little.

“This was a grunt. A probe. If the real thing comes…”
“…we don’t survive it head-on.”

Mina exhales slowly.

“So they’re playing the long game. Weakening us.”

Kline grins again.

“Then let’s play their game.”
“Relax. Recover. Make them desperate.”

Northern Border – Aftermath

Snow crunches beneath boots as Elysia marches back toward the safe zone.

Nyx drops from the sky beside her, dusting off her hands.

“So,” Elysia asks casually,
“Are you done?”

Nyx smirks.

“Yep. Got a souvenir.”

She holds up a lock of shimmering hair.

Elysia blinks.

“…Why.”

Nyx snorts.
“Ula’s special. Her hair’s blessed—pure gold.”

Oswald squints at it.

“…That’s literally glowing.”

“With this much?” Nyx laughs loudly.
“I can buy a mansion! Hahahahaha!”

Kline—appearing behind them—joins in.

“Bonus loot! Best kind!”

The two laugh shamelessly, noses practically pointed at the sky.

Oswald sighs.

“Yep. You two sound like villains.”

Marian looks away, troubled.

“…I still pity the victims.”

Nyx pauses for half a second—

Then shrugs.

“War doesn’t wait for mercy.”

The wind howls across the border.

And far beyond it—

Something watches.

Beyond the Barrier — The Calm Before the Next Storm

Outside the shimmering barrier, at the blood-soaked border between Mana and the Northern Kingdom, the air trembles with residual mana.

Morwenna gasps awake, lungs burning.

“Haaah—!!”

She claws at the ground, armor cracked, demonic aura flickering like a dying flame. The barrier looms behind her—untouched, mocking.

“…That wretched alchemist…” she growls, teeth clenched.

Thorgrim stands nearby, calm as ever, resting his warhammer against his shoulder.

“As long as he lives, direct entry is impossible,” he says flatly.

Morwenna’s eyes blaze.

“And the traitor,” she spits. “Nyx. She is there.”

“That is none of our concern,” Thorgrim replies. “Personal grudges do not win wars.”

Morwenna exhales sharply, then narrows her gaze toward the barrier.

“…Still,” she murmurs, “they’re wasting time. As if they’re—”

“Holding the line,” Thorgrim finishes.

The air ripples.

A sigil ignites in the air, crimson and gold.

Lord Azrael’s voice descends like judgment.

“Nikola Tesla shall assist you.”
“He has completed another contraption.”
“He will arrive shortly.”

Morwenna tilts her head.

“…And what monstrosity has he birthed this time?”

Thorgrim’s expression darkens.

“A weapon,” he answers.
“I have seen it. An armored machine—no horses. No beasts. It spews lightning itself.”

Morwenna’s lips curl into a slow, delighted smile.

“…Interesting.”

From beyond the hills—

Thunder roars.

Steel silhouettes crest the horizon.

A massive squadron of Tesla Tanks rolls forward, metal treads grinding the earth into dust, coils crackling with raw electricity.

At their head stands a lone figure, coat fluttering in the wind.

Nikola Tesla observes the barrier with keen interest.

“…Fascinating,” he mutters. “It truly holds.”

Behind him, Achilles advances his army in disciplined, crushing formation. Shields lock. Spears align. Ten thousand steps shake the land.

The Retreat

On the opposite side, Carnac’s adventurers fight desperately—but it is no longer enough.

Valga raises her axe, bloodied and breathing hard.

“We fall back!! Now!!”

Marcus staggers beside her, clutching his side.

“Y-Yeah… at least we slowed ‘em down…”

Helvos wipes sweat from his brow, eyes wide.

“Slowed them? They’re getting stronger by the second!”

The survivors limp toward the capital as smoke coils behind them.

Mana — Ominous News

Within the capital, Fu Xi receives a transmission from Devonshire.

“The defense failed.”
“It’s a juggernaut.”
“Someone is leading them—nothing holds.”

Fu Xi closes his eyes briefly.

“…Then when they reach the barrier,” he murmurs,
“only that will be tested.”

Eligos — Where the Sea Decides

Far from the battlefield, the seas of Eligos churn under iron skies.

The fleets—Scourge, Stroud, Strider, and Nautilus—anchor alongside the Sea Wolves.

Tikka strides forward as negotiations erupt.

Pirate King Nu Wa slams a fist onto the deck, laughing thunderously.

“Arrr! Ye lookin’ fer a fight, matey? Then hear me roar! This ain’t the time fer squabblin’ like dock rats! One sea, one fate! Hoist the colors and sail as one—or drown alone!”

An elder snarls back, cane striking wood.

“Avast, scallywag! Don’t twist Drake Stroud’s words! ‘Unite in desperation’ don’t mean bend the knee like cowards!”

Nu Wa bares his teeth.

“The devil’s at our doorstep! I’ll not lose me ship nor me freedom to demon scurvy dogs!”

The debate intensifies.

Long Bolt leans toward us.

“…Aye. Politics.”

Randy blinks.

“So they’re… arguing?”

“Aye.”

Arin scoffs.

“Arrr, sea dog politics! What’s the offer, then? What treasure keeps our ships safe, eh?”

Luna watches, intrigued.

“…This is unexpected.”

Elowen nods.

“I thought pirates only fought.”

Riven squints.

“Nay… this is the Drake Stroud Code—wait…”

Ravenna opens a weathered book.

“A copy,” she says.

Randy takes it, flipping pages.

“…Huh.”

It’s not chaos.

It’s rules.

Gentleman’s conduct. Honor. Mutual survival.

“…Interesting,” Randy murmurs.

Luna tilts her head.

“What are you thinking?”

“…In my world, this is basic old-era gentleman conduct,” he replies.
“Pirates didn’t start as monsters. The real monsters came earlier.”

Silence.

“…How dangerous?” Luna asks quietly.

Randy exhales.

“Dangerous enough to not care if you were human—or worse.”

The discussion halts as Nu Wa and Tikka return, flanked by a massive figure.

“This is Elder Black Wolf,” Tikka says.
“Leader of the Sea Wolves.”

The elder’s gaze sweeps over us.

“…Aye,” he rumbles.
“Never expected landlubbers.”

The sea goes quiet.

And somewhere beyond the horizon—

War waits.

The Price of the Sea

Elder Black Wolf steps toward me.

The deck seems to quiet on instinct.

Up close, he is unmistakably a beastman—a towering wolf-shaped silhouette wrapped in salt-stained cloaks and iron charms. His fur is streaked with silver, his eyes old… the kind that have seen ships sink and men beg.

But beneath the fangs and scars, there is wisdom. Heavy. Measured.

He leans down, voice low.

“Listen close, lad… I be havin’ a request fer ye.”

I nod before I even realize I am. Something about him demands it.

He straightens, tail flicking once.

“Arrrr… the Drowned Maiden Clan be a plague upon our waters. A rot in the keel.”

His eyes harden.

“They ain’t true pirates. They be mermaids playin’ buccaneer, draggin’ me hearties into the briny deep and feedin’ ‘em to Davy Jones’ locker. Snatchin’ crews. Sinkin’ ships. Laughin’ while they drown.”

The deck creaks as his claws dig into the wood.

“Walkin’ the plank be too good fer them.”

I swallow.

“…Uh… you sayin’ I need to do… what, exactly?”

Black Wolf turns, reaching behind him.

He points—straight at me.

“Ye’ve gone and taken one o’ the most precious treasures on the seven seas.”

My stomach drops.

“Drake’s Codex.”

The world seems to pause.

“The original writings of Drake Stroud hisself,” he growls.
“Me most prized possession.”

His gaze sharpens like a blade.

“I want that book back. Now.”

A beat.

“Bring me the Codex, and I might consider hearin’ yer plea before the Brethren Court.”

Then he bares his fangs in a grin that promises violence.

“But don’t be thinkin’ I’ll forget this, ye scurvy dog. Get me that book… or walk the plank.”

Silence.

“…So,” I say slowly, “get the book, deal with the problem, and don’t die. Yeah?”

“Arrgh,” he snorts. “Now ye be learnin’.”

Eira crosses her arms.

“That sounds like a massive ask… an’ there’s more, ain’t there?”

Nu Wa steps forward, expression grim.

“Their lair lies deep in Davy Jones’ Locker,” she says.
“Far beneath the waves. No landlubber vessel can reach it.”

Tikka’s gaze slides—very deliberately—to my ship.

“…But you,” she says.
“You have a vessel that can.”

I freeze.

…Of course.

Why wouldn’t it be my ship?

Elowen looks at me, smiling sweetly—the kind of smile that absolutely means a lecture is coming later.

“Well then,” she says.

Luna tilts her head.

“But how do we even find them?”

“Sounds like a wild goose chase,” Seraphina mutters.

“Yaaay!! A treasure hunt!!” Harmonia cheers, fists in the air.

Me: 😑

Luna turns to me, eyes shining with expectation.

“Well then… what do you think, Captain?”

Captain?

I look down at myself.

Do I look like someone who makes life-or-death naval decisions?

I slowly turn to Elowen.

“Don’t look at me,” I say quickly.
“I’m not the captain. Not the owner. Not the—”

She laughs.

Actually laughs.

“…Fine,” I sigh.
“Looks like I’m the idiot in charge.”

Somewhere in the distance, the sea groans.

And I get the feeling it’s already laughing at me.

Behind us—

Arin swings into view like he’s auditioning for a legend.

He plants one boot on a barrel, leans back like gravity is optional, and raises a bottle of rum in a lazy salute.

“May I be suggestin’,” he drawls, swaying just enough to be concerning,
“that we all… keel-haul… an’ wait right here… while ye, lad, be the one to go an’ do the honors, savvy?”

He flashes me a grin.

The kind that gets people stabbed in alleyways.

He takes a long swig, wipes his mouth with his sleeve, and somehow looks exactly like Jack Sparrow—if Jack Sparrow were actively trying to ruin my life.

I facepalm so hard I see stars.

“…Of course,” I mutter. “Why wouldn’t I go alone.”

Before I can finish internally planning my funeral—

“I’m in.”

Riven steps forward, calm as ever.

“We might be makin’ the acquaintance o’ them mermaid folk,” he says, fingers resting on his blade.
“Never had the pleasure o’ crossin’ fins with ’em before, savvy?”

Ravenna snorts and shoves him lightly.

“Since them sea wenches only be drownin’ landlubbers, matey,” she snaps, glaring straight at me,
“me brother might as well be makin’ sure ye don’t become shark bait, ye blitherin’ numbskull!”

Eira crosses her arms.

“Aye. Ye be needin’ someone who actually knows how to guide a ship through treacherous waters,” she smirks.
“Since ye think ye can handle ‘em better than meself, ye scurvy cur.”

Luna steps forward next.

Slow.

Measured.

“I’ll follow,” she says quietly.

Her eyes lock onto mine.

“…Making sure you don’t do something stupid.”

That glare?

Cold. Sharp. Personal.

“Yep,” Seraphina cracks her knuckles, joints popping ominously.
“This numbskull is exactly the medicine we need to find those mermaids.”

She smiles.

It is not friendly.

“Another trouble magnet.”

“And yeah!!” Harmonia suddenly shouts, pointing at me.
“Those bitches ain’t stealin’ my Randy!!”

She glares at me like I’m the criminal here.

…Why the hell is everyone glaring at me?

I turn—desperate—for mercy.

Elowen meets my eyes.

😏

She smiles.

“I’ll pass this time,” she says sweetly.
“I’ll hang around here. Water isn’t really my thing… especially not going underwater like that.”

Smart.

Too smart.

She taps my shoulder, leaning close.

“Good luck. Gods speed. No big sister this time,” she whispers, laughing softly.
“I hope you come back in one piece.”

😁

…Fuck you.

I grit my teeth, holding back every scream I own, because deep down I know the real problem.

The thing I fear most.

The Lady Killer Affinity.

Nu Wa places a heavy hand on my shoulder.

“Laddie,” she says seriously,
“keep yer wits about ye. They ain’t just any ol’ scallywags.”

She leans closer.

“They be crafty sea dogs… cunnin’ scurvy curs… stealin’ yer booty and makin’ ye walk the plank.”

I stare at the ocean.

“…Jeez,” I mutter.
“Why does this keep gettin’ worse?”

The sea answers with a low, ominous roll.

Like it’s already decided.

Tikka steps closer, then stops.

She doesn’t meet my eyes.

“They don’t take kindly to me,” she says quietly.
“So… I can’t be there. I’ll wait here.”

Her voice is calm, but there’s something final in it—like she already knows this journey ends bloodied.

Before I can respond—

Lockbolt suddenly raises his hook.

“Ye might be needin’ me, matey,” he says with a grin that’s missing too many teeth to be reassuring.
“’Cause I knows the Codex like the back o’ me hook!”

He taps the metal with a clang.

“Them sea sirens be slippery devils,” he continues, lowering his voice.
“Always lookin’ fer ways to keelhaul ye and steal yer treasure. They’ll charm ye with their voices and snare ye with their tails—an’ by then, ye won’t know what hit ye.”

Great.

Mermaids and mind control.

The Nautilus waits at the dock—sleek, ironclad, and unmistakably not designed for comfort.
Compared to the Sky Breaker, it’s cramped. Tight. Claustrophobic.

A coffin that swims.

I turn to the crew.

Luna — magic knight, arms crossed, eyes permanently locked on me like she’s waiting for me to screw up.
“Making sure I don’t get into trouble,” she says.
…Sure.

Seraphina — warrior, cracking her knuckles slowly.
I swear she’s deciding where to punch me first.

Eira — the only one I actually trust not to stab me accidentally.
Or intentionally.

Harmonia — bright-eyed, humming softly.
Because of course we’re bringing a songstress into siren territory.

Riven — quiet presence, standing slightly apart.
At least I’ve got one guy here. I’m already uncomfortable with the gender ratio.

Ravenna — calm, observant, eyes scanning everything.
She’ll keep us alive when things go sideways.

Lockbolt — pirate scholar, walking Codex encyclopedia, and the only reason this mission isn’t blind suicide.

Seven of us.

Seven souls in a metal fish diving into a siren’s graveyard.

I nod.

“This is the crew I’m bringing,” I say.
“Any more than this’ll just slow us down.”

Black Wolf steps forward.

He presses something into my hands.

It’s heavy.

Cold.

And… filthy.

“Here ye go, lad,” he rumbles.
“A bit o’ grog fer the journey.”

I stare at it.

“…Why do I need dirt?”

“In them waters,” he says gravely,
“the only thing them sea devils can’t conjure be the dirt o’ the land itself.”

He leans closer.

“Bring earth with ye, matey. Keeps ye grounded. Keeps yer soul from driftin’.”

I look down.

It’s not a bit of soil.

It’s a whole damn sack.

…Fantastic.

Reluctantly, I accept it.

This is it.

The hatch creaks open.

The Nautilus waits.

And somewhere beneath the waves—

The mermaids are already singing.

Their voices drift through the water like silver threads—soft, beautiful, wrong.
Each note curls around the mind, tugging at memories, regrets, desires best left buried.

The Nautilus glides deeper.

Below us, the seabed opens into a graveyard.

Shipwrecks litter the depths—splintered hulls, broken masts, rusted cannons half-swallowed by coral. Flags from forgotten kingdoms sway gently, their colors long faded, as if the sea itself has claimed their identities.

At the center of it all—

An altar.

Ancient stone, carved with spiraling runes and sea-worn symbols. Chains of coral wrap around it like restraints, and something dark stains the floor beneath—old blood, perhaps… or something worse.

Harmonia’s humming falters.

Luna tightens her grip on her sword.

Even Seraphina goes quiet.

And me?

…Damn.

My chest feels tight.

Man… what the hell is Kline doing right now?

For the first time since this whole mess began, a bad feeling crawls up my spine.

I clench my fists.

Just… don’t let anything bad happen. Please.

Border of the Kingdom of Mana

Smoke rises into a sky split by magic and fire.

Kline staggers back, wiping grime and sweat from his face, his coat torn, his hair a mess that even alchemy can’t fix.

“…Damn,” he mutters.
“This is getting more complicated by the minute.”

Explosions echo in the distance.

The barrier still holds—but barely.

Enemy forces regroup just beyond its edge, probing, testing, learning.

And Kline knows it.

They always adapt.

Barracks, Northern Front

Elysia sits on a wooden crate, armor unfastened, catching her breath.

Around her, soldiers tend to wounds, replace broken gear, whisper prayers they don’t fully believe in.

She stares at the ceiling, fists clenched.

“…You idiots better hurry up,” she mutters under her breath.

Her gaze hardens.

Because something tells her—

This war hasn’t even shown its real face yet.

The sea sings louder.

The altar begins to glow.

And on every front—

The clock keeps ticking.

To be continued.