"Use despair?" I asked, my voice tinged with skepticism.
Magnus nodded, his expression resolute. "At least, that's what I did. After the destruction of my family, I left the North. Arden begged me to stay, to rebuild the Draykar name by settling down, marrying, and living under the Windward family's protection. But I couldn't. I forced myself to grow stronger. And then, Arthur... I bloomed."
I knew the rest of his story. Magnus Draykar's name was etched into legend. He forged his own Grade 6 art through sheer will and determination, rising to Radiant-rank in just over a decade—a feat unheard of.
But Magnus didn't just stop at the same Radiant-rank others did.
He became a force that transcended even that hallowed rank, surpassing nearly every other Radiant-ranker in existence. Only Alyssara Velcroix, with her terrifying power and cunning, stood at his level. Magnus had reached mid Radiant-rank, a height few could even dream of.
"After I achieved Radiant-rank, I realized something," Magnus said, his voice quiet but unyielding. "The others—those who reached Radiant-rank—stagnated. They said there was no path forward. But I didn't believe that. I pushed past that wall. I perfected my strength until it resonated in every fiber of my being. And when I was ready, I decided to test myself. The first place I went was the Mount Hua sect."
I stiffened slightly. I knew what came next.
Magnus continued, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "The Mount Hua sect's plum blossoms—so pristine, so revered. I crushed them under my feet. Mo Zenith, their Sect Leader, wielded his Grade 6 art, Violet Mist Divine art, with all the finesse one would expect from the leader of Mount Hua. But it didn't matter. I broke him, his art, and his pride."
He paused, the weight of his words settling heavily in the air. "After that, I didn't stop. I traveled the world. I faced and defeated all nine of the other Radiant-rankers. None of them could stop me. Each one fell, their unique astral energies, their treasured arts—none of it was enough."
Magnus's voice grew quieter, as though he were speaking more to himself than to me. "And then, I returned to the North. To Arden Windward."
I knew this part well. Magnus and Arden had always been rivals, but that final confrontation marked the end of their bond.
"By the time I faced Arden again," Magnus said, his gaze far away, "I knew he wasn't my match. I had already defeated nine individuals at his level—or stronger. Still, I wanted to face him. I needed to. Arden's swordsmanship is elegant, almost poetic, infused with ice and wind astral energy. His Grade 6 art, Myth of the Northern Peak, is a masterpiece, a blend of precision and devastation. But even that couldn't touch me."
His expression darkened, a shadow of regret flitting across his face. "I defeated him. Decisively. There was no room for doubt, no debate about who was stronger. And with that victory, our friendship ended."
He stopped speaking, the silence stretching between us like a vast, unspoken truth. His tale was one of triumph, but it was also one of loss—a reminder that power and ambition often came at a cost.
"I don't regret it," Magnus finally said, his voice firm. "But I learned something from that fight. Despair isn't just a tool to make you stronger. It's a truth. Everyone carries it, and how you wield it shapes the person you become."
His words lingered in the air, and I couldn't help but think about my own despair, my own struggles to reach the heights I aspired to. Magnus's story wasn't just a recounting of his past—it was a challenge, a warning, and a lesson all at once.
"Why tell me this now?" I asked, my voice tinged with curiosity. Magnus didn't often indulge in storytelling, and certainly not about himself.
He shrugged his broad shoulders, his expression unreadable. "I don't know. Call it intuition," he said, his gaze lifting toward the looming Red Sun above us. Its crimson light painted his face with an otherworldly glow. "Something big is about to happen."
The air around him shifted, and with a subtle motion of his hand, space itself seemed to ripple and fold. From the distortion, a weapon appeared, its form almost indistinct at first, as though it rejected being fully perceived until Magnus willed it.
It was a sword—but not in the traditional sense. Its blade was pure black, darker than the deepest shadows of night. It seemed less like forged metal and more like a sliver of the void, a tangible absence of light. Edgeless and smooth, it resembled a metal rod rather than a weapon of destruction.
Yet, I knew better.
This was Nyxthar, the Legendary-grade sword bonded to Magnus Draykar. Despite its edgeless design, it was a weapon of unparalleled devastation. The absence of an edge wasn't a limitation but a statement—a declaration that it didn't need a cutting blade to sever anything, be it steel, flesh, or even space itself. Its power lay in its conceptual nature, able to cleave through more than just the physical world.
Magnus's fingers brushed along its surface, his touch reverent yet casual, as though handling an old friend. "Nyxthar," he murmured, his voice carrying a weight that seemed to ripple through the air. "This sword... it's not just a weapon. It's a reminder."
He turned toward me, his piercing gaze locking with mine. "Do you know what this sword taught me, Arthur?"
I shook my head, unable to tear my eyes from the ominous blade.
"It doesn't matter what you face—be it armies, gods, or even despair itself. If you have the will to act, you can overcome anything. That's what Nyxthar is. A blade of pure will."
I swallowed hard, feeling the gravity of his words. Magnus wasn't simply showing me the sword to boast or intimidate. He was imparting a lesson, one forged in the fires of his own struggles.
'The only sword that can rival this one is the on Lucifer will eventually wield,' I thought.
Magnus coated his sword with astral energy, but this was no ordinary manifestation. The energy, having undergone the metamorphosis unique to Radiant-rank, shimmered with stars that danced in clusters, weaving through every microscopic layer of the astral energy like constellations given life.
And yet, that alone was not its brilliance. The energy didn't merely swirl around the blade—it became one with it, interwoven into the very essence of the artifact.
This was Sword Unity—the pinnacle of weapon mastery.
The artifact's latent power awakened, its Legendary-grade nature shining through as it amplified the vast reserves of astral energy Magnus wielded. The sword, unfazed by the immense force, contained it effortlessly, a vessel perfectly attuned to its wielder.
Then Magnus moved.
The motion was so precise, so deliberate, that it seemed to carve a path through reality itself. This was no mere swing—it was art, a declaration of mastery that echoed through the air.
First movement of the Martial King's Sword Art: Void Cut.
I couldn't grasp the full intricacies of his technique, not even close. Yet even as a spectator, I felt its undeniable weight, the sheer gulf of power that separated us.
Both of us had Grade 6 arts, but Magnus's mastery over his own was incomparably higher. His every motion resonated with perfection, and his Sword Unity stood three levels above my Sword Resonance—a summit I could only dream of reaching for now.
And the result?
The fabric of space itself quivered and warped. Magnus's blade seemed to strike at the very sun in the sky, as though the cosmos bent to his will. Light fractured and splintered in all directions, refracting like shattered crystal.
The Red Sun, high above, shuddered. Its surface seemed to ripple as if it were a living thing recoiling from the blow. Then, with a deep, resounding groan, red light spilled out, cascading like a crimson tide over the island.
The air crackled with energy, the ground beneath us trembling as though the earth itself acknowledged the power of the strike. It wasn't just an attack—it was a moment where the boundaries of possibility bent in reverence to the man who stood at their edge.
Magnus lowered his sword, his gaze fixed on the sky.
"It begins," he murmured, and I felt the weight of his words like a distant thunder, heralding a storm that would change everything.
Instantly, the space around us warped.