Ferraclysm stood as an unshakable monument to war and military supremacy, its reputation unmatched in the annals of the Slatemark Empire. This guild was more than just a powerhouse; it was an institution. Its engineers were visionaries who crafted wonders that defied imagination, and its adventurers were juggernauts whose strength could lay waste to entire nations.
At its helm sat Maxwell von Pontes, a name etched in both fear and reverence across the Central Continent. As a 9-star adventurer and mid Immortal-ranker, Maxwell was not merely a leader but a symbol of Ferraclysm's unparalleled might. His presence alone was enough to turn the tide of battles and strike terror into the hearts of enemies. Around him orbited a constellation of lieutenants—eight 8-star adventurers who had reached the pinnacle of Ascendant-rank and seventeen more who embodied its raw potential. Beyond them lay Ferraclysm's backbone: a legion of over two thousand 6-star adventurers, each capable of decimating entire armies.
This was Ferraclysm. This was power.
Yet their strength was not limited to their roster. Ferraclysm's crown jewel, Aegis, loomed large as the pinnacle of their ambition. The flying fortress was more than a weapon; it was a statement. Valued at over twenty trillion dollars, Aegis was the most advanced war machine the world had ever seen. Its hull, reinforced with mana-forged alloys, bristled with the power of seven Ancient-grade artifacts. Each artifact was seamlessly integrated into a spell array fueled by the rarest of resources—8-star beast blood.
It was a leviathan, a behemoth of destruction that could rain fire upon the unworthy from the heavens.
In Ferraclysm's central headquarters, Maxwell von Pontes sat in his command room, his sharp eyes fixed on the preparations displayed across an array of holographic screens. His presence radiated authority, a man in his element.
"Have you prepared Aegis?" His voice rang out, calm yet laced with an undercurrent of anticipation.
"Yes, Guildmaster," replied his vice guildmaster, a solemn figure who had dedicated decades to the guild. He stood stiffly, recognizing the gravity of the moment. This wasn't just another mission. This was Ferraclysm's declaration of supremacy.
Maxwell leaned back, his lips curling into a confident smirk. "Good. Let them witness the might of Ferraclysm."
Aegis roared to life, its engines a symphony of raw power. The fortress's vast shadow loomed over Ferraclysm's headquarters as it ascended, its presence a promise of devastation to those who dared oppose the guild.
Maxwell rose from his seat and strode to the observation deck of the fortress. From there, he watched as Aegis took flight, its mana engines glowing with a brilliance that rivaled the sun. The guildmaster took his place in the heart of the leviathan, the command throne surrounded by a dizzying array of displays and controls. Holograms shimmered with data, and mana threads wove intricate patterns across the consoles.
"Let us show them what Ferraclysm truly is," he declared, his voice carrying the weight of inevitability.
Below, thousands of guild members cheered as their pride ascended, a flying colossus that embodied everything Ferraclysm stood for. The fortress was not just a weapon—it was a testament to their guild's ingenuity, power, and unassailable dominance.
The airship soared, leaving Ferraclysm's headquarters far behind as it advanced toward its target. Confidence radiated through the fortress's halls, a shared certainty among its crew that victory was all but guaranteed. Maxwell himself was calm, leaning against his throne with the assurance of a man who knew the outcome before the battle had even begun.
And then, it happened.
Without warning, Aegis shattered.
The destruction was instantaneous, a calamity that defied comprehension. One moment, the fortress stood as a monument to Ferraclysm's invincibility, its reinforced hull gleaming under the sunlight. The next, it was a ruin of twisted steel and shattered mana arrays. The pieces of its once-mighty structure plummeted toward the earth like the carcass of a fallen god.
Maxwell's body followed. The explosion tore through the command chamber, his Immortal-ranked physique disintegrating under the sheer force of the blast.
The Aftermath of the Unthinkable
Regeneration, the hallmark of an Immortal-ranker, saved him. Maxwell's body reformed amidst the wreckage, but the experience left him shaken. As he knelt among the ruins of his fortress, cold sweat trickled down his forehead. For the first time in decades, Maxwell felt something foreign: vulnerability.
The attack had been swift, precise, and utterly devastating. It had bypassed the fortress's formidable defenses, its spell arrays and mana shields, as if they were mere paper. Aegis, the pride of Ferraclysm, the weapon that had granted Maxwell the confidence to face even a high Immortal-ranker, lay in ruins.
And the source of this destruction? A single strike, delivered with the precision and overwhelming power of a Radiant-rank attack.
Maxwell gritted his teeth, his hands clenching into fists as he rose to his feet. His gaze swept over the wreckage, and his heart burned with equal parts fury and disbelief.
"How?" he muttered, his voice low and venomous. "How could this happen?"
The silence around him offered no answers. His lieutenants, many of whom had survived thanks to their own formidable abilities, looked on in stunned silence. They had believed in Aegis's invincibility. Now, they stood amidst its ashes.
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"Is this enough?" Valen Ashbluff asked, his voice calm yet carrying the weight of someone accustomed to the gravity of his decisions. In his hand, the artifact—a dagger humming with ancient power—dripped with mana, glowing faintly as it returned to his grasp.
"More than enough, Your Majesty," I replied, a smile playing on my lips as I inclined my head in gratitude.
Valen, King of the Western Continent, was not a man easily swayed into action. But today, his rare intervention had reshaped the course of Ferraclysm's ambitions.
Valen shrugged, turning his back to me with a fluid grace. "Well, this is the first thing my son has ever asked of me. Consider it a gesture of good faith, Arthur."
I straightened, watching as Valen's figure dissolved into the shadows, a reminder of his mastery over them. His movements, seamless and silent, spoke of his precision—not just as a ruler, but as a mid Radiant-ranker whose strength had ascended beyond most mortal comprehension.
As he disappeared, Luna's voice echoed in my mind, soft yet tinged with approval. 'You are correct. Your senses at peak Ascendant-rank are sharp indeed.'
I exhaled, glancing down at the battlefield far below. The remnants of Ferraclysm's mighty fortress were strewn across the plains, its grandeur reduced to ruins. This was no mere victory. It was a statement, a declaration that Noctalis would not be cowed by the old order, no matter how mighty.