I woke with a start, my breath sharp as the cacophony of war crashed over me. The moment my senses returned, they were bombarded—the distant roar of spells colliding, the metallic ring of steel against steel, the deafening war cries of thousands clashing on the battlefield.
Chaos. Destruction. Carnage.
It took only a moment to grasp the truth. This was war.
"Arthur," Rachel's voice cut through the noise. I turned to see her kneeling beside me, her hands glowing with remnants of divine light, her sapphire eyes searching mine with quiet intensity. "I healed you, but…" She hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line.
I reached for her hand, kissing it softly. "You did the best you could, my Saintess."
Relief flickered across her features, but it was fleeting. There was no time for comfort. The battle raged on.
I pushed myself up, my body still aching, but there was no more time to recover.
Across the battlefield, Sun, Seraphina, Rin, and Cecilia fought relentlessly against Vorgath Ironmaw, each of them striking with everything they had. Beyond them, Jin led the Western continent's forces against the Savage Communion, their armies locked in a violent struggle. What had begun as a contest for power had erupted into a full-scale war.
And at the center of it all, Vorgath Ironmaw, the First Calamity.
In the Saga of the Divine Swordsman, a Calamity was not just a title. It was an omen. A prophecy. A being so powerful they could bring ruin to an entire continent.
In the novel's original timeline, the First Calamity had been Caladros von Noctis, the Vampire Monarch who plunged the Eastern Continent into darkness. The Second Calamity had been Jack Blazespout, the Hellflame Emperor whose fire had scorched the Southern Continent to ash. And the Third Calamity was meant to be Rin Ashbluff, whose awakening would have led to the fall of the Western Continent.
But that was in another world. A world where Vorgath had not bonded with a Mythical-grade artifact.
That world no longer existed.
Now, in this timeline, the First Calamity was Vorgath Ironmaw. He had taken hold of the Infernal Armis, the Artifact of Carnage, and in doing so, ascended into something beyond mere mortal limits.
Even now, I could feel the disconnection from Luna, though her presence still lingered, distant but steady. She was healing, but she was far from me now. Another complication.
My grip on Nyxthar tightened. Think, Arthur.
Vorgath had used my own movement against me.
The fifth movement. The one I had barely begun to grasp, the one that still eluded me. It was a technique I should only have been able to wield at Radiant-rank.
I could use it now only because of my True Domain, but even then—it was imperfect.
He had completed it.
And he had used it to crush me.
Yet he hadn't used it again.
I narrowed my eyes, my mind clicking into place. If he could wield that movement freely, this battle would have been over already. One strike—just one more of those attacks—and anyone on this battlefield would have been eliminated instantly.
But he hadn't.
That meant there were limits to it.
And that was the key.
I exhaled slowly. No miracles.
I couldn't hope for some sudden, impossible breakthrough into Radiant-rank.
That wasn't how I fought.
I fought with strategy. With execution.
I had to find a winning idea.
Conceptualize it.
And then make it real.
I turned my gaze back toward the battlefield, my body still battered, my mana still unsteady. But my mind was sharper than ever.
And I would win.
__________________________________________________________________________________
On the other side of the battlefield, four Radiant-rankers clashed, their battle shaking the very foundations of the land beneath them.
Kael Nyctharis and Evelyn Blackthorn against Valen Ashbluff and Charlotte Alaric.
It was a confrontation between two of humanity's strongest warriors—Rank 1 and 2—against two of the Cults' most formidable leaders.
By all logic, this fight should have been one-sided. Charlotte and Valen stood at mid Radiant-rank, their power refined over decades of mastery. Kael and Evelyn, though powerful, were only at low Radiant-rank. In terms of sheer might, in terms of technique, in terms of raw experience, the battle should have already been decided.
And yet, it wasn't.
Valen's daggers carved through the air with lethal precision, clashing against Kael's sword in a flurry of sparks and bloodied steel. The moment he found an opening, he pressed forward, his Shadow Armour rippling as he prepared to finish the fight.
Then, a single thread descended from the sky.
Crimson. Thin as silk. Yet unbreakable.
It caught the dagger mid-flight, stopping it as though the very concept of movement had been severed.
Valen gritted his teeth, rage flashing through his black eyes. "Alyssara," he growled.
Above them, floating effortlessly in the sky, Alyssara Velcroix lazily twirled a strand of her pink hair between her fingers. Her jade eyes gleamed with something unreadable, but the amusement in her expression was unmistakable.
First, she had kept all five Radiant-rankers outside of the Infernal Armis's Domain, preventing them from interfering with the artifact's trials. Now, even with the battle raging, she refused to allow Valen and Charlotte to aid Arthur against Vorgath, sending only Sun Zenith into the fight. And now, when Valen finally had the chance to end one of the Cult Leaders, she had intervened yet again.
She was controlling the flow of the battle with nothing but inaction.
Valen pulled back, his dagger trembling in his grasp, but Alyssara's thread didn't move.
Charlotte, standing beside him, exhaled through her nose. "She's toying with us."
"She's always been a tyrant," Valen muttered, his voice edged with fury.
Alyssara, as if hearing them, simply tilted her head, her playful smirk widening.
Her jade eyes flickered across the battlefield, searching, scanning, hunting.
Then, her gaze settled.
Arthur.
He was rising from Rachel's lap, his movements sluggish but filled with determination.
Alyssara's fingers stilled.
She could feel the anger curling beneath her skin. It was subtle, restrained, but it burned nonetheless.
Her jade eyes darkened.
She should have been the one healing him. She should have been the one tending to his wounds, brushing the sweat from his brow, whispering words of reassurance against his skin.
Rachel.
Alyssara smiled, but there was no warmth behind it.
'I'm so jealous, honestly.'
Her fingers twitched. The crimson threads hanging in the air shimmered, vibrating like plucked harp strings.
She could end this war right now if she wanted to.
But that wouldn't be any fun, would it?