Calamity—a title reserved for a being powerful enough to endanger an entire continent, a force so overwhelming that their very existence threatened civilization itself.
In all of history, only one true Calamity had ever descended upon Earth.
It happened over a hundred and sixty years ago.
The Heavenly Demon.
A singular existence of destruction, poised to reduce the Eastern continent to ruin during its golden age. But before he could complete his devastation, he was stopped by Liam Kagu, the Blessed Child of the Heavens—the only human in recorded history to step into high Radiant-rank, the realm of demigods.
Now, in an age without someone like Liam Kagu, a second true Calamity had emerged.
The First Calamity, Vorgath Ironmaw.
He was a monster beyond humanity's means to fight. Even Valen Ashbluff and Charlotte Alaric together—two of the strongest humans alive—would have barely been able to win against him.
And yet, that Calamity was dead.
A war that should have ended with the destruction of the Western continent had been stopped. Many had contributed, but one name stood above all others.
Arthur Nightingale.
At just quasi Radiant-rank, Arthur had done the impossible—he took down a Calamity.
Not only that, but he had already defeated Valen Ashbluff in battle just days before.
With this feat, there was no longer any debate.
Arthur Nightingale was now Rank 1. The strongest human alive.
And now, the world was coming for him.
From across the continents, the rulers of humanity assembled in the Western continent, each bearing the weight of their respective lands, each coming to witness the rise of a new era.
From the North, came the Creightons, the greatest spellcasting family in the world. For centuries, their mages had held the northern front, keeping the Umbravale Covenant and the Shadow Seekers at bay. Leading them was Alastor Creighton, the King of the North, one of the four Archmages of Earth.
His family had produced a Saintess this generation, and now, that Saintess had chosen Arthur Nightingale.
From the East, came the Mount Hua Sect. Their Prince and Princess, Sun Zenith and Seraphina Zenith, had fought beside Arthur against the First Calamity. And leading them was their King, Mo Zenith, his robes adorned with the plum blossom insignia that marked their sect.
From the South, came the Viserions. Marcus Viserion, the Draconic Warden, was the strongest spearman in the world and the King of the South. A warrior feared even among Radiant-rankers.
Finally, from the Central Continent, came the Emperor of the Slatemark Empire, Quinn Slatemark, another of the four Archmages of Earth.
And standing among them all, already present in the West, was Valen Ashbluff, the Necrotic Sovereign, the King of the West.
Seven Radiant-rankers.
The most powerful figures in the world.
And all of them had gathered to celebrate one man's achievements.
Marcus Viserion stood beside Alastor Creighton, his crimson hair reflecting the warm glow of the chandelier.
"It's been a long time since we gathered like this, hasn't it?" Marcus mused, his voice carrying the casual weight of someone who had seen too much war.
"Yes, Marcus," Alastor said, his smile measured, his sapphire eyes gleaming with wisdom.
Marcus exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "You must be proud of your disciple and future son-in-law, Alastor." He let out a low whistle. "Even with help, he took down a Calamity. And he even bested Valen before that."
His eyes darkened slightly, his thoughts drifting. "He's already surpassed us."
For a brief moment, Marcus recalled the first time he had seen Arthur Nightingale, nearly a decade ago. A talented child, a promising warrior. But nothing more than that.
Yet now—he had claimed the throne itself.
Marcus shook his head. "He's the same age as my son," he murmured, almost to himself. "And yet, he's already so far ahead."
A familiar voice joined them.
"Alastor, Marcus, both of you are here."
Quinn Slatemark.
The Emperor of the only empire on Earth approached, his presence exuding an air of command and control.
Marcus chuckled, tilting his head. "Even the Emperor of Slatemark came all this way, huh?" His smirk deepened. "Celebrating your future son-in-law's achievements?"
Quinn smiled, but there was something too sharp, too unreadable in his gaze. "Of course."
His words were neutral, but Marcus could tell he was watching Arthur closely.
Another figure approached.
"He's reached terrifying heights," Mo Zenith said, his voice calm, his dark robes shifting as he moved to stand beside them. "Vorgath Ironmaw was already powerful, but then he bonded with a Mythical-grade artifact."
Silence settled over the gathered rulers.
Because they all knew what that meant.
Mythical-grade artifacts did not exist on Earth.
There had only been theories—speculations about how much stronger they were than even Legendary-grade artifacts.
Now, those theories had been proven true.
A Legendary-grade artifact could enhance someone's power, but it could not bridge a full mana level gap completely.
A Mythical-grade artifact, however?
It could bridge almost two mana level gaps.
And Arthur still won.
The murmurs between the gathered rulers and their retainers faded into silence. Conversations ceased. Every head turned, drawn by an unseen force.
Someone had entered the hall.
The weight of their presence crushed the air itself.
For those who had reached Immortal-rank, sensing the magnitude of another's existence was second nature, an instinct refined with power. For Radiant-rankers, this ability was absolute—an undeniable awareness of where they stood in relation to others.
Now, in the presence of Arthur Nightingale, every Radiant-ranker in the room understood.
His power eclipsed theirs.
Even Valen Ashbluff's aura—once the greatest among humanity—was swallowed by the sheer magnitude of Arthur's presence.
Marcus Viserion exhaled sharply, rubbing his chin as his red eyes flickered with something between intrigue and disbelief. "I had heard Arthur achieved something extraordinary during the battle in order to surpass Vorgath," he muttered, "but what is this? Quasi Radiant-rank? This power… it's more than just talent."
Alastor Creighton and Mo Zenith exchanged knowing smiles, their arms crossing in quiet satisfaction.
Marcus let out a nervous chuckle, shaking his head. "What the hell have we been doing then?"
It wasn't just that Arthur was stronger. That much was expected from a prodigy who had already defeated Valen and taken down a Calamity.
But this was beyond that.
This wasn't the normal gap between a genius and a veteran warrior.
This was something greater.
A revelation. A fundamental shift in the hierarchy of power.
And for the first time, those who once stood at the peak of humanity realized their own incompetence—not in skill, not in effort, but in the very limits of their existence.
Mo Zenith's voice was soft, almost reverent. "The Martial King…" He paused, then corrected himself. "No. He has already surpassed that level."
Arthur was the first to step forward. The hall, vast and grand, felt almost small in comparison to his presence.
Behind him, Rachel Creighton followed. Then Sun Zenith. Then Rin Ashbluff, Cecilia Slatemark, and Seraphina Zenith.
Six figures, descending together, their movements in quiet harmony.
These six had directly contributed to the subjugation of the First Calamity.
And tonight, they were recognized as heroes.
All eyes were on Arthur, waiting.
The most powerful rulers in the world, each of them gauging his next action. Would he approach Alastor Creighton, the man who was both his mentor and the father of his fiancée? Or would he move toward Quinn Slatemark, the Emperor of humanity's greatest force and also father of his another fiancée?
The answer was neither.
Arthur walked past them all.
He strode toward a pair who had been waiting at the edge of the gathering.
Alice Nightingale and Douglas Nightingale.
His parents.
Alice's golden hair shone under the glow of the grand chandeliers, her sapphire eyes watching him carefully. Beside her, Douglas stood tall, his black hair streaked lightly with gray, his expression unreadable.
Arthur came to a halt in front of them.
Douglas nodded first, pride flickering in his dark eyes before he pulled his son into a firm embrace. "Arthur, you did well."
Alice didn't wait. The moment Douglas released him, she wrapped her arms around Arthur with a force that caught him slightly off guard. "I don't forgive you for not coming home," she murmured into his shoulder.
Arthur smiled, his arms tightening around her briefly before he stepped back. "Let's talk after the party."
Alice exhaled, shaking her head with a small, knowing smile. "We will."