The Titan loomed over the horizon, its massive form rising from the ocean, water lapping gently against its waist.
Its body glowed faintly under the sun, wrapped in a pristine white suit of armor that gleamed like polished stone. Golden trims traced the edges of its joints, catching the light with every subtle movement.
Behind it, a pair of golden wings stretched wide, soft and feathered like those of a dove. They were immense, spanning as far as the Titan was tall, shimmering as if lit from within.
In one colossal hand, it gripped a broad silver claymore, the blade driven deep into the ocean floor. The hilt rested firmly in its grasp, its surface polished smooth from use.
The sword seemed to hum faintly, as if alive, its presence adding to the Titan's aura of quiet power.
"That is a Titan," Naaman said, his voice steady as he and Jack hovered 500 meters above the ocean.
The air up there was thinner, and the winds rushed past them like invisible rivers, but neither seemed to notice.
"What will it do now?" Jack asked, though his mind was drifting.
It had been Aiko who first sensed Naaman's System—something far beyond Jack's ability to handle, even with Nevya's help. She hadn't sugarcoated it, either , telling him point blank the power disparity between them.
"It will wait," Naaman replied. "Soon, others like it will arrive. Together, they will begin draining this world's core energy."
Jack frowned. "And what happens to Earth after that?"
Naaman's answer was calm, almost detached. "Without the core's kinetic energy, your planet's magnetic shield will fail. Solar winds will strip the surface bare. All life will perish quickly without an atmosphere."
The words sank in like stones, and Jack's chest tightened.
Everything he cared about—everything familiar—was at risk of vanishing. He thought of his friends. Hamilton, at least, might have a chance since he was heading back to the Mage Association. Cynthia should be safe under Hamilton's protection. He'd promised to look after Linzy, too.
Then there was his family. His parents came to mind, and with them, memories of the quiet countryside where he'd grown up. A simpler, peaceful time that now felt like a different life. He didn't dare hold out hope for them—maybe it was easier not to.
"So, the two of us—will we end up fighting each other?" Jack asked, his voice steady despite the weight of his question.
"Yes," Naaman replied without hesitation. "But only when you're stronger." He paused, his gaze fixed on the distant Titan. "Tell me, Jack, do you know why the Titans sent their enforcers after you?" For a fleeting moment, Naaman thought of Caesar—the one who had dared to give Jack more time to grow stronger, and how that had ended for him.
Jack frowned. "Because I wasn't supposed to have this System."
Naaman nodded, but his expression hinted at more. "That's part of it. But there's something deeper. What you carry isn't just any System—it's called the Arc. The most advanced System the Titans have ever created. Its potential is vast, far beyond most could imagine. Soon, it will even rival mine."
Jack blinked, struggling to process the weight of Naaman's words.
"Think about it," Naaman continued. "You stood your ground against Caesar—a man who spent thirty years meditating and cultivating his System to its peak. And you did that after, what? Two days? The Arc allowed you to do that. Caesar's System was old, outdated. It was bold of him to challenge the Arc, even in its undeveloped state."
Jack hesitated before asking, "How long did you cultivate?"
"Longer," Naaman replied simply, his tone unreadable.
"So," Jack said, a small grin forming, "you're saying I'm exceptional?"
Naaman didn't flinch. "What I'm saying," he said, pointing to the Titan as a flock of seagulls scattered across the horizon, "is that your growth depends on your effort, not time. If you push yourself, there's nothing stopping you from surpassing even that."
Jack followed his gaze.
He turned to the towering Titan, its sheer presence dwarfing everything he had ever faced. It didn't move, yet it carried a crushing weight—a reminder of how small and fragile everything else seemed in its shadow.
"You can buy your world more time," Naaman said, his voice cutting through the silence, "by eradicating the other monsters that are coming. Your next step will take you to Praiyas. There, you must find the Beast Lord who has been contracted."
Jack thought back to what Aiko had told him about the Beast Lords.
She'd said they had enslaved the humans of Praiyas, bending them to their will.
Before he could ask Naaman more, the world around him shifted.
In a blink, Jack was back in Rein City, standing where he had left Aiko and Nevya. The familiar streets stretched out before him, but something had changed.
Just a few meters away from where Naaman had first appeared, the air itself seemed to crack apart.
A dark rift tore through the space, its edges jagged like shattered glass. But it wasn't still—it pulsed and rippled, as though alive. Wisps of deep purple smoke spilled from its core, curling and twisting like living shadows.
The rift groaned faintly, a low, eerie hum that seemed to pull at the very fabric of reality. Each gust of wind that flowed into it felt like it carried pieces of the world with it, tugging at Jack's clothes and hair as if the portal hungered for more.
Naaman stood at its edge, calm and unshaken.
The wind pulled at his hair, the strands whipping back as if trying to follow the rift's call. In his hand, he held Caesar's severed head—the very one Nevya had carried.
She stared at him, shock written across her face, unable to grasp how he'd managed to take it without her noticing.
"The next time we meet," Naaman said, his voice steady but sharp, "it will be as enemies on the battlefield. The fight will be to the death."
Jack clenched his fists, stepping forward with defiance. "Then I will kill you," he said firmly.
Naaman smirked, his tone calm yet cutting. "No," he replied, "you will try."
With that, he stepped into the rift, its dark tendrils swallowing him whole. The cracks in the air sealed behind him with a faint shudder, leaving only the faint scent of burning ozone .
The Mage Association had issued an unprecedented directive, summoning every mage registered under its banner from nations across the globe. Commanders in each region were handed strict orders to mobilize their forces immediately.
Henry Wilberforce, the stern and unyielding commander of the Rein Republic division, wasted no time in passing down these orders. His troops stood ready at the edge of a portal leading to the unknown lands of Praiyas, their faces a mixture of determination and unease.
The mages had gathered on a windswept beach along the Rein Republic's coastline. Before them stood one of the last known stable portals, its shimmering surface humming faintly, framed by twisting arcs of light.
Henry's voice boomed over the crashing waves. "As of this moment, the Mage Association no longer recognizes the sovereignty of Earth's nations. The crisis we face demands that humanity stands as one.
"Our mission, as former members of the Rein Republic, is clear. We are to locate Jack Kamphar and deliver him to the Association. The power within him could tip the scales in our favor. He does not need to be alive for us to extract it."
Among the ranks stood Hamilton, now a second-class mage. His jaw was tight, his thoughts far from the commander's words.
Beside him stood Naaman, blending seamlessly into the ranks in his mage uniform. His face betrayed no emotion as he whispered to Hamilton. "Hey, brother, what do you think we'll find in that strange world?"
Hamilton's reply was sharp, his patience thin. "Don't talk while the commander is speaking."
Hamilton's anger was barely contained, though it wasn't directed at Naaman. His thoughts were a storm. He couldn't stop blaming himself—for failing Cynthia, for losing Linzy, for breaking his promise to Jack.
The rescuers had found no trace of the two women after monsters overran the army headquarters. And Jack… Jack had vanished. The Association believed he'd fled to Praiyas, like so many refugees from the Rein Republic.
That was why the hunt was taking them there.
Naaman, undeterred by Hamilton's warning, pressed on. "Forgive me, brother, but why are we hunting this man? Did he do something wrong?"
Henry Wilberforce passed by, his sharp gaze sweeping over the troops. He paused near Hamilton and Naaman, his voice cutting through the tension.
"Are you clear on your orders?"
"Sir! Yes, we are clear!" Hamilton barked back in unison with the others, standing straight and resolute.
Satisfied, Henry moved on, leaving Hamilton and Naaman in the salty breeze.
Hamilton waited until the commander was out of earshot, then turned to Naaman, his face a mix of grief and fury.
"It is us who are in the wrong!" he hissed, the weight of his guilt finally breaking through.