At that moment, a small light shot into the dark sky, glowing like a signal fire.
On the main battlefield, the rankers continued their intense clash. At that point, the Wolven Warriors had undoubtedly proven their valor.
However, the fire flare caught the attention of one of Asher's generals, his armor drenched in blood from the carnage. He looked up and murmured grimly to himself.
"This can't be good."
Acting quickly, he ordered the war drums to signal the Wolven Warriors to retreat, but it was too late.
As the warriors heard the drums and began to fall back, a powerful silhouette cloaked in a blue aura descended from the sky, landing with an impact that sent shockwaves through their ranks.
Within moments, other silhouettes, radiating diverse auras, followed, their heavy landings catching the attention of everyone on the battlefield.
At the forefront stood Lysander, the Spartan prodigy from the Sparta Empire—a formidable early-stage Imperium Ranker clad in gleaming Spartan armor.
Next was Pericles of the Indigean Empire, a two-star Imperium Ranker. A bard by class, his presence alone shifted the tides of the battlefield.
Adeimantus, the geomancer from Corinth, conjured massive earthen pillars and launched them into the fray, crushing anyone who dared approach. He was a peak-stage Common Ranker.
Then came Androcleides, a heavy-tank specialist from Theones, renowned for his staggering strength and skill. His three-star Imperium Rank aura radiated power as he joined the fight.
Accompanying them were Hyperbolus and Tisamenus, both Imperium-ranked spearmen from the empires of Megara and Argoz. Together, they formed a deadly formation, unleashing synchronized attacks with devastating precision.
The overwhelming presence of these prodigies struck fear into the Wolven Warriors, who trembled at the realization that the weakest among them was a peak-stage Common Ranker.
The morale of the enemy soldiers soared as they cheered for their princes, the prodigies of their respective empires, who had finally joined the battle.
Without hesitation, the prodigies, their eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure, swung into action. Within minutes, they began massacring the Wolven Warriors, who fell like prey to predators. Nearly half of them lay lifeless, their blood soaking the battlefield, as the enemy soldiers roared in triumph.
From above, Asher witnessed the horror unfolding below. His men were falling one by one, and he was trapped within the array, helpless to intervene.
Desperation clawed at him as he slashed at the barrier with all his might, but the array's defenses were crafted to withstand the attacks of Mystic rankers and below. As an Imperium Ranker, Asher's strength was insufficient to break it.
Behind him, Gad watched in delight, his joy uncontainable as he reveled in Asher's desperation.
"You might as well give up," Gad taunted.
"The prodigies will be finished with your warriors soon, and they'll head straight for the fortress."
He paused, a cruel grin stretching across his face.
"You'll never make it in time."
Asher's fury surged. Gripping his sword tightly, he began to emit a suffocating wave of mantra energy, the air inside the barrier growing heavy with his rage.
Images of his wife, his children, and his comrades flashed before his eyes. The thought of them vulnerable against the prodigies ignited a storm within him.
Gad, unfazed, continued to mock him.
"Is this the best you've got, Asher? Go on, show me your rage. Pour it all out on me. You'll see them again… in the afterlife."
Meanwhile, on the battlefield, the Wolven Warriors had been all but wiped out. Only a handful remained, clinging desperately to life, their hope resting on the belief that their hero would come to save them.
Despite their bravery, their strength was fading.
When all seemed lost, a blinding force erupted in the sky, its radiance piercing the dark night like a reborn sun.
The prodigies halted, their faces contorted with concern. Whatever it was, they knew it wasn't good.
Inside the Wolven Fortress, Abaddon watched the radiant light above the battlefield with wide, terrified eyes. Clutching his chest, he whispered anxiously.
"Mother… will Father be alright?"
Helle knelt beside him, brushing his hair gently, her voice calm but firm.
"Your father will be fine," she assured him.
Belladon, the elder sibling, scolded Abaddon, urging him to think positively.
"Nothing can happen to Father," Belladon declared with confidence.
Helle wrapped her arms around both children, her warmth shielding them from fear. Despite her serene demeanor, her eyes betrayed the concern she felt as she sensed the enormous energy surging on the battlefield.
Smiling softly, she whispered, "Your father is the strongest there is. He's faced worse… he'll come back."
Around them, maids, cooks, and other non-combatants huddled together, their voices trembling as they murmured prayers to the gods, pleading for mercy and protection.
But on the battlefield, mercy was nowhere to be found.
Back on the battlefield, the prodigies, pressured by the strange energy, felt the urgency to accelerate their plans.
Standing in a loose formation, their armor soaked with blood and sweat, Lysander, the Spartan, turned to glance at the others, who also felt the oppressive nature of the force.
"I don't know about you guys, but whoever's producing such power isn't an ally, that's for sure. We'd better leave these common warriors behind and head straight for the real fight."
"I agree with Lysander."
Another prodigy added.
"Let's strike fast, take down the fortress, and end this. If the hero is the source of this energy, we'll be annihilated for sure."
Pericles and Adeimantus, who were already ahead of the others, began advancing toward the fortress.
Then, in an instant, the energy fluctuations exploded, freezing all the prodigies in fear. Above them, a thick, devastating swirling vortex shattered the barrier.
It was Asher, exuding an immense power. He was no longer holding back. For eons, he'd restrained himself, keeping his strength buried. But not anymore.
As if that wasn't enough, he let out a war cry that reverberated across the atmosphere, its echoes crossing the boundaries of nearby empires and instilling fear in the hearts of all who heard it.
Asher's power continued to rise without limits. Though he was at the Imperium Rank, the energy he radiated reached the realms of Mystics, a level far beyond.
This suffocating ocean of energy forced everyone below to their knees. It was oppressive and raw.
Gad could only look on in terror and panic, stumbling backward as his heartbeat thundered in his chest.
"What... what are you?"
His voice broke with fear as he finally saw Asher undergoing his class awakening.
Just as with Gad before, golden mantra radiated from Asher's form, encasing him completely. A golden armor materialized across his body, piece by radiant piece, like molten light sculpted into divine form.
Then, two enormous golden Astral Plumes erupted from his back—wings of pure energy, spanning outward with terrifying, immeasurable power. Even the prodigies knew they were in way over their heads.
Fully transformed, Asher now bore six golden Astral Plumes behind him, resembling a celestial warrior. His golden armor, combined with his radiant smile, made him stand out as a true Guardian-Class Warrior of legendary status.
Below, the warriors could only stare, paralyzed by awe and dread.
"Is this... real?" one whispered, trembling.
"This is something out of legend... six Plumes and such power..."
Back in the fortress, Abaddon and Belladon clung to their mother, their eyes fixed on the golden aura illuminating the battlefield. It revealed their father.
Belladon turned to her mother, her curious and sharp mind already at work.
"Mother, something isn't right about Father. A ranker can only summon one Astral Plume, but Father has six. And his power—it's far beyond the limit of an Imperium ranker. What's going on?"
Helle's gaze remained on Asher in the distance as she answered her daughter.
"There's something few people know."
She began, looking down at her children.
"As we all know, what sets a ranker apart from a non-ranker—or a normal human—is one thing: the presence of a soul-ore."
Abaddon and Belladon stared up at her, wide-eyed, hanging on her every word.
"When you're born with a soul-ore, it means you're a ranker. The ore draws in mantra energy from birth, storing it within and allowing the body to use it. This is why rankers can harness mantra while normal humans cannot. And there are two types."
She raised her fingers, counting them off.
"The green soul-ore and the blue soul-ore. A green soul-ore can store immense amounts of mantra energy, and those who possess it often ascend into the mage class and its related branches, capable of casting powerful spells, alchemy, and healing."
Abaddon nodded slowly.
"So that's why mages have so much magic..."
"Exactly,"
Helle replied.
"And the blue soul-ore, with its limited storage, constantly releases mantra energy into the body instead. This is why warriors and combat class rankers have strong bodies and heightened physical abilities—far stronger than mages. But there's another type of soul-ore."
Belladon frowned visibly confused.
"But, Mother, you've always said there were only two types of soul-ores."
A faint smile touched Helle's lips.
"That's what most believe. But in truth... there's a third."
Both children gasped, staring at her in shock and awe.
"It's called the golden soul-ore."
She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in before continuing.
"It's incredibly rare—only one is born every million years. A ranker with a golden soul-ore possesses the storage capacity of a mage and the endurance of a warrior. Infinite storage, rapid energy adaptation... and unmatched power."
Belladon's mouth fell open.
"You mean... Father has this?"
Helle nodded.
"Yes. A golden soul-ore marks someone destined to change the world. They are born heroes. The gods themselves call these beings legendary rankers. And your father... he's the one in this era."
Abaddon and Belladon exchanged stunned glances at the revelation.
Back on the battlefield, Asher was ready to strike. The first thing he did after awakening was drive his knee into Gad's gut, sending his cousin flying far beyond the battlefield's perimeter.
It seemed Asher didn't want to annihilate Gad completely. Turning his gaze to the prodigies and their surviving allies, he saw the massacre of his men.
"You... you'll all pay for that."
The prodigies and the remaining enemies below looked up in horror as Asher raised World Breaker toward the sky.
He roared.
"Third Guardian Technique: World Purification!"
A golden beam shot upward, splitting the clouds as the ground beneath trembled violently.
With an intense, furious cry, he swung his sword down toward the enemy.
The technique, World Purification, unleashed a blazing golden arc across the battlefield, tearing through the enemy ranks like a tidal wave of fury.
In a single, decisive strike, Asher obliterated everything below. The ground became a scorched trail of light, leaving devastation in its wake.
The prodigies, unlike the rest, managed to survive the attack with only faint injuries. Yet, across their faces, one expression was clear: absolute fear of the hero and the reason he was hailed as the strongest ranker.
Asher, seeing they had survived, gripped his sword tightly, then launched himself toward them like a meteor.