In the sky above Ravendale, the massive cube-shaped shadow loomed ominously, casting an oppressive darkness over the city. Hovering just above it was the Deacon, his black robes flowing as the faint glow of the smaller cube in his hand illuminated his white mask, adorned with blood-red markings. His posture was relaxed, exuding an air of authority and disdain, as though the chaos below was beneath his concern.
A ripple in the air behind him broke the silence. Turning slightly, the Deacon's crimson gaze beneath the mask fell on a figure approaching with measured steps, walking as if the very air obeyed his will. The newcomer was an elderly man, impeccably dressed in a black suit. His silver hair was neatly combed, and his trimmed beard added to his calm, dignified demeanor. It was Fred, the butler, his sharp eyes focused unwaveringly on the Deacon.
"You Dark Temple mad dogs have really lost your minds," Fred said in a steady, unhurried tone. "To wield even the shadow of a legendary weapon, the Voidheart Cube, against a small city."
The Deacon chuckled, his voice dripping with scorn. "Gone mad? No, it is you who fails to grasp the gravity of this moment. The Nethyr Empire must pay for its actions against us, and today's events are just the beginning."
Fred's calm expression remained unchanged, though a glint of sharpness flashed in his eyes. "You insects are overly confident," he said evenly. "But unfortunately, I must end this spectacle. My young master's safety takes precedence over indulging your delusions."
The tension between the two figures grew as the Voidheart Cube's shadow pulsed with an ominous energy.
In Belmond, weapons were ranked by their power and rarity: Ordinary Weapons (Tier 1, Tier 2, and Tier 3), King Weapons, Emperor Weapons, Saint Weapons, and Legendary Weapons. Above them were Mythical Weapons, and at the apex were the Artifacts of God—tools of unimaginable power, used by gods.
The Voidheart Cube, even in its shadow form as a mere fragment of a legendary Artifact, exuded devastating power. Its mere presence distorted the air around it, and the energy it radiated created a palpable pressure, thickening the atmosphere and making each breath feel heavier.
Butler Fred and the Deacon stood in stark contrast—one calm and composed, the other exuding cold menace. The sky above Ravendale crackled with tension as both prepared to take action.
In the next instant, with a faint humming sound, Butler Fred vanished midair, reappearing above the unsuspecting Deacon. In one fluid motion, he pulled his legs up and delivered a powerful axe kick downward, all executed in mere milliseconds.
Reacting quickly, a sticky, shadow-like substance surged from Deacon's body, attempting to shield him. However, with a sharp crack, Fred's kick tore through the defense, crushing it effortlessly, and then the blow landed directly on Deacon. The impact sent him hurtling toward the ground with tremendous force.
A thunderous boom echoed through the air as the Deacon crashed into the earth, raising a cloud of dust and debris.
Fred descended gracefully, landing with practiced ease. Without haste, he removed his coat, folded back the sleeves of his crisp white shirt, and adjusted his gloves with calm precision.
As the dust cleared, the Deacon stood amidst the rubble. His black robe was shredded, and his white mask, adorned with red markings, was cracked and half-shattered. The exposed side of his face revealed deep cuts and bruises, as though he had been subjected to cruel torture.
With the same calm expression, Butler Fred vanished once again. From the spot where he had been standing, several massive spikes erupted from the shadows, shooting upward with deadly intent, as if aiming to impale anyone in the vicinity.
Realizing his attack had missed, the Deacon attempted to retreat, but before he could react, a hand suddenly clamped over his face. In a single, fluid motion, Fred slammed his head into the ground with terrifying force. The impact shattered the earth beneath them, and Deacon's head was crushed beyond recognition, reduced to a mangled mess, like a ripe watermelon struck too hard.
"Hmm, it's done... or perhaps not." The butler withdrew his hand, his expression unwavering as he observed the broken body, the blood, and the dismembered flesh dissolving into the shadows, engulfed by a swirling black mist.
A few meters away, the Deacon reappeared from the shadows, breathing heavily and frantically, but otherwise unharmed. His head remained intact, though his mask had been completely destroyed, revealing a face covered in cuts and bruises.
Butler Fred's eyes gleamed with curiosity as he observed the Deacon. "Oh my, quite a few survival skills you have. Fits well for one of you bugs from the Dark Temple, doesn't it? But I am curious—how many times can this skill save you?"
The Deacon's breathing was heavy as he spoke, sweat already beading on his forehead. "Hah... hah... hah... it's surprising to find a Saint Realm Awakener in such a small place," he said, gasping for air.
"How smart of you to guess correctly, but you still have to die," said Butler Fred to the Deacon, his tone calm and steady. "Wielding a shadow of a legendary weapon was your mistake."
He vanished again, reappearing behind the Deacon with a swift, powerful kick. The force was so intense that the Deacon's body burst like a balloon, only for it to regroup a short distance away, reforming from the shadows.
Deacon's eyes began to glimmer with madness. He had used both of his chances to save himself from death, yet there was nothing more he could do to prevent the inevitable. His breaths became frantic, his mind slipping further into chaos as he realized his fate. The calm and composed presence of Butler Fred only deepened his despair. The certainty of his demise, juxtaposed with Fred's unwavering tranquility, drove Deacon's mind to the edge of insanity.
"Do you think I'll be killed this easily?!" The Deacon's voice dripped with crazed fury and madness as he shouted at Butler Fred
In that moment, his aura exploded. What had seemed like the peak of the King Realm surged into the Emperor Realm and then the Saint Realm. His muscles swelled grotesquely, and blood seeped from his skin.
"Borrowing power from the legendary weapon.... but how long can your body withstand it?" Butler Fred remarked, closing the distance between them.
In response, a primal, beast-like roar tore from Deacon's throat, and shadows began to swirl around him, coalescing into an armor-like form around him.
The next round of battle began. The two vanished from their positions, and the air cracked with the sound of a sonic boom as their clash ignited.
They clashed hundreds of times in the span of mere moments, their movements a blur, leaping from one spot to another, each impact shaking the ground and obliterating everything within a hundred meters.
However, it was fortunate that Butler Fred had led the battle to an isolated area, away from the chaos of the city. After a prolonged exchange of blows, they both separated, each retreating to a distance.
Butler Fred appeared unchanged, as if the battle had not even touched him. His breath remained steady and calm, his posture as composed as ever.
On the other hand, Deacon's hands were twisted and broken, but they quickly healed themselves, mending in an instant, as if the injury had never been.
"Haah... this is going to take time," Butler Fred muttered, his gaze fixed on Deacon, who was like a wild beast on drugs.
Though Fred could easily overpower the Deacon, the power of the legendary weapon made it difficult to deliver a decisive blow. The battle would likely drag on until the Deacon was fully exhausted.
However, Fred remained untroubled. His master, Roy, possessed means of self-preservation granted by his grandfather—abilities that could ensure his safety in such perilous situations, providing a reliable safeguard if things took a turn for the worse.
As for the others in the city, Fred had already done everything within his power. Now, the safety of the people rested in their own hands—and ultimately, their luck.