Amidst the sea of blood-drenched bodies stood three figures.
Anastasia gripped a silver spear, its tip crackling with red lightning.
Cassius had ten blades and spears floating behind his back, shimmering with raw energy.
They were locked in battle against a single man—a warrior wielding two blood-red scimitars, their curved edges dripping with fresh carnage.
Beneath Anastasia and Cassius lay the bodies of slain Harbingers. Some had been cleaved in half, their forms disintegrated by raw power. Others lay motionless, blades embedded in their empty eye sockets.
The moment Amon laid eyes on the scene, he understood everything.
These two had been fighting them alone.
And despite the overwhelming odds, they had been winning.
But now—this enemy had arrived.
Amon recognized him instantly.
The first prologue boss.
A S-rank Walker from a Verdant World.
A man who, in the future, would become a mid-game nightmare—the 13th Marquis of Blood, Vothar.
If he wasn't killed here and now—he would return stronger.
Amon's mind raced.
He knew what was coming.
The prologue would end in fifteen minutes—Max would arrive, and everything would reset.
But how could two B-rankers and a single F-rank survive against an S-rank monster?
His eyes flickered to Anastasia—she was kneeling, blood dripping from a deep wound in her stomach.
Amon's grip tightened on Perses.
There was no time to hesitate.
With a burst of speed, he dashed at Vothar.
Amon was fast, but Vothar was faster.
The man sidestepped effortlessly, catching Amon by the throat in a vice-like grip.
But this was a mistake.
Cassius saw the opening.
With a snarl, he hurled a battle axe at Vothar's outstretched arm.
Vothar reacted instantly, intending to let go and dodge—but Amon wouldn't let him.
He clenched his fingers tighter around Vothar's wrist, and in that split second, he poured everything into his Will.
The air shuddered.
For the first time—Vothar's expression changed.
How?
How could a mere F-rank child possess a Will this strong?
Even among awakened Walkers, Will was something only the strongest could wield.
Vothar's rank might have been S Ranker , but compared to an Arcane or Primordial World's Walker , his body was far weaker.
And now—he had hesitated.
A fatal mistake.
SCHLUK!
The battle axe cleaved through his wrist.
His hand—the one gripping Amon—was severed.
Black blood gushed from the stump.
Vothar did not scream.
But his eyes burned with unholy rage as his severed hand hit the ground with a wet thud.
Amon didn't wait.
He summoned a black orb from his watch and turned toward Anastasia.
"Sister, are you okay?"
"You idiot," she coughed, glaring at him. "What do you think you're doing? This isn't a game."
"Where's Selene?"
Amon ignored her protest.
"She's outside—fighting someone else."
"And Mother? Aunt Elara?"
"Occupied," Anastasia rasped. "Every Transcendent and Ascended Walker is fighting. Their forces are still increasing."
Amon looked at her, then at Cassius—who was barely staying on his feet.
He exhaled.
"Don't worry."
Before Anastasia could ask what he meant—Amon pressed the button on the orb.
A purple mist spilled into the banquet hall from the corners.
The sudden eruption of purple mist was not in Vothar's calculations.
He instinctively stepped back, scimitars raised, his gaze snapping to Amon. "What is this?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
Amon merely smiled.
"In the depths of the Astral Realm, there exists a planet crucial to the Council. On that planet grows a rare herb—one that enhances mana potency. But," Amon tilted his head, eyes gleaming, "if mixed with the blood of any Space Beast… it becomes a deadly poison for any Awakened individual."
Vothar's expression darkened.
"I assume you understand what that means." Amon's voice was calm, almost mocking. "In five seconds, your body will stop absorbing mana. Your mana veins will be completely devoid of it."
The mist slithered into every corner of the hall, seeping into the lungs of everyone present.
Amon felt nothing. The poison had no effect on him.
But Anastasia?
She had already collapsed, unconscious from mana depletion and blood loss.
Cassius?
He staggered, gasping for breath as his mana flow slowed to a crawl. His summoned weapons flickered in and out of existence, his control over them breaking.
Vothar's hands trembled. The scimitars in his grip faltered, their glow dimming. His breaths grew ragged.
Then Amon summoned another orb.
This time, he pressed it without hesitation.
For a moment, silence.
The silence was suffocating. Then— BOOM! A deafening blast tore through the grand hall, shattering glasses and sending chunks of glass shards hurtling in all directions. The shockwave ripped tapestries from the walls, turning them into blazing sheets of cloth that fluttered like dying birds before disintegrating into ash .
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each explosion roared louder, shaking the very foundation of the palace. The screams of Walkers and Harbingers intertwined with the crackling inferno, their bodies flung like ragdolls against collapsing walls. Some were torn apart mid-air, limbs severed, bones shattered, their blood painting grotesque murals across the ruined hall. The acrid stench of burnt flesh and charred bone filled the air, mingling with the thick, suffocating smoke.
One after another, detonations erupted—both inside the palace and in the gardens.
Flames surged through the banquet hall, swallowing tapestries and chandeliers whole. Shattered glass rained from above, shards slicing through Walkers and Harbingers alike. The floor cracked beneath the sheer force.
Outside, the gardens erupted into chaos. Trees ignited. Marble fountains shattered. Screams filled the night as both enemy and ally suffered indiscriminately.
In the heart of it all, Amon stood untouched.
He had planned this.
While feasting and exploring the garden, he had planted the bombs himself.
Now, amidst the inferno, Vothar struggled to stand.
His once-formidable presence was reduced to a charred husk. His skin, once smooth and unblemished, was now cracked and burnt, blackened by the relentless flames. He stared at Amon, at the boy who had done this.
A mere child.
Vothar stumbled, his once-imposing figure now a blackened husk. His skin peeled in molten strips, exposing raw muscle beneath. He gasped, his voice a strangled rasp. "You… damn brat—"
Vothar coughed, thick black blood spilling from his lips. His body swayed, barely holding together, but his rage burned brighter than the flames consuming the palace. "I'll—kill you…!"
Amon adjusted the runic shield protecting himself, Cassius, and the unconscious Anastasia. Perses, resting atop his shoulder, laughed.
Mocking.
Unforgiving.
Vothar's world burned—and the boy who orchestrated it all stood smiling.
Amon glanced at Cassius for a moment ,unsheathed the Perses and stepped forward avoiding the bloody and mangled corpses.