The battlefield stood frozen.
A single moment stretched into eternity as Azrael Kaelthorne's sword, Necrilith, descended upon his foes. The air howled with abyssal energy, twisting reality itself around its cursed blade.
Sherlock, Normon, and Lloyd—three warriors of unparalleled strength—had fought wars, crushed rebellions, and survived against legends.
But now—
They were prey.
---
The Tyrant's Strike
BOOM!
Sherlock barely reacted in time, raising the shattered remains of his sword in defense.
Too slow.
Azrael's strike shattered the remnants of his weapon and slammed into his armor. A sickening crunch echoed as his ribs caved in. Sherlock was flung like a broken doll, skidding across the battlefield in a trail of blood.
Normon lunged with his greatsword, his body ignoring the pain. His aura burned wildly, a desperate attempt to push past his limits.
Azrael saw through him.
His golden eyes gleamed.
With an effortless pivot, Azrael caught the greatsword in his bare hand. The veins in his arm pulsed with abyssal might, stopping the attack cold.
Normon's pupils shrank.
Before he could react—
CRACK!
Azrael's knee shot forward, slamming into Normon's chest. A shockwave erupted, and his massive frame crumpled like a collapsing fortress. Blood spewed from his mouth as his body collapsed to the ground.
Only one remained.
Lloyd Frostier, the Mana Cycle 9 Archmage, the strongest spellcaster of their trio.
Lloyd teleported in an instant, his hands already weaving the highest-tier magic. His robes fluttered as an array of seven concentric circles ignited around him, each pulsing with cataclysmic power.
"In the name of all that is arcane," Lloyd whispered, his mana overloading the air itself.
The earth cracked. The sky trembled.
He was unleashing a Grand Arcane Forbidden Spell.
Azrael narrowed his eyes.
Not good.
---
Kaelthorne's Army—The Breaking Point
The battlefield had turned dire.
The Kaelthorne Knights, despite their discipline, were struggling. The enemy's forces had begun pressing forward, their reinforcements arriving in waves.
Commander Orin Velst gritted his teeth as he parried a spear thrust, cutting his opponent down with a brutal counter. "Damn it—we need to hold!"
The mercenaries were wavering, their ranks thinning.
The elite mages, though powerful, were exhausting their mana reserves too quickly.
The enemy commander saw this weakness. His voice rang out.
"Crush the Kaelthorne army! Azrael Kaelthorne is but one man! Victory is upon us!"
A deafening war cry roared across the battlefield.
The tide was shifting.
---
The Abyssal Tyrant Awakens
Azrael stood amidst the wreckage, his coat tattered, his body drenched in blood—none of it his own.
He turned his gaze toward Lloyd Frostier.
A spell of unimaginable destruction was forming.
Azrael could feel it—this was the moment.
If he allowed this spell to fully manifest, it could wipe out his army.
He could not allow that.
His golden eyes burned with abyssal power.
Then—
He vanished.
Abyssal afterimages flickered across the battlefield, his speed beyond human comprehension.
Lloyd's eyes widened—
Too late.
Azrael appeared before him in an instant, Necrilith humming with abyssal energy.
"Grand Arcane Forbidden Spell: Cataclysmic Singularity!"
Lloyd roared, forcing the spell to completion. A colossal void sphere exploded outward, warping gravity itself—
Azrael slashed forward.
Abyssal energy clashed with absolute magic.
BOOOOOOM!
The explosion ripped apart the battlefield, an unholy shockwave tearing the heavens apart.
Dust and blood filled the air.
And when the chaos settled—
Lloyd Frostier collapsed.
His body convulsed, his breath shallow. His mana was completely drained.
His spell had failed.
His consciousness faded.
Azrael stood over him, untouched.
The battlefield was silent.
---
The Final Blow
Sherlock, broken and coughing blood, watched in horror.
Normon, unable to stand, gritted his teeth.
Lloyd, unconscious, had fallen.
It was over.
Azrael turned his gaze to Sherlock—the last one still conscious.
The noble warrior chuckled bitterly. "I see… so this is the end?"
Azrael said nothing.
He merely raised his sword.
Sherlock closed his eyes.
The blade fell.
SHING!
Blood splattered the ground.
The Smart Demon of Battle had been slain.
---
The War's Climax
Azrael turned toward the battlefield.
His army was struggling.
But the enemy had lost their greatest warriors.
He took a step forward.
The Abyssal Tyrant had arrived.
His voice echoed across the battlefield, like a death knell.
"Kaelthorne Knights, advance. Leave none standing."
A shiver ran through the battlefield.
The war was not yet over.
But soon—it would be.
—To Be Continued in Chapter 47—