Chapter 88 – Trial of the Leviathan Axe
The afternoon sun hovered like a golden crown over the shimmering waters of Lake Viremoor, just beyond the stone walls of the viscount's city. The lake, deep and ancient, was fed by four rivers, creating strong currents and darker secrets beneath the surface. Along its shores, the banners of several noble houses fluttered in the wind, joined by the crests of adventurer parties and regional militias.
Nearly two hundred warriors had gathered.
Some wore polished plate armor, their helms adorned with feathers or horns. Others were leaner—scouts, rogues, tanks, or mages. Many were nervous. A few joked to mask their fear. They all knew what was coming.
For today was the day that Volmir, the Tide King, would rise.
---
Sir Calder Veil, knight captain of the Silver Thorns, stood at the lakefront, sharp-eyed and composed. A long scar traced his jawline, a souvenir from last year's battle with Volmir. He clenched the hilt of his sword.
"We face him without Seria this year," he murmured. "May the gods favor our blades."
Seria "Tidebreaker" Vaughn, the legendary A-rank warrior, was pregnant and could not fight. In her absence, B and C-rank adventurers were called to fill the gap, many of them untested in a battle of this scale.
Among them:
Garron the Tower, a massive man with a greatshield nearly as tall as himself.
Yelna Riverseeker, a cunning water mage with silver tattoos that glowed when she cast.
Daro Flint, a quick-tempered dual-dagger rogue from the coast.
Leera Mistblossom, a wind archer who had never missed a shot—until today.
---
Then it came.
The surface of the lake trembled. Bubbles rose. The temperature dropped.
And with a sound like a mountainside crumbling, Volmir rose.
At least seventy feet of scaled horror breached the surface. Its head alone was larger than a wagon. Rust-red scales shimmered like wet armor. Its eyes—glowing, hateful yellow—locked onto the crowd with almost human malice. From its gaping maw, jagged rows of teeth, curved like sickles, dripped with black saliva.
It let out a scream.
Not a roar—a scream.
The sound shattered a few adventurers' eardrums. Some collapsed. A few screamed back, in defiance or panic.
Then the waters boiled, and out surged Volmir's horde.
Kelprenders, eel-like monsters that darted with lightning speed, their bodies covered in vibrating spines that sang when they moved.
Wavefangs, half-lupine, half-fish beasts with translucent fins, leaping from the water to maul archers on the cliffs.
Shellmourns, ancient crab-like creatures, their backs fused with barnacle-encrusted corpses and shipwrecks. They could expel clouds of steam hot enough to melt steel.
The lake turned into a nightmare.
---
The first charge was chaos.
Garron blocked a lunging Shellmourn's claw, his shield cracking under the pressure.
"Yelna, now!" he bellowed.
The mage finaly after charging up spun her staff and called forth a tidal pulse, slamming into a group of Kelprenders and crushing them against a cliff wall.
Daro leapt over a fallen comrade, slashing the eye of a Wavefang mid-air before twisting to land in a roll.
Leera fired three super expensive enchanted arrows in rapid succession, piercing the soft bellies of flying beasts, but as she reached for a fourth, a Wavefang crashed into her, shattering her bow. She rolled to safety, bleeding but alive.
The battle was brutal.
For every monster they killed, another seemed to take its place. Volmir himself watched… and then commanded.
He opened his jaws—and from his throat came a cone of sonic magic, a concussive scream that shattered a squad of knights' weapons and dropped them to their knees. With a flick of his tail, he sent three more flying into the lake, never to surface.
---
That was when Sir Calder saw the old man.
Cloaked, hunched, weaving around the battlefield's edge, driving metal rods etched with runes into the soil. He wasn't fighting. Just… walking. Calculated. Focused.
Calder stormed toward him.
"You there! Old man—this is no place for you! Evacuate immediately!"
But the man ignored him.
Then—crack!
One of Volmir's massive tails whipped toward the old man. Calder's eyes widened. He ran, raising his shield, knowing he wouldn't make it.
He gritted his teeth. "No—!"
But the impact never came.
Instead, the sky shimmered, and a flash of light descended.
Floating above the battlefield was a woman—tall, powerful, and draped in steel-feathered armor. Her arms outstretched, palms catching the monster's tail effortlessly. Sparks flew from the impact. Her armor shifted—glowing runes one moment, blazing gold the next, then deep black like volcanic obsidian.
Her presence silenced the battlefield.
Even Volmir paused.
The woman—Liora in disguise—hovered like a guardian angel.
The cloaked man calmly continued planting rods. With each one, a pulse of energy moved through the soil. After the last rod was placed, he slammed his hand to the ground.
BOOM.
A dome of light erupted from the earth, forming a perfect circle around the lake—a magic barrier. The monsters slammed against it but could not escape. Volmir raged, screaming again, but the barrier held firm.
All eyes turned toward the cloaked man.
With a sharp exhale, Reyn bent his knees and launched himself high into the air, the shimmering blue edge of the Leviathan Axe trailing frost in his wake. As he reached the peak of his jump, his eyes scanned the swarm of monsters below—many of them already bracing to strike.
But instinct, honed by primal fear, kicked in. The moment they sensed the chilling aura radiating from the descending axe, several of the creatures shrieked and fired off desperate projectiles—spines, fireballs, bolts of toxic mana—aimed not just to protect themselves but to stop whatever was about to crash down upon them.
Reyn twisted mid-air, expertly dodging the barrage of attacks with a spin and a kick of wind magic to adjust his fall. The Leviathan Axe surged with frozen mana, its core pulsing like a living thing.
"Move," he growled, and with a mighty swing, he brought the axe down with all his strength.
The weapon crashed into the lake like a glacier falling from the heavens. A thunderous explosion of water and ice erupted outward, freezing everything within a wide radius and sending a shockwave through the battlefield.
the entire lake, down to its darkest depths. The monsters were trapped mid-motion, encased in crystal ice. Even Volmir, mid-roar, was frozen solid, his hateful eyes caught in a moment of shock.
Then, projected above the lake in radiant golden letters:
> "Trial for the Leviathan Axe: Part Two of the King of War Set"
No one spoke.
Then the old man turned and, together with the steel angel, soared skyward—gone in seconds, leaving only silence and awe.
Only after several long moments did Sir Calder whisper, "...Who were they?"
The answer would not come today. But with so many knights and adventurers present—and with merchants in town already gossiping—the tale would spread like wildfire.
As they flew away from the lake, the warm hues of the evening sun painted the sky in soft orange and gold. Reyn found himself sneaking a glance at Lior as she soared beside him. Though he knew it was just illusion magic that gave her the appearance of an adult, it was hard to ignore the effect it had on him. The way the sunlight danced along her silver hair, the confidence in her expression, the elegance in her posture—it stirred something in him.
This illusion... Reyn thought, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. She's still the same Lior underneath, but damn—she really knows how to carry herself like this.
He shook the thought off quickly. Now wasn't the time to be distracted—but he couldn't deny that part of him was drawn to her this way, illusion or not.
Back inside the city, Reyn and lior sneakily moved through the evening streets until they found a quiet corner tavern tucked between a tanner's shop and a shuttered herbalist. Its sign read "The Hollow Cask", and it smelled faintly of roasted fish and malted barley.
Perfect.
The tavern buzzed with the usual evening crowd. Reyn and Lior settled into a quiet corner booth, their youthful faces familiar and unmasked—just as they had always been. No illusions cloaked them here, no disguises—just the two of them, sharing the warmth of companionship after a long day. Rayn ordered stew, bread, and a mug of cider while lior just got some salad a tea.
Halfway through his meal, a group of loud adventurers stumbled in—some with wet cloaks, others still dusty from travel. They took a table not far from his and immediately started shouting over each other as they ordered drinks.
He tried to ignore them—until one of them slammed down a tankard and started arguing with his group about some famous and interesting B rank individuals on who is the strongest.
Reyn blinked.
He turned his eyes slightly toward the rowdy table, listening with more interest now.
"Liora," he murmured, "how strong are adventurers really? I remember there were ranks, but what do they actually mean?"
She responded casually, though with a bit more focus in her tone now.
> "It's mostly standardized across the empire. Starts at F-rank. Anyone with a weapon and a death wish can get that. E, D, and C-ranks are what you'd call 'competent.' Some training, a few completed quests, decent in a group and pass the tests ti advance. They can handle goblins, wolves, bandits, Escorte jobs.
"So… basically normal people with grit one the level of a hunter or soldier?"
> "Exactly. Now, B-rank is where the real difference begins," she continued. "To become one, adventurers need to prove they can not only handle tougher missions—but also control mana infusion."
they push mana directly into them. Just enough to strengthen a swing or pierce tougher hides. It's useful, but risky. Too much mana and the weapon shatters in your hand. Boom."
> "Sounds messy," Reyn muttered.
> "It is," she replied with a smirk in her voice. "That's why B-ranks have to train their control and their nerves. Now, A-ranks? They go a step further. They can imbue elemental magic into their weapons. Fire, lightning, ice—whatever suits their affinity. It's not flashy spellcasting like mages, but it's deadly in close combat. If you're fighting someone with a flaming spear and you're not ready? You're toast."
He nodded slowly. "And S-ranks?"
Liora went quiet for a moment before finally saying:
> "...I don't know."
Reyn blinked. "Seriously?"
> "They're super rare. And incredibly secretive. The Adventurer's Guild doesn't even publish a list. I've heard stories—one S-rank wiped out an army alone. Another stopped a volcanic eruption. But who knows if those are real? What I do know is this—over a hundred years ago, there were a lot more of them."
> "What happened?"
> "No one agrees. Some say there was a war between nations that ended with the deaths of most S-ranks and some think they're just hiding, waiting for something."
"What about mages? How are they ranked?" he asked through the link.
Liora responded quickly.
> "Mages are judged a bit differently. Their rank depends mostly on spellcasting speed, mana control, and the raw power of their spells. Of course, like everyone else, they also need to complete official quests and survive tough situations."
> "So someone casting big flashy spells slowly might rank lower than someone firing rapid-fire magic non stop?"
> "Exactly," she said. "Efficiency matters. Especially in a real battle."
Reyn nodded thoughtfully. After a few seconds of silence, he asked, "What about Alarcus? Kale? And Garrett?"
Liora paused. He could feel her trying to recall past moments.
"Alarcus… well, before you gave him that golem, he was probably a B-rank mage. Talented, definitely, but still had weaknesses. But now? That golem guards him so naturally you'd think it could read his mind—its reflexes are fast, it hits hard, and it's smart enough to shield him at just the right moments.
"And Kale?" he asked next.
> "He's about the same. A B-rank fighter by default—knows how to imbue his fists with mana and land hard hits. But that gauntlet you gave him, the Grand Fist, boosts his raw power like crazy. I've seen him shatter stone and send armored beasts flying.
She paused for a breath before moving on.
> "Garrett was a new B-rank when we first met him. Full of grit but still rough around the edges. With your swords, though… he's already closing the gap to A-rank. If he keeps growing at this pace, he might even hit S-rank one day. Maybe even surpass it."
Reyn said nothing at first.
He didn't need to speculate like Liora did. He already knew the truth.
He'd built the golem with layered reflex triggers and reinforced joints capable of matching a wyvern's strikes. He'd designed Kale's gauntlet to redirect mana with perfect efficiency—enough to punch through monster hide and enchanted metal. And Garrett's twin swords had absorbed enough elemental attunement to rival some legendary blades of old.
> "They're already there," Reyn thought silently to himself. "You just haven't seen it yet."
But he didn't correct her.
Let the world doubt them. Let them stay underestimated. Until the day came when they needed to show their true strength… and the world would remember the names of his creations.