The rifle-cannon station detonated without warning.
**BOOOOM!!**
Steel and mana fragments burst outward in a violent bloom of fire and shattered metal.
A shockwave rolled across the battlefield.
High above the ruined military district—
Draven was already midair.
Crimson-tinged wind tore around him as he twisted cleanly through the explosion.
His bow was already drawn.
An arrow formed instantly from condensed mana.
No hesitation.
No delay.
**TWANG.**
The shot fired the moment he stabilized.
The cannon station that had fired at him was erased a heartbeat later—torn apart from the inside out as the arrow pierced its core structure and shattered it completely.
Draven rotated in the air.
He landed lightly on a nearby steel beam as if gravity itself held no meaning.
The bow never lowered.
Never relaxed.
The string was already being pulled again.
Below him—
Aldric stepped calmly through the wreckage.
Unbothered by the chaos raining from above.
He glanced upward.
Then exhaled softly through his nose.
"…Looks like the Holy Empire bastards finally decided to join the party."
His tone was almost bored.
Almost amused.
Silence answered him.
Because it was true.
From the edges of the burning sky dock—
new presences were arriving.
One after another.
Silver-gold armor.
Holy insignias.
Priests and knights of the Holy Empire.
Their arrival was anything but subtle.
It was announced by pressure alone.
Mana descended like weight itself.
Clean.
Oppressive.
Sanctified.
Rows of imperial holy knights stepped onto the battlefield platforms, their armor gleaming even through smoke and fire.
At their center—
a captain raised his hand.
"Stabilize the line!"
"Evacuate the wounded!"
"Form holy barrier—"
His command died halfway.
**TWANG.**
A blue-crimson arrow tore through the air.
Straight for his head.
One of the knights moved instantly.
HOLY MANA ERUPTED.
A golden barrier snapped into place before the commander.
**CLANG!!**
The arrow struck—
and immediately cracked the barrier.
The impact rippled outward, distorting the surrounding air.
The knight who had stepped forward gritted his teeth.
"Priests, move! Attend to the wounded—"
He did not finish.
Because—
Draven appeared directly in front of him.
No warning.
No sound.
Just arrival.
The bow was already raised.
Point-blank.
Aimed directly at the knight's face.
For a fraction of a second—
the knight's eyes narrowed.
He reacted instantly.
His head snapped sideways.
**WHOOSH!!**
The arrow tore through the space where his skull had been a heartbeat earlier.
It shot upward into the sky—
vanishing into the smoke above.
A near miss.
But not a mistake.
Draven's momentum did not slow.
The instant the arrow missed, his body was already moving through the follow-up.
**CRASH!**
He slammed into the knight mid-recovery, the impact tearing a shockwave through the steel platform beneath them.
The knight barely had time to brace.
His sword came up—
**CLANG!!**
Metal screamed as it collided with Draven's fist.
The force pushed the knight back several steps.
Just enough for him to finally see Draven clearly.
Beneath the dark hood.
Crimson eyes.
Unnatural calm.
A presence that did not feel like human combat anymore.
The knight tightened his grip.
"…Fast… and strong."
His voice was lower now.
No arrogance remained.
Only calculation.
Draven did not respond.
He did not need to.
Behind them—
the battlefield shifted again.
Aldric rolled his shoulders as crimson mana surged violently around him.
Then he lifted one hand toward the sky.
"…Alright."
A brief pause.
"Time for the real party to get started."
The air above the burning military district *changed*.
Mana condensed.
Not fire.
Not lightning.
Something heavier.
Thicker.
Hundreds of crimson points formed in the air above Aldric's raised arm.
Then hundreds more.
Floating.
Rotating.
Condensing.
Blood-red spears.
Dozens became hundreds within seconds.
The sky itself seemed to fill with suspended execution.
Every soldier nearby froze.
Even the imperial holy knights hesitated for a fraction of a second.
"…What is that…?"
"…Blood magic?"
"…No way—"
Panic spread instantly through the ranks.
Priests stepped back.
Holy knights tightened formation shields.
One of the captains shouted sharply,
"Hold formation! Do NOT break line—!"
But his voice was swallowed by the pressure in the air.
Because every eye was now on Aldric.
The battlefield froze for a heartbeat.
Not from silence.
But from realization.
From fear.
Hundreds of crimson spears hovered above Aldric's raised hand, rotating slowly like a suspended execution array. Each one pulsed with dense killing intent, the pressure alone causing the steel platforms beneath to groan under its weight.
Then—
the word spread.
"Demon…"
A holy knight whispered it under his breath.
Another followed immediately.
"…Demon…"
A priest's face went pale beneath his white-gold robes.
"That isn't holy contamination… that's—"
His voice cracked.
"Demon mana…"
Panic rippled through the Holy Empire formation.
A captain snapped his head upward, eyes wide.
"Maintain formation! Do NOT panic!"
But it was already too late.
Fear had already taken root.
And it now had a name.
Across the elevated industrial structures—
Crossfall observers shifted uneasily.
Syrian's eyes narrowed sharply as she watched the crimson field expand overhead.
"…Demon?"
One of the hidden figures muttered immediately,
"Don't tell me—"
Another cut in, voice lower.
"Blood magic…"
The masked woman tilted her head slightly beneath her hood.
"…Or something worse."
Syrian's gaze snapped toward her instantly.
"What do you mean, worse?"
The masked woman did not look at her.
Her attention remained fixed on Aldric.
On the floating crimson spears.
On the way the air itself bent around him.
Then she said calmly,
"You see that short cloaked one?"
Syrian followed her gaze.
Draven.
Still moving through the battlefield with mechanical precision, bow drawn, crimson arrow already forming again as he fought beneath the wreckage of the war platforms.
"…Yeah. The demi-human."
Syrian frowned.
"What about him?"
The masked woman paused.
Then spoke.
"I don't think that's a demi-human."
Silence fell.
Even the Crossfall members nearby went still.
Syrian slowly turned her head.
"…What do you mean?"
The masked woman's voice remained steady.
"I'm about ninety percent certain…"
Another pause.
"…that might be the son of the Demon King."
For a moment—
the entire Crossfall group froze completely.
Even the wind itself felt like it had stopped.
Syrian's eyes widened sharply.
"…You're joking."
The masked woman finally turned her head slightly toward her.
And for the first time—
there was no trace of amusement in her tone.
"No."
She looked back toward the battlefield.
At Aldric.
At Draven.
At the Holy Empire forces now visibly trembling under overwhelming pressure.
"This… just got a lot more interesting."
Below—
Aldric's grin widened.
The crimson spears above him began to tilt.
Slowly.
All at once.
Aimed directly at the Holy Empire formation lines.
And the battlefield—
held its breath.