"Release my generals and soldiers..."
Josh Aratat's voice thundered through the battlefield, not loud in the ordinary sense but heavy — like a command carved into reality itself. The trickster god stiffened, every resistance in his captured form, capitulating, as though wiped clean by invisible hands. His own fingers betrayed him, reaching into the swirling dimensional pocket where the tote prison was stored.
With a hiss, the prison materialized in the air, glowing faintly, humming with the cries of countless warriors trapped within.
Josh's heart tightened at the sight. He scanned their ranks, and a cold realization struck him — their numbers had dropped. Too many were gone. Too many had been left behind in eternal nothingness. His jaw clenched. A sigh escaped him, raw and pained, but there was no time for mourning. Not now.
His gaze shifted to the horizon, his black pupils narrowing. The weight of the 'I AM KING PROTOCOL' gnawed at him, eating through his strength and power with every passing heartbeat. He didn't have long.
"Guardian of the Fifth Dimensional Prison," Josh intoned, raising his rod toward the heavens, "I summon thee."
The void itself answered.
From the emptiness between worlds, a figure appeared — not walking, not flying, but simply manifesting, as though it had always been there, waiting. Its body reflected light like a thousand shards of broken mirrors, making it impossible to see its true shape. The battlefield fell silent, as even the wind seemed to bow.
Josh pointed to the trickster god, his tone calm, controlled, yet carrying the weight of a sovereign's decree.
"As promised, I have captured him," he said. "Even though you rejected my initial proposal, yet, I still chose to abide by it, principally because I am a man of my word... You can have him."
The Guardian inclined its head, the movement eerily smooth, then reached forward. The trickster god screamed and struggled, but it was no use — the Guardian's grip was like the jaws of inevitability. In moments, the god was gone, dragged into the depths of the Fifth Dimension like a criminal finally paying for an unending spree of chaos.
And just like that, he was gone.
Across the Nazare Blade Empire, across battlefronts and villages and royal halls, people felt it — the oppressive presence of the trickster god was no more. Granero, who had been standing silently, let out a long breath. For the first time in weeks, his shoulders loosened. He had been ready to die fighting this god if it came to that. Now he didn't have to.
Josh turned back to his legion. His rod flared with a surge of power. With a single strike against the tote prison, the artifact shattered into a thousand glittering fragments that melted into nothingness.
They were free.
One by one, Lola, Conrad, Ralia Amia, Naze, and the remaining soldiers of the Black Dragon Legion emerged from the dimensional cage, their bodies worn, their armour cracked, their faces pale from captivity.
The first to move towards Josh was Lola. She dashed toward him with the speed of a shooting star and collided with his chest, nearly knocking him back. Tears streaked her dirt-stained face as she clutched him tightly.
"I thought you would never return," she sobbed, her voice breaking. "You scared me."
Ralia Amia followed, her composure breaking as she wrapped her arms around him from the side. Then came Conrad, Stan, Naze, and the rest — thirteen generals, battle-scarred but alive, falling to their knees before rising to embrace him.
Then came the flood — over two thousand soldiers, crying, shouting, some laughing, some simply falling at his feet.
Josh stood in their midst, silent but smiling faintly. Something stirred deep within him, a soft, resonant hum of the loyalty level connection that began in his core and spread outward. A halo of energy, golden and black, rippled from his body, stretching over every single one of them.
In that moment, they were more than an army. They were bound to him — heart, soul, and spirit.
Through that connection, Josh channelled his strength. Their wounds sealed, their broken bones realigned, their exhaustion melted away. Their spirits, crushed and weary from imprisonment, blazed with renewed vigour.
This was power he hadn't possessed before. Power that came not just from his ascension, but from the recognition of those who had chosen to follow him.
And as the healing light faded, Josh Aratat, the Black Dragon, stood tall in their midst. The war wasn't over, but for the first time, they were ready to fight it together.
Josh slowly turned, the weight of his presence pressing down on the field like a storm about to break. His black dragon cloak fluttered in the wind, his eyes burning like twin suns.
Across from him, the emperor of the foreign army stood frozen, his golden crown tilting slightly as sweat trickled down his temple. His generals and soldiers dared not breathe too loudly, lest they draw the Black Dragon's gaze upon themselves.
They had all witnessed it — the capture of a god.
Even the most battle-hardened warrior among them could feel the primal terror gnawing at their hearts. If this man could chain a god and hand him over like a thief caught red-handed… what chance did we have?
Josh's voice rang out, deep, resonant, carrying across the plain like a tolling bell.
"Now comes judgement."
Each word felt like it could split the ground beneath their feet.
"You crossed into this empire," he continued, his tone slow, deliberate, "and slaughtered its people. Millions lie dead because of your ambition. I will give you two options."
He raised his rod, its tip glowing faintly. The entire army flinched.
"Option one — I strike you down here and now, and your resistance ends with your corpses rotting in this field."
He let the words hang for a moment, the silence almost unbearable.
"Option two — you and every last soldier under your banner become the property of this empire. You will work as slaves, and if you prove your worth through labour, through blood, through repentance… I will consider whether you deserve freedom."
For a heartbeat, no one moved.
Then, slowly, a single spear clattered to the ground.
Another sword followed.
And then another.
Soon the sound of falling weapons filled the air like rain on stone — clink, clink, clink — until the ground was littered with steel and the entire foreign army stood unarmed, heads bowed.
Many were not just surrendering, but relieved. They had come expecting death — perhaps even hoping for it — but here was mercy, even if it came in the form of servitude.
The emperor's face twisted with rage and humiliation. His fingers clenched into fists, his pride screaming at him to resist.
But then he looked up at Josh.
The man — no, the being — stood with calm, almost bored composure, as though ending an empire or sparing one were equally trivial choices. His presence pressed down like an ocean, and the emperor realised something.
If I resist, I will not even have the dignity of a duel. I will simply be erased.
His jaw trembled as he finally lowered his head. His crown slid from his hair and fell to the dirt.
"We… surrender," he said hoarsely.
A collective shudder rippled through his army.
Josh gave a single nod, then lowered his rod. Power flickered across his frame and dissipated, like a storm withdrawing into the clouds.
"Wise," he said simply. "However— there is still a matter of repaying evil..." He continued making every opposition soldier to gulp subconsciously.