The sound of steel leaving its sheath was quiet.
Yet it drowned the battlefield.
The King of Valarion drew his sword inch by inch, and with every fraction revealed, the pressure in the air intensified. It wasn't violent like Morix's wrath, nor suffocating like Mammon's presence.
It was absolute.
Lucia dropped to one knee without realizing it. Soldiers across the field followed, not out of fear, but instinct. Even the wind seemed to hesitate.
Mammon's grin stiffened.
"…So it's true," he murmured. "The Sword Saint still breathes."
The blade was fully drawn now.
It was simple in appearance. No glowing runes. No monstrous aura. Just a clean, silver edge that reflected the ruined battlefield like a mirror.
The King rested it lightly at his side.
"When did you last fight seriously?" Mammon asked, trying to sound amused. "A century ago? Two?"
The King didn't answer.
He took one step forward.
The ground didn't crack. It didn't explode.
It bowed.
Morix felt it instantly. His grip tightened around his own sword.
"This pressure…" he thought. "So this is the gap."
Rales swallowed hard. "He hasn't even raised it yet…"
Mammon exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing. "Alright then. Let's test if legends rot with age."
He snapped his fingers.
Reality fractured.
Golden sigils burst into existence behind Mammon, massive constructs of greed and authority stacking atop one another. The sky darkened as if buried under invisible weight.
Soldiers screamed as they were forced flat to the ground.
Lucia cried out, shielding her head. "I can't breathe—!"
Morix stepped in front of her instantly, aura flaring to shield her and Facilia. Even then, sweat rolled down his brow.
Mammon spread his arms. "Kneel. That's what mortals are best at."
The King lifted his sword.
Just slightly.
The pressure vanished.
Gone. Erased.
Mammon's eyes widened for a fraction of a second.
The King finally spoke.
"You talk too much."
He swung.
No arc of light.
No explosion.
Just a single, clean slash.
The sigils shattered like glass. The sky tore open, clouds splitting as if sliced by an unseen blade. The force carved a trench through the battlefield that stretched to the horizon.
Mammon barely dodged, his body twisting unnaturally as the slash skimmed his side.
Blood—golden and thick—splashed onto the ground.
Silence.
Mammon stared at the wound, disbelief flickering across his face.
"…You cut me."
The King didn't move. "You stood in front of me."
Mammon laughed suddenly, sharp and breathless. "Ah… I get it now."
His eyes gleamed.
"This isn't a war between armies anymore."
He looked past the King—at Morix.
"At the battlefield.
"At Aurethion itself.
"This is the age where monsters decide who stays human."
Morix met his gaze coldly. "You don't belong here."
Mammon smirked. "Neither do you."
Before Morix could react, Mammon raised his hand—and stopped.
A blade hovered at his throat.
The King hadn't moved.
Yet he was already there.
Mammon froze, eyes widening fully now.
"…Fast."
The King's voice was calm. "This is your last warning."
Mammon swallowed, then chuckled, sweat finally visible.
"Alright. Alright."
He slowly raised both hands.
"Today isn't the day."
Rales shouted, "Don't let him escape!"
Mammon glanced at him, amused. "You're brave. I'll remember that."
He looked back at Morix, eyes burning with promise.
"We're not done. Not even close."
Space twisted violently as Mammon tore open a portal, far more unstable than before.
As he stepped back into it, he spoke one last time.
"Train harder, Sword Master. Next time… I won't leave."
The portal snapped shut.
The pressure lifted.
The battlefield collapsed into noise—cheers, sobs, gasps of disbelief.
Elydria had won.
But no one felt victorious.
Lucia rushed to Morix, gripping his arm. "Are you alright?"
He nodded slowly. "I am."
His gaze drifted to the King.
"…But I understand now how far I still have to go."
The King sheathed his blade.
Only then did the world truly breathe again.
Behind the lines, Damion stood frozen, staring at where Mammon had vanished.
The hooded figure leaned close, whispering sweetly.
"You saw it, didn't you?"
Damion's jaw tightened. "Saw what?"
"Power that doesn't need permission."
Damion's hands trembled.
The hooded figure smiled beneath the darkness.
"And you want it."
The chapter ends with Damion turning away from the cheering soldiers, walking alone into the smoke—
While far away, beyond space and reason, Mammon laughs softly to himself.
The game had only just begun.