As Raiking declared the end of their duel, he didn't descend back to the ground. Instead, he defied gravity altogether, teleporting high into the freezing reaches of the stratosphere. From that celestial perch, his eyes, black as the void, locked onto Dia'Tia's fiery gaze. Her warrior spirit was ablaze, ready to withstand the divine fury that was about to be unleashed.
"Sword Intent," Raiking whispered, the words carrying a cosmic gravity. "Godsword."
In an instant, a blade of pure condensed mana appeared in his grasp. While its simple, translucent form might have seemed unimpressive to a mere mortal, Dia'Tia, standing at the pinnacle of the Immortal Stage, felt its immense power. It was a weapon forged to cut through the very threads of destiny.
Undeterred, she slammed her heel into the ground. The earth groaned as a colossal boulder shot upward. With relentless force, she continued to stomp, violently tearing apart the town's foundation. Massive chunks of stone soared into the sky, forming a grand, suspended staircase between her and the God of Death. They hovered in perfect harmony, like a procession of guardian planets shielding a vulnerable world from a solar flare.
Raiking regarded the floating barrier with a knowing stare. It was a scenario he had encountered time and again since choosing to endure the trials of mortality. Every human he faced—whether foe, ally, or stranger—possessed the same maddening flaw: an unyielding defiance of the inevitable.
It was this same defiance that had allowed the Compassionate General to smile even as he turned to ash. It was a profound resistance, a refusal to surrender, destined to haunt Raiking's eternal soul.
"Very well, Dia'Tia," Raiking declared, pointing the Godsword downward. "Let history witness what unfolds tonight. Will it be the inevitability of a God, or the resilience of a mortal that prevails?"
"I WARNED YOU!" Dia'Tia roared, her voice overpowering the howling winds. "NEVER UNDERESTIMATE ME!"
With all her might, she hurled herself forward, driving both palms into the first floating boulder. The resulting kinetic explosion was cataclysmic. The force of her strike flattened nearby taverns and unleashed a localized earthquake that shook the border town to its core, rattling every foundation for miles.
As the titanic boulders surged toward the sky, Raiking lifted his arm with a calm confidence. He swung the Godsword in a seemingly effortless arc, a motion so casual it appeared unable to slice even a single blade of grass.
For a heartbeat, the world came to an absolute standstill. The raging winter storm seemed to hold its breath.
Then, a cataclysmic force, unseen yet undeniable, crashed down. The first gigantic boulder was cleaved in two. Then the next, and the next. An invisible wave of destruction tore apart her earthern stairway, layer by relentless layer, unstoppable in its might.
Below, Dia'Tia remained unfazed. She didn't channel her mana or brace herself. Her eyes, steady and unwavering, locked onto Raiking's with an intensity that cut through the tumbling debris.
In that eternal fraction of a second, hostility vanished. What remained was a deep, unspoken bond of understanding in the martial world: when a sword is drawn, a life is poised to be claimed.
The unseen edge drew perilously close to her. Dodging was out of the question.
Yet, the strike never reached her. Space itself twisted, and suddenly Raiking stood before her. With a bare hand, he absorbed the catastrophic force of his own attack, dispersing the energy before it could graze her.
"Are you courting death?" he asked.
"No," she answered, her eyes gleaming with newfound clarity. "I needed to verify a truth."
"And what truth could possibly be worth risking your very soul?"
"Merely questioning the nature of Arshara's Disciple wouldn't have sufficed," Dia'Tia admitted, the tension melting away from her imposing figure.
"You still know nothing about me," Raiking countered, as his aura withdrew like a receding tide. "Had you faced the true me tonight, you wouldn't be standing."
"Then who was I fighting, if not you?"
"Arshara herself. The warrior you sought to challenge," Raiking explained. "She fought not to conquer, but to unveil the ultimate potential of her opponents."
"I see now. That's why you guided my attacks mid-battle," Dia'Tia reflected. "Your willingness to honor her legacy speaks volumes about your true character. To me, that's all the evidence I need."
"Why is my character of such interest to you?"
"If we are to wed, my respect cannot be founded on strength alone. I must know the essence of your heart."
"Wed?" The word escaped Raiking's lips, his unshakeable, almost divine demeanor fracturing for a moment of raw humanity.
"The customs of the Giant Clan are unwavering," she declared. "A woman must marry the man who breaks her guard. I have been defeated. The duty of my hand is now yours."
---
Meanwhile, back in the present, the political tension within Greenhollow had evaporated into sheer disbelief. The God of Death wasn't the only one caught off guard; both royals and monsters grappled with the implications of this ancient proposal.
A dry comment shattered the silence.
"Good thing I never managed to take down Raiking," the Storm Dragon remarked.
"What did you say, dragon?" Dia'Tia snarled.
"Nothing at all," he replied, pretending the ceiling's wooden beams were a newfound marvel.
"Ah," Ezmelral chimed in, a mischievous grin curling her lips. "That would explain why you never left the Guild."
"Uhh... that's not it! You are my family, how could I leave you behind?" Dia'Tia protested, her formidable aura giving way to a rare blush.
"Right..." Morgal interjected, clearly skeptical.
"It's true! I was young and had never ventured beyond the Imoar's forests before the Great War. The old ways were all I knew."
"Then tell us," Ezmelral pressed on, "why are you still unwed?"
"I..."
As the legendary founders of the Guild squabbled over ancient romances, Princess Aneller observed quietly. The oppressive fear that had gripped her all evening dissipated. These mythical beings, heralds of destruction, bickered and bantered with the same ordinary warmth she shared with her brother.
They aren't heartless catastrophes, she realized. Peace is possible. Clinging to this newfound insight, the Princess refocused on the soul-memory, eager to see how the God of Death navigated the intricacies of a mortal's affection.