In the Seventh District, at the Guild's headquarters—the Pantheon—every scrap of information from across Orario converged.
Normally at this hour, even the most diligent adventure advisers would have clocked out.
Unfortunately, tonight they were doomed to work overtime.
Until this incident ended, they could only grind on without sleep.
But right now, nobody cared about something as trivial as overtime.
"Urgent report from the Sixth District! It's under attack by the Dark Faction—requesting reinforcements!"
"The First, Second, and Fourth Districts have all been hit by Dark Faction raids! They're engaged in combat—requesting reinforcements, requesting reinforcements!"
"Damage is spreading. It's already impossible to estimate. We can't report the overall situation—the command system has collapsed!"
One piece of terrible news after another poured in, and Guild Master Royman broke out in a cold sweat.
"Half of Orario—no, maybe the whole city—is under attack. Is this a full-scale war?!"
Royman couldn't imagine the Dark Faction possessing this kind of strength.
And he dared not imagine what defeat would mean for Orario.
Tonight's Dark Faction moves were massive—and blatant.
Finn had warned him long ago that the enemy might launch a large-scale assault today.
Royman believed he'd prepared for war.
He'd even braced himself for financial losses.
But reality proved it: he had only thought he was ready.
The "war" Royman had pictured would be limited to a single district at most.
How could he have imagined the Dark Faction had this many hands?
"It's fine. We'll win. We have so many outstanding adventurers… and the enemy's strongest should only be Level 5."
"The Guild must not fall, or else Lord Ouranos…"
"Go—summon the Loki Familia and the Freya Familia!"
......
In the central area of the Seventh District, the invited Alfrigg, Dvalinn, Berling, and Grer had just finished cleaning up a wave of fodder.
They were the Freya Familia's Flame-Gold Four Warriors—the four strongest prums beneath Finn.
It was said that with all four together, no First-Class Adventurer could defeat them.
The Gulliver Brothers had just ended their fight and were about to move to support elsewhere when someone blocked their path.
"From the Apatē Familia?"
"Didn't our Familia wipe them out?"
"Basram. He's the only one still alive."
"Then who are these dozen guys? They don't look… sane."
The four brothers traded observations, dissecting the situation.
Standing in their way was Basram—the priest of the Apatē Familia.
Basram was a beastman priest with a refined, almost elegant bearing, and he wore a smile even as he faced enemies.
But in a situation like this—when even his staff was smeared with blood—that smile only became more suspicious the longer you looked.
"Good evening, my dear heathens."
At his side were twelve fairy soldiers—twelve elite troops the Apatē Familia had cultivated with everything they had.
In other words—
Twelve Level 5s.
......
"Damn that little bastard Finn—he actually dragged even more enemies over to our side!"
Hedin Selland was so furious he looked ready to tear Hogni Ragnar apart on the spot.
If they had any spare capacity here, fine—but the problem was they'd already reached the limit of what their defensive force could handle.
If Hedin weren't a Level 5 adventurer—'White Sorcerer Staff'—repeatedly using magic at the most critical moments to flip the battlefield, this area would have fallen long ago.
That damned prum… he'd plotted against Hedin so brazenly!
"Hedin… can I leave? War is scary. This is even worse than the wars back home…"
Hogni muttered weakly.
"Shut up and fight! Those two demon sisters still haven't shown themselves. Their target is definitely us."
Hedin's roar made Hogni flinch so hard he practically shrank three times over. He didn't dare mention desertion again.
"Okay… I'll fight. You're so mean, Hedin…"
Hogni drew his weapon—Sacrificial Abyss—and his temperament flipped instantly, from fragile and whiny to feral and murderous.
"Tonight there's no need for any restraint. Then let's slaughter to our hearts' content!"
Watching the black elf plunge into the enemy ranks, the surrounding adventurers burst into cheers.
"It's the Level 5 'Black Elven Demon Sword'—we're saved!"
......
Valletta cocked her head and listened. This time, everything she heard was music to her ears.
"Yes… yes! Those are the sounds that suit you!"
"Screams, shrieks, wailing—more! Give me more!"
She didn't get to savor it for long before her most familiar nemesis appeared before her.
This time, facing the enemy who'd hounded her for years, Valletta only smiled.
"Finn… as a commander, you're actually on the front line? That's so very you. Well? How do you like this scene?"
Valletta studied Finn with keen interest, unwilling to miss even the tiniest twitch on his face.
Last time, she'd led a raid on the warehouses, believing herself calm and in complete control—
Only to discover some unknown rat had turned into an informant, and her "composure" became a frantic scramble and a humiliating retreat.
Now the roles were reversed.
Valletta was going to teach Finn what cruelty really meant.
"Valletta, your numbers of First-Class Adventurers are severely lacking. If I keep you tied down, do you really think you still have a chance?"
Finn held his twin spears, ready to enter his berserk state at any moment.
He'd already handled the broad command picture. With the command system impossible to restore in the short term, his personal combat power mattered more than his leadership tonight.
"Hahahaha! Then I'll return those words to you exactly—don't tell me you think a few Level 5s can stop those two Overlords!"
Valletta couldn't hold back her laughter, as if she meant to laugh out every ounce of pent-up frustration.
"Overlords?"
Finn's expression changed sharply as he instantly recalled the intelligence Shakti had reported.
So that young man, Cid… he'd accurately sensed just how strong the enemy was?
Valletta didn't give him time to think. She surged forward and attacked.
"Stop thinking about other people. Tonight—you're mine!"
......
Against the surrounding chorus of screams, there was a lone discordant pocket of silence—
A silver-haired woman in a long formal dress, wrapped in stillness.
At first glance, the space around her looked like an absolutely safe paradise.
Look closer, and you realized her feet were surrounded by corpses piled high.
Riveria shook her emerald hair and leveled her aim at Alfia.
"These people… you killed them?"
"What noisy trash. They're nothing but leftover shells."
"You are unworthy of being human!"
The most noble elven royal pronounced judgment and began chanting a first-tier offensive spell.
"O omen of the world's end… o pure white snow.At the hour of dusk, whip up the raging wind.Seal the light, freeze the earth.A blizzard that fills the sky—third winter's severity—My name is Alf…!"
In an instant, three waves of frost—enough to freeze anything—closed in around Alfia.
Anyone who knew magic could tell at a glance: this was Riveria's most commonly used attack spell.
Rejoice — Fimbulvetr.
A spell so lethal it made even Level 5 adventurers blanch—graze it and you're wounded, take it head-on and you die.
In today's Orario, adventurers generally believed no mage could reach Riveria's current realm and destructive power.
But against the woman before her—
Reality flipped the other way.
"Tranquility of the soul."
After an ultra-short chant, the violent ice waves dispersed instantly.
Only the lingering bite of cold in the air proved the magic had ever existed.
"Magic nullification…?"
Riveria stared in disbelief at the woman whose face was obscured.
In her memory, only one person could do that.
"Gospel."
Another ultra-short chant.
A formless, invisible shockwave struck Gareth, the dwarf who'd been poised to ambush.
Judging by how wretched he looked, who would guess he was one of the Loki Familia's Big Three—Level 5, 'Mighty King'?
Riveria spared Gareth a single glance. Once she confirmed he wasn't dead, she ignored everything else and locked her gaze onto the woman before her.
"You're Alfia? You're still alive?!"
"Annoying. Die, you old elf hag."
....
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