The Yasar-Eodes continent had been trampled under the iron hooves of the Demon Army for months.
Now, the final act that would decide the fate of existence had begun: The Subjugation of Lyrasinkel, the Dark Abyss Demon Lord.
Leading the charge was the continent's strongest party, "Wings of Sarei," headed by the Paladin, Lyre.
Or at least, that was the plan.
Currently, the vanguard of the Wings of Sarei was getting utterly annihilated.
But the real nightmare was just beginning. Lyrasinkel didn't waste time on the "scraps." Her crimson eyes locked onto the Elven White Mage in the rear, who was frantically chanting to turn the tide.
"Out of the way, little pest."
The Demon Lord's silhouette materialized behind the mage like a drop of ink in water. Her lethal claws, crackling with murderous intent, lunged straight for the Elf's throat!
"SERAPHINE!!! GET OUT OF THERE!!!" Lyre screamed, his lungs burning. He tried to raise his spear, but his broken body couldn't keep up with his will.
In the heartbeat before death, a beam of Holy Light—sharp enough to pierce the soul—shattered the darkness like a divine verdict.
"He's here... The Man is finally here!"
Under that radiance, the Demon Lord's shadows evaporated like frost under a desert sun.
A massive, gold-rimmed summoning circle, a hundred meters wide, roared into existence behind Seraphine.
Ancient runes spun with a pressure that made the very air feel heavy.
"[Holy Sword Domain: Ten Thousand Blades' Resonance]!"
Ten thousand streaks of pure gold erupted from the circle. They traced elegant, lethal arcs through the sky, weaving a web of death that locked down every possible escape route.
Even Lyrasinkel, the supreme ruler of the Abyss, lost her composure. She scrambled through the rain of swords, but the light was too fast.
Slash—!
A blade severed her left wing. The black appendage tumbled into the dust, sizzling with holy burns.
"This... this is [Wings of Scarlet Light]?!" the Demon Lord shrieked, clutching her stump. "A mere mortal... how can you drive a God-tier relic?!"
"Drive? Don't insult me. The Goddess practically begged me to take this 'gift' off her hands."
A commanding, slightly roguish voice drowned out the roar of battle.
The light faded, revealing a man standing six-foot-three in mid-air.
His brown hair was slicked back in a meticulously groomed pompadour, and his silver armor was draped in a long white overcoat that flared in the wind.
He looked less like a savior and more like a high-end fashion model who had wandered onto a battlefield. He radiated a single, overwhelming vibe: I am invincible.
This was the true ceiling of the Hero Party's combat power.
Ray twirled the Divine Sword with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. In a blur, he bypassed the Demon Lord's defenses, their afterimages clashing in the sky.
"Once I wrap this up, I'm finally paroled from this 'Hero' prison! Before I retire, I'll let you witness the flashiest curtain call of the century—free of charge!"
Ray moved like he was dancing on ice. Every swing was buttery smooth; every dodge was as casual as a stroll in his own backyard. With the Divine Sword in hand and his Max-Level stats, he wasn't just fighting the Demon Lord—he was bullying her.
Within a few exchanges, the crimson eyes of Lyrasinkel—the "Goddess of the Abyss"—filled with a primal, shuddering terror for the first time in eons.
"Impossible! I am the True God of the Deep!" she shrieked, her purple demonic flames erupting in a desperate, suicidal explosion.
Ray didn't even twitch an eyebrow. He raised his sword with one hand, the black-gold engravings on the blade coming alive, vacuuming every scrap of holy mana from the battlefield into the tip.
"— [Finality: Scarlet Judgment]!"
As Ray swung, a crimson pillar of light, as thick as a world-eating dragon, pierced the heavens.
The world went silent.
Ray elegantly clicked the divine sword back into its sheath. The battle was over. His perfectly styled hair hadn't even lost a single strand.
He turned toward the gaping mouths of Lyre and the others, flashing a smile so dangerously handsome it should have been illegal.
"The Demon Lord is gone. Peace is restored. I can finally retire in peace."
Suddenly, Ray's right hand clenched. A searing sting erupted from his palm. He opened his hand to see dark, vine-like markings spreading across his calloused skin.
At that moment, the world slammed the door on his power. The thousands of sword-intents that usually sat at the edge of his consciousness were suppressed deep into his soul.
Ray's expression flickered as he looked at the cold moonlight. A trace of complex reluctance crossed his eyes, followed by a calm acceptance.
"The time has come. The first midnight of the day," he whispered. He showed his companions the palm occupied by the curse-marks.
"The laws of Yasar-Eodes are punctual.Even after killing the Demon Lord, it won't give me a single extra second... As of now, I am no longer a Hero."
The party began the long journey home. The wilderness was a graveyard of broken armor and cold metal, reflecting the moonlight in a somber glow.
"Ten years we've been together. I can't believe... this was your last mission on the front lines." Lyre, the Paladin leader, walked beside Ray with the awkwardness of a sidekick.
After all, the "Wings of Sarei" only existed because Ray had bothered to organize them.
"DAMMIT! Curse that stupid [Yasar-Eodes Hero Treaty]!"
Baray, the werewolf bruiser, howled at the sky.
"It says human heroes must forcibly retire at thirty-four! I haven't had enough of following you yet! Is it really over?!"
The hulking beast of a man started wiping away tears with his massive paws, his voice cracking.
"RAY! I... I'm really gonna miss you, man!"
Ray's gaze remained as steady as a lighthouse. He looked at the hands that had held a thousand legendary blades.
"It's a thousand-year curse. Once a human hero hits thirty-four, their mana withers. Growth stops. Skills lock. We are shooting stars—when our time is up, the show must end."
"Lord Ray... thank you for everything. My gratitude is beyond words." Rosalind, the stoic Swordmaster, bowed deeply.
Her eyes, usually cold as steel, were filled with a rare, lingering sadness.
"Every breath I draw in battle, every victory I claim with this sword... they are all gifts from you. I would not be the blade I am today without your light."
"WAAAAAH! I can't take it! I'll miss you too!" Lyre completely lost it, joining Baray in a loud, sobbing mess.
"Without you backing us up, how am I supposed to lead an S-Rank party?! I'm gonna lead everyone into a ditch!"
Seeing two grown-ass men weeping like toddlers on the side of the road was... a lot. Seraphine, who had maintained an elegant silence, finally facepalmed.
"Ray hasn't even stepped out of the party gate yet and you two are already flooding the continent with your tears. Are you planning to drown all of Yasar-Eodes?"
Despite her sharp tongue, Seraphine's long eyelashes were trembling. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Finally, she broke, covering her face and sprinting toward the horizon.
"Seraphine..." Ray watched the small, retreating figure with a look that no one could quite read.
After a night of hard riding, the grand silhouette of the central town, Nortier, emerged.
At the gates, a woman in a regal purple gown stood with a crowd of residents. This was Doris, the City Lord and Guild Master. She curtsied elegantly as the heroes dismounted.
"Welcome home. I've been expecting you."
In the festive atmosphere, Seraphine was the only one who felt out of place.
She followed Ray like a ghost, silent and tense.
Her eyes were glued to Ray's broad back, her fingers twisting together as she wrestled with a decision that would change her life forever.