The battlefield was drowned in darkness.

  No sound. No wind, no breathing. Only the suffocating silence that comes before death.

  Silmure was the first to move.

  Invisible threads sliced through the air like blades, tearing trees, stones, and even the darkness itself.

  Each step he took seemed to erase the world around him.

  Stingara stepped back, trembling.

  Souta, on the other hand, spun his spoon, shadows rising like walls.

  “Invisible threads? I’ve seen this cliché in like ten anime. Hope that’s not all you’ve got.”

  Silmure didn’t answer. He only murmured, low, like a lament:

  “…one day… everyone stops breathing…”

  The threads lunged like starving serpents.

  Souta vanished in a Shadow Step, reappearing behind the enemy.

  But the threads followed him, as if they had a will of their own.

  “Tsk… auto?tracking. Now that’s a proper villain hack.”

  He raised his spoon.

  Swamp Spoon — shadows opened on the ground, swallowing part of the threads and dissolving them into viscous darkness.

  Creamy echoed in his mind, firm:

  “Sir, be careful. These threads can cut through condensed mana. If they catch you, it’s over.”

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  Souta laughed, even as he was pulled backward.

  “Great. I love when death comes with an instruction manual.”

  The threads wrapped around him, trying to strangle.

  Souta activated the Reflective Spoon, sending part of the magic back.

  The thread?blades ricocheted toward Silmure, but the Temporal only tilted his head, empty, as if he had no soul.

  Meanwhile, Ignarok (Year) and Zepharion (Decade) advanced on Stingara.

  The suffocating heat burned her skin, and the thin air crushed her lungs.

  She raised her hand, releasing her crimson aura.

  Ultraviolet Ray cut through the air, but Zepharion’s wind diverted it effortlessly.

  Now Souta faced Silmure (Day) and Zepharion (Decade) at the same time, while Stingara struggled against Ignarok (Year).

  Zepharion unleashed invisible wind slashes, carving craters into the ground.Silmure pulled threads to immobilize Souta.Ignarok advanced on Stingara, walls of fire closing around her.

  Even surrounded, Souta raised his voice with sarcasm:

  “Listen up, discount demons. I’m gonna be the king of the world. And you? Just luxury background characters.”

  The words echoed inside Silmure’s hollow mind.

  For a moment, the absolute silence broke—not on the battlefield, but inside him.

  Memory

  A child—thin, starving, lost in a destroyed village.

  He cried in silence, because even crying felt useless.

  From the darkness, a colossal figure approached.

  A black mantle. Eyes like burning coals.

  The Demon King.

  The child lifted his face, tears falling.

  The shadow extended a hand.

  “Silence is your refuge. The void will be your strength. Come with me, little one… and you will never be forgotten again.”

  Silmure, still a child, took that hand.

  And in that moment, silence became his eternal prison.

  Back to the present

  Silmure murmured, for the first time with emotion:

  “…king of the world? You don’t know… what it means to be a king…”

  His threads exploded in every direction, forming an infinite web that swallowed the battlefield.

  The silence became suffocating, crushing—like the air itself had given up on existing.

  Souta smiled, even surrounded.

  “Heh. Villain drama with tragic flashback. Now we’re in a real anime.”

  Creamy echoed, ironic:

  “Sir, congratulations. You’ve triggered the enemy’s trauma. That usually means the fight is about to get ten times worse.”