Demoralized and weary. Death pressed closer than ever. The stench of fallen comrades still clung to the air, and the last look on their faces—etched with raw fear—lingered even after their bodies vanished from existence.

  One moment.

  Worry and unease rippled through the ranks. A few soldiers glanced about with haunted eyes, the urge to kneel and surrender plain on their faces. Better to live in chains and at another’s mercy, they thought, than to meet death here.

  Morals crumbled.

  Nothing could be worse. Morality—once snapped, surrender was inevitable.

  One Second.

  Alexander’s eyes flared with righteous fury as he fixed Luze-Ferris in his gaze. “Plut?t mourir debout que de vivre à genoux,” he whispered through gritted teeth, the words carrying the weight of defiance and war.

  A general’s duty was to lead, to inspire, to gather the pieces when bravery threatened to break.

  Alexander appeared only inches away, mana surging in his palm, killing intent so fierce the air itself seemed to recoil. Spell constructs skimmed across his skin, heat building until his hand glowed like molten steel.

  One second. That was all Alexander needed to prove that fear was needless. No running. No kneeling. No surrender. If the enemy could bleed, then they could die.

  His palm shot forward with lethal precision toward her chest—time seemed to fracture, stretched thin by Alexander’s [Mana Sense] as he severed all other senses. The world slowed to a crawl, every detail magnified. He saw the liquefied staff rushing to intercept; form wrapped in mana like a second skin. The ripples of its movement spread outward, eerily fluid, like some vast creature gliding beneath the surface of a dark sea.

  ‘Everyone has a weakness… what’s yours?’ His [Mana Sense] scoured, searching for the flaw to exploit. Within a realm of absolutes such as Orbis, power proved relative. If anyone could become a god, then divinity itself meant nothing.

  As his palm closed to within an inch of her chest, vanishing—the world returned to reality. Luze-Ferris gasped, only to feel Alexander’s presence behind her—like a predator studying its prey, breath cold against her neck. His killing intent wrapped around her in thin, deliberate wisps, not wild or frenzied but precise, intelligent, and merciless. The quiet focus of a hunter gauging the perfect strike made her skin prickle with sweat.

  His leg shot forward with explosive force toward her ribs, and this time the liquefied staff came a heartbeat too late—its strands of protection barely formed when his strike slipped through.

  ‘Got you.’

  Alexander vanished once more, reappearing on the far side of the molten barrier as it writhed toward him—splitting apart in frantic currents to shield its mistress.

  BANG

  The priestess snapped sideways as a metallic projectile slammed into her temple with a resounding crack—a bullet Alexander had forged moments earlier, left to circle high above at the edge of his range until his targeting spells.

  ‘More.’

  The shot had landed, yet the silvery shield absorbed most of it—thinned and erratic, but still clinging on. It failed to offer full protection; a bruise bloomed, and a bead of blood traced her skin, suspended in the slowed world where time barely moved.

  ‘Much more.’

  Alexander appeared behind her, palm blazing with a dozen constructs, forcing a technique barely mastered. His body trembled, mind seared by the flood of information, senses frayed—he had to strike before she recovered.

  BANG

  Another bullet tore in from an impossible angle—hitting almost the same spot, only a hair’s breadth aside—forcing the liquid shield to knot tighter and denser around her.

  BANG

  The third bullet slammed toward the narrow gap where the molten shield converged at her temple—her body jerked once more, a sharp crack echoing in the air.

  The world stood still, his palm driving with destructive force toward her spine. ‘Focus, you bastard.’ Strain made his body jerk, muscles burning—but too late. Blood welled from her lips.

  Her eyes narrowed with wrath and fear—aura bursting into the world of mana, raw and unyielding.

  “You vermin!”

  The world lurched back into motion as her core flared like a star, holy fire surging outward and washing Alexander’s vision in blinding white death.

  ’Do it.’

  Alexander’s palm halted a hair’s breadth before the flames, bones splintering and tendons tearing from the violent stop—yet the spell surged on. Technique Number 100—Absolute Penetration, his own creation.

  ‘Remember—control over force, technique before brutality. Strike to land, not to kill.’

  The glowing ruby constructs unraveled from his palm into gossamer threads, weaving through the holy flames with surgical precision as his [Mana Sense] and [Mana Manipulation] dragged time to a crawl. Like vipers striking, the threads slipped between tongues of fire, dodging with instinctive grace and piercing through gaps that existed only for the blink of a thought.

  ‘Back off, moron—don’t die now!’

  Time stretched thin around him, but the holy flames still moved with terrifying speed. While holding the technique together, he pushed every skill to the limit—[Parallel Minds] strained as they spun propulsion spells in record time, relying on raw mana constructs rather than alchemical contraptions, brute force over clever design, blasts of forged wind replacing the suction he could no longer achieve.

  ‘Come on!’

  Construct after construct wrapped his body, lines of mana locking into rough nodes, crude geometry forming as the flames closed in. His technique reformed before her body, a blazing palm glowing with relentless insistence.

  BANG

  The world roared back to life.

  “Argh!”

  Luze-Ferris’ eyes widened, body convulsing as a ragged scream tore free, her back seared as if a brand of molten iron had been driven into her flesh. The technique slammed home with brutal finality, driving through her defenses and gouging into greyish skin until the stench of scorched flesh hung in the air.

  “Merde!”

  Alexander’s body snapped backward with violent force, explosions bursting from his propulsion spells, barely escaping the holy flames. Like a puppet yanked too hard on its strings, his frame contorted in ways it was never meant to. No [Acrobatic] or [Stretching] skill saved him—tendons tore, bones cracked under the strain, organs lurching unnaturally inside his chest.

  “Mr. Alexander!”

  Fortunately, he didn’t crash into anything. As Ludwig cried out in panic, bushes burst up in an instant—eerily soft and cushioning—catching his body with surprising care.

  “Are you okay, Mr. Alexander?!”

  The small squirrel darted toward him as vines coiled around his shattered frame, thorns piercing deep and anchoring into torn flesh. Tendrils forced their way under his skin, writhing through muscle and bone, while blossoms burst open at his lips, spilling nectar that flooded his mouth and throat. He gagged as the bittersweetness burned down, yet with every invasive touch [Natural Energy] surged through, knitting him back together, dragging him from ruin to reluctant life.

  ‘This feels fucking wrong!’ Alexander gagged again, coughing up a petal before groaning. Vines thickened around him, leafy growth hiding his body from view as something slithered lower, pushing where it absolutely shouldn’t—panic jolted through him. ‘Not again!’ he hissed, remembering the humiliating days of being fully disabled. ‘Urgh! So big?! Why so much nectar?!’

  As Alexander’s body knit itself back together, the priestess smothered the remnants of his attack, her revenge-hungry eyes blazing toward the swelling nature construct. The copper taste of blood only sharpened her fury, the stinging pain, and acrid stink of scorched flesh clinging to her senses. In that moment, she understood why the Hero had commanded her to kill him—he was dangerous. Far too dangerous to be left alive.

  “He needs to die.” The liquid of her shattered staff gathered in mid-air, shimmering as it reformed with elegant grace, flowing into the shape of her weapon before settling into her grip.

  From her [Holy Energy], a vast circle blazed into existence, three smaller rings revolving inside it in a mesmerizing rhythm—the emblem of her faith. The construct pulsed dangerously, light swelling until it seared the surrounding air.

  “No creature like this can be allowed to exist—”

  Her words cut off as a rapier flashed past her eyes, its edge gleaming with violent light, vibrating on the verge of tearing itself apart. Behind it surged a storm of [Energies], each burning with the same wild defiance—no obedience left, no hesitation. They no longer fought under command; they rebelled.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  “Too late… what—”

  As the rapier streaked toward her, Luze-Ferris—the so?called Saint in training—steeled herself for a suicidal trade. She couldn’t strike Alexander down and shield herself. In her twisted conviction, martyrdom was the only path—an illusion she clung to even as steel neared her flesh.

  “As if.” Nila’s voice cut through the chaos, cold and razor-sharp.

  Like a snake, the blade slithered with cold elegance, aim sharp and unerring, leaving her flank exposed as she lunged for the sacred symbol poised to erupt. Her pestilence followed—no grace, no rhythm—just a raw, violent surge of plague that swallowed the emblem of her faith.

  “Now!”

  Nila’s command unleashed a storm of [Energies] and spells—not at the priestess, but at her attack. They fell like violent rainbows, clashing with crude ferocity. No technique. No finesse. Just raw barbarism.

  “Gotta give it to him.” Yvonne materialized before the nature construct shielding Alexander, a massive tower shield braced in her grip. Chromatic [Energies] shimmered across its surface in elegant layers. “Come on, you bastards! No better time to die than now!”

  More soldiers dashed to her side in but a moment, shields locking as [Energies] layered into a bulwark. Fear still glimmered in their eyes, but behind it burned defiance—as if seeing a god bleed had awakened something feral. Like a pack sensing the predator’s weakness, they bristled, ready to break their chains and seize honor for someone they loved and respected—Alexander.

  “Oh, my.” Zaphiro’s voice wavered behind Yvonne as he pressed a hand to her back, a cadre of mages arrayed at his side. [Energy] flared from him in tandem with theirs, protective spells blooming one after another. “Apparently I have to defend my useless knight,” he quipped, but his eyes told a different story—defiance laced with fear.

  Within moments, nearly the entire camp rallied to defend one figure—Alexander.

  Why?

  Because he was their noble?

  Because his talent defied measure?

  Because duty demanded it?

  No, nothing of it.

  It was in the way they stood—shaking, shivering, fear plain in their eyes—yet still they rushed to help. There was only one answer.

  They loved and respected him. Protecting him was not duty but instinct—an unshakable need to see him endure, to rise, to lead.

  ‘He has to die.’ The conviction surged from the deepest pit of her soul, a foreboding certainty as the world twisted toward futures she dared not allow. ‘He must.’

  The world returned, her conviction unshaken—yet a hail of counterstrikes battered her attack. Nila’s came first, a seething swarm of locusts that crashed into the sacred light like a living tide, pressing and grinding against it, wings and mandibles gnawing with relentless hunger. Behind her, the others struck with raw force, spells and attacks slamming down like a battering ram against gates. No finesse. No elegance. Only brute defiance—splintering the construct piece by piece, echoes thundering like war drums.

  “Die, huh?—”

  Her spell ignited—only for a violent jolt to wrench her arm upward as Freya burst from the ground at her feet like a specter, eyes blazing with barbaric rage, her smile twisted in fearless mockery.

  “Shut up already, ye bitch!”

  Freya’s mace crashed into her wrist with bone-jarring force, jerking the spell slightly off-course even as it sped toward Alexander. Its path skewed, no longer a perfect strike, but still locked on him—close enough to kill if unchecked.

  Even weakened, the symbol of faith roared forward with cataclysmic force—every inch of ground it passed over sterilized to bone-white ash, colors, and scents ripped from existence, earth, and plants erased as if purged by a divine apocalypse.

  “Hope you said your goodbyes!” Yvonne roared, voice trembling with equal parts courage and terror. The surrounding soldiers barked uneasy laughter, fear sharp in their throats. “Because if that thing hits, we’re all ash! Brace for impact!”

  BOOM

  The symbol of faith struck with apocalyptic force, detonating against the bulwark of shields and spells. The ground split, dust clouds towering skyward as the impact thundered through the camp. Feet slid back in the dirt, boots carving trenches as soldiers braced together, their wall of steel and sorcery groaning beneath the strain.

  “Hold!”

  Yvonne bellowed, her voice raw against the storm. The amalgamation of shields and [Energies] bent and shuddered, layer after layer splintering under the onslaught. Sparks and fragments of broken spells crackled like shattered glass in the air, but still they held—backs bowed, teeth clenched, every nerve screaming as they fought to keep the apocalypse at bay.

  The clash did not end with the first impact—the symbol of faith still pressed against them with unimaginable force. The ground rumbled and cracked, vibrations running up their legs as boots sank deep into the dirt, carving hollows just to hold their line. Shields buckled, [Energies] flared, every layer of defense shrieking as if on the verge of collapse.

  “Angle it upward!” Yvonne roared, voice raw and commanding over the thunder. Soldiers and mages leaned in unison, their wall straining as they tilted the torrent’s path skyward. The construct howled against them, still driving forward, still crushing down, but inch by inch its trajectory shifted. Dust clouds swallowed them, the world shaking as the pressure clawed at their bones.

  “Hold! Push!” Yvonne screamed again, veins bulging at her neck. The shield line bent like searing iron under the hammer, every heartbeat threatening to shatter it, yet together they forced the sacred blaze upward. With a final, deafening crack, the beam veered high, tearing into the sky—its fury unleashed into the heavens instead of Alexander.

  Silence.

  For a heartbeat the battlefield seemed weightless, everyone frozen as the divine blaze vanished into the heavens. Relief crashed over them in waves—ragged breaths, trembling laughter, even the beginnings of cheers—as if they had wrestled a god itself and survived.

  “Focus! She is still here!”

  But before triumph could take root, Nila’s voice cut through the haze like a blade—she and Freya rallied what strength remained, soldiers dragging battered shields and drained spells into place, closing in around Luze-Ferris, the Saint in training.

  “I understand now,” Luze-Ferris whispered, eyes hollow as she let her staff sink slowly, exhaustion etched into every line of her scarred face. “A trial… to prove my faith.” Her gaze drifted over the battlefield as if no one else existed, fixing finally on the swelling nature construct behind the wall of shields.

  Something cracked deep within her mind—Marisia S. Leonandra had slain her, and now she clung to the delusion that killing Alexander K. Leonandra, Marisia’s son, would atone for her weakness. The Hero had set this as her trial, proof of conviction. Yet even as the thought took root, dissonance spread through her being. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

  “I shall cleanse you all.” The words leaked from her lips in a hollow murmur, like a marionette speaking on severed strings—hope gone, the will to live already crumbling. With lifeless motions, she raised her staff high, the vow sounding as though another mouth whispered through her. “With this—”

  A sudden rustling cut her off, followed by a high?pitched cry that snapped her attention back to the nature construct. “Mr. Alexander, stop!”

  All eyes turned toward the writhing mass of vines where [Nature Energy] had surged, thick enough to resemble a living jungle. With a violent rustle, Alexander shoved his way free, eyes blazing, body healed to perfection. He ripped a vine from his mouth with a gag as nectar spilled down his chin, then halted mid?stride as another tendril squirmed from his waistband. His cheeks flushed crimson as he yanked it loose with a squeak of protest before stepping fully into view—restored, radiant, and embarrassingly human despite the indignity.

  “I’m fine.” Alexander lifted his gaze slightly. Perched between his twitching canine ears, Ludwig clung tight, tiny claws buried in his scalp as [Nature Energy] flowed steadily into him. “Think you need a break instead, buddy.”

  With a weary smile, he gently pried Ludwig from his head. The little fauna was utterly spent, having forced Alexander’s body back together in record time. It reminded him of Ipe’s healing—though Ludwig’s methods were far more invasive. All the same, gratitude softened his features as he patted the exhausted creature in thanks.

  “Zaphi, take him.” Alexander carefully handed over the squirrel, who kept muttering odd comments about his body—things Alexander preferred never to hear again.

  For a fleeting moment his eyes slipped shut, lungs dragging in and out ragged breaths, relief washing over him so sharp it ached. He had survived. They had survived. The weight of it pressed down until his shoulders trembled, laughter threatening to break free.

  But the moment snapped like glass—his eyes flared open, a grin cutting across his face as he forced himself upright. Around him stood the comrades who had shielded him, their bodies battered, their spirits unbroken. He knew it then: panic had nearly shattered him worse than his wounds, and Ludwig had burned himself hollow just to drag him back in time.

  “Comrades!”

  With a spell, his voice boomed louder than before as he strode with confident steps through the soldiers, his tail swaying with unrestrained vigor as they parted to let him pass.

  “Words can’t capture the gratitude I feel,” he declared, standing before the rows of shields, eyes sweeping over them. “The unbending wall that held for me.” He turned toward Nila and the others still circling the Saint in training. “And my tactician with her army of unbreakable spears.” His stride carried both arrogance and trust as he advanced slowly toward the Saint in training.

  All of Alexander’s work had not been in vain. The sleepless nights, the mistrust he fought against, the constant reprimands and disbelief—every hardship now bore fruit. His unbreakable will to lead in his own way was etched clearly across the faces of those who stood with him.

  “Words are too cheap to hold my gratitude,” he said, spreading his arms wide as he halted before Luze-Ferris, the posture of a true leader. “Your trust will not be wasted, and your bravery will be honored—not only with treasure and knowledge, but with legacy. All will know that you are the reason I stand here, the reason I can build the greatest home ever forged. On my name, I swear Moorgrel will become a place of pride, and that every soul there will know of you, who shielded me this day!”

  A sudden silence invaded the rows of soldiers and mages—barely able to process what Alexander had sworn. Then the dam broke. Cheers erupted, screams of triumph and relief tearing from parched throats.

  “Alexander! Alexander!” voices thundered, fists and weapons raised skyward. Others howled with laughter, some collapsing to their knees in disbelief, pounding shields against the ground until the earth shook. The air filled with a cacophony of joy—soldiers clapping each other on the back, mages weeping openly, their chants turning into praise for the one they had sworn to protect.

  The nobles, however, stood still, jaws tight and eyes cold, their silence a pointed contrast to the chaos of celebration.

  The battle almost ended, but its echo—raw, defiant, unforgettable—rolled over the camp like a tide.

  “My dear Saint in training.” Alexander’s voice rang out, steady and sharp, a smile tugging at his lips as every gaze snapped back to Luze-Ferris. Soldiers straightened, resolve rekindled, their battered bodies bracing once more until his words cut through the battlefield. “It’s over. Give up.”

  The contrast was stark—Alexander against Luze-Ferris. Both bodies stood whole, yet only one still possessed the strength to wield it. She swayed on her feet, eyes half?lidded, her reserves drained to embers. He looked as though roused from an afternoon nap—mana and stamina coursing fresh through every vein. Whatever gulf in might had once existed, now Alexander needed only the slightest aid to finish her. The danger had passed. The battle was decided.

  “You are just like your mother.”

  Her words slipped out in a faint murmur, so quiet they barely reached him. Alexander tilted his head, brow furrowing in confusion at the cryptic remark.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Alexander’s mana flared with razor precision, poised to strike in an instant. “But this isn’t the time to—”

  She cut him off, her lifeless mask shattering into raw fury—anger igniting every scar like brands of fire. Spittle flew from her lips as she snarled, clutching her staff in a white?knuckled grip that trembled with rage. “Arrogant, prideful wretch!” She wrenched the staff high, her voice cracking as it tore through the battlefield. “You think yourself invincible?! I clawed my way back from death itself, and you dare disgrace the gods’ gift! You will never—”

  VROOOOOOM

  A sudden roar of apocalyptic power shook the entire island. The ground convulsed, cracks racing outward as if the earth itself recoiled. A beam of the most violent and brutal [Wild Demonic Energy] Alexander had ever felt tore into the sky from far away, swallowing the surrounding [Holy Energy] like ravenous beasts dragging prey into their den. Winds howled outward in violent bursts, tearing through campfires and forcing even seasoned warriors to stagger back. The air grew heavy, stiff, oppressive—every breath choked with the weight of unleashed emotions. Everyone’s fur bristled, every instinct screaming in terror as the island itself trembled at Marisia’s awakening.

  “You’re already dead, bitch!” Marisia’s scream ripped across the island, every syllable a thunderclap as she closed in. The ground quaked with her advance, winds shrieking past like blades, her presence surging forward with the unstoppable weight of a storm.

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