What V had done before had broken the encirclement.
It allowed humanity to breathe.
But what Abraham had done ..
was on an entirely different level.
A sword the size of a continentā
its light reaching even Snow in space.
Its radiance purified all darkness ...
annihilating demons,
reducing them to fragments of black and red dust scattered into the air.
The enemy had numbered in the millionsā
many times greater than humanity.
Yet ... with a single strike ...
that advantage vanished.
The explosion deafened ears.
Many humans lost their hearing from its sheer force.
Others were blinded by the brilliance of the blade.
But losing sight and soundā
was a small price to pay compared to losing their lives.
In space, Snow remained silent.
Unmoving.
The scale of Abraham's attack had left him stunned.
From aboveā
he saw it clearly.
"The Ultras Continentā¦ has been split in twoā¦"
A single strike.
A continent divided.
More than eighty percent of the enemy ...
erased from existence.
Abraham emerged from the fading light,
his body releasing scorching steam that caused the air around him to boil.
He stepped forward, sword in hand .
calm.
As though he had not just unleashed a catastrophe.
He looked upon the destruction before him ...
then turned his gaze to the allies behind him.
Clearing his throat, he addressed them all.
"Soldiers of the Empireālisten carefully."
"Carve my words into your mindsā¦ and into your hearts."
"This battlefieldā¦ was made for those ready to die."
"For men prepared to throw their lives away in pursuit of victory."
"Those who do not wish to dieā¦ those who fear deathā¦"
"ā¦have no place here."
He moved forward as he spokeā
chasing down what remained of the enemy.
"If you wish to liveāthen run."
"Leave this place. Do not return."
"No one will blame you."
"No one will call you a coward."
"Go back home."
"And do not fearā¦ I will fight in your place."
Abraham's words froze many where they stood.
It was a strange speech.
Unexpected.
A leader ...
who should have driven his soldiers forward .
had instead told them to flee.
If you are not ready to dieā
run.
Save yourself.
It wasā¦
mercy.
A rare thing in this eraā
an age consumed by struggle and survival.
It was not the speech of a typical commander.
Yet ...no one complained.
Because Abraham had already fulfilled his promise.
He had annihilated most of the enemy.
And he was still pursuing what remained.
There was no need for soldiers.
No need for an army.
They wereā¦ unnecessary here.
But instead of shame ..
the soldiers of the Empire felt something else.
Gratitude.
Before the eyes of humanity's championsāand the warriors of the Shadow sectā
it began.
At first, dozens.
Then hundreds.
Soldiers of the Empire turned their backs on the battlefieldā¦ and fled.
They did not break.
They did not panic.
They obeyed.
They retreated under the command of the very man who had just saved themā
the man who chose to show them mercy.
Faced with such a scene, neither the heroes of humanity nor the elites of the Shadow Sect could decide ..
was this wisdomā¦ or folly?
Even if one wished to argue ...
Abraham had already silenced them.
What he had doneā¦ left no room for debate.
Above them, howeverā
one man was anything but silent.
The Emperor of Dragons snarled, fury rumbling in his voice.
"He held back that kind of power all this timeāonly to waste it on weaklings of no worth?!"
"What could have been a decisive trump card against the strongest enemiesā¦ squandered so carelessly!"
"What kind of commander reveals everything this early?!"
"What kind of leader tells his own soldiers to run?!"
Kalameet's anger was justified.
From a purely strategic standpoint ...
Abraham's decision bordered on recklessness.
Fulghor, however, remained silent.
There was no protest in his gazeā
only a quiet, unspoken respect.
As for Freyā¦
he said nothing.
Neither agreement nor denial.
Only observation.
Only thought.
'Incredibleā¦ while I was forging my strengthā¦ he was doing the same.'
There was no frustration in him.
No doubt.
Only a quiet, undeniable satisfaction.
His fatherā
had reached a height far beyond expectation.
Two Ignitions.
Stacked.
A Supernova.
A force so explosive that even Frey could not immediately measure its upper limits.
'Without questionā¦ in that state, Abraham stands among the absolute strongest in this war.'
Nameless spoke with genuine admiration.
This was no hollow praise ...
but recognition.
Of power.
Of presence.
Of inevitability.
'And what he didā¦ was not meaningless.'
Frey nodded slightly.
"They've finally revealed themselves."
The near-instant annihilation of the demonic army had shaken even the enemy.
And soā
the true players began to move.
Amid a sea of puppets ..
something emerged.
A grotesque, mutated entityā
its body writhing with dozens of glowing blue arms.
Where its head should have beenā
there was only a blazing blue flame.
Simon Manus.
No longer merely a creator .
but something reborn through the Devil's Seed and that mysterious blue substance.
Its presence alone surpassed the SSS threshold.
From the west .
another figure advanced.
A demon.
Its gray skin cracked like dying stone,
sunken eyes hollow with something ancient,
dark blue lips curled in stillness.
With every step .
the ground froze beneath it.
Its power was no less terrifying.
But the greatest threatā
came from the east.
A monstrous surge of aura eruptedā
and with it, shadows came alive.
They slithered across the earth like colossal serpents.
The third seat of the Higher Demonsā
Vayne, the King Shadow.
And yetā
Amon did not appear.
Even so ... Vayne alone was enough.
A true monster.
Enough to draw forth one of their own.
Fulghor stepped forward.
At last.
"My opponent is here."
His voice was deepāsteady.
"I'll handle the Third Seat. The rest is yours."
Thenā
he moved.
A golden meteor tore through the sky as Fulghor descended.
Unlike beforeā
he held nothing back.
No divided power.
No restraint.
This time ...
he carried one hundred percent of his immense aura.
His intent was clear.
To end Vayne.
Completely.
But this was no ordinary Third Seat.
Something deeper ...
something far more dangerousā
lurked beneath that demonic form.
even this clash defied prediction.
And then ... as if the battlefield had not already reached its threshold .
something else appeared.
Not below.
But above.
Far beyond the battlefieldā
in the silence of space.
Before Snow Leonhart .. clad in his radiant white armor .
the fabric of reality distorted.
A gray fracture split time and spaceā
opening like a wound.
From it .. an old man stepped through.
Tall.
Long-bearded.
Wrapped in dark robes.
A weathered wooden staff resting in his grasp.
There was no overwhelming pressure.
No suffocating aura.
And yetā cold sweat slid down Snow's back.
Because this was no ordinary enemy.
This was the Dark Duke of Hell.
Maskith.
"Well nowā¦ this isn't very reassuring, Lord of Light."
Maskith smiled faintly, baring his teeth.
"Afraid already? The battle hasn't even begun."
His tone was casual.
Almost bored.
"Forgive me for choosing you as my opponent."
"This placeā¦ is simply quieter."