Inside the control room of a grand facility, dozens of floating screens projected live feeds from all over the royal palace—hallways, courtyards, the outer walls, even Elaria's room from earlier.

Draven and Zara stood at the center, surrounded by glowing panels of light.

Draven's fingers flew across a translucent console, tracing runes and commands, while Zara watched multiple feeds at once, her silver-streaked blue hair faintly illuminated by the screens.

"Damn it," Draven hissed, eyes narrowing. "He found all the trackers I planted, and the spells you cast."

One by one, the markers that had been blinking over Elaria's position on a minimap winked out.

"And he took Elaria," Draven added, jaw tightening. "This is a disaster. We have to think of something fast, before the Elven King finds out what happened."

Zara, however, didn't respond immediately.

She kept rewinding and replaying the last few minutes of footage—Alyssa's entrance, the explosion, Elaria collapsing, Marcus' barrier, the teleportation.

"Did you tell Miss Alyssa to help Elaria?" Zara asked quietly, eyes still on the screen.

Draven blinked. "No. It wasn't me."

The door to the control room burst open.

"It was me," a familiar voice said.

Zara and Draven turned.

Alex walked in, silver hair slightly disheveled, eyes sharp despite the exhaustion still lingering around him. He closed the door behind him and strode toward them, hands in his pockets.

Zara frowned. "Why?"

Alex let out a small sigh. "It was a backup plan," he said. "In case the primary one failed."

Draven raised an eyebrow. "Backup plan?"

Alex looked at him. "The guy runs the number one guild in the human empire. Of course he's not stupid. I knew he'd expect obvious tracking. So I had Aunt Serena contact Alyssa, tell her to head to the palace, blow some of his people up… and during the chaos, plant these on his men."

He opened his hand.

Resting on his palm were several tiny metallic chips—so small they were almost invisible.

"Micro-trackers," he said.

Draven's eyes widened. He reached out and picked one up carefully. "These are the same type I made and installed in Elaria's room," he said. "Down to the last rune."

"Exactly," Alex said. "The same model. Only this time, Alyssa managed to stick them onto his men when she attacked. I knew he wouldn't hurt her—he still has some lingering ties from the past. But it was still a risk I really didn't want to take."

His gaze sharpened. "In the end, we had no choice. They were in a rush to escape. They didn't have time to re-check everyone."

Zara and Draven exchanged a look.

Then both of them gave him a thumbs up.

"Good work," Draven said.

"Not bad," Zara added.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Alex said, waving a hand. "Now stop flattering me and get to work. Find their location."

He turned his eyes to the main screen. "It's time to save the queen."

Draven smirked. "Only the queen, huh?"

Alex coughed lightly. "And, uh… of course, the princess who's with her. That part comes free."

Draven sighed. "Right. Free."

He cracked his fingers and leaned over the console. "Give me five minutes. We'll know where they are."

Alex nodded. "You've got three," he muttered.

Zara smiled faintly, then refocused on the map as new markers began to flicker into existence—tiny signals from the trackers Alyssa had planted.

---

Meanwhile, at the northern borders of the Avaloria Empire…

Carnage ruled the battlefield.

Piles of corpses—human and lycan alike—were strewn across the torn, blood-soaked earth. Armor pieces, shattered weapons, and broken banners lay scattered among severed limbs and crushed skulls. The stench of iron and wet fur filled the air.

Walking between the bodies was a golden-haired boy.

His hair shone like sunlight even under the ash-gray sky, and in his hand he carried a golden-colored sword, its blade dripping with fresh blood.

Ethan Williams.

The Chosen One.

The remaining lycans—those who still stood—hesitated at the sight of him. Their beast-like yellow eyes, usually filled with rage, were now wide with fear. Some crouched, ready to pounce, but their legs trembled. Others took involuntary steps back, claws digging into the dirt.

Ethan's golden aura burned brighter.

Light surged around him, wrapping his body like a mantle, his presence pushing down on every creature in front of him.

He raised his sword slowly.

In a low, steady voice, he spoke.

"Dawnbreaker Judgement, Sixth Form: Helios Descent."

His blade moved.

A massive arc of golden light exploded outward—a crescent-shaped strike that tore through the battlefield like a falling sun. The earth split, rocks vaporized, and everything in its path—trees, stone, flesh—was cut apart as if it were nothing more than paper.

The remaining lycans broke.

"It's the Day Reaper!" one of them screamed. "Run! Run for your lives!"

They tried to flee.

Some shifted into their full beastly wolf forms, their bodies swelling with muscle and fur, claws digging into the ground as they sprinted with all their might.

It didn't matter.

The wave of radiant destruction ripped through them effortlessly.

Bodies were cleaved cleanly in half. Limbs separated from torsos. Blood sprayed in wide arcs, then fell like crimson rain. Half the forest near the border was carved apart in the single swing, a massive crater gouged into the earth where the attack landed.

When the light finally faded, the battlefield was silent.

Only torn bodies and severed wolf heads remained, lying in pieces on the ground.

Ethan exhaled slowly.

He lowered his sword and slid it back into its sheath with a soft, metallic click.

He looked at the craters, the broken land, the mangled corpses.

His jaw tightened. His hands clenched.

"It's still not enough," he muttered. "I'm still nowhere near his level."

One name echoed in his mind.

Alex.

'I will surpass him,' Ethan thought. 'I won't stand by and watch innocents die again. Never.'

A voice echoed inside his head.

[ Don't worry, my heir, ] it said, ancient and powerful. [ You will reach his level. I will see to it. ]

Ethan's eyes sharpened. "You're saying that," he said in his mind, "then tell me why the hell those damn dragonkin are attacking us. Aren't they supposed to follow your orders? Why didn't you do something?"

[ That's not how it works, Ethan, ] the voice replied—Tiamat, Dragon God. [ All of my followers, even those of my own race, have free will. I cannot force them to obey me in everything. If I did, they'd lose their faith. I am a god, not a tyrant. A true god does not chain their believers; they let them pursue their desires. ]

[ And it's not entirely their fault either. ]

Ethan's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

[ It's because of that Alex boy that your world is facing this crisis, ] Tiamat said. [ He is the reason your world reached Level 2 so quickly. And whether you know it or not, when that happens, it is common for other worlds to invade and try to conquer it. The same was done to them in the past. ]

Ethan gritted his teeth. "So you're saying it's normal for them to slaughter innocents? And you're blaming Alex for that?"

[ I know you think it's wrong, ] Tiamat replied. [ But that's how the cosmos works. The sooner you accept that, the better. After all, you wish to surpass Alex, don't you? ]

Ethan's fists tightened. "Yes," he said. "I want to surpass him. But that…"

His eyes hardened.

"That's a different matter," he finished. "And you know what? I'm starting to lose trust in you."

Before he could say more, a pink blur shot toward him from the rear lines like a bullet.

"Darling!" a voice shouted. "I knew it!"

A girl skidded to a stop in front of him, almost crashing into his chest.

She had bright pink hair that fell in twin tails, bouncing with every movement, and warm brown eyes that sparkled with manic affection.

Her armor was lighter than most on the battlefield—a reinforced breastplate over a short battle dress, with leggings and boots stained with dust and blood. Despite the carnage around them, she looked vibrant and alive.

Ophelia Sinclair.

Daughter of Marquis Augustus Sinclair.

And someone completely, utterly crazy about Ethan.

"You took care of all those bastards alone without even breaking a sweat," she said, eyes glittering. "That was so cool. I almost fell in love with you all over again."

She stepped closer, practically pressing against him.

Ethan gently grabbed her shoulders and moved her back a little. "It's dangerous out here," he said. "Didn't I tell you to stay at the camp and look after the injured soldiers?"

Ophelia pouted, puffing her cheeks slightly. "But it was so boring without you," she protested. "And I wanted to be by your side. What if you got hurt?"

Ethan sighed, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. "Alright," he said at last. "Let's head back. I'm done here anyway. We'll tell the others to keep a close watch in case they attack again."

Ophelia's expression brightened immediately. "Okay!"

She nodded rapidly and grabbed onto his arm, hugging it tightly as if she never intended to let go.

Together, they walked back toward the allied camp—past the broken bodies and scorched earth—already thinking about the next battle that was sure to come.

As they reached the base, the atmosphere there was completely different from the battlefield.

Tents were lined up in orderly rows, healers moved between the wounded, officers barked quiet orders, and the smell of medicine mixed with blood and burning wood. Yet in the middle of all that, one man stood out—beaming.

Arthur Williams.

He stood at the edge of the camp, arms crossed, a huge smile already on his face as he watched Ethan approach. The moment Ethan came close enough, Arthur stepped forward and ruffled his son's hair with a firm, almost childishly proud hand.

"I am so proud of you," Arthur said, laughing softly. "Really, really proud."

Ethan let out a small, tired smile. "I know, Dad," he said. "So… what's the situation now?"

Arthur's expression sobered a little. "Nothing for the moment," he replied. "We haven't sensed any more movements from the lycans. For now, the front is holding."

Then his eyes brightened again.

"But," he added, "I have a surprise for you. Someone came to visit."

Ethan blinked, confused. "Who?"

Before Arthur could answer, a calm, clear voice floated across the camp.

"Ethan."

Ethan turned.

A girl with long blue hair walked into the camp, the sunlight catching on the soft waves that fell down her back. Her hair shimmered like a quiet blue sky, and her eyes were a deep, gentle grey that seemed to glow faintly when she moved.

She wore light battle robes—practical yet elegant—trimmed with silver, and her steps were graceful, almost weightless, as if the ground simply chose to support her.

Seraphina Starlight.

Ophelia's expression fell instantly.

Her cheerful face stiffened, and the arm wrapped around Ethan's tightened ever so slightly.

Seraphina, however, wasn't alone.

Walking beside her was a man with dark blue hair that reached just past his neck, slightly tousled as if the wind itself refused to stay away from him. His eyes were a piercing shade of icy silver, calm and unreadable. The aura around him was quiet—too quiet—like a bottomless ocean. No leaks of mana, no pressure, just an unfathomable depth that made the skin prickle instinctively.

The moment Ethan's gaze settled on him, a voice echoed in his mind.

[ It's that accursed demon, ] Tiamat hissed.

Understanding struck Ethan like a bolt.

'So this is him…' he thought.

Azrael.

The man who had recovered three sectors of the southern territories in a single day.

Alex's summoned demon.

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