As Seraphina's gaze landed on Ethan, her face lit up with a bright, unguarded smile that eased the tension in her shoulders and made her eyes shine.

For a heartbeat, the noise of the war camp seemed to fade, leaving only him in her world.

But the moment her eyes slid to the side and fell on Ophelia wrapped tightly around Ethan's arm, that smile immediately soured, freezing into a strained line.

Ophelia, who had been happily clinging to him, wore the exact same expression the instant she noticed Seraphina walking toward them.

The air between them crackled as the two girls locked eyes.

Then, perfectly in sync, they both spoke.

"What the hell are you doing here…"

Gritting her teeth, Ophelia pulled Ethan's arm even closer against her chest.

"I've been by my darling's side since the battle started," she snapped. "Not like someone who's too afraid to leave her family residence and just hides there."

Seraphina's eye twitched, all warmth vanishing from her face.

"What did you just say, bitch?" she shot back. "Who do you think is more of a burden to Ethan on the battlefield instead of actually helping him?"

This time, the corner of Ophelia's mouth twitched in anger, her brown eyes narrowing as if she might lunge at Seraphina any second.

Before their argument could explode, Ethan stepped slightly between them, lifting a hand to cut the tension.

"That's enough, you two," he said, voice tired but steady. "I'm way too exhausted to watch you fight right now. So please, calm down."

Both Seraphina and Ophelia clicked their tongues and turned away from each other, arms folding almost in unison as they stubbornly refused to look at one another.

Ethan turned to Seraphina, his tone softening.

"So, how are you even here, Sera?"

Seraphina drew in a small breath, forcing herself to relax as she focused on him instead.

"I'm here to deliver supplies," she said. "I brought more weapons, meat, other food products, armor, and clothing."

As she went on, listing item after item, several nearby soldiers—who had clearly been eavesdropping—froze mid-step.

"Did she say… meat?" one of them whispered.

"Weapons…" another muttered, eyes widening.

"More food…" a third repeated, voice trembling.

"It's been days since I've eaten properly…" someone choked out, already sounding like he might cry.

Ethan's face brightened as well.

"Are you telling the truth? You actually brought all of that?"

Seraphina nodded firmly.

A heartbeat later, that entire section of the camp erupted in cheers. Some soldiers threw their fists into the air, others grabbed their comrades in rough hugs, and several looked like they were on the verge of tears from sheer relief.

The sudden wave of joy and gratitude made Seraphina flinch slightly as dozens of eyes turned toward her at once.

"Let them enjoy it," Ethan said, watching them with a small, weary smile. "It's been days since they've had a proper meal. You might not know it, but fights have broken out many times over clothing and supplies… and some of our soldiers died because of that."

Seraphina's expression darkened, guilt and worry flickering through her eyes.

"It was that bad…?"

"Yeah," Ethan answered quietly. "With our country's economy collapsing, it's getting harder and harder to keep things together as the war goes on."

A calm voice cut through the noise.

"I believe that particular problem has been solved now."

Ethan turned toward the source.

Azrael stood a short distance away, arms loosely folded, eyes half-lidded yet unnervingly sharp. His presence was quiet but heavy, like a blade left sheathed just enough to remind everyone how dangerous it still was.

Seraphina glanced at Ethan before speaking.

"It was Alex," she explained. "He's the only reason the financial condition of our country has stabilized. If not for him, a rebellion would've started long ago."

She smiled faintly, a mix of admiration and gratitude softening her features.

"That guy really is something else, isn't he?"

"You seem to have complete faith in him, huh, Sera," Ethan said.

"Don't you?" Seraphina replied without hesitation.

Ethan paused, then let out a slow breath.

"Maybe I do," he admitted. "The guy's literally running a country that was on the brink of collapse… and he's handling it like it's nothing special. I'm not sure I could've done even half as well as he did."

'Don't you dare belittle yourself, my heir,' Tiamat's voice growled suddenly in his head. 'You are not in any way lesser than that roach…'

'Will you shut up?' Ethan snapped back inwardly. 'I have to give the credit where it's due. Whether you like it or not, he's the only reason we're still surviving… why my loved ones are safe.'

He looked toward the laughing, shouting soldiers—their shoulders finally relaxed, eyes shining with renewed hope at the thought of hot meals and proper equipment.

'Why these guys still have the will to fight.'

"Let's go eat first," Seraphina said, gently breaking the moment. "Then we can talk."

She turned toward Azrael.

"Mr. Azrael is here to help you guys too," she added. "And he's super strong, so now we've got more firepower on our side."

Ethan and Azrael's gazes locked.

Azrael smirked at him.

Seeing that smirk, Ethan's mouth twitched.

"What the hell are you so happy about, huh, demon?"

Azrael tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.

"Happy? Not really," he said. "Just surprised that someone who calls himself a hero still wasn't able to vanquish all the enemies in the northern districts."

A vein popped on Ethan's forehead.

"What did you say…?"

Azrael didn't bother to soften his tone, so Ethan continued sharply.

"For your information, I'm the only reason this territory hasn't lost a single sector out of the three in the northern region."

"Yeah, yeah, I can see that," Azrael replied lazily. "But the fact they're still attacking means you didn't hit them hard enough and obliterate them completely… like I did."

Ethan went silent, jaw clenched, golden eyes narrowing as the air between them grew heavier.

Feeling the tension spike, Seraphina stepped in once more.

"Okay, that's enough," she said firmly. "First let's eat, then we can talk in peace about what actions we should take going forward."

Azrael shrugged and followed her toward the center of the camp where the supplies were being unloaded. Ethan came from behind, shoulders still tense, muttering under his breath.

'What did I expect… his summon has the same attitude as that silver-haired freak.'

------

In the new continent, the sky above the scarred land was a bruised violet, split by veins of red lightning that occasionally flashed behind a colossal structure shaped like a dragon.

The palace sprawled across the black stone plateau like a slumbering beast—its wings forming jagged walls, its tail coiling around the rear cliffs, and its horned head carved into the main gate, fanged maw wide open as if ready to devour anyone who dared approach.

Gathered outside that dragon-like palace was a massive army of giants.

Hundreds of blue‑skinned figures stood in rigid formations, each one towering like a living mountain. Their skin was the deep blue of storm-tossed seas, marred by old scars and glowing tribal markings that pulsed faintly with power.

Heavy armor forged from dark metal and dragon bone covered their chests and shoulders, and every giant gripped an enormous weapon—warhammers, axes, and greatswords taller than most humans.

Each one radiating the oppressive might of a peak grandmaster.

At the very front of the army stood their leader.

He was taller than the rest by at least a head, his frame broader, his presence heavier.

His long, midnight-blue hair was tied back with a strip of dragon hide, and a jagged scar ran from his left brow down across his cheek, stopping just short of his jaw.

His crimson eyes burned with barely restrained rage, and every breath he exhaled made the air tremble. The aura around him was sharp and suffocating, the unmistakable pressure of a monarch‑rank being.

This was Morag, warlord of the Frost Giants.

The bloodlust rolling off him seeped into his army; in front of him, every soldier's killing intent blended into a suffocating tide, as if the entire plain was a battlefield waiting to explode.

Then, suddenly, another presence descended nearby.

The air tightened.

Space itself seemed to bend for a moment as a figure appeared between the dragon palace and the assembled giants, his arrival silent but overwhelming.

Zarvok, King of the Dragon‑kins.

He looked almost human at first glance—tall, lean, dressed in dark, scale‑patterned armor that gleamed like polished obsidian—but the illusion shattered the moment anyone met his eyes.

Vertical pupils glowed like molten gold inside black sclera, and two sleek, curved horns rose from his temples, swept back along his head like a crown.

A long, scaled tail lazily swayed behind him, and faint, shimmering draconic scales traced his neck and cheekbones like natural armor.

His aura was unfathomable.

Power coiled around him like an invisible storm—dense, ancient, and suffocating. Each step he took toward the front line made the ground crack slightly, not from weight, but from the sheer pressure of his existence.

Dragons were apex predators; as the king of dragon‑kins, Zarvok felt like a walking catastrophe.

Morag's eyes snapped toward him, bloodlust surging.

Meeting Zarvok's gaze, he spoke in a loud, harsh voice.

"Zarvok, why have you summoned me? It'd better be a damn good reason."

The words had barely left his mouth when a crushing pressure slammed down on him.

Morag's knees buckled, the stone beneath his feet cracking as he was forced half a step down. The giants behind him flinched, some lowering their heads instinctively as Zarvok's aura pressed over the entire army like a mountain.

"Lower your voice and your eyes, Morag," Zarvok said calmly, his gaze narrowing. "If you know what's good for you and your people."

Morag's teeth ground together, jaw flexing as rage warred with survival. For a moment, it looked like he might resist—but then he slowly lowered his head, forcing his eyes down in submission.

'Damn lizard…' he thought, anger burning in his chest. 'If not for my people....'

Seeing his compliance, a faint smile curved Zarvok's lips.

"Good," Zarvok said. "Now, the reason I summoned you and your army here is simple. I have some work for you to take care of."

Morag's fingers tightened around the hilt of his colossal axe.

"What is it?" he growled. "We're already doing everything we can. What more do you want from us, even after you took our home planet?"

Zarvok's expression didn't change.

"Don't worry," he replied smoothly. "You'll get it back. But first, you will do something for me, and then you and your people will be free. I promise."

A flicker of hope and suspicion crossed Morag's face at the same time.

'Our home… returned?' he thought. 'Can I trust this deceiving bastard…?'

Aloud, he said, "What is it? Tell me. If it can save my people, I will do anything."

Zarvok's smile widened slightly.

"It's nothing much," he said. "There is a country that's giving us trouble while we're trying to take over this planet."

"A country," Morag repeated. "Which race lives there?"

"Humans," Zarvok answered.

Morag frowned deeply.

"Humans? They're one of the weakest races. And they're causing you problems?"

"That's the thing," Zarvok said, his gaze hardening. "We were winning… until a demon showed up at their borders. He has become a considerable headache."

Morag tilted his head.

"What kind of demon?"

"A necromancer," Zarvok replied. "And a dangerous one at that. His army of undead is nothing to scoff at."

As Zarvok flicked his finger.

Images flashed in Morag's mind—blackened battlefields, armies that didn't stay dead, foes who grew stronger the more they killed.

"So you want me to take my army," Morag said slowly, "kill that demon, and take over that country."

"Yes," Zarvok confirmed.

Morag's eyes narrowed.

"And if I do that, you'll give us back our home planet."

"Yes," Zarvok said. "It's a promise."

Morag stared at him in silence.

Every instinct screamed at him not to trust the dragon king, but he could see no other path for his people. They were refugees on a foreign world after they lost their own home planet, bound by chains they couldn't break alone.

'If there's even a chance… I have to take it,' he thought. 'For them.'

"Fine," Morag said at last, voice low but resolute. "It will be done. Just keep your promise."

Zarvok nodded once, as if the matter were already settled.

"See that you do not disappoint me."

Morag turned away from him and raised his axe high.

"Frost Giants!" he bellowed. "We march!"

A roar shook the plains as hundreds of voices answered at once, the combined battle cry rattling the very air. The army shifted, formation turning as the legion of blue‑skinned giants began to move, their footsteps like distant thunder.

From the heights of the dragon‑palace plateau, a sea of towering figures marched out, heading toward the distant lands where the human empire—and its necromancer—awaited.

'Human empire… demon necromancer…'

Morag thought as he walked at the front, cloak snapping behind him in the wind. 'Whoever you are… for my people's sake, I will have to crush you.'

---

Meanwhile, inside Crestvale Manor…

Deep beneath the estate, in a dimly lit training chamber, the air shimmered from the heat.

Alden sat in the center of the room with his legs crossed, eyes closed, back straight. Black flames coiled around his body like living serpents, licking over his skin and clothes without burning them.

Each flicker of flame distorted the air, and the temperature inside the chamber had climbed to an abnormal level, enough to make the stone walls sweat and faintly glow.

Sweat rolled down Alden's neck, but his expression remained calm and focused.

'Steady… control it… don't let it control you,' he thought.

Inside his mind, a deep, ancient voice echoed.

[ You are growing steadily. Keep it up. ]

It was Ouroboros.

[ You will soon unlock another ability if you continue like this. ]

A small smile tugged at the corner of Alden's lips.

'Another ability, huh… not bad.'

As if the world hated his moment of satisfaction, the door to the training room suddenly burst open with a loud bang.

"Here I am, busting my ass," a familiar voice drawled, "and you're sleeping while sitting on yours."

The black flames around Alden flickered wildly as his concentration broke. He snapped his eyes open and turned toward the doorway.

Alex stood there, silver hair slightly messy, casual clothes half‑unbuttoned as if he'd thrown them on in a hurry, a lazy grin on his face that screamed provocation.

"I was meditating, you bastard!" Alden yelled, flames flaring in irritation before slowly receding.

"Yeah, yeah," Alex said, waving a hand dismissively. "Meditating, snoring, same thing."

Alden inhaled sharply, visibly forcing himself to calm down as he extinguished the remaining black fire around him.

'If I punch him now, he'll just say I failed some kind of 'patience test' or something…' he thought bitterly.

"Alright, alright," Alex continued, his expression shifting into something a bit more serious. "Vacation's over. It's time to work."

Alden sighed, pushing himself up to his feet and rolling his shoulders.

"What is it?" he asked. "You don't barge in like that just to insult me… usually."

"Gear up," Alex said. "We're leaving on that rescue mission."

Alden raised an eyebrow.

"Just the two of us?"

"Yeah," Alex replied without hesitation. "While we're gone, the others will keep the nation safe. So it'll be just us."

Alden was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. His eyes sharpened, the earlier annoyance fading into focus.

"Alright," he said. "Where are we going?"

Alex's grin returned, but this time there was a glint of danger in his eyes.

"Ruins of Rangna," he said. "The lost elven territory."

He turned, resting a hand on the doorframe as if already ready to move.

"The city where magic died."

-----

A/N:

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