"Unbelievable…" What he was witnessing dwarfed anything before it… The most ampt comparison likely would have been the Crimson Ritual Incident, but that was ingrained in his heart due to the sheer amount of loss of life he had to witness…

Loss of life that he was directly involved in…

This… This was different. Rodrick Witguard was supposed to be an ally—a fellow human fighting against these wretched creatures that have clawed their way out from a distant past to haunt the present… What he was seeing was supposed to inspire hope in him…

But no—all Soren felt was the opposite.

Absolute dread… His eyes were glued to his maddening figure as the butterflies within his irises danced to the information he was absorbing…

This was not the last stand of a struggling man. It was a slaughter…

He turned to the sidelines—the Soul Skinners themselves seemed to be hesitating to approach him… Their instincts were telling them this: approach and you will die. And yet, their lust for souls would eventually overcome this rationality.

"So this is what a Sentinel is capable of…" He had seen just how strong Tina was back in the Feylith Forest, but that level of power was nothing more than the standard for a 7th Class… Rodrick on the other hand was a 5th Class—someone who was close to reaching the 4th…

The slaughter continued. Soren didn't dare to approach, even though he knew time was running out. But how could he? What he was currently witnessing only hinted at a larger truth—one that was not so easy to digest.

Rodrick… It was due to him that they had managed to survive this long. He alone had managed to draw the attention of most of the Soul Skinners. An entire army of monsters was being held back by a single person—all while avoiding getting bitten even once.

The battles they had been fighting inside the town… Those were just the stragglers that managed to slip through Rodrick's protection of the town… If not for him, they would have been overwhelmed the moment the first wave breached through the walls.

What should I do… Soren was stumped. It wasn't like he could simply convince him to come back to the town—not when there was still an army of shadows waiting to march in…

"Did someone send you, brat?" The husky voice breached through his eardrums like a tornado. He glanced up frantically to see Rodrick staring at him… All while slicing through wave after wave of Soul Skinners.

He made it look effortless…

Soren decided to step forward—his Violet Mirage deactivated on its own as the spellform scattered from within his Soul Realm.

"I didn't think you'd notice me…" He said nervously.

The old man didn't even acknowledge his words and continued to slash. It was both beautiful and terrifying… A dance that roughly resembled a storm of knives. Anything that dared to approach was instantly fractured into countless pieces.

"Sir Rodrick! I have a plan to rid the town of all these monsters! But I need your help to do it!"

"... I am listening." He said loudly. In that moment, another Soul Skinner approached the killing circle and was instantly minced into tiny chunks of flesh and shadow.

Hearing this, Soren's lips curled up. He glanced up at the Headmaster and yelled:

"Then I want you to drag these bastards into the town! Oh, and you must carry me there as well! We have to draw their attention somewhere!"

The veteran explorer glanced into his eyes. It was as if they were having an entire conversation with just a few glances back and forth.

He nodded, "Alright! I was just getting bored of this anyway…"

"Form a circle!" A young spearman yelled as he thrusted his bladed staff toward another shadow abomination. The central plaza of the city had turned into a hellscape flooded in darkness—all the remaining dungeon explorers which had managed to survive and regroup after the first onslaught made it here for one final stand.

"Secure the perimeter! Kill anyone that gets bitten! Do not hesitate!" They coordinated swiftly, forming a barrier of flesh to protect against the rushing waves of monstrous shadows. Many of the Sentinels used their anima to bolster their shields rather than their swords—all for the hope of lasting a tiny bit longer…

While many of the civilians continued to hide underground, everyone there was aware of how keen these creature's instincts were. Even the deepest of bunkers would not be able to hide the scent of their souls. Although a few of the dungeon explorers tried to leave everything behind and escape, the ones remaining here had something to continue fighting for. Whether it was family, friends, or simply a last ditch effort at saving face in the afterlife… None of it mattered now—surviving till the break of dawn was the only thing that counted.

"When will the plan come into effect?!" One of them yelled as they slashed a Soul Skinner in half. The person next to him grit his teeth as he parried another strike with his shield:

"Stop distracting yourself! Stick to your role!"

"O' Gold-Giver, bless us with success!"

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Another couldn't help but glance back curiously after killing another one of the bastards. At the center of the circle, protected by all, an elf wearing an all white robe stained in blood and shadows stood solemnly. In his hand was a mysterious flute, and like the bards of legend, the tunes he played soothed any wretched soul who caught a wisp of its splendor.

"Filthy elf…"

"Focus, you bastard! Does it matter if he is an elf or not? We're all going to die soon!"

Another agreed, "Right! And it's not just the elf! There was a human too! That mysterious magi who can shapeshift into butterflies! We owe our lives to that bastard!"

"Right! Right!" They all roared in sync as they fought harder than ever. But it was proving to be impossible. To the left, of the spearman, another explorer perished—one of the Soul Skinners managed to sneak in a bite on one of his feet. Without hesitating, the one next to him stabbed him through the heart, killing him instantly.

As the seconds passed, the protective circle formed from the remaining Sentinels was shrinking smaller and smaller. Every step back was a step forward for the next wave of shadows.

"T-this can't last forever!" One of them yelled as he pushed harder against the approaching monsters.

"Keep fighting! Don't stop!"

Seconds turned to minutes. And with each new tick, another soul was consumed, never to embrace the warmth of their patron god. And yet still, no one gave up. They all fought till the bitter end, even as their lifelong friends fell beside them.

"Hey wait! What the hell is that?!" One of them pointed into the distance—at the heels of the sea of monsters, something strange was seen. Like a stampeding bull, something massive was rushing toward them, all while cutting through any Soul Skinner in their way.

It was as if a sharp knife was being drawn through the army of monsters, splitting them in half.

"The Dungeon Slayer!" One of them cheered. In an instant, the morale of the remaining explorers lifted to the very edges of heaven itself.

"Rodrick is back! That bastard is alive hahaha!"

"I knew a freak like him wouldn't die in this shithole…"

They all fought with newfound fervor. Myrin who was standing at the center of the circle witnessed this and smiled warmly.

Soren succeeded… He focused his eyes on the approaching reinforcements. Indeed, the one man army had come to rescue them.

But the most surprising thing had to be the approaching monster waves behind the famed slayer. It was apparent to him that they had underestimated the number of enemies…

He glanced at Nicholas and nodded. "Get ready to carry out the plan."

The historian of Star Fate Guild nodded. He quickly closed his eyes and began to channel the axioms in their correct positions. However, he had to be extra careful… The expansion of his Soul Realm was far more than what he could normally handle.

With such a dispersion, the anima concentrated near him was far thinner… Fortunately, his affinities made up for such a weakness. With his control over the Wards affinity and flames, he was able to draw the necessary spellforms using Spirit Chalk—there was no need to fully imagine the spellform completely.

The axioms he was currently manifesting were simply to light the fuse!

And as the seconds ticked, the time to begin their operation neared closer and closer… Myrin quickly scanned the menagerie of horrors for the right signal.

Just as he was about to grow impatient, he finally saw it… A golden glow that shined brightly in the sea of darkness… Soren's Soul Weapon.

His mischievous companion was holding tightly to Rodrick's back while holding up the one thing who's light cannot be extinguished no matter what. His ancient tome of a Soul Weapon was the beacon he was waiting for.

He swiftly turned to Nicholas who was still channeling his anima:

"I got the signal! Begin casting!"

The man nodded solemnly, then whispered the right Scripted Runic words under his breath:

"Cage of Flames."

All around them, pillars of fire erupted from the ground, incinerating all that stood in their way. One by one, they rose— standing defiantly against the horde, forming a smoldering cage around them all…

This was no barrier for the survivors.

It was a trap—designed to hold the bastards just long enough to send them all screaming back into the forgotten depths of history.

And indeed, that was what Myrin was planning on doing from the start. He clenched tightly to his flute which had transformed into a paintbrush. Then, with his Soul Realm expanded further than anything he had achieved before, he pushed his imagination to the limits and manifested the final set of material runes necessary:

"Garden of Spirits…"

The words gracefully left his tongue. Above the horde-filled plaza, something mysterious began to take shape. Spirits—countless in number—manifested into the world, drifting in strange formations as they descended upon the army or monsters.

For a moment, the veteran soldiers, knights, and dungeon explorers froze—their eyes glued to the skies. They looked in wonder, as if the fantastical dreams from their childhoods had manifested into reality.

Pixies, enchanted blades, horned cats, elemental sprites, and other strange wonders surged into battle—clashing against the tide of darkness, as if reenacting the long-lost legend of the War of Swords. It was almost like the murals of old that many explorers witnessed in the past had come to life…

The effect was immediate. The pressure on the remaining fighters was quickly alleviated. Steps backward in retreat had become steps forward in defiance… Every one of them in that moment could feel it—that victory was close at hand…

However, that wasn't how Myrin saw it—the battle wasn't over yet. Both Nicholas' magecraft formation and his own Garden of Spirits demanded a heavy toll to use… The both of them knew that their anima would not last long enough to clear the remaining army of Soul Skinners.

Fortunately, that was never their goal to begin with.

"Did you bastards miss me?!" A deafening roar rang across the bloodied plaza. The remaining survivors all looked into the sky in awe—what they saw shocked them greatly.

Holding onto a monstrous blade that was twice his height, the Dungeon Slayer, Rodrick Witguard, laughed hysterically at the horde of creatures below. A single jump of his had positioned him above the center of the terrifying sea of shadows.

Clinging desperately to his other arm—holding on for dear life, was Soren. Thanks to his spell, Violet Mirage, they soared unnoticed above the swarm. And now that they were in position, their demise had already been set.

The old veteran grinned from ear to ear as he licked his lips with savage anticipation. His next few words set Soren's heart racing:

"Don't die, kid."

"Hey wait I am not rea—" His protest was cut short.

With a single mighty swing, the surrounding anima twisted and howled—splintering into a cacophony of maelstroms that were sharp enough to carve stone... In just seconds, hell rained down from above. Trapped within Nicholas' flaming cage, the sea of horrors had nowhere to run…

The butcher's net had been cast.

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