Before the Sinvaira projection could reply to Azaron, Azaron raised a hand with a lazy, almost indifferent demeanor. Astra energy flowed into his palm in slow, deliberate streams, gathering without urgency, as though the force he was amassing was insignificant. Then, with that same casual air, he waved his hand.

With that single, dismissive motion, an utterly destructive and cataclysmic eruption was produced, one far beyond anything that had been unleashed during his battle. It was a burst so titanic in scale that the force tore through layers of reality itself, ripping space apart and erasing everything hundreds of kilometers outward and beyond.

There was no explosion. No sound followed. No smoke rose into the air. There was no cloud of dust, no earthquake, no shockwave rippling outward, nothing at all. Azaron had not destroyed the land in the conventional sense; he had simply erased it with a single wave of his palm. Hundreds of kilometers were deleted from the reality of Crymora, permanently removed as though they had never existed. This was the kind of man Valentine had dared to go against.

The Sinvaira projection and Valentine's corpse were not spared from this erasure. They too vanished, erased alongside everything else in the affected area. Where life, land, and matter had once existed, there was now nothing. The region fell into an oppressive, unnatural silence for a moment before Azaron finally exhaled heavily, releasing a long sigh.

He was disappointed, more than he cared to admit. He had thought the Sinvaira would come accompanied by its brothers and sisters, driven by pride and the instinct to challenge him directly. But it seemed that beings who had lived for that long no longer acted on emotion alone. They acted on calculation, foresight, and long-laid plans.

"You may come down now," Azaron said calmly, his voice echoing through the empty air. "Your time for spying has ended."

Silence answered him, as though no one was there at all. Then, in the next instant, the air itself rippled. Sunlight bent and distorted as if passing through water, dispersing to reveal a tall figure who stood over seven feet in height. He possessed sharp blue eyes and matching blue hair, a katana resting at his waist. He stared down from above, seated lazily upon a cloud as though he owned the world itself.

The First Sun, Malrik Wargrave.

With an unhurried motion, Malrik rolled off the cloud. His body tore through the air as gravity seized him, sending him hurtling toward the earth below. Yet when he reached the ground, his feet kissed it with a deft, controlled touch, as though the momentum he had accumulated throughout his fall simply did not exist.

"Hey, Dad," Malrik intoned casually.

Azaron turned his gaze toward him. "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Malrik arched an eyebrow slightly. "You sound angry… well, I understand why," he replied, meeting his father's gaze without hesitation.

"I'm only angry," Azaron said, clicking his tongue, "because I'm sure that stupid Sinvaira didn't come with its family members because it sensed you. Tsk." His tone was mock-annoyed as he playfully blamed Malrik for events not unfolding as he had hoped.

Malrik shook his head, choosing not to reply. He knew his father was joking, at least partially. His eyes shifted toward the direction of Azaron's last attack, and his expression grew faintly serious. 'He truly was angry,' Malrik thought. 'This damage might take decades… perhaps even centuries to repair."

Without any clear destination in mind, father and son began to walk. They moved side by side through the ravaged terrain left behind by the battle between Azaron and Valentine, their steps echoing through emptiness where land once stood.

"What brings you here?" Azaron asked, already sounding eager, as though he was ready to move on to another battlefield. "Did you find any interesting enemy?"

Malrik shook his head. "Nothing really. I just came to visit you at your current station, but when I arrived, neither you nor your Knights were there. So I teleported to Apollo's location. That's when I found you fighting Valentine. I decided to stay quiet and not interrupt your fun."

"Well," Azaron replied with a sigh, "the fun is already over."

"I know that feeling," Malrik said with a small chuckle. "So what was this entire battle about? Did the Assassin Guild finally cross the line?"

Azaron raised an eyebrow. "Didn't Apollo tell you?"

Malrik sighed. "You know how lazy that boy is. He just told me to ask you or Wuthenya. But little sister was busy with her own battle."

Hearing that, Azaron decided to explain. "They crossed the line," he said calmly. "They sent assassins after Asher."

"I see," Malrik replied. For just a split second, a cold glint flashed through his eyes. Azaron noticed it but chose not to comment. He knew that if Malrik had been the one to face Valentine, the fight would have ended within minutes, followed by prolonged torment.

"I'll be back," Malrik said with a smile. "Give me a few seconds."

In a golden-orange blur, he vanished.

Azaron stopped in his tracks and sighed deeply. "What is this crazy son of mine going to do now?" he muttered, his tone resigned.

Malrik appeared high above the city housing the headquarters of the Assassin Guild. For a moment, he was tempted to erase every assassin within immediately. But he restrained himself. These people were not his prey; they belonged to someone else. With that thought, he vanished again.

This time, he appeared within a noble territory. Without hesitation, his hand blurred as Solaris flashed from its sheath. Golden-orange sword lines filled the air, cutting through space itself. Malrik did not wait to observe the outcome of his strike before vanishing once more.

He reappeared above what seemed to be a pub and repeated the same action.

Malrik's figure zipped throughout the Zarethorne Empire, his movements nearly impossible to track. Each time his hand blurred, Solaris unleashed a storm of sword attacks. Every structure he struck was a hidden base of the Assassin Guild. His father had taken care of the headquarters, leaving the remaining installations behind, so Malrik dealt with them himself. In mere seconds, he traversed the entire Empire.

The moment Solaris slid back into its sheath, destruction erupted across countless locations. Sword marks manifested simultaneously, tearing through buildings and reducing them to nothing. Bodies were sliced apart, blood pooled across streets, and the death count rose by the second as Malrik calmly observed the devastation wrought by his own hands.

Screams echoed throughout the Empire as fear and confusion spread. Commoners and nobles alike believed an Emovirae attack had begun. Panic seized the populace. But Malrik did not care. His blue eyes bore down upon the Empire one final time before he vanished again in a golden-orange blur.

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