Vined's grip tightened as he looked from Zaphir to the man fighting Duke Sant on the other side.

That wasn't Ravan Tramplin.

That was Ahiravan, Ravan's eldest son.

A swordmaster… or at least that's what everyone believed.

But right now, he was fighting like a full grandmaster.

Vined felt his lungs freeze. His thoughts crashed into each other, messy and fast.

How?

How were Zaphir and Ahiravan both grandmasters?

Six months ago, he had met them in the royal palace.

Back then, they were strong, sure, one early swordmaster, the other mid-stage.

But nowhere near the grandmaster realm.

They didn't hide their aura. There was nothing strange. Nothing fake.

And Vikram had been there too.

Vikram, the one who had already ascended.

His senses could see through any trick.

If these two had been hiding something, Vikram would have pointed it out within seconds. There was no way they fooled him.

So what changed in half a year?

Did they find something?

Did they train with someone?

Did they use some forbidden method?

No answer made sense. Going from swordmaster to grandmaster in months wasn't rare, it was impossible.

No shortcut existed. No treasure gave that kind of power. Even if someone helped them, the jump was too big, too fast.

Outside, only a breath had passed.

Inside Vined's head, he was drowning in questions.

When he finally looked properly at Zaphir, he saw something that made his heart drop, those eyes weren't just angry.

They were furious, burning with a hatred that felt deep, old, and deadly.

Vined stared into those furious eyes, but instead of fear, a strange stillness settled over him.

Questions didn't matter anymore.

Whatever miracle had pushed Zaphir into the grandmaster realm wasn't important now.

What mattered was ending him.

"You reached grandmaster?" Vined asked, voice calm as his thumb brushed along his sword's edge.

The shock from moments ago had faded completely. Only focus remained.

Zaphir let out a short, sharp laugh. "What do you think?" he sneered, resting his massive greatsword casually on his shoulder, though his eyes were anything but relaxed.

Vined nodded slowly. "From what I can see… yes, you have."

He raised his hand, fingers sliding along the blade.

Lightning snapped to life.

Not the soft white sparks ordinary warriors used.

This was heavy, thick lightning that pulsed with a deep rumble. And it wasn't coming from his sword or his body.

It was coming from the sky.

The clouds above split open as a giant thunderbolt formed, twisting violently as if the heavens themselves had bent down to answer Vined's call.

His eyes crackled with the same power, bright enough to cut through the falling snow.

Zaphir's smirk faded.

The air shook.

The thunderbolt crashed downward—

And Vined vanished.

Zaphir's eyes widened. His instincts screamed. He spun, searching—

"Too late."

Vined appeared right in front of him, a blur of lightning and steel.

The massive bolt from the sky slammed into his blade at the exact moment he swung it down with all his force.

BOOM.

Zaphir lifted his greatsword in a hurry, trying to block the strike, but the moment Vined's lightning blade connected, the world seemed to explode.

The pure, sky-born lightning smashed into Zaphir's guard and sent him flying like a broken arrow.

His body spun through the air, pushed back by a force far heavier than anything he had expected.

This wasn't normal lightning.

Not the basic elemental power every warrior unlocked at fifth star.

This was true lightning, the real element a warrior claimed only after stepping into the grandmaster realm.

A grandmaster had to choose one element from their main ones, and all the power of that element became theirs to command.

And that was only one part of the grandmaster's strength.

There were other things too… deeper things… like genesis heart and spiritual energy.

That was why the grandmaster realm felt so terrifying and unreachable.

Every step changed a person from the inside out.

Zaphir stabilized himself midair as fire gathered around his body, heating the freezing air.

His smirk had vanished completely. Now his eyes were sharp, serious.

He finally understood, he wasn't facing an ordinary grandmaster.

He was facing Vined D. Zenithara.

Across from him, Vined hovered calmly in the air, lightning still crackling around him.

His gaze was clear and cold.

"I was wondering," Vined said, "what kind of army sends four-star warriors for scouting."

His mind flickered back to a few days ago, those scouts he had caught, their strange aura, their unstable strength.

At that time he had felt uneasy, unable to explain it.

Now the answer was obvious.

Their strength had been forced up.

Artificial.

Borrowed.

And Zaphir… and Ahiravan… their sudden rise to grandmaster, it was the same thing. Some unknown method. Something unnatural.

The shock he felt earlier was fading now.

Once the impossible became explainable, it lost its weight.

In place of surprise came something colder—disdain.

Vined's voice dropped, steady and sharp like the edge of a blade.

"You think you are worthy of fighting me," he said, "after forcefully reaching the grandmaster realm?"

Zaphir's face twisted.

"Shut up!!" he roared, clutching his greatsword so hard his knuckles turned white.

Vined's words had hit exactly where it hurt most.

Because Zaphir knew the truth.

He wasn't a natural grandmaster.

He hadn't earned enlightenment.

He had no genesis heart.

No spiritual energy.

All he had was a grandmaster-level body and one element, fire, and even that fire wasn't complete.

A true grandmaster could command all fire in the world. Zaphir could barely control the flames he created himself.

Every time he clashed with Vined… he felt it.

The gap.

The difference.

The truth pressing on him like a weight on his chest.

He felt inferior.

And the feeling was only getting worse.

He had never imagined the distance between a forced grandmaster and a real grandmaster would be so big.

It felt like trying to fight a storm with a candle.

…but…

Zaphir steadied his breath.

He didn't need to defeat Vined.

He only needed to buy time. A few minutes away from the main battle. That was enough.

"Just a few minutes…" he muttered under his breath, lifting his greatsword again.

He didn't get to finish the movement.

Vined appeared in front of him like a streak of lightning tearing reality open.

His eyes were cold, sharp, and utterly calm.

Lightning wrapped around his blade like living snakes.

"I will show you," Vined said, voice like a rumbling storm, "what it means to be a grandmaster."

He swung.

The lightning on the sword didn't just glow, it roared, as if the sky itself was obeying him.

Zaphir panicked, summoning every bit of fire he could. Flames exploded around his body. The heat twisted the air.

"AHHHH!!" he shouted, swinging his greatsword forward with all his strength.

The two attacks collided.

BOOM.

The clash shook the sky.

But the result was instant.

Vined's lightning crushed the fire, smothered it, overwhelmed it, like a tidal wave burying a spark.

Zaphir's body jerked violently as the impact hit him.

He was launched backward again, blood flying from his mouth.

Thick, dark blood, dead blood, proof that the attack had torn into him from the inside.

His eyes widened in horror.

This wasn't a fight.

This was a one-sided beating.

And for the first time, true fear filled Zaphir's heart.

Zaphir steadied himself in the air, chest heaving, blood still on his lips.

He forced his body to stop spinning and looked toward the battlefield in the distance.

They'd drifted far.

Nearly a full kilometer separated them from where the siege raged.

Even though he'd been beaten back again and again, that distance was the only advantage he had managed to gain.

And even that wasn't enough. He needed more space. Much more.

His jaw clenched.

"I'll see you next time… just you wait," he spat.

The words were angry, but the anger was a mask.

He said them only to push Vined's attention further away from the walls. To lure him. To drag him even deeper, even farther.

Under his breath, he whispered the command that had saved him more than once.

"Intuition: Instant Teleportation."

The moment the words left his mouth, his body flickered….

…then vanished.

A heartbeat later, he reappeared a full kilometer away, flames scattering in the air like broken glass.

Vined's eyes narrowed at the sudden shift.

He turned slightly and looked over his shoulder.

Far behind him, Duke Sant fought Ahiravan.

And "fought" was a generous word for what was happening.

Duke Sant wasn't even breathing hard.

Ahiravan's attacks were wild, desperate, and every one of them was swatted aside as if the old man were brushing dust off his coat.

After a brief moment of thought, Vined exhaled softly.

Then his gaze snapped toward Zaphir.

"You won't escape," he murmured.

His voice carried no anger.

Just certainty.

A chance like this rarely appeared, an enemy commander, alone, wounded, separated from the battlefield.

And with Duke Sant right behind him, Vined had no reason to hold back.

If anything unexpected happened, his father-in-law could manage it.

Lightning coiled around Vined's body, gathering like a storm preparing to break.

He gave chase, shooting through the sky like a streak of pure thunder.

Meanwhile…

Duke Sant calmly tilted his head at Ahiravan, his gaze almost bored.

"Are you done?" he asked.

He didn't have a single scratch on him.

His breath was steady.

Not even a drop of sweat.

Ahiravan's face twisted in rage and disbelief.

The fight had barely begun, but Duke Sant made it look like he was simply stretching before breakfast, a strange little reminder that the world was full of monsters who didn't need to raise their voices to terrify you.

Ahiravan knew he was outmatched.

The old man stood there like a mountain, unmoving, unshakable, annoyingly aware of every trick Ahiravan had even considered.

Duke Sant didn't let his guard drop for a single breath. Fighting someone like that was like trying to stab a statue made of pure instinct.

Ahiravan exhaled through cracked lips.

His body was ruined, scorched skin, bones creaking, his stance held together more by stubbornness than muscle.

He forced himself upright.

"Old man… I can't beat you."

His sword lifted, trembling but steady enough to follow his will.

Duke Sant didn't shift, didn't flinch.

He looked almost serene, as if he'd already predicted every possible move Ahiravan could make.

Ahiravan muttered, "But…"

He opened his mouth, and spat out a small, round orb.

A strange artifact he'd gotten from his father in case of emergency.

Then, before Duke Sant could even read the intention, Ahiravan swung his sword downward—

—but not at the duke.

At his own wrist.

The blade carved through flesh and bone with a grim, moist crack. His severed hand fell, spraying blood.

Ahiravan didn't even scream; he just seized the moment, flinging that blood toward the orb.

The sphere reacted instantly.

Its surface pulsed once, then began to glow. Brightly. Too brightly.

Duke Sant's eyes narrowed for the first time.

The orb grew.

A quick swell, fist-sized, then head-sized, then as big as a hut.

It expanded like a bubble of warped space, humming with wild energy that bent the light around it.

"What is this?" Duke Sant said, more curious than afraid.

Ahiravan's breathing rasped.

"I can't kill you… but I can trap you. At least an hour. You and me both."

The orb snapped open—

—a massive suction force burst out, like a newborn black hole inhaling the world.

Boom!

Air, dust, shattered stone, all of it rushed toward the orb.

Duke Sant reacted instantly, stepping back, body already blurring.

But he was a fraction too late.

The force seized him, pulling with brutal strength.

Ahiravan let himself fall toward the vortex willingly, eyes wild but triumphant.

In the same heartbeat—

—the sphere swallowed them both.

Then it collapsed inward, vanishing into nothing but a faint ripple in the air, leaving the battlefield briefly, eerily quiet.

A trap sprung by a desperate man, dragging a titan down with him, even if only for a little while.

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