BOOM!

The cobblestones of the Royal Plaza didn't just crack; they erupted.

It was as if a volcano had opened up beneath the feet of the Iron Legion. Dust, debris, and steam blinded the front ranks of the Regent's army.

And from that cloud of chaos, a metal hand the size of a carriage punched through the street.

CLANG-HISS.

A massive, black steel giant hauled itself out of the sewer system. It stood twelve feet tall, its hydraulic pistons hissing steam, its shoulder plates painted with the crest of the Twin Hammers.

The Ironclad Exo-Suit (Commander Type).

Inside the cockpit, General Thorgar grinned, his hands gripping the control levers.

"IRONCLAN!" Thorgar's voice roared over the suit's amplifiers, shaking the windows of the palace. "PURGE THE TRAITORS!"

He swung a hydraulic fist.

SMASH!

Five Iron Legionnaires were flattened instantly, their armor crumpling like tin cans against the sheer torque of the Exo-Suit.

Behind Thorgar, the ground exploded twenty-nine more times.

The Ironclad Squadron rose from the depths. They weren't graceful. They were industrial, brutal, and unstoppable.

Master Orin, piloting a Heavy Support unit, unleashed the shoulder-mounted Magitech Cannons.

THUMP-THUMP-THUMP!

Explosions blossomed across the tight formation of the Regent's army. The Legionnaires, drilled to fight infantry, had no idea how to fight walking tanks.

"They have mechs!" A City Guard captain screamed, watching his line disintegrate. "Retreat! Fall back to the Palace steps!"

But there was nowhere to run.

"Now!" A shout rose from the crowd of "starving citizens."

Barnaby's network activated.

Thousands of dwarves, smiths, bakers, miners threw off their rags. They pulled out the Magitech Pistols and Hammers that had been smuggled in over the last month.

"For the True King!"

The mob surged forward, crashing into the flanks of the City Guard. It wasn't a riot; it was an ambush.

In the center of the storm, Zero and his team were a whirlwind of destruction.

"Shield wall!" The Legion Commander screamed, trying to block the path to the dais.

Five hundred heavy cyborgs locked their Adamantite shields together.

Leona laughed. She wasn't wearing an Exo-Suit. She didn't need one.

"Break!"

She charged. Her Berserk Aura flared red, forming the spectral image of a lion around her body. She slammed into the shield wall with her bare shoulder.

CRACK-BOOM!

The impact sounded like a cannon shot. The shield wall shattered. Cyborgs were sent flying through the air, rag-dolled by the kinetic force of a Beast-King.

Isabelle walked through the gap Leona created. Her demon horns were fully extended, her eyes burning ruby red.

She looked at the riflemen on the rooftops aiming at Zero.

"Gravity… Crush."

She snapped her fingers.

SNAP.

On the roofs, fifty riflemen suddenly buckled. Their weapons became too heavy to lift. The tiles beneath their feet shattered, pinning them to the ground under ten times the force of gravity.

Lyra, perched atop a statue, was a blur of motion.

Phwip. Phwip. Phwip.

She fired three arrows in a single second. Three enemy officers dropped dead, wind-shafts piercing their visors before they could shout orders.

And Zero…

Zero was walking.

He didn't run. He didn't shout. He walked toward the Golden Throne with a terrifying, rhythmic cadence.

A Royal Guard lunged at him with a mana-spear.

Zero didn't even look. He casually swung the Pantheon Sword.

FLASH.

The spear was sliced in half. The guard was bisected. Zero stepped over the falling body without breaking stride.

His [Will Armament] flared, a translucent golden aura that deflected stray bullets and magic like rain off a roof.

He reached the base of the stairs leading to the dais.

Regent Thrain stood at the top, gripping the railing of his throne. His face was purple with rage and terror.

"Stop him!" Thrain screamed, pointing a trembling finger. "He is just one man! Kill him!"

The Regent's personal elite guard—ten 5th-Order Knights in enchanted armour, rushed down the stairs.

Zero looked up.

"One man?"

He tilted his masked head.

"I am a Legion."

He activated the Pantheon Sword. The white crystal blade hummed, drinking the ambient mana of the battlefield.

"Pantheon Art: Crescent Moon."

He swung upward.

A wave of pure white energy slashed up the stairs.

SHING!

The ten elite knights froze. Then, their armor split down the middle. They fell to the sides, clearing the path.

Zero walked up the stairs, his boots crunching on the marble.

The camera drone zoomed in, capturing every step. The world watched in silence.

Zero stopped in front of the throne. He looked down at Thrain.

The Regent had nowhere left to run. Behind him stood only the hooded figures of the Twilight High Priests.

"Thrain," Zero's voice was cold, amplified by magic so the entire plaza could hear.

"Your lease has expired."

He pointed the tip of his sword at the Regent's throat.

"Surrender. Or die."

Thrain trembled. He looked at the burning city. He looked at his broken army. He looked at the monster in the white mask.

Panic broke his mind.

"I… I am the King!" Thrain shrieked. "I am the chosen of the Void!"

He spun around, grabbing the robes of the Lead Cultist standing in the shadows.

"Help me!" Thrain begged, falling to his knees and clutching the Cultist's hem. "Summon the demons! Use the sacrifice! Kill him!"

The Lead Cultist didn't move.

He was a tall figure, his face hidden by a hood that seemed to weave itself out of shadows.

He looked down at the weeping Regent. He looked at Zero.

Then, the Cultist sighed. It was a dry, rasping sound, like dead leaves skittering on stone.

"You promised us a Kingdom, Regent," the Cultist said.

"You promised us Order. You promised us a silent harvest."

The Cultist gestured to the riot below, the burning banners, and the triumphant roar of the Ironclads.

"This… is chaos."

"This is not what we had in mind!"

"I can fix it!" Thrain sobbed. "Just kill Zero! I'll give you anything! I'll give you half the population!"

"You have nothing left to give," the Cultist said coldly.

He raised a hand. It wasn't aimed at Zero.

It was aimed at Thrain.

"The Master does not tolerate failure."

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