Reborn As Papa Silva

Chapter 74: Their Story (24): The Overlook

Within the Astral World, Goldstein's orange-brown mana surged to almost incomprehensible levels. It pulsed rhythmically, like a heartbeat, shooting outward before recoiling back into his body. Each time it extended, it grew more golden, a clear signal to his deepening fusion with the Great Elemental Spirit of the Earth, Gnome.

His very essence transformed—presence, aura, posture, and demeanor alike. It was as though he had become heaven's chosen, a being cherished by mana itself, elevated beyond mortal concerns and petty conflicts, existing solely to fulfill a higher purpose.

The blinding light enveloping his figure began to fade, revealing him in his post-transformation state. His mana, now a resplendent gold, receded inward, leaving behind a figure that seemed reborn. Goldstein's already impressive frame, tall and broad, had grown even more imposing—towering at nearly seven feet, his physique bulkier, his muscles more pronounced, his six-pack unmistakable.

Gone were his tattered clothes, replaced by a suit of brownish, full-body armor forged from smooth, rocky earth. Its surface was pristine, as though it had been refined in fire countless times, free of cracks or imperfections. The armor had a distinct dwarven quality, covering every inch of him except the crown of his head. There, his once neatly groomed blonde hair had turned bronze and shaggy.

The upper half of his face was masked, save for two eye slits, through which his sapphire eyes now glowed a striking gold. Remarkably, his armor seemed to mold itself tightly around his abs, emphasizing their definition. Bright orange lines sprouted from a glowing orb embedded above his abdomen. These lines spread across his body, tracing the veins of his arms and legs, pulsing with a fiery, liquid energy.

The lower half of his face was uncovered, revealing a nose that had become slightly squarer and a beard, once neatly groomed, now longer and tinted bronze to match his hair.

In his right hand, Goldstein wielded a massive, smooth orange-brown poleaxe adorned with cryptic golden sigils. From the middle of his broad back extended a pair of smooth, angelic wings made of earthen material. Above his head floated a restored golden crown, now carrying a coppery sheen, hovering like a halo.

King Goldstein—no, Saint Goldstein—had fully assimilated with Gnome.

He began walking toward Alden, his footsteps heavy, steady, and unhurried. In the Wizard King's vision, Goldstein appeared to fluctuate between a physical form and a mass of pure mana. With each step, Alden felt the gravity around him multiply a hundredfold, making it difficult to move or even breathe.

This isn't intentional, Alden realized, just the byproduct of his fusion with Gnome. If he wanted to, he could make the gravity unbearable.

Alden's gaze shifted downwards to The Fool card in his hand. His eyes narrowed as he clutched it tightly, and the card dissolved into motes of light that shot straight into his chest.

The Wizard King began to glow, a soft, pure white. It wasn't an overwhelming transformation like Goldstein's—no blinding spectacle, no ambient mana bending to his will. It was a mere glow, steady and unassuming, like a gently brightened lightbulb.

It should have been anything but intimidating yet the hairs on Goldstein's back stood on end. In an instant, the unfathomable aura he carried—the one that set him above all people and conflicts—vanished. His composure shattered as he gripped his poleaxe with both hands and lunged forward.

At a speed nearly impossible to track, Goldstein crossed 100 meters before even a fraction of a millisecond had passed. He appeared directly in front of Alden and swung his poleaxe without hesitation, aiming to cleave the man's head from his shoulders.

But just as the blade was about to slice into the left side of Alden's neck, Goldstein's pupils contracted sharply.

What the?!

He was back where he had started—100 meters away, as if he had never moved.

Before he could even begin to process what had happened, Alden's voice echoed across the space, shifting unnervingly between youthful, ancient, and ageless tones.

"This is my world. I am no god here, capable of granting life or death on a whim to anything or anyone within this dimension. But shifting coordinates in space? That is well within my means."

Goldstein froze. As he watched, the radiant white light encasing Alden's body began to flake away like a crumbling shell, revealing the man beneath. When the transformation completed, Goldstein stiffened, his breath catching in his throat.

The elderly, exuberant form of Alden Arcana, which had belied a vitality far beyond his years, was gone. In its place stood a much younger man. And Goldstein, attuned as he currently was to mana, could tell that this was no illusion or transformation magic—it was real.

By some unimaginable means, Alden had turned back the clock on his body by nearly five decades. He looked no older than twenty, standing in the prime of his life.

His simple cyan fur coat had transformed, now adorned with intricate embroidery, and the white fur had been replaced with aqua, perfectly matching his rejuvenated hair, now entirely free of silver. His face was slender and smooth, his flawless skin enviable even to the fairest woman. His Tudor-style clothing had evolved into something far more regal, noble, and ornate.

The only part of him that remained unchanged was his eyes. They were still ancient, wise, and piercing, belonging to someone who had thoroughly experienced life and the world.

Yet Alden radiated no overwhelming force, no grand aura of power. And that was precisely what unnerved Goldstein to his core. In his current state, Goldstein was hyper-sensitive to mana, yet he felt absolutely nothing from Alden—as though the man were entirely powerless, a mere manaless human.

That realization nearly made Saint Goldstein take a step back.

Alden smiled softly, his expression carefree and disarming, as though Goldstein were not even worth considering as a threat. The casual ease of that smile sent a flicker of doubt through the Diamond King's heart, but he quickly suppressed it. The saintly power coursing through him drowned out those feelings of fear and uncertainty. He straightened his stance, held his ground, and opened his mouth.

"How?" Goldstein asked simply, his voice firm.

Alden's soft smile didn't waver, and he offered no reply.

Before Goldstein could demand an answer, the voice of the woman who had drawn him and his forces into this strange world resounded again. Her tone was both monotone and harmonious, as though she were speaking and singing simultaneously.

"The Fool is the beginning. The World is the end. Just as The Fool can reach its end, The World can return one to its roots and beginning, letting The Fool rise once more."

Alden's smile deepened slightly. "This," he said, gesturing to himself, "is how I looked when I first joined the Magic Knights. My prime, coincidentally or not. I suppose this could be considered the true beginning for someone who eventually became the Wizard King."

Goldstein scrutinized him for a moment, his piercing gaze unwavering. Then his thunderous voice echoed across the Astral World.

"That must be forbidden magic." It was not a question but a statement.

Alden's casual smile remained as he replied, "Yes, it is."

Goldstein's grim expression shifted, his lips curling upward into a triumphant grin. "Hah! Alden, you fool. Right now, you may be stronger than me, but I am indestructible. You've burned through your life to achieve that power. You'll die very soon. All I have to do is outlast you. The me right now could survive even the apocalypse! It's my victory!"

Alden's smile didn't falter. His eyes closed, and his expression shifted, resembling that of a certain shadow mage in the not-so-maybe-so-distant future. It was a smile, but it wasn't.

"You want to test that theory?"

Before Goldstein could respond, his pupils dilated sharply as Alden disappeared from his spot. He left no flicker or afterimage, moving so quickly that his presence seemed to vanish entirely.

Goldstein stiffened and glanced downward. Alden stood directly in front of him, smiling. His right arm was outstretched, palm glowing red, pressed squarely against the orb embedded in Goldstein's chest.

Before Goldstein could react, Alden spoke a single word, his voice soft and nonchalant.

"Strength."

For the briefest moment, Goldstein saw the faint, illusionary image of a woman gently stroking a lion's head. Then he heard a sharp crack. The orb in his chest fractured, splintering like fragile glass.

Before he could fully register what just happened, Goldstein was sent hurtling backward, his body crashing across the vast, earthen landscape that Gnome had created.

Digging his poleaxe into the ground, Goldstein managed to slow his momentum, tearing up massive chunks of earth before coming to a halt.

He raised his gaze to Alden, trembling slightly, before his stomach churned. His throat burned, and he could no longer suppress the blood rising within him. Goldstein spat out a thick mouthful of crimson, the metallic taste flooding his mouth.

It had been two years since Goldstein bonded with Gnome—two years of invulnerability, of standing untouchable when partnered with the Earth Spirit. And now, with a single, casual blow, Alden had broken through that, while Goldstein was in Saint Stage of all things.

Goldstein wiped the blood from his mouth, and as he did, the fractured orb in his chest restored itself instantly, mending as though it had never been damaged.

Without a word, Goldstein began to glow. His form expanded rapidly, enlarging several times over until he stood a towering 100 feet tall giant. His poleaxe grew to match his colossal size, and with a mighty heave, he swung it down toward Alden, aiming to crush him in a single strike.

Goldstein wasn't foolish enough to play a waiting game, hoping for Alden's life force to burn out, while he ran or evaded. He knew he couldn't keep up with Alden's speed, especially given the latter's ability to warp his location at will. Evading and stalling were strategies doomed to fail.

Each of the four Great Elemental Spirits excelled above the others in some areas but at the same time had their own weaknesses. Salamander had negligible recovery power. Sylph was defensively frail. Undine's offensive power, while elegant, lacked the sheer lethality of the others. And Gnome? Gnome was the slowest.

If there was a score card, Gnome's stats would be like this, speed ranked fourth, attack third, healing second, and defence first.

He was pretty much a great punching bag. A self restoring punching bag.

Even so, Goldstein didn't retreat into a defensive shell, relying on Gnome's famed "absolute defense." That single strike from Alden had already shattered his unshakable faith in his own invincibility. The concept of "absolute" suddenly felt fragile—though, in fairness, much of that had been due to Alden catching him off guard, but Goldstein would not be Goldstein if he didn't trust his instinct and went careless.

It was said that a good offense was the best defense. That philosophy was why Terran—the previous wielder of Gnome's power—had been crowned the Greatest Shield. Terran hadn't relied solely on his nigh-invincibility to cower behind walls or domes of earth. Instead, he had marched onto the battlefield like a tank, shattering invaders and wrongdoers alike, driving them out with sheer force.

Goldstein chose to follow that same principle. He immediately took the initiative, responding with a crushing attack of his own. By staying aggressive and keeping Alden on the defensive, Goldstein aimed to waste Alden's precious, limited time and secure victory.

It was a logical strategy, grounded in sound reasoning—if one assumed that Alden Arcana would choose to evade or defend when faced with a titan's blow.

But Alden Arcana was not one to back down.

When faced with fire, Alden responded with fire of his own.

In Alden's right hand, a faceless, blank card materialized, its back as black as night. He gripped it lightly between his index and middle fingers, as though it were weightless. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the card spinning like a frisbee toward the descending poleaxe.

As it flew, the card expanded to about twice the size of Alden, spinning rapidly in the air. It curved gracefully toward the titanic weapon, meeting it with a decisive strike. The card cleaved through the poleaxe under its blade, severing the head from the rod as effortlessly as a hot knife slicing through butter.

But the blank card did not stop there. It began to glow, taking on a grid-like pattern before splitting into 78 smaller cards. Each card shot outward, a whirling storm of sharp edges, converging on the giant-sized Goldstein from countless angles.

The smaller cards grew as they neared their target, reaching half the size of the original. They sliced through Goldstein's massive form with surgical precision. Fingers were severed. Ankles were cut clean. Arms were separated at the elbows. The core of his body was dissected, and his neck was neatly divided. His face was diced into a hundred fragments.

Alden's expression remained impassive, devoid of joy or malice. There was no scream of pain from Goldstein, no blood, no gore—only the sensation of rock crumbling under a blade.

Alden's green eyes narrowed, focusing on a tiny speck of falling earth amidst the debris of the titan's collapse. With a snap of his fingers, the speck shimmered and reappeared before him, glowing.

The glow faded to reveal the 7-foot Saint Goldstein, now restored and wielding a broad hammer. Without hesitation, Goldstein swung the weapon squarely at Alden's head, his body visibly trembling and sweat streaming down his face.

Alden raised a single finger, glowing faintly red, to meet the incoming hammer.

The moment the hammer collided with his finger, it shattered into countless pieces, disintegrating like fragile glass. Alden's finger continued upward, unimpeded, aiming for Goldstein's forehead.

Goldstein's eyes widened in panic. Reacting instantly, he manipulated the earth beneath his feet, morphing the terrain. The ground rose and fell like waves, reshaping the landscape as he distanced himself from Alden, retreating over 200 meters in a blink. He now stood atop a newly-formed cliff, high above the battlefield.

Stretching both arms outward, Goldstein's body glowed a radiant gold. A transparent, circular dome materialized around Alden, enclosing him at the center like a singularity point.

From all directions within the dome, gravity intensified a thousandfold. The force crushed Alden's body relentlessly, his bones audibly cracking and splintering. His form distorted, compressed into something flat and unrecognizable, like a figure squished into two dimensions.

Goldstein's shoulders sagged with a brief sigh of relief—until he noticed the faint image of the Fool card shimmering behind Alden.

Then, the impossible happened.

The space surrounding Alden visibly cracked, the fractures spidering outward like shattered glass. The dome of crushing gravity shattered alongside it, breaking apart to reveal Alden, standing pristine and unaffected. His youthful appearance remained unaltered, as if nothing had ever happened.

As if everything before was just an illusion, eyes playing tricks on you.

Without wasting a moment Goldstein's fists morphed into cannon-like constructs. From their muzzles, beams of orange mana began gathering, drawn from the upper atmosphere in brilliant, glowing streams. With a deafening crack, a golden beam burst forth, spinning as it traveled. The twin beams spiraled around one another, combining into a massive, concentrated blast that streaked toward Alden at lightspeed.

Alden remained calm, extending his left hand. With a simple flick of his finger, a sharp gust of wind erupted from the motion. The air itself seemed to warp and twist as it raced forward.

The mana beam met the force of Alden's flick, and in an instant, it was parted and dissipated as though it were nothing more than smoke. The wind continued onward, shattering the cliff beneath Goldstein's feet and cracking the armor covering his body.

Goldstein didn't fall. He stood suspended in midair, as though his body refused to acknowledge the rules of gravity. His armor repaired itself swiftly, but his face twisted in anger and disbelief.

"How are you so strong?!" he roared, swiping a hand through the air. "If you've always had this kind of power, then why does my kingdom even still exist? Why am I alive? What were you waiting for?!"

Alden smiled but didn't answer. He had never doubted his ability to defeat Goldstein—his confidence in that had been unshakable. What had concerned him was whether he could kill Goldstein. That was why he had to lure him out and cast The World, locking him in this inescapable space where the fight could end decisively.

As for always being this strong? Alden wasn't. This was the pinnacle of his power—the strongest he had ever been.

In the world of magic, as people age, they gradually gain access to their full mana reserves. Most reach this peak between the ages of 15 and 25. Alden had reached it at 20—an entirely unremarkable age. Unless hindered by illness or injury, this period of peak mana access typically lasts into a mage's early or late forties.

After that, mana doesn't disappear all at once. Instead, it begins to diminish slowly as mages age, gradually depleting as they near the end of their lives.

By the age of 70, Alden had perhaps a third of his former mana—or maybe even less.

Yet growing older doesn't necessarily mean growing weaker. Many skilled magic knights develop new spells, techniques, and strategies over the years, improving their control and efficiency even as their mana reserves dwindle.

Alden Arcana, the 26th Wizard King, was no exception. By the time he reached 70, his grimoire was completely filled, his magical control had become godlike, and he had achieved a level of power several times greater than in his so-called "prime."

But now? Now, Alden had regained his youthful body, his peak mana reserves, while still carrying all the wisdom, knowledge, experience, and mastery he had accumulated over the years. The result was the most powerful version of himself—a man who could casually overpower the Saint in front of him.

Goldstein wasn't a fool. As a mage worthy and capable of assimilating with a greater spirit, he quickly deduced the truth. But that didn't make it any easier to accept. Even if Alden was at his strongest, how could the gap between them be so vast?

He couldn't understand it. Right now, he wielded all of Terran's so-called Greatest Shield and Absolute Defense, yet he was so easily dismantled by a man on death's door?

Are there gaps between Wizard Kings, was Terran a weakling?!

Goldstein felt cheated—betrayed even—by Gnome. The spirit who unceasingly boasted to him about his absolute power over the past years, yet was casually manhandled. And he wasn't entirely wrong.

Alden's gaze didn't linger on Goldstein. Instead, he looked upward, his eyes fixed on the astral world, marveling at the stars and cosmic bodies. He seemed to peer across dimensions, his mind's eye sweeping across the Clover Kingdom.

He saw the noble realm, the crowded common realm, and the desolate forsaken realm. His vision moved to Kiten, where his soldiers were fighting their last stand. He took it all in, his smile soft and nostalgic.

Finally, Alden raised his arm toward Goldstein. The latter immediately stiffened, instinctively moving to flee. But he couldn't. His body refused to respond, as if frozen in time and space.

Like the world itself was locking him in place.

Panic overtook him as he struggled against the invisible hold. When he realized escape was impossible, he shifted tactics, layering defense after defense around himself.

Hardened earth coalesced into an impenetrable shell, encasing him entirely. The shell shrank until it was no larger than a grain of rice, then grew again as hundreds of additional layers formed, creating a sphere nearly six meters in diameter.

This was Absolute Defense.

Alden was unperturbed. Behind him, four tarot cards materialized in midair—The Sun and The Moon, upright and glowing gold and blue, floated above him, radiating positivity and fear. Below them, reversed reflections of the same cards glowed red and black, exuding feelings of depression and release.

The celestial bodies floated out of the cards, shrinking as they aligned diagonally in front of Alden. They began to shift and overlap, merging into a single gray orb that oscillated between extremes.

At times, it burned bright like a star, exuding vitality. At others, it was dark and lifeless, a satellite on the brink of collapse. At times it was radiant, and at others, reflective. At times holy, at others mysterious. It was both and neither, embodying every state in between.

The orb froze, its oscillations ceasing, its surface now a uniform gray.

Alden pointed a single finger toward Goldstein's fortified shell. The orb slowly floated forward, its ominous glow unwavering.

Inside his defensive sphere, Goldstein frantically added more and more layers, but it was futile.

The last thing he heard before the world faded into oblivion was Alden's calm, steady voice:

"Mana Zone Full Release: Celestial Disharmony."

The gray orb gently touched Goldstein's shell.

The world was engulfed in a gray fog, and then there was nothing.

—

"How...?"

Gnome, now impish in size, his transparent form flickering as though on the verge of vanishing, floated in the empty expanse of space alongside the similarly ghostly figure of Alden.

Alden smiled softly, parting his lips to speak. "You know why. Goldstein, before meeting you, was Captain-level at best. Maybe he wouldn't even match up to Nathaniel or Ignatius."

Well maybe not Nathaniel with his current condition... Alden lamented inwardly.

Gnome's faint light trembled as Alden continued. "But Lord Terran? Even without you, he was Wizard King level—barely, perhaps, but still Wizard King level. And for a spirit host to achieve Saint Stage, their thoughts and minds must be in perfect synchronization with their spirit partner. Deep down, you've only ever viewed Lord Terran as your true partner. Due to your innate refusal to completely assimilate with him, Goldstein was no real Saint."

Alden paused, his expression calm yet slightly humorous. "Maybe he was ninety percent there. Quasi-Saint would be a better title. But even setting that aside, he was barely a third as strong as Lord Terran. Is it really so shocking for me to defeat such a weakling?"

Gnome fell silent, the flickering of his form slowing. Gradually, both he and Alden grew more defined in the empty space. After a long pause, the spirit whispered, "Even so... even if Lord Terran himself were here, I still think he'd lose to you. Why are you so strong?"

Alden shrugged, cracking a grin. "It's the duty of successors to surpass their predecessors. That's what the previous Wizard King told me when he passed the mantle to me. He was ashamed he couldn't match up to Lord Terran and hoped I would do so—and more. Looks like I haven't let him down."

An intense flicker of emotion crossed Gnome's eyes before he steadied his voice to ask, "So... you're the strongest Wizard King yet?"

Alden hesitated, then shook his head with a sundded look of somberness. "I'd like to say I am... but even at my peak, I don't think I could best Lemiel's successor."

Gnome blinked, then bit his lip, forcing himself past the current subject and shook his head fiercely. "I won't give up! It doesn't matter if your successor is stronger than you or weaker—one day, I swear I'll destroy the Clover Kingdom! I'll avenge Terran—"

"No, you won't."

Alden's interruption was firm but devoid of ridicule. There was no condescension in his tone, only a faint, bittersweet pity. "Spirits are effectively immortal. One day, you'll be reborn—but that's all. You'll start over as an infant spirit, a blank slate with no memories or understanding of this world. You won't be you anymore. You won't remember Terran. There will be no love in your heart for him, nor hatred for Clover. Your revenge ends here, Gnome."

Tears welled in Gnome's eyes as he let out a high-pitched roar, clenching his tiny fists. "No! Never! I—I'll never forget Terran! N-never!"

Alden stayed silent, watching the tiny figure cry. Finally, Gnome's voice broke, hoarse and bitter. "It's not fair! Terran worked so hard, gave your people so much! Why couldn't he just live out his last moments in peace? Why?!"

Alden's gaze softened, a complex mixture of nostalgia and sadness flickering in his eyes. He spoke in a low, steady voice. "Twenty-six. Including me, there have been twenty-six Wizard Kings throughout history. Not one has died of natural causes. Not one has had a happy ending. And I doubt there ever will be."

"Because that's what a Wizard King is: a pillar. One that sacrifices everything for the kingdom, knowing it might spit on their sacrifice and bite the hand that feeds it."

A faint, bitter smile touched his lips. "There's a saying: the strongest and most powerful are often the true victims of the world. No matter how much they give, those beneath them will always harbor jealousy, envy, and fear."

He sighed. "It's tragic, frustrating, and repulsive. But that's human nature—a race led and misled by fear, blinded by prejudice. The Wizard King is no exception. Deep down, I think every one of us who accepted this mantle knew that."

Alden's voice softened further. "Lord Terran wasn't the first, and he won't be the last Wizard King betrayed by those he gave everything for. But I like to think... he wasn't disheartened by it. That he remained resolute to the end."

Gnome began to flicker again, motes of light breaking away from his form. Alden, too, began to fade, though his expression stayed steady.

"Tell me, Gnome. Despite everything... how did Lord Terran look in his final moments?"

The spirit's trembling grew as tears spilled down his face. "He... he saw me off with that same stupid, oafish grin."

Alden smiled. "Now I'd call that absolute defense."

Gnome wept as his body dissolved into nothingness, his head the last to fade. Just before he disappeared, he cried out urgently, "Diamond still has—"

But he was gone before he could finish.

Alden, now reduced to the upper half of his body, smiled more genuinely. "I know, Gnome. I already know. All the preparations are in place. This will end with Clover's victory."

Tilting his head upward, Alden gazed at a shining green star. He sighed. "I really wish I could've seen that dance... No matter. I'll have a front-row seat when I'm back... when we're all back."

With that, Alden and his grimoire faded into motes of light, scattering into the void.

On the 19th of June in the year 1601, Alden Arcana passed away. Shortly before his death, he bested one king, one spirit, seven generals, and five hundred soldiers single-handedly.

His end was the result of his own choices and machinations. He fell but was not defeated.

Until the very end, Alden upheld the ideal that while Wizard Kings are not almighty, they are absolute in one sense: they always get the job done.

—

Moments Before, Outside World:

Initially, the battle was going well for the Clover forces. The disoriented and disassembled Diamond army—reeling from the disappearance of their leaders and elites and reeling from Clover's well-executed ambush—was in no shape to fight against Clover troops who seemed to have thrown all caution to the wind, fighting as though their lives were already forfeit.

Even after regaining their composure, slicing through Dax's bindings, and countering Marcel's mud pit, the Diamond soldiers quickly found themselves overwhelmed.

Although many of Clover's troops had lost the blessing of strength, those who still retained it stood resilient. Furthermore, the blessing of luck provided crucial advantages. Clover's medical ward, darting and weaving across the battlefield with uncanny precision, managed to evade attacks and tend to their comrades in real-time.

From above, Sebastian flew over the chaos atop his water eagle, sending balls of enchanted water into the fray to patch up wounds and injuries among his allies.

But it didn't stop there. Miraculous coincidences seemed to occur repeatedly. Just as a Diamond soldier was about to deliver a fatal blow, they might trip, collide with an ally, or misfire—resulting in baffling chain reactions that decimated their own forces by the dozens. On the brink of death, Clover mages would suddenly discover new spells in their grimoires, perfectly suited to prolong the fight and push through adversity.

At the very heart of the battlefield, Vortigarn, Dax, and Acier (the latter still empowered by the blessing of strength) were completely unmatched. Diamond's forces had no captain-level combatants to oppose them. They were harbingers of death, cutting through the horde with brutal efficiency. The likes of Marcel, Lilly, Kaiser, and other elites only amplified Clover's edge.

However, the blessings would not last forever. One by one, the miraculous boons began to fade. Yet Sebastian and Acier remained unaffected, still exuding the unmistakable aura of their blessings. Their continued empowerment did not go unnoticed by the more perceptive among Clover's troops, but no one dared to voice their suspicions or misgivings amidst the ensuing conflict.

As the blessings waned, Clover's luck quite literally ran out. Diamond troops, now emboldened, targeted the medical ward with ruthless precision, cutting through their lifeline. Soon, only Owen and Sebastian remained standing—Owen nearly depleted of mana, and Sebastian unable to be everywhere at once.

Clover's forces began to falter.

Fast-forward a few minutes: Diamond's 800-strong army had been reduced to around 100, while Clover's original 80 had dwindled to roughly 30, including Sebastian and Owen. Despite their exhaustion and dwindling numbers, Clover still believed in their superior quality of troops and held onto the hope of ultimate victory—or at least taking every last Diamond soldier down with them. n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

That confidence was shattered as a new and to Clover uncalled for development that they could do without swept towards the battlefield.

From a distant horizon, the 8th Shining General, Yagos, approached on a broom, flanked by nearly 200 fresh Diamond troops in their signature hooded robes. Clover's soldiers realized they were soon to be outmatched nearly 10-to-1, something not very manageable with their current fatigue and exhaustion.

To make matters worse, both armies momentarily froze as their attention was drawn skyward. The illusionary card of The World—a projection that had loomed over the battlefield—began to flake away and disintegrate into dust.

Clover's morale, already fragile, nearly completely collapsed as it dawned on them: their king had fallen.

No matter how deeply some of them detested Alden, he was still their pillar and symbol, for him to fall, much less before them did not inspire confidence nor willpower.

No one in Clover hadn't grown up listening to tales of Wizard Kings, idolizing them, and worshipping them from their deepest souls. To Clover, Wizard Kings were supposed to be absolute, omnipotent, eternal, and unbeatable. Even these war veterans who knew very well that Alden was no such thing, who were prepared for this result the moment he said he was going to take Goldstein and more down with him, couldn't help but feel their heart freeze.

The Wizard King had fallen, Clover had lost their leader. They had lost 2 kings, two beloved monarchs within a year. Some of the weaker willed amongst them showed signs of festering panic and defeat.

Yet, the Diamond troops did not celebrate. Their own King and elite forces had not returned. They waited, yet none of their comrades returned. Both sides were momentarily struck by the finality of what the disappearing card symbolized.

Seizing the opportunity, the captains Acier and Lilly struck while Diamond's forces were distracted, pushing the numbers further in Clover's favor. By the time the skirmish resumed, it was 30 Clover soldiers against 50 Diamond soldiers. However, the small numerical advantage would mean little with Yagos and his reinforcements fast approaching.

Vortigarn clenched his jaw, his mind racing. With a sharp gesture, he swept up Diamond's remaining 50 troops into a focused breeze of wind, his arm and muscles veins visibly throbbing and popping as he shot Kaiser a wordless look.

The Gravorka heir didn't disappoint, using the last remnants of his mana, he unleashed one final spell to push the Diamond soldiers back toward their reinforcements, throwing them into the air like cannon balls with a swiftly appearing and vanishing tornado. The move forced Yagos and his troops to halt and scramble to save and catch their comrades.

Not wasting the precious window of time he'd created, Vortigarn snapped his head toward Clover's remaining soldiers, barking orders with urgent determination.

"Kaiser, you're done! Time to go home!"

Kaiser stiffened, the usually quiet boy furrowing his brows as confusion etched itself across his face. "Sir?! What are you talking about—"

"I said you're done!" Vortigarn cut him off sharply. Kaiser froze, his lips parting again in protest, only for Marcel to step in, placing a firm pat on his shoulder.

"We leave the Purple Orcas to you," The Vice-Captain said, his tone calm and near clinical.

The remaining members of the Purple Orcas—Glacius and the others—nodded curtly at Kaiser. His pupils dilated in shock, a mixture of disbelief and horror spreading across his face.

Dax's gaze shifted to his squad, stopping on a kneeling, panting blonde-haired woman who looked just as drained as Kaiser. Without hesitation, he pointed to her.

"Chloe, you're going back with Kaiser."

The girl froze mid-breath, then forced herself to stand. Her legs trembled as she slapped a hand against her chest in defiance. "I can still fight, sir—"

She didn't get the chance to finish. Lily, her older twin, moved with calm precision, delivering a swift karate chop to the back of Chloe's head. The younger girl collapsed, unconscious, before she could even register what had happened.

Gently, Lily picked up her sister and carried her to Kaiser, pressing Chloe into his arms. "Take her home," she commanded, her voice soft and uncharacteristically calm and collected.

Kaiser stared wide-eyed at the unconscious girl, his face pale. Slowly, he nodded, unable to summon any words.

Vortigarn glanced back toward the Diamond forces in the distance. They were beginning to reorganize. His expression hardened as he turned to Owen and Sebastian.

"You two as well," he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. "If you're caught trying to heal someone, you'll be killed immediately. There's no point in wasting your lives here. Go home. You have many more people to save in the future—you can only do that alive."

Owen trembled, shame written across his features as he bowed his head. He shuffled toward Kaiser, helping him support Chloe's weight.

But Sebastian didn't move. His defiance was etched into every inch of his stance as he met Vortigarn's gaze head-on. "I'm not going, sir."

"Yes, you are," Vortigarn growled, his tone a low warning.

Sebastian shook his head, gesturing toward Kaiser, Chloe, and Owen. "Unlike them, I haven't been given the right to leave the battlefield by Lord Alden. His orders were to fight to the death, and that's what I'll do—"

"Alden's dead!" Vortigarn's voice cracked slightly, his frustration cutting through the air. "I'm in charge now!"

The depression in his words and slight reddening of his eyes silenced the group, though Sebastian stood firm, his jaw clenched tightly.

Acier stepped between them, her lips trembling as she looked up at Sebastian. "Please—"

"Absolutely not!" Sebastian snapped, cutting her off. His voice trembled with suppressed emotion. "Are you leaving too?! Are you coming with me?!"

Because I'll go now, if you are!

Acier shook her head, gesturing to her still-glowing red aura. "The one person who doesn't get to leave is me."

Sebastian's eyes reddened as he spread his arms. Faint flickers of red light glimmered around him—a weaker but unmistakable remnant of the blessing of strength. "Then I stay too! If you're not going, neither am I!"

Acier's words failed her. Before anyone could respond, Dax stepped forward, placing a firm hand on Sebastian's shoulder.

"Listen, Sebastian... was it?"

Sebastian nodded reluctantly, and Dax continued, pointing toward Kaiser and the others. "As they are now, they can barely stand. If this line breaks, they won't get far. Diamond will catch up—they'll die, or worse. That eagle spell of yours can save them. Please, do it."

Before Sebastian could protest, Lily bowed deeply. "Please save my sister."

Glacius and Marcel followed suit. "You're a doctor, right? Save our teammates."

Sebastian's gaze flicked to Owen. It would've been easier if he didn't know him. But Owen was his closest thing to a friend since Acier, and Kaiser and Chloe were her friends. If they died, Acier would grieve—and he couldn't stand that.

"Please, Sebby," Acier whispered, tugging lightly at his sleeve, her voice trembling with desperation.

Sebastian gritted his teeth. Finally, he snapped his head toward Vortigarn. "I'll take them as far as Kiten—but then I'm coming right back!"

Vortigarn said nothing.

Acier opened her mouth to protest but stopped as Sebastian shot her a dark, almost hateful look. Swallowing hard, she stiffened as he leaned in close and whispered in her ear.

"Wherever you go, so will I. If you wish to die, I'll accompany you. If you live, I will too. So don't fucking die."

Her throat tightened, tears welling up as she nodded weakly.

Sebastian gave her one last look before spinning on his heel. His grimoire floated beside him, glowing faintly as a massive water eagle formed beneath his feet.

Vortigarn didn't waste a second. With a wave of his hand, a gust of wind lifted Kaiser, Owen, and the unconscious Chloe, setting them gently onto the eagle's back. Another powerful blast sent the construct soaring into the air, propelling it away from the battlefield.

Now only 26 remained. Twenty-five magic knights from the Purple Orcas and Blue Rose, and Acier herself.

They surged forward, splitting into unpredictable formations as they charged the reorganizing Diamond army from all angels imaginable. Some veered to their flanks, some were swept up by Vortigarn and shot over Diamond's troops like falling meteors, some burrowed under the ground, and some charged straight head on. Their movements were erratic, splitting attention and focus, creating chaos within the enemy ranks.

With chaos came opportunity—and that was all they needed. They had to make something out of nothing. They had to deliver Alden's so-called guaranteed victory.

Author's Notes:

[1] For Web Novel Readers, Goldstein's and Alden's designs can be found here, everyone else needs to access the discord to view them.

[2] This War arc portion of the dream should end in at most 2 Chapters, though of course the aftermath may prolong itself throughout the dream

[3] Feel free to join the Discord! https://discord.gg/s3MME8X8ar