Each step the Velgraths took shook the earth like meteoroids crashing down with violent force.
Echoes of brave warriors, unaware of the nightmare they charged into, filled the air. They ran forward like ants storming the den of titans.
Dravok stood calm—broken, yes—but not reckless. He knew that rushing into a lion's den without a plan was a fool's strategy. Elara, on the other hand, wore fury like a second skin. The guilt of Chronos's death still clung to her soul, yet she waited in silence, ready for orders from her master.
At the center of chaos, Dravok's eyes landed on his once-stolen blade, Venuzdona. Plans formed instantly in his mind. Then he turned to Elara, offering a smile that both burned and healed.
"Eli," he called, his hand gently reaching for her cheek.
"My... my lord," she breathed, leaning into his palm like a loyal hound seeking warmth at dawn.
"Let's forge ahead."
"I await your orders, my lord," she smirked, taking the stance of a seasoned warrior.
"Defend these walls. I will protect Daelgrin. When it's done, we meet together at this spot."
"Promised."
With that, he vanished in a flash, teleporting to the defiled fields where his blade rested. He picked it up with his left hand but holding double blades was something he wasn't use to.
"I'm not a dual-blade user," he muttered, eyes scanning every detail.
"Time and destiny, huh?" he whispered again, this time deeper, as if unraveling a hidden truth.
He held both sacred blades between his palms, channeling mana not into each individually but into them as one.
"Time and action combine to shape reality," he breathed, visualizing a single weapon. "Then I'll forge a Reality Blade."
Both sacred blades began to shimmer like fog, synchronizing and amplifying one another. The mana around him surged and exploded. The blades fused into one.
Its hilt became a ticking clock, not numbered but rectangular. The blade itself was pitch black, etched with ancient symbols. Its tip looked like sharpened obsidian chalk—a weapon capable of rewriting existence.
You were right, Chronos, Dravok thought. Time is the registrar. Destiny is its script.
---
Inside the dark temple, only two candles lit the silence. Hadas blinked with unease.
"Can't things ever be simple?" he murmured in pain, though not fear. "That presence... almost demigod rank."
He adjusted his posture with sudden interest.
"Delilah, kill him. Bring me his soul."
"My pleasure, Lord Hadas."
---
By the high walls of the human kingdom:
"Ahhh!" Elara roared, unleashing a mountain of frost from her fist that engulfed a Velgrath, freezing it to its core. The creature shattered with a crackling death.
But such power had a cost.
Only two down, and she was already breathless. Sweat trickled from her chin despite her inhumanly cold aura.
Another Velgrath struck. Its curved limbs slashed down toward her. She saw it too late. Flames erupted as it seared her spine.
A promise had been made. She would not fall.
"BOOM!"
Arthur intercepted, faster than thought.
"So, you reincarnated—frostfire queen," Arthur purred.
"Arthur..." she gasped, overwhelmed and relieved.
"Let's finish the battle first, Elara. We've got a lot to catch up on."
---
Elsewhere
At the frontlines of the Spirit Kingdom, Lucen walked before his people like a ghost defying time. He passed through twenty-seven Velgraths, casting the forbidden spell of Essence Drain. Their obsidian shells collapsed like fallen titans as their imprisoned souls were set free.
---
Meanwhile, Dravok stood alone, glowing with purple mana, his blade gripped tight.
Thirty-six monstrous Velgraths charged toward Daelgrin. He held back nothing.
He vanished in a black blur, striking each Velgrath with precision. Every slash erased both body and soul from existence.
He halted at the borderlines of his kingdom, not far into the woods.
There, he saw his father—Drake—and behind him, a crowd of warriors blazing with zeal.
Father and son exchanged a long, quiet glance.
Then Drake raised his blade.
"All... Hail... the Demon King!!"
"YAAAAA!!" the crowd roared.
A cold, seductive voice pierced the moment.
"Demon King, huh?"
Dravok turned sharply. Standing before him was a demonic beauty—blood-red eyes, flawless skin, and curves honed like blades.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, pardon my manners," she said, chuckling. "I'm Delilah. Second Special Assistant to Lord Hadas."
No warning. No hesitation.
Dravok dashed forward with both fury and blade. Caught in her theatrics, Delilah dodged—barely. Her arm was severed.
"Then there's no need to hold back," Dravok said coldly, standing in his post-slash stance.
Delilah didn't flinch. Instead, she smiled.
Her severed arm bubbled, regenerating in the blink of an eye.
"You're dangerous," she purred, licking her lips. "I like that."
Dravok's gaze remained unreadable. He signaled with a wink to his father—take the people and go.
"What do you want?"
"Oh, you're calm now," she teased. "At first, I wanted your soul... but now? Now, I want you."
Dravok's eyes narrowed. His blade traced a deadly arc across the ground.
"Then you get nothing."
"Interesting..." she leaned forward, not with a blade, no with something shaper—her body.
Dravok met her head-on.
He slashed her palms, erasing them from reality. She struck back, diving for his neck with her teeths. But Dravok stopped time itself. She froze, trapped like glass in frost.
In one clean motion, he split her head down the middle. He sheathed his blade and turned away before the body hit the ground, tissue and bone already unraveling.
It felt too easy. He complained in taughts.
And just as if to prove him wrong, black aura burst from the remains. A void consumed the space.
"Hell's Paradise." Delilah's voice echoed, low and dreadful.
Flowers bloomed around him. Sweet scents masked the demonic mana. Pink skies floated above.
But Dravok scowled. This illusion is worthless. Chronos's death still burns. My kingdom still stands.
"Does she think this is a game?" he growled.
Delilah's voice returned, sultry and sharp.
"I am Delilah, destroyer of many men," she whispered behind him. "You didn't tell me your name, handsome."
Her bare body pressed against his back as she kissed the nape of his neck, slow and desprate. Here demonic lips leaving a mark
Dravok felt only disgust—pure disgust.
Delilah appeared in front of him, catwalking seductively. Her body moved like a weapon in rhyme with here steps.
He remained motionless, head bowed, blade dangling from a loose grip.
She fell to her knees before him, hands tracing his waist, tongue flickering like a serpent.
KRAKK.
Dravok grabbed her neck with one hand and lifted her into the air. Her seductive confidence shattered.
"I... underestimated you," she mannaged to gasped.
The illusion crumbled. Reality returned.
Cain waited nearby until he noticed the situation had passed waiting levels. He lunged forward with a diamond blade, but Dravok dodged. Cain wasn't aiming for him.
Delilah knew.
She condensed her soul into her head, and Cain slashed it off in a single blow. He vanished, carrying the head.
But Delilah's voice echoed as her body disintegrated.
"I'll kill you, handsome... I'll kill you..."
"I'll end you first!!" Dravok roared, breath ragged with fury.
At that moment, Arthur and Elara stepped through a portal.
"Hi there, old friend," Arthur grinned.
Dravok knew the voice. Ignoring him, he turned to Elara.
"Is everything handled?"
"Yes, my lord," she bowed, breath still heavy.
"Hey! I'm standing right here!" Arthur shouted.
"Yeah, I know. If you reincarnated... Lucen must be too, right?"
Arthur raised a brow. "Most likely."
"Then let's gather our group."
Dravok smiled and gave Arthur a lazy punch on the shoulder.
"Yes, almighty Lord Dravok," Arthur teased as the three stepped into the portal toward the Spirit Clan.
---
Elsewhere
In the dark temple, Cain stood before Hadas, Delilah's head cradled in his arms.
"So Delilah failed," Hadas murmured.
"No, my lord. I made the mistake of underestimating him," Delilah's voice echoed from the severed head eyes cracked with pain and fury.
"She tried using her sexual consciousness on him. But he resisted," Cain added in her defence.
"What is he like?" Hadas asked.
Delilah's memory replayed every second—his fury, his restraint, his strength.
"Someone we need on our side," she said softly.
"Then heal up," Hadas grinned devilishly. "I leave the man to you. You have the advantage of a fake first impression."
The temple echoed with their laughter like devils drinking from a shared chalice.