A/n: This will be a very long chapter with over 10,000 words. Hope you could read it all and understand every single word not to miss some important details.

Anyways, enjoy the chapter

*

*

*

*

*

Darkness seeped through the cracks of the night.

It deepened, like ink spreading on paper until it consumed the entire city.

And once blackness reigned supreme... the Dark Gathering commenced in full.

The venue was a massive hall separated from the world by a powerful barrier that rendered it both invisible and impenetrable.

It had no windows, yet due to Magic, the entire place was so unnaturally cold that one's breath could nearly be seen just by breathing.

The walls and tiled floors were an oppressive black, broken only by the deep purple carpets that stretched across the room. Overhead, a neon-like chandelier bathed the hall in a hauntingly beautiful light with its gem-like glow casting sharp reflections across the eerie space.

The entire building belonged to none other than Scyllary, and since that was where the Dark Gathering was unanimously agreed to be held, all attendees had no choice but to comply.

Hence, the members of this clandestine assembly arrived.

Lord Bleue, with his lanky appearance and dark skin, walked in with his two bodyguards, the Duo of Death.

Lord Rouge, waddled in moments later, his flabby body was closely guarded by two other guards, each one a respectable member of the Mercenary Gang's most Elite Unit.

Seated before them was Lord Noir, who had apparently been the first to arrive, casually sipping tea at the round table dominating the center of the hall.

By his side stood one of the Deadly Three, as well as another most Elite guard from his own private forces.

This individual was known by many names. The Warrior of Darkness, the Obsidian Blade, The Unstoppable Object, The Immovable Force.

Ladon.

It was said that his skill in combat was unmatched, except by Fenrir, and jet-black shield was forged from a metal surpassing even adamantite, which made him nearly invulnerable.

He served as both a striker and a tank, making him the perfect offensive and defensive individual.

The perfect warrior.

Beside Lord Noir sat the grandest seat of all, which belonged to Scyllary, of course.

To its left was Fenrir, the Apex Predator and leader of the Mercenary Gang. Behind him stood a sinister woman draped in black feathers and a pointed witch hat, the Black Magician, the last surviving member of the Deadly Three.

Everyone in the room already knew what happened to Anukus the Destroyer, but the surviving two were standing representations of the Mercenary Gang's destructive legacy.

If any were to ask for the superior one, it would be difficult to answer.

The Obsidian Blade was much faster and combat adept, and his prowess made him difficult to deal with. However, the Dark Magician had Spells that bypassed the former's defenses, hence giving her an edge in their fight.

As a result, it was still a debated issue to date who was the more superior one.

However, the topic that was already settled in the minds of all was the person who could be deemed the strongest in the Mercenary Gang.

That title undeniably belonged to Fenrir.

While rumors had passed that each of the Heads of Destruction of the Mercenary Gang had slayed 2nd Tier Transcendent beasts, only Fenrir's case had been confirmed.

After all, the very armor that the Obsidian Blade wore belonged to the very beast he killed. The staff of the Dark Magician was also the same.

Fenrir also seemed to be wearing his own custom item that he obtained as a spoil from them.

It was the Totem of Chaos, and it wrapped around his bulky neck like a charmed necklace.

With the members settled in their seats, a clacking footstep began to echo within the dark hall.

Scyllary's high-heel shoes made coordinated noise, like a symphony that seemed to resonate with the darkness itself, as she stepped into the room as if from the shadows.

All eyes turned toward her when she stepped into the room in a flowing black gown that seemed to absorb light. Her golden hair swayed marvelously like a waterfall, catching the faint glow of the chandelier, while her flawless makeup amplified her beauty, and caused her reddened lips to appear even more succulent.

Her nine luxurious tails swayed behind her like a regal banner, and her fox-like ears twitched ever so slightly, adding an exotic allure to her already mesmerizing figure.

Yet, the beauty of her arrival was undercut by the silent oppressive presence of the figure trailing behind her.

The masked guard had a strong, imposing presence that made sure everyone was on their toes.

No one could hear his footsteps, but they could feel the increasing risk to their lives the closer he drew to their midst.

Until finally...

"Greetings, friends!" Scyllary beamed.

...The Lady took her seat in the most glamorous of positions.

There were a total of seven seats, and hers was at the very head, a perfect representation of the power she currently wielded.

To her left sat Fenrir and Lord Bleue, while Noir and Rouge occupied the seats to her right.

Two chairs at the far end of the table remained unoccupied, but everyone knew who they were for.

"It seems our dear friends are running late," Scyllary's voice seemed to contain regret, though her wicked smile showed the opposite. "How unfortunate."

Without the two whom they were expecting, the Dark Gathering wouldn't really hold any significance, so she genuinely wanted them to show up.

However, them being late, or not showing at all, wasn't actually a bad thing.

It would just be a waste is all...

With a graceful motion, she raised a hand. "We can't wait forever. The doors shall now be closed."

The massive gates that led to the room soon began to close shut. This was the very entrance that every single member had used to get into the Dark Gathering, so without it being open, getting in would be... very difficult.

Needless to say, shutting it tight would essentially block off any latecomers.

As the doors thudded into place, Scyllary rested her intertwined fingers on the table as her gaze sweeped over the gathered assembly.

"Now then, let us begi-"

Her words were abruptly cut off by a loud creak from the far corner of the room.

Every head turned sharply as the very doors they had just shut began to swing open by a dark robed figure that stepped through, followed by six others in matching attire.

At the rear of this procession, the missing participants emerged at last.

"It seems we're a little late," Ronald's deep voice echoed from their position as the two dignitaries walked in. "But we're here now."

"..."

Silence.

A deafening all-encompassing silence fell over the hall as the Patriarch of the Rump House and the newly appointed head of the Terte House stepped inside.

Their steps were measured, but not cautious.

The two seemed to have an air of unquestionable authority and unchallenged confidence like an unspoken declaration that they did not fear the den of obvious enemies into which they had walked.

Fear or unease was absent in their gaze.

Behind them, the six robed figures of darkness followed in a disciplined formation. Trailing after Mara Terte, the younger of the two councilors, they moved like shadows bound to their mistress. Meanwhile, the man who had opened the doors reappeared in an instant, now standing at the side of Ronald Rumpan, the elder councilor. His teleportation was so seamless that it seemed as though the shadows themselves had carried him across the room.

With the heavy thud of the doors closing behind them, the pair continued their advance toward the center of the hall, where the round table was waiting for them.

Still, they said nothing.

Not a word escaped their lips as they approached their designated seats. They moved with the poise of seasoned leaders and the silence of those who had no need for unnecessary words. It was only when they reached their places at the table that their voices finally broke the stillness.

"Greetings, everyone," Ronald Rumpan said with a polite smile as he settled into the seat on the left.

"Apologies for our delay," Mara Terte Greene added as she too gracefully took her position on the right.

Neither displayed the slightest hint of caution as they sat, not even sparing a glance to inspect their chairs before taking such an impulsive action.

Their casual demeanor unsettled the observers.

Were they reckless fools or simply confident?

It was difficult to say. Perhaps they simply trusted their entourage that much. The six figures who stood behind Mara appeared competent enough, after all. Though their faces were hidden by dark masks, their commanding presence was enough to make anyone wary.

While the six figures seemed scary, it was the seventh who drew the most attention.

Unlike the others, he stood apart, both in appearance and aura. His dark hooded coat bore a striking design, with a design that made the upper helm of his hood look like two horns were protruding out, adding an almost demonic silhouette to his figure.

He had a cape draped over the darkened coat, with the hood of that one having a red fur-like design, and the inner color also radiating crimson.

Beneath his hood, a dark mask obscured his face, with two glowing crimson eyes staring out from its depths.

His gear spoke of an adventurer hardened by countless battles, someone who thrived in the shadows.

He didn't have as much of a presence as the other six ones, but it would be foolish not to recognize him as formidable, considering the fact that he was the sole guardian of Ronald Rumpan spoke volumes.

If six were needed to protect Mara, yet only one was tasked with guarding Ronald, it could only mean one thing is that this figure was far more dangerous than the others.

Then, for Ronald and Mara, they wore regal outfits that best correlated with their respective Houses.

Ronald was in a pristine white suit, with his blonde hair and neatly trimmed beards complimenting his color choice to the utmost perfection.

In his hand rested a walking cane, though its ornate design suggested that it was more likely to be a weapon than a harmless accessory.

Mara Terte, on the other hand, had a lime-green gown that glowed under the chandelier's light, with dark jewelry coating her neck, wrists, and fingers, adding an ominous edge to her elegance. Though her naturally youthful features and cute appearance might have once exudes charm, there was nothing cute about her this evening.

She seemed to radiate pure sternness and an air of strength that silenced even the boldest gazes.

"Well, it's no problem. We weren't waiting for very long," Scyllary interjected as she smiled at their earlier apology.

No one responded to her.

"What matters now," Scyllary continued, her grin growing wider as she traced her violet gaze across the table, "is that the Triumvirate has finally gathered."

She allowed a pause and savored the moment. Inside, her thoughts churned with satisfaction.

'Just as planned. Everything is falling into place.'

She cleared her throat, masking the laughter that threatened to spill out. Outside the hall, her subordinates would now be preparing to act.

'This barrier is powered by a powerful Dragonite crystal I brought from the Tarxan Coalition. The Black Magician's field spell ensures teleportation magic is impossible, and all external communication is blocked. Only my device serves as the exception.'

Her grin widened even more.

'They're trapped. No one can get in, and no one can get out.'

Filled with the most powerful figures in the realm, the room was now her domain.

'Once I eliminate the loose ends... the entire Zone will be mine.'

While Scyllary reveled in her schemes, Riley stood silent among her ranks, concealed behind his dark mask.

'So this is the Dark Gathering...'

His crimson eyes swept over the room, lingering on the traitors seated near Ronald. They showed no shame, no regret, even as they sat alongside the man whose House they had betrayed. They had erased an entire lineage, slaughtering every member of Mara's family. And yet, they wore their apathy like a badge of honor.

'This is what it means to be a Corporate Overlord. Zero sympathy.'

His gaze rested on Mara and he admired how she was behaving herself despite sitting among the vile entities who caused the death of everyone she ever loved which required a strength few could muster.

Riley knew it had to be a painful experience, but she had to endure.

'It doesn't really matter at this point, but...'

Taking a deep breath, Riley cast a glance at his team, who remained still as a statue.

'I hope they're ready to play their part. I'll handle the bigger threats...'

Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he activated his mana perception, analyzing every figure in the room. Threads of mana coiled and pulsed, weaving a tapestry of information that sharpened his senses.

When he reopened his eyes, his crimson gaze narrowed on only one entity in the room... the man in the white mask.

He was the only one who made Riley's heart tremble.

'What is this... feeling?'

------------------------

"Let's get to the important bits, shall we?"

As Scyllary's melodious tone reverberated within the dark hall, everyone's attention was perked up.

Lords Bleue and Rouge seemed to be the most anxious, causing them to constantly move their glances to Lord Noir. Yet, the elder statesman seemed entirely indifferent, ignoring their silent pleas for reassurance. With his tea now finished, he merely sat back with his eyes half-closed while waiting for the words that would soon be uttered.

Before Scyllary could continue, a hand was raised.

"Before that, I have something to say," Ronald Rumpan interjected as his deep voice sliced through the tension.

For anyone else, interrupting Scyllary would have been an offense, but the Kitsune only shrugged as a faint smirk tugged at her lips. With a wave of her hand, she gestured for the blonde Merfolk to proceed.

Ronald rose to his feet, his eyes forming a deep glare while a frown radiated all over his face.

"I have only one question," he began, his voice steady but laced with palpable anger. "I would like to know why? Why would you all conspire like this and destabilize the balance of the Triumvirate we worked so hard to establish?"

Ronald's voice contained nothing short of sincerity weighted with years of history and bitter disappointment as he stared at those who used to be his allies despite being competitors.

"Over a century ago," he continued, his tone somber, "when the nations of the Third Civilization Zone were little more than barbaric enclaves, international trade and commerce brought order to the chaos. That was when we formed this organization."

He sighed, the sound heavy with memory.

"We thrived on that chaos, but we brought structure to it. For decades, the Obsidian Council remained stable. We profited, we turned a blind eye to one another's affairs, and the balance held. And yet..."

Ronald's gaze darkened and sharpened his voice.

"Which is why I cannot understand why you would destroy what we built. If we had simply continued as we were, you would have kept reaping the rewards, wealth beyond measure, enough for generations of your families."

His fists clenched at his sides. "There was no need to go this far. No need to ruin the very foundation we created."

He turned his glare toward Lord Noir, who sat silently with an unreadable expression.

"You, of all people, should understand this. You helped build this council alongside the Terte and Rump Houses. We started this!" Ronald's voice rose as he struck the table with his hand, his gritted teeth displaying his anger.

"Every other House joined because of our influence. Even the Slave Union came under the umbrella of the Triumvirate to benefit from our connections, our trade routes, our power!"

He cast a sharp glance at Scyllary, who was busy twirling a strand of her beautiful golden hair while smiling with amusement.

"They were the leeches!" Ronald spat with contempt. "Even the Mercenary Gang were nothing more than thugs and violent bandits before we brought them under our wings and offered them a seat at the table, legitimized them. And now, you use them as pawns to destroy us!"

After knowing all of this, it burned Ronald's heart to see everyone conspiring against him and his business.

Then, he paused when his chest heaved as he fought to contain his emotions.

"We even swore an oath not to interfere with each other's businesses. But because the Mercenary Gang wasn't bound by that agreement, as a neutral party, you used them as the perfect weapons to dismantle us and everything we built."

It was all so disgusting that Ronald's frown only deepened the more he spoke.

"So I ask again, why? Was it worth it? The money, the resources, the land you were offered... was it all worth this betrayal?"

The room remained silent as his question lingered, unanswered.

In the end, what did it all matter?

"You already had more wealth than you could ever spend," Ronald continued, his voice quieter now, tinged with resignation. "To seek even more, enough to destroy a legacy over a century in the making, it's beyond greed. It's madness."

He exhaled a long weary sigh as his shoulders slumped slightly.

Now that he stood before all of them, he could properly articulate his feelings.

"You all disappoint me."

With those final words, Ronald returned to his seat and folded his arms across his chest while leaking out one final sigh.

He glanced at Mara, who sat stoically beside him.

"Do you have anything to add?" he asked softly.

Mara shook her head with a hard expression.

"It's a waste of time," she replied coldly. "There's nothing that needs to be said to the likes of them."

Ronald nodded in agreement with the faintest shadow of a bitter smile crossing his lips. He had known the uselessness of his words, but keeping them bottled inside would have eaten away at him from the inside out if he said nothing. Now, at least, he could say he had spoken his truth.

Now that it was all out of the way, he could finally sit back and allow himself a moment of stillness, watching silently how things played out.

------------------------

An unwelcome decorum followed Ronald's impassioned conclusion, stretching thin like a taut wire about to snap. No one spoke, no one moved. It was as though the room itself had frozen, its occupants waiting for someone, anyone, to break the tension.

Then-

"Those are some interesting things you've said," Scyllary remarked before turning her violet eyes to the left. "What do you think, Fitz? Care to respond?"

The man she addressed was none other than Lord Fitzgerald Noir, a veteran of the Obsidian Council. The casual use of his name caused a faint twitch in his aged face, a subtle betrayal of irritation, but he did not rise to the provocation.

He opened his previously hooded eyes just enough to meet her gaze, then offered a nonchalant shrug.

"None at all," he replied in a calm manner, feeling detached. "Only a fool would question the wisdom of seizing an opportunity presented on a silver platter. If you don't take it, someone else will. It's as simple as that."

His answer was direct and straightforward, and with no further elaboration, Noir lapsed back into silence.

Scyllary's gaze slid to Lords Rouge and Bleue, but neither seemed inclined to contribute. Rouge fidgeted with the cuff of his sleeve, while Bleue stared down at the table, avoiding eye contact.

Unfazed, Scyllary turned to Fenrir. "What about you? Surely, you have something to add."

In response to that, Fenrir gave a toothy grin and looked at Ronald with a menacing glare radiating from his glowing eyes.

"Old man, your time is up. There's no need to whine about it." His mocking tone radiated all over the room.

"Just accept it like a champ."

The obvious taunt reverberated through the room, drawing scattered chuckles from those seated, and even a few from those standing guard.

Ronald's eyes narrowed with a tightened expression, but he said nothing.

"It's as clear as day," Scyllary said, addressing Ronald and Mara, who sat silently at the far end of the table. Her grin was wolfish, her voice laced with mock sympathy. "Your time is up."

The declaration unleashed a wave of laughter from the room, echoing off the dark walls like the tolling of a bell.

"With that settled," Scyllary said, her laughter fading as she leaned forward and rested her elbows on the table, "I think we can finally get back to the matter at hand."

There really was nothing left to discuss. Scyllary knew that much already.

Ronald and Mara already knew they were screwed, and her plan was already marching into its completion. To be honest, finishing them off at this point would simply be the end of it.

But no... that wasn't satisfying enough.

'I want to see them break,' Scyllary thought as her lips curled into a predatory smile. 'I want to see the despair in their eyes as everything they've built crumbles to ash.'

Her mind flickered back to her own struggles, the years of condescension and dismissal she'd endured as one of the last to join the Triumvirate. Now, the tables have turned. She was the one in power, looking down at the very founders who had once looked down on her. The taste of victory was intoxicating.

She was already salivating as she imagined their expression, their confidence eroding, their spirits crushed under the weight of utter failure.

'Not yet. Let them squirm a little longer.'

Before the final blow, she would ensure they felt every ounce of their downfall. And what better way to achieve that than to drown them in tragedy before the execution?

"The Third Civilization Zone is currently under war. You must have seen that, with the Iron Kingdom's offenses, all the Orc Warbands united and wreak havoc in every corner of the continent, the rise of the Inferior Revolution that spread like wildfire, which ignite rebellion in nearly every nation, and the Tarxan Coalition's soldiers are stretched thin, battling threats on every front."

Of course, since she already knew all of this would happen, Scyllary had ensured to hide the valuables in secure locations and kept her personal properties hidden in impenetrable vaults far from the carnage. While others scrambled to protect themselves, she had ensured her empire would remain untouched by the flames of war.

But none of this concerned her whatsoever.

"As a result," she continued, her gaze locking onto Ronald, "the City of Aquarius is vulnerable. Its security forces have thinned considerably, its defenses weakened. Your last line of protection has been stripped away."

Ronald narrowed his eyes. "What exactly are you implying?"

Scyllary's lips curved into a sly smile. "It's simple. The other three Heads of Destruction and their armies are preparing to lay siege to the Artifact District. They will destroy everything you hold dear, your mansion, your warehouses, your stores. Everything."

The room seemed to grow colder.

"And yet," Ronald replied in a calm tone but his gaze steely, "did you truly think I hadn't expected such a move before coming here?"

Ronald's response was calm, but Scyllary knew he was just putting up a front. He was simply trying his hardest to hold on to his pride as a man.

It was meaningless.

"From the reports I've gathered," she said as she raised her finger in amusement, "it seems you've recruited seven powerful aides to defend your crumbling enterprise. Seven who stand by you even as the tide turns against you." Her gaze flicked toward his entourage. "And I'd wager all seven are here with you now. But what of the others? Surely, there are more out there, hidden away. Am I wrong?"

Ronald's brow creased, almost as if he was a little confused, or rather, taken aback by her question.

"I have no idea about what you're talking about." He said evenly.

"Hahaha!" Scyllary's hysterical laughter sent a chill spreading all across the hall as her gaze remained on Ronald's stunned face.

"Don't play dumb, Ronald. I already know the truth." She said confidently. "At one point, I suspected there were only seven. But now, given your movements and the lengths you've gone to, I'm convinced there are others."

Ronald's silence only fueled her amusement. She had no need for his confirmation. She already knew.

"But it doesn't matter," she said, her glossy lips curled upward, almost in an unnatural way. "No matter how strong your so-called aides are, they can't stand against the Heads of Destruction. Your legacy in Aquarius is already as good as gone... not that you'll be alive to see it."

Her grin widened as she leaned forward, savoring the moment and waited for the best part! The part that she had been giddy about all day.

"You two..." Scyllary looked at both Mara and Ronald with sheer amusement. "...are going to die here, surrounded by nothing but your enemies."

She proceeded to point at them, and then gestured their demise by running her finger through her neck.

"And once you're gone, everything you've built, all your wealth, your power, your legacy, will belong to the New Order I've created. In other words, it will all belong to me."

"That's not how business works," Ronald shot back steadily despite the storm brewing around him.

Scyllary tilted her head with a flippant expression. "Perhaps not in the past. But history is written by the victors, Ronald. And the victors reshape the world in their image."

To her, victory was already a long-held conclusion.

'I was cautious at first, thinking they might pose a challenge. But it seems I worried for nothing.'

Scyllary allowed herself a moment to savor the situation. The hall, the entire building, was completely sealed off from the outside world. Reinforcements were an impossibility. Her trap had sprung, and there was no escape.

"So, what will you do now, Ronald? Mara?" she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. "Will you beg? Who knows... I just might spare your lives."

Her words hung in the air like poison, but neither Ronald nor Mara dignified them with a response. Their silence spoke volumes, their frowns, a silent rejection of her offer.

"I see. Very well, then," Scyllary said with a shrug and raised her delicate hands above her head. "Your choice."

Then... she snapped her fingers.

CREAK!

All around the room, the walls shifted, splitting apart as if they had been doors concealed in plain sight. From these hidden openings, figures began to emerge.

They poured into the hall in waves, men in enchanted steel armor and sinister garb, their attire made it obvious just what kind of people they were as mercenaries.

The sheer number was staggering, filling the once-vast space with an overwhelming presence in their hundreds, their faces depicting nothing but savagery and an insatiable hunger for violence.

Fenrir's grin stretched impossibly wide as he looked at all the men who showed up for the show.

"Ah, about one-third of the Mercenary Gang," he said, almost casually. His voice carried a dark amusement as he folded his arms and leaned back slightly. "That's... what, 999 of us? Almost a thousand."

The mercenaries stood shoulder to shoulder, their bloodshot eyes gleaming with the promise of carnage. Their sheer savagery filled the air, and the room, now packed with bodies, seemed to pulse with the instinct to kill, destroy, and dominate.

As the final figures stepped into the hall, the walls closed seamlessly behind them, sealing the room entirely.

"Looks like everyone's here," Fenrir said with a low chuckle as he looked at Ronald and Mara.

All eyes turned to the duo at the center of the room. The tension was suffocating, every soul present eager to see what Ronald and Mara would do now, faced with the overwhelming force arrayed against them.

"It's your turn."

In the massive hall, 999 warriors and mages were on standby, an army of killers ready to strike at a moment's notice.

Fenrir, the Mercenary Gang Leader, watched from his position with an unsettling grin plastered across his face. Beside him, two of the Deadly Three, his most feared lieutenants, waited in stoic silence.

The Duo of Death, the Scorpion Tail, the Piper of Calamity, all members of the Mercenary Gang who guarded their clients, were also waiting for the unfolding carnage.

By Lord Noir's side stood the captain of the Noir Militia with his hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade as he felt the increasing tension in the room.

And then there was Scyllary's masked guard standing silently behind her. Though he remained motionless, his presence loomed over the gathering like a shadow waiting to strike.

A total of 999 foes filled the room, all of them focused on the nine figures trapped at the center of this grand trap.

They all knew the outcome was inevitable. But despite the certainty of their victory, there was a quiet unspoken desire for something more. They wanted to be entertained, to witness the last defiant spark of a cornered enemy before they extinguished it.

Above, dozens of mercenaries hovered in the air, suspended by Wind Magic or levitation spells. They circled like vultures, waiting for the signal to descend towards their prey.

"It seems you have nothing to say. Then-"

"Hold on," Fenrir was clearly grinning as he interrupted Scyllary and placed his full attention on the prey. "I have a question for them."

The hall grew still, every eye fixed on the towering predator.

"I want to know who among you killed Anukus."

For a moment, there was silence.

"The Dragon attacked Phobio in the West. Polymorphous was killed by someone in the North. Anukus fell in the Southeast. Fernand was ambushed by the Ghost in the Northeast," Fenrir began, analyzing how each of his Executives lost in their respective battles.

"Phobio and Fernand survived, but we lost two of our Executives. Polymorphous? I can understand his defeat. He could've fallen to someone with a higher Level or a powerful Magic Artifact." Fenrir narrowed his eyes, showing just how serious he was about the whole thing.

"But Anukus? He was no pushover. Someone like him doesn't fall easily." His grin faded, replaced by a scowl as veins bulged across his forehead. "So, I'll ask again-"

His voice thundered through the hall.

"-Who among you killed Anukus?"

Before anyone could react, a calm and confident voice broke the silence.

"What do you plan to do with that information?"

Fenrir's eyes snapped to the speaker, a man in a dark skull mask and hood. His voice was deep, carrying nothing short of confidence and completely devoid of fear despite the clearly disadvantageous position he was in and the overwhelming odds stacked against him.

"Oh?" Fenrir's lips curled into a toothy grin. "How amusing. Answering my question with another question..."

The masked man remained silent, his posture unshaken as he waited for Fenrir's response.

"I'll tell you," Fenrir finally said, his grin turning into a predatory sneer. "I plan to fight them myself. I want to test their strength with my own hands."

The moment those words left his mouth, a strange chuckle echoed through the hall.

"Haha..."

It started soft but grew louder, filling the room with an eerie resonance.

The source of the laugh was none other than the masked man.

Surprised expressions filled the faces of the crowd. Even the seated lords and standing warriors found themselves waiting for their chance to strike.

Why was he laughing?

Even stranger, Ronald and Mara, supposedly cornered and helpless, were smiling and slight chuckles escaping their lips as they listened to the amused laugh.

Why?

This was supposed to be the moment they begged for mercy. Instead, they seemed perfectly at ease.

The gathered mercenaries began to murmur with unease in their eyes.

Was it because of the man in the dark mask?

Was he really that strong?

"Forgive my laughter. It's just... what you said was rather amusing."

"And what, exactly, did I say that was so funny?" Fenrir asked, his frown deepening.

He found himself growing increasingly annoyed by the mere entourage that dared to make fun of his words, but he curbed his irritation. Curiosity kept him grounded, he needed to hear more.

"You said you wanted to test the depths of my strength. Someone like you?" The tone felt condescending and oozed with sheer confidence.

Fenrir's jaw tightened. He detested arrogance, especially when it wasn't his own.

"You are quite bold," he said coldly, his steely gaze daring the masked man to reconsider his mockery.

But the warning was ignored.

"In my eyes, the bold one is you. Claiming to achieve the impossible with the trivial strength you wield... isn't that the very definition of hubris?"

"You-!" Fenrir began, but he caught himself, inhaling deeply to regain his composure as his eyes never left the masked man.

'He speaks with the assurance of someone powerful. But words can be a weapon, too, a bluff meant to rattle me,' Fenrir thought.

Bluffing was an effective tool as old as battle itself, a way to make enemies overestimate your capabilities, hence hesitating at crucial times.

Some battles could be won using that as a tactic.

But Fenrir wasn't one to fall for such tricks as a wicked grin spread across his face.

"So, you're claiming to be the one who killed Anukus?" he asked with disbelief.

He glanced at the other two members of the Deadly Three. Their subtle headshakes mirrored his own thoughts. None of them believed this claim.

"Hmmm...... indeed, I killed him," the masked man replied pridely. "But it's hardly something I need to lie about."

The sheer audacity of the statement made Fenrir pause. Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter.

"Buahahahahaha!"

The sound was loud and jarring, reverberating through the room. Everyone froze, stunned by the unexpected outburst, everyone except the masked man.

"You see... once you reach a certain level, you can sense someone's strength through instinct," Fenrir said, still chuckling. "All members of the Deadly Three possess this instinctive sense. The only way to bypass it is to be phenomenally stronger than what we can detect."

He leaned forward, his amusement giving way to a sharp edge. "And you? I can sense your strength clearly. You're not even close to Anukus's level. You didn't kill him."

"Huh? Really? I'm pretty sure I did," the masked man replied nonchalantly.

Fenrir roared with laughter again as he slammed his palm against the table and shook his head. "Hahaha! Old man, it seems your servant here has quite the imagination. I'd suggest a healer to get him checked and treated, but it won't matter, you're all going to die here."

Ronald, silent until now, remained impassive. Fenrir turned his attention to the rest of the entourage.

'Those masks are Orichalcum. They're designed to obscure energy signatures. Could one of them be Anukus's killer?' Fenrir mused.

There was also the chance that the one who did so was outside, but Fenrir doubted that.

'They knew they were coming to the heart of the enemy's camp. I'm sure they would have brought their trump cards.'

'If it's not the one in the black mask, then it must be one of the others,' he concluded. A predatory gleam entered his eyes as his sharp teeth glinted under the dim light.

He could feel excitement swelling inside him.

"The thing is... I'm not averse to admitting my loss or recognizing my inferiority when faced with someone far more powerful than me." Fenrir rose slowly to his feet.

He thought back of the time he recognized the vast gap in power between himself and the masked guard of the Lady he now served, or more recently, when the Fairies had made him feel utterly powerless.

He had learned humility the hard way, and he wasn't ashamed to admit it.

"But it seems you have yet to really understand that brute fact of nature," Fenrir continued as he sharpened his tone like a blade. "So, allow me to teach you."

He pointed at the seven guards of the Rump and Terte House, his feral grin stretching wide like a wild beast sizing up its prey.

"At the very least, I'm confident I can take the strongest of you on my own."

From her seat, Scyllary was enjoying herself as she watched in silence. This entire exchange was proving to be a lot more entertaining than she expected.

'It's making me so hungry,' she thought, licking her lips as she took in Fenrir's wild grin. 'It seems I had nothing to worry about after all.'

Scyllary wasn't a fighter. She knew nothing about sensing the strength of an opponent. She only trusted one thing.

'Fenrir will win.'

"Ah... I see what the issue is," the masked man said suddenly.

He scratched the back of his head, his posture almost comically casual. "It seems I forgot I was still wearing my Mana Concealment artifact. My bad..."

The words were barely audible, but Scyllary caught those words and her amusement faltered.

"What?"

"Pfft! There's no need to keep up the bluff!" Fenrir snarled, flinging his chair aside as he stepped away from the table.

He seemed to be in a hurry to cause bloodshed, a sight that relieved Scyllary from the slight unease that was beginning to form within her.

'That's right, Fenrir! Just finish the job right here and now!'

"I'll just end it with one mo-!"

VWUUUUUUUUUMMMMM!

An unbelievable pressure suddenly enveloped the room, instantly silencing Fenrir and everyone else who dared to leak out a single sound.

'E-eh...?' Scyllary froze, feeling her body shaking uncontrollably.

'W-what is this...?' Her mind struggled to comprehend the sheer magnitude of the force pressing down on her.

She could barely move her body, but she glanced around and realized she wasn't alone in trembling like a scared little child.

All the Warriors and Mages she had counted on to dominate this confrontation were also shivering and their strength were reduced to nothing more than futile bravado.

'M-my body... it's so cold... so heavy...'

It was paralyzing. The masked man's true presence had finally been revealed, and though Scyllary couldn't understand its nature, she could feel its crushing enormity.

Those with great power could sense the strength of others. To Fenrir or the Deadly Three, the force radiating from the masked man would have been clear, like staring into an endless abyss.

But Scyllary, a commoner in terms of strength, should have been ignorant.

But here she was, overwhelmed by the suffocating reality of his power.

Ignorance may indeed be bliss, but not in the face of something this terrifying.

At that moment, Scyllary's instincts screamed a single command.

RUN!

"How's this? Better?"

The masked man's voice was calm, almost mocking, but to Fenrir, it carried the weight of a death sentence.

His body trembled violently, helpless against the crushing force that now engulfed him. His bulging eyes twitched as he tried to step forward, but the sheer pressure rooted him in place.

'W-what is this... this power?!'

It defied comprehension. Fenrir had never encountered anything so overwhelming in his life.

It felt as though a razor-sharp blade was placed inches from his throat, ready to slice him apart should he move even an inch.

In his current state, he stood no chance.

"Is that all it took?" the masked man muttered, almost disappointed. "I haven't even used much mana."

He turned to his subordinates with a casual glance. "Price, Woods, take those rings off."

The moment those words left his lips, the pressure in the room multiplied tenfold.

Fenrir collapsed to his knees as the weight forced him to gasp for air. Around him, his comrades fared no better as their bodies trembled and choked against the invisible force.

'T-this man... I was wrong! I was so wrong to doubt him!'

Sweat dripped from Fenrir's face, mingling with the cold shivers racking his body.

'Not just him... those two as well. They're more than strong enough to kill Anukus. In fact, their combined power is enough to surpass mine!'

For the first time, Fenrir understood the truth. His arrogance had blinded him, and his ignorance had led him to underestimate the monstrous strength before him.

'He was right all along. What a fool I've been...'

His gaze locked onto the masked man, and for the first time in his life, Fenrir felt true despair.

'How could I ever hope to measure the depths of this power?'

"I suppose it's time to start cleaning up the trash," the masked man said softly.

He glanced at his team and gave a single command.

"Now."

Without hesitation, six of his subordinates materialized Gau-10 'Dragon's Breath' gatling guns into their hands from their Spatial Rings.

"Say hello to our little friends!" Woods cackled.

In an instant, they all opened fire.

BRRRRRRRR!!!

BRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

BRRRRRRRRRRR!!!

The deafening roar of .50 caliber mithril-tipped bullets filled the room as a storm of gunfire tore through the Mercenary Gang.

In that split second, a hundred of them were mowed down in mere seconds as Tavish pointed his minigun at the ones flying, forcing them to disperse.

"GYAAH!"

"WHAT THE HELL?!"

"DAMN IT-... ARGH!"

"ARGH! HELP!"

These were some of the many words coming from the Mercenary Gang members as more of their comrades were killed. Some had tried to desperately counterattack by launching magic spells, others fired enchanted weapons, but it was futile as their attacks barely scratched the masked man's subordinates.

One mercenary lunged at Belinski from behind, but the hulking soldier swung his weapon like a club and knocked the man to the ground. With a sickening crunch, Belinski stomped down and crushed the man's skull under his boot with the strength from the magic gauntlet.

Another mercenary charged, only to meet the same fate when Belinski swung the butt of his weapon into the attacker's face and shattered bones brutally. He then seized the man by the neck with his free arm and snapped it in half.

Nearby, Woods casually pulled a grenade from his belt and tossed it toward a group of mercenaries taking cover behind a pew. The explosion sent splinters and bodies flying, silencing their attempts to regroup.

Above, some attempted to flee or counter from the air, but Tavish unleashed precise bursts of gunfire and forced them to scatter.

The entire room devolved into utter carnage, slowly becoming filled with the stench of blood and the sound of bullets tearing through flesh. Bodies piled up in pools of crimson blood as the masked man's team methodically eradicated the opposition.

By the time Scyllary and the other Obsidian Council members realized what was happening, half of their army had already been wiped out.

"Die, bastard!" a Mercenary Gang member screamed as she charged Mason with a magic spear.

Unfortunately for her, she underestimated Mason's reflexes as he sidestepped her attack easiky thanks to his mithril armor.

Before she could retreat, Mason lunged forward and grabbed her by the leg before brutally slamming her against the ground as the impact cracked the tiles beneath her. She barely had time to register the pain before Mason unsheathed his mithril combat knife, and with one swing, separated her head cleanly from her body and rolled lifelessly across the floor.

"Telttim!" her partner cried with rage and desperation in her voice.

Several Mercenary Gang members retaliated, throwing enchanted spears and casting spells at Mason and the others. The room filled with flashes of light and streaks of magic, but their attacks were futile. Each one bounced harmlessly off the dome barrier that protected their targets.

In response, the boys opened fire, and the roar of their miniguns drowned out the chaos, sending the Mercenary Gang scattering and twisting their bodies through the air as they dodged the bullets.

When his gun clicked empty, Polities calmly stowed it in his [Dimensional Storage] and pulled out a Fire Magic shotgun. Without hesitation, he sprinted forward and leapt into the air, aiming his weapon at the nearest enemy.

BOOM!

The blast was devastating as one enemy's chest and arm were obliterated on impact, while another lost both legs and their mutilated body crashed to the ground. Polities landed on the ground and drew his sword mid-air. The moment his feet touched the blood-slick floor, he drove the blade into the skull of the fallen mercenary and splitted him nearly in two.

All of this carnage unfolded in mere seconds.

While Polities and the others dismantled the enemy forces, Riley stood alone against a wave of 500 Mercenary Gang members charging at him.

Hundreds of weapons glinted in the dim light, and the bloodthirsty cries of Warriors and Mages filled the air. Yet even against such numbers, Riley rather seemed calm, and didn't move an inch. He just stood there.

He didn't even reach for a gun. He didn't need to.

Instead, he raised a single finger.

FWOOOSH!

Faster than the eye could dare to process, a blinding light erupted from his fingertip, and in an instant, the heads of all 500 attackers disintegrated and their decapitated bodies froze mid-charge, still having their stances.

The silence that followed was deafening.

Hundreds of corpses stood in place for a heartbeat before collapsing, filling the room with the sickening *thud* of lifeless flesh.

Fenrir wanted to scream, but no sound escaped his lips.

"I think this works well," Riley remarked with smoke curling from his raised finger.

'W-when did he...?! How?!'

Fenrir couldn't comprehend it. He stood there, stunned like a bumbling idiot while his body froze as though paralyzed by the sheer impossibility of what he'd just witnessed.

"It's best this looks like a bloodbath," Riley added, his voice disturbingly casual.

Before Fenrir could make sense of the words, the remaining six warriors were able to slaughter the remaining Mercenary Gang members, while the bodies of the 500 disintegrated foes were sliced into multiple pieces, flesh and bone scattering like confetti.

SPLOOOSH!

Blood gushed out of them as their meaty chunks flew all over the room in an instant, coating the walls, dripping from the ceiling, and soaking the purple curtains and carpets with the liquid that once flowed through the veins of living creatures.

These were people, hundreds of them, slaughtered in ways that even animals did not have to endure.

Fenrir could feel thick blood on his body, and several entrails clung to his body. It was sickening, feeling the innards of his subordinates now sticking to him.

The smell... the stench of death was strong in the room that it made Fenrir gag.

Before he knew it, his knees buckled, and he collapsed into the pool of blood and gore beneath him.

The memories of his past battles, his defeat against the Fairy, his terror before the Dragon, paled in comparison to this.

The overwhelming reality of his failure crushed him more than any blade or spell ever could.

'This... this is the most humiliating!'

------------------------

"A-ahh...?"

Scyllary's breath hitched as her eyes took in the horrifying spectacle. Blood poured out in torrents, painting the room in crimson.

Scyllary had never seen so much blood rush out in a single moment.

For a fleeting second, she found it mesmerizing, a grotesque beauty in the chaos.

But that moment passed all too quickly.

Soon, she realized just what kind of dread awaited her. This wasn't her doing. She wasn't the one orchestrating this rain of blood.

It was the enemy.

Her heart pounded as panic clawed its way up her throat.

'This wasn't... this wasn't part of the plan!'

How could nearly a thousand lives be snuffed out in less than ten seconds? It defied logic, no, it mocked it!

Impossible.

'Even my most elite forces couldn't achieve such devastation,' she swallowed hard as she looked at her personal guard, the figure she relied upon for protection.

It seemed he too was stunned by what was happening.

'Dammit! Dammit! This isn't... this isn't how it was supposed to go!'

Scyllary instinctively held her breath for some reason, as though remaining silent might render her invisible to the man in the dark mask.

But-

ZZZZRRRNNGGG!

The low hum of vibrations shattered her fragile illusion of safety.

Her ring.

Her communication ring was buzzing, its sound deadening in the deathly quiet room.

'W-what?! Not now! Why are you calling me now?!'

A cold sweat broke out on her face as every pair of eyes, including his, turned toward her.

"A communication ring, hmm?" The masked man's voice cut through the silence like a blade. "Clever. You stored it in a Spatial Ring for easier communication, I see..."

His words were calm, almost conversational. And yet, each syllable sent a shiver down to her bones.

'H-he figured it out so quickly...?!'

The vibrating ring mocked her with its urgency. Jawl and his recon team were supposed to call once their mission was complete. She hadn't expected it to be this soon.

'If they're done already... maybe they can return to provide backup? Maybe we still have a chance!'

Her desperation clung to that fragile hope, but her thoughts were interrupted.

"Pick up the call."

Her heart stopped.

"E-eh...?"

This would be the first time they would talk to each other, and she felt an overwhelming weight descend upon her.

It made her nauseous.

"Pick. The. Call."

The unspoken threat in his tone was undeniable. Scyllary instantly knew what would happen if she refused.

Refusal would mean death.

"O-okay..." she croaked as her trembling hands fumbled with the ring.

Placing it on the table, Scyllary activated the device, and a projection flickered to life, amplifying the sounds from the other end.

Scyllary could hear screams in the background, with echoes of destruction raging forth.

She could tell that her subordinates had carried out their duties to the utmost level to make sure that their enemies suffered greatly while everything around them burned to the ground.

'S-serves them right!' A part of her thought, while another part feared even more.

The masked man's expression didn't change, but the tension in the air grew heavier.

'What now? Now that he knows what we've done... will he grow even more upset and turn that wrath on us?'

Her stomach churned as the answer became clear.

'H-he's bound to kill us all at this rate!'

Fortunately for Scyllary, she soon realized that she was completely mistaken about all that she was hearing.

[Uarghhhhhhh! Lady Scylla, please save us!]

'H-huh...?!' Scyllary's thoughts went blank.

Through the ring, she could hear the sound of explosions and gunfire could be heard from the other end, accompanied by panicked screams and agonized wails from her own men.

[Mistress Scyllary! T-there's a whole invasion upon us! They're too strong! They killed the captain! They're... they're slaughtering all of us!]

[Please send reinforcements, Lady Scylla! We can't-]

[Guarghhhhh! They're closing in! Please help! No! No-HEEELP!-]

Scyllary didn't know where and how to begin processing the information she was recovering.

'A-An invasion...? How? How could this even be possible?'

The Orcs and the Iron Kingdom were nowhere near Aquarius since the frontlines were too distant. Even if the enemy forces were somehow closer, the waters surrounding Aquarius were heavily defended with a fleet of 30 Tarxan Coalition ships patrolled those seas alongside hundreds of tamed Sea Monsters, each mounted by skilled Merfolk warriors.

And reinforcements? The nearest Coalition forces were stationed hundreds of miles away.

It didn't make sense.

[P-PLEASE HELP U-SHHHHHHH-!]

The line went dead, cutting off the desperate pleas. The last sounds Scyllary heard were choking gurgles of blood and even more bloodcurdling screams in the background.

Silence followed.

Once the call ended, she stared at the communication device with her hands trembling as cold despair gripped her.

Scyllary didn't need anyone to tell her what had happened to Jawl and his men, as well as everyone else outside.

They were most definitely dead.

Her head dropped as she looked at the lifeless ring as if willing it to undo the catastrophic news.

'The plan... it failed.'

Across the room, Riley watched her crumble with a smile curling beneath his dark mask and looked at the shivering ones before him, both the ones who were seated, and the ones who stood.

"Do you see it now? How pathetic you all are?"

Behind his mask, Riley thought of the invasion force that sent ahead. 'Looks like they're making quick work of things. Hopefully, they're not committing too many war crimes. Not that it really matters...'

He turned his attention back to the room and his tone shifted to something colder, deadlier.

"I hope you're all ready to die now."

The declaration sent a ripple of panic through the remaining entourage.

"A-Attack! Kill him already!" Rouge screamed in fear.

"Protect me, you fools!" Bleue shrieked, shamelessly shoving his guards forward like lambs to the slaughter.

It was all useless, though.

SWISH!

Riley barely lifted a finger as the mana around the four trembling guards cut through them like a blade through wet parchment.

Their armor crumpled and their flesh were torn apart in an instant.

SPLAT!

Chunks of meat and viscera rained to the floor, adding to the thousands of blood and gore that already painted the room. Entrails slithered out of their dismembered bodies, pooling at Scyllary's feet like a sickening offering.

"Next."

His gaze fell on the two trembling men, one fat, the other thin, who shrieked in fear.

In their desperation, they jumped from their seats to flee as their feet slipped and slided in the viscous ocean of blood beneath them.

It was no use, though.

SQUELCH!

Their bodies were ripped apart in an instant and the force scattered their remains across the blood-drenched walls. Limbs, viscera, and unrecognizable chunks of flesh joined the grotesque collage of death that now defined the room.

And just like that, two prominent members of the New Order ceased to exist.

All without any effort from the perpetrator.

Riley didn't so much as blink. He uttered a single word after killing the two Ex-Councilors.

"Next."

This time, his cold gaze settled on Lord Noir.

The once-proud man was reduced to a quivering mess, shivering like a scared little baby.

"P-please... I'll do anything!" Noir stammered as he collapsed to his knees, bowing so low that his face pressed into the blood-soaked floor.

Fitzgerald didn't care that his body was being sullied by the blood and innards of those who were now dead. He didn't care for the pride and prestige he was known to display as the dignity and grandeur he once flaunted were meaningless now.

For the first time in his life, Fitzgerald Noir broke his character, abandoned his pride and prostrated himself before the embodiment of death.

Tears streamed down his face as he choked out his plea.

"S-spare me... please! I beg you!"

"..."

Riley didn't respond immediately. The silence was deafening, filling the room with an unbearable tension.

Fitzgerald Noir took this as a good sign and dared to raise his head in slight relief and gratitude. However, what he found out were two things.

SWISH!

One was the fact that his head was slipping out of his neck.

Before he realized it, his head rolled on the ground with a hollow thud, and his butchered body followed soon after, collapsing into the growing pool of blood.

As for the second thing he realized, it was the response of the masked man, the last words he heard before his demise.

"No."

Noir's wrinkled and aged body served as another addition to the pile of corpses that decorated the room.

Where once there had been a crowd, now only a handful remained.

Other than the seated Ronald and Mara, as well as their entourages, only Scyllary and her guard, as well as Fenrir and his two captains were left in stunned silence.

Fourteen souls in total.

But even that number seemed excessive to the bringer of death.

He tilted his head slightly, as if addressing the room itself, particularly Fenrir, and spoke the word again.

"Anyways, weren't you the one that said this a while back?"

As Riley drew closer, the stench of death became stronger.

"Your time is up. There's no need to whine about it."

Fenrir's eyes turned bloodshot, with hot tears coming out of them, the moment he heard the words that Riley whispered to him.

"...Just take it like a champ."

------------------------

'I'm going to die... I'm going to die!'

As Fenrir heard the squishing of flesh and the spraying of blood, he waited for his turn to come.

He was a dead man kneeling, and he knew it.

Nothing but death occupied his senses. Beside him, the Black Magician, Enry, seemed to share his fate as her usually sharp gaze now clouded with silent resignation. Ladon, who was trembling due to the power being displayed by the man in the mask, fared no better.

His charge, the man he was sworn to protect, had already been cut down by an invisible slash.

One by one, the others fell, and before long, the Head of the Noir Militia followed.

Death was all that awaited the Obsidian Blade.

'Is this it? Is this how it all ends?' Fenrir's thoughts spiraled as his mind raced toward hopelessness.

No.

No, this couldn't be the end.

He had clawed his way up from the depths, fought tooth and nail to reach this pinnacle. To die like this, kneeling in a cesspool of failure? That was not his fate!

Something primal awoke within him, a survival instinct that screamed for life. He had come too far to let it all end now.

"We attack. Now," he growled, which cut through the suffocating dread like a blade.

"B-but how...?" Ladon stuttered in fear.

For the first time, Fenrir really heard the warrior's voice, so uncharacteristically pure and innocent compared to the hardened exterior he once wore.

The female Magician beside him rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a coward, Ladon. The three of us could take on them both!" She snapped sharply and commandingly. Her glowing eyes burned with defiance as she activated her Skill.

"Rise."

The air shifted.

All around them, the bodies of their fallen comrades began to twitch and convulse before rising from the blood-soaked ground like puppets that were being expertly controlled by a professional.

"Like our leader said!" Enry barked as her lips curled into a wicked grin. "We'll fight with everything we have. Use every Skill, every ounce of power!"

Seeing his subordinates joined in sparked something within Fenrir, stoking the embers of his courage. His fear faded away, replaced by a swelling tide of resolve.

Without hesitation, he roared and activated every Skill at his disposal.

"[Greater Fiery Power]. [Greater Pure Boost]. [Greater Iron Fortress]. [War Cry]. [Beast Mode]!"

Raw and untamed power swole through him. The ground beneath him trembled as shockwaves rippled outward and crackled with his unleashed energy dancing all around his immediate surroundings.

As shockwaves rushed from his position, white fur sprouted across his skin, turning his body into a humanoid beast.

This was Fenrir at full strength!

From the corner of his eye, he saw his companions ready themselves with their respective Skills.

The Black Magician had an arsenal of dark magic that focused on debilitating their enemies. Spells like [Poison Magic], [Reality Distortion], and [Aura of Despair] would break their foes' bodies and minds, while [Degrade] stripped away their defenses, with her only purely offensive Magic being [Shadow Magic] and [Spirit Magic] spells that called forth spiritual entities from the Aether Realm and possess the dead around them into Spirit Warriors.

They had no choice but to strike with everything they had. If they could overwhelm the enemy, if they could slow them down even for a moment with these heavy-hitters, victory might still be possible... or so Fenrir hoped.

Ladon, though still shaky, gripped his weapon tighter as the faint glow of his activated Skills surrounding him like a protective aura.

Because for him, his focus was purely offensive.

His arsenal of Skills, including [Weapon Summon], [Weapon Authority], [Blazing Strike], and [Amplify], made him a walking arsenal of destruction. The incredible density of his armor, combined with his ability to seamlessly switch between fighting styles and weapons, made him a versatile and unpredictable opponent.

Fenrir watched as Ladon summoned multiple blades with [Weapon Summon], gripping one in each hand while the rest hovered in the air as a result from [Weapon Authority]. [Blazing Strike] ignited the weapons in roaring flames, increasing their offensive abilities, while [Amplify] bolstered his strength, speed, and reflexes to superhuman levels.

Despite Ladon's impressive power, Fenrir knew he still outclassed him. But Ladon was no weakling, his sheer adaptability made him a force to be reckoned with.

Meanwhile, Enry had finished her preparations. The Black Magician shrouded herself and her Spirit Warriors in a swirling veil of shadows as a defensive cover while an extremely Poisonous Magic would be sprayed on the target.

'Enry will make the first move...' Fenrir could already predict her strategy.

First, she would unleash [Aura of Despair], a spell that paralyzed her opponent in fear, sometimes driving them to insanity or even death. Then, using [Reality Distortion], she would warp her enemy's perceptions, twisting their sense of reality with hallucinations and false sounds. Finally, she would use [Degrade] to wear down their defenses and vitality before finishing them off with a lethal dose of poison.

For some reason, despite having the ability to make people suffer with her toxins, Enry preferred a quick death through a deadly dose.

Fenrir doubted that poison alone would take down their masked opponent, but if they followed her attack with a coordinated strike, they might have a chance.

Then it began.

BOOOOOOOOM!

Enry unleashed her opening salvo, her dark magic cascading toward the enemy like a tidal wave. Ladon moved in tandem, his fiery blades slashing through the air with deadly speed. Fenrir followed immediately, his massive form lunging forward in full wolf transformation and poured every ounce of his strength into his strikes, each blow reverberating through the room like thunder.

The entire building trembled, and it even tore the ceiling open.

The Chandelier that was above them came crashing down, sending its glass fragments flying everywhere. The beautiful Crystal-like shards soon became sullied by the blood and gore beneath them.

But none of those mattered.

WHUSH!

VWUUUUM!

BOOOOOOOM!

More strikes and explosions rippled through the area, devastating the furniture that once stood glamorously at the center of the room.

The chairs were devastated, ripped to shreds by the shockwaves alone, and the grand table was broken into multiple pieces before burning down.

Several more strikes and the ground began to send forth debris.

Fenrir attacked ferociously in wolf form, utilizing a hundred percent of strength in each strike. Meanwhile, Ladon's flaming blades created arcs of destruction, and Enry's spells blanketed the battlefield in chaos.

But despite all that, a dome barrier made out of mana had appeared, intact from all the magic attacks, with Riley stood unmoved while observing the battle with cold detachment. He turned to Price and Woods and gave them a simple nod.

"Take the captains," he ordered calmly yet commandingly. "The beast is mine."

And so, the true battle of the Dark Gathering began.

But as the chaos unfolded, we couldn't ignore the arrival of our new players.