Doranjan hovered high above the battlefield, his cold gaze sweeping across the chaos below.
For a mont, everything seed to stop.
Every soldier—friend and foe alike—lifted their eyes toward him. The sheer, crushing weight of his presence spread across the land, pressing against every living being.
"It... it evolved...!!"
"Another Fifth Stage?!"
"It’s too late!!"
Panic rippled through the enemy ranks. Many began retreating, unwilling to face the newly ascended monster whose aura alone distorted the air around him.
Doranjan slowly raised his hand. Energy erupted from his body like a tidal wave, splitting the clouds above. The ground trembled as he gathered power for a devastating strike.
But before he could unleash it—
"Doranjan! You have to return! It’s not ti yet!"
The commanding voice cut through the storm.
Doranjan’s golden-green eyes flicked toward the sound. He spotted Torkez standing amid the fortress defenses, shouting up at him.
A flash of green light enveloped Doranjan’s body. In an instant, he descended from the sky, materializing beside Torkez.
"I can eliminate thousands of them right now," Doranjan said, his tone edged with suppressed ferocity.
Torkez shook his head firmly. "It’s not the right ti. If you move now, the pace of battle will escalate too fast."
He t Doranjan’s gaze, his voice steady despite the chaos around them. "If that happens, Souta will be forced to co out."
Doranjan fell silent, his claws tightening slightly. He understood the implication.
It wasn’t just about their side. If he acted now, the Hero-ranks on the opposing side would move as well and once that happened, there would be no turning back.
They couldn’t afford to trigger the final stage of this war—not yet.
"I understand," Doranjan said with a firm nod at Torkez’s words. He suppressed the surge of excitent burning in his chest. As much as he wanted to test his newfound strength, now wasn’t the ti.
"Also," Torkez continued, his eyes narrowing toward the horizon, "we still have allies. This isn’t hopeless. We’re waiting for them."
"Allies?" Doranjan turned his gaze to him, curiosity flashing in his draconic eyes.
Torkez nodded once, his expression unwavering.
...
The battle raged on below them—chaotic, brutal, but still contained. Neither side dared to escalate it to the level that would draw Hero-rank experts into direct combat.
Even Berfien remained on the sidelines, his figure floating far from the main clash. The mont he confird that the dragon had completed its evolution, he refrained from joining the fray.
For now, the fighting was dominated by the top SSS-rank combatants—those standing at the peak of the Sixth Shackle Realm. Their clashes tore through the air, shaking the battlefield with every strike.
On the front lines, Alice and Vashno fought relentlessly, holding back waves of enemies. Alice’s golden spears and Vashno’s writhing flesh constructs carved through the opposition, keeping the line from collapsing.
But even so, the toll was imnse.
Berfien’s brows furrowed as he watched his forces falter. From his position above, he saw his people falling one after another—thousands already dead or incapacitated.
Then, sothing caught his attention. The faint, drifting purple smoke that lingered near the frontlines.
"...That smoke from earlier," Berfien muttered. His eyes narrowed as realization struck. "It’s interfering with their mana pool..."
He watched as his experts struggled to sustain their spells, their energy output faltering.
"They’re weakening... The Blood Lightning Monster’s forces prepared this field in advance."
Berfien clenched his teeth, frustration creeping into his expression as he watched the battle slowly tilt out of their favor.
On the ground, amidst the thunder of battle cries and shattering spells, Alice and Vashno stood side by side.
Crimson lightning split the air as Vashno’s monstrous arms—flesh and tal fused together—smashed into an advancing cluster of enemy elites. Bones cracked and screams erupted as the shockwave sent bodies flying.
"Keep pushing!" Vashno roared, his voice booming through the battlefield. "Don’t let them form another line!"
Alice darted forward, her movents leaving trails of golden afterimages. Her twin spears spun like whirlwinds, cutting down foes with terrifying precision. Every thrust pierced through enchanted armor; every sweep of her weapon unleashed a blast of searing light that lted through shields.
Dozens of enemy warriors fell around her, their bodies consud by light.
But even with her overwhelming power, her breathing had grown heavier. Blood trickled down the side of her lip, proof that the earlier clash with Berfien had taken its toll.
Still, she refused to falter.
The purple mist drifted closer, spreading like a curse across the battlefield. The enemies inside it slowed, their spells faltering.
Vashno slamd his palm into the ground. A massive burst of crimson tendrils erupted outward, piercing several enemies before retracting back into his body. His monstrous fra shuddered.
"...We’ll hold them," Alice said quietly, gripping her spear tighter. "Until he’s ready."
"Then let’s make them bleed until that ti cos," Vashno replied, his arms reshaping into massive crimson blades.
They charged again—two forces of devastation tearing through the smoke, each strike echoing like thunder, each movent a promise that the Blood Lightning Monster’s army would not break.
...
Inside the Guardian Fortress.
Deep within the heart of the structure, a storm was raging—though not one that could be seen from the outside.
BOOM!
Explosions echoed within Saya’s inner consciousness. The ground trembled, waves of violent energy sweeping through the crimson expanse of her domain.
When the dust cleared, a lone figure stepped through the dissipating mist.
Souta.
His skin was covered in faint traces of glowing crimson veins, and blood droplets floated in the air like fireflies. He waved his hand, and the scattered blood responded to his will, gathering into a single shimring orb before condensing into a droplet that sank into the back of his hand.
"It’s done..." he muttered, his voice calm but his breathing heavy.
A faint figure materialized before him—a familiar presence with a gentle, knowing smile.
"You’re really strong, Souta," Saya’s phantom said softly. "It’s hard to believe you were just a goblin when we first t."
Souta gave a quiet chuckle. "The circumstances forced to grow quickly."
Saya tilted her head. "And your spellcasting... it’s more refined now. You’ve adapted even faster than before."
He nodded, then sat cross-legged on the crimson floor. His eyes closed as his focus turned inward.
Within his consciousness, runes and patterns of power flickered into existence around him. His mind drifted toward his core ability—[Douion II]—which pulsed faintly, resonating with the rhythm of his heart.
It was stronger now. More stable. He could feel it nearing its limit, ready to break through.
Once he reached the next stage, he knew what it would an—a qualitative leap in his strength. The barrier between reality and the dream realm would weaken, perhaps even vanish entirely. He could pull more beings across that threshold, manipulate both realms freely.
If only he had already achieved that power...
His thoughts drifted briefly to the Land of Vanko—to the Sovereigns who remained there, their power waiting, sealed away from this battle. If he could bring them here, the balance of war would shift in an instant.
But reality still had its limits. For now.
Souta opened his eyes, crimson lightning crackling faintly within his pupils.
"Still, the improvent is good enough... A normal Eighth Shackle Realm would have a hard ti breaking through my dreamscape. Perhaps, once I achieve [Douion III], only those in the Ninth Shackle Realm could destroy it."
Thinking about [Douion III], Souta couldn’t help but recall Agares’s words. The Sea King possessed an ability similar to his own—yet far beyond his current level.
He rembered their encounters back in the ga. Every clash ended the sa way—his death. Even when he fought alongside the Commanders of the chanic Country, Agares’s overwhelming power left them helpless.
Souta exhaled slowly, letting the mory fade. His focus shifted toward his Archetype, the core of his existence. It was growing stronger with every battle, every refinent—a power that had beco one of his greatest aces when facing high-level opponents.
Then his gaze turned inward, to the familiar interface of his system.
He was close—so close—to reaching Level 79. If not for the effects of [Douion], which had reduced his level as a trade-off for power, he would have already crossed into Level 80 by now.
Still, he didn’t regret it. The benefits far outweighed the loss. [Douion] had already beco a cornerstone of his combat power, granting him an advantage no ordinary evolution could.
"There’s also my class..." Souta murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. "I’m still a Great Battle Mage."
He could ascend to the next rank anyti, but it would drain his skill points, leaving him unable to unlock his legacy. For now, he would delay the promotion and invest everything into strengthening his foundation.
Every choice mattered. Every decision pushed him closer to what he needed to beco.
And Souta knew—the ti to act was coming soon.
» [Archetype: Eternity Stellar Formation]
Requirents: [Star Veins], [Nebula Heart], [Galaxy Eyes], and [Cosmic Body]
Cost: 70 Skill Points and 50 Free Attribute Points
» [Cosmic Authority: Ophiuchus]
Requirents: Level 80, [Star Veins], [Nebula Heart], [Galaxy Eyes], and [Cosmic Body]
Cost: 100 Skill Points and 200 Free Attribute Points
...
Only two levels remained before Souta could et the requirents for the Authority.
As for the Archetype, he could acquire it right now—but doing so would divide his focus and consu valuable ti.
’Well,’ Souta thought, his eyes narrowing, ’if things go wrong, I won’t hesitate to buy it. But for now... I’d rather save everything for the Authority.’
His last battle against the demons had earned him twenty-one skill points, enough to purchase the Archetype imdiately if he wanted.
And it was tempting—this Archetype, the [Eternity Stellar Formation], would perfectly synchronize with his Cosmic Body.
But Souta wasn’t impulsive. He could feel it—the quiet pressure in his chest, the storm gathering both inside and outside the fortress.
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