(Ryuta POV)
The teleportation circle flared beneath me, light bending and folding until my vision blurred.
A heartbeat later, my boots hit solid ground again.
I was back in the headquarters' basement—the vast stone chamber where dozens of teleportation circles sprawled in ordered rows, each leading to some distant part of the world. The air smelled faintly of ozone, and the hum of mana lingered against the walls like an echo of countless journeys.
I stood there for a while, unmoving.
Anywhere in this world, that thing could be roaming now. It was enough to stir the Armored Dragon King from his stoic vigilance. If he was moving, then the world was already trembling.
The thought made my chest tighten.
I rubbed at my temples, trying to force my thoughts into order—
That's when another circle flared, light spilling from an adjoining chamber.
Bootsteps. Heavy. Rhythmic.
Orsted.
He emerged from the glow like a storm given form, his aura slicing through the air until even breathing felt thinner. Slung over his shoulder—someone.
A limp body. No, not dead. My detection told me there was still a pulse.
And I recognized it.
I straightened, blinking at the suddenness of it.
"Orsted… is that—"
He didn't answer at first. His movements were steady and deliberate as he lowered the captive to the stone floor.
"No…"
He turned the body just enough for me to see the face—bloodied, pale. Both arms gone at the shoulders, yet the bleeding slowed unnaturally, his body refusing to die.
North God Kalman III.
The man who had defeated me. Who'd handed me over to the ones who performed the necromancy. The victory that helped awaken the Black Dragon.
I froze. Every muscle taut, my mind screaming to act—to speak—but all I managed was a hoarse whisper.
"What did you do?"
***
(Third POV)
Faint light.
That was the first thing Aleksander Rybak became aware of.
A dull, unnatural glow crawled across the walls, seeping into the air. He tried to move, but his body resisted—numb, foreign, wrong. When he finally pushed himself upright, the truth hit like a hammer.
His right arm was gone.
From the shoulder downward—nothing. No flesh, no bone, no trace. For a heartbeat, his mind refused to register it.
Then shock broke, and he stared at the mutilated stump in mounting horror. It should have regrown. It always did. His immortal blood had mended every wound since childhood—but now, nothing. Not even a twitch of recovery.
"...What—what is this…?" His voice rasped, raw and bewildered.
The circle beneath him pulsed faintly, its carved lines shimmering with restrained power. When he staggered forward, something slammed against him—an invisible wall.
He hit it again. Harder. The air rippled but held. Again. And again. Until exhaustion started to gnaw at him—until realization struck.
The circle was feeding on him. Every blow, every burst of mana, it drained and turned back. His own life force was sealing him in.
A snarl tore from his throat. He hammered, shouted, cursed—until movement stirred beyond the barrier.
The stone itself parted like water.
And through where the wall used to be, someone stepped inside.
Aleksander's eyes widened. White hair. Mismatched silver slit eyes with a cold gaze. Even without the brown hair, he knew him instantly.
The one who had slaughtered his company. The one who had butchered his disciples without mercy.
"...You," Aleksander hissed, voice thick with venom.
Ryuta leaned casually against the reformed wall, arms crossed, face half-lit by the circle's glow.
"Congratulations, North God," he said. "You did what few could—defeated me. Even killed my familiar, Sumizome. For all my fight, you still walked away."
Aleksander's hand trembled. "Don't mock me. You—" His words faltered. "You cut them down like dogs!"
"Those students?" Ryuta tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "For disciples of the North God Style, they were a bunch of pathetic clowns."
Aleksander's teeth clenched. "They were my comrades! They—" His voice caught. "They followed my father's teachings. Kalman II's legacy. You call that pathetic?"
His fury faltered as his gaze drifted to his missing arm. "What… magic is this? My regeneration—why isn't it working?"
Ryuta's smirk faded. "That's not me. That's a seal from the Dragon God Orsted. As long as it's there, you won't regrow that arm anytime soon."
Aleksander froze. That name—Dragon God Orsted—cut straight through him.
The pressure he had felt at the camp. The crushing despair. It all came flooding back.
"The one who attacked us…" he whispered. "That was him. The Dragon God?!"
Ryuta didn't answer—only watched in silence.
Aleksander shook his head violently, desperation cracking through disbelief. "No. That's absurd. Why would someone like him interfere in these conflicts?"
Ryuta's voice softened, almost pitying. "He did. And he's generous enough to offer you a means for redemption—to fight for the right side, and not the evil one."
Aleksander barked a broken laugh. "Redemption? We were cleansing corruption! You call that evil? The Asura Kingdom rots from within!"
Ryuta's tone darkened. "You're gullible. Hitogami must have loved feeding you that lie."
Aleksander's expression twisted. "Hitogami? Don't you dare—! I'm no apostle!"
"Relax," Ryuta said coldly. "I didn't say you were. The apostle was that greedy king. He's the one who sold you the lie about Asura becoming corrupted, didn't he?"
Aleksander blinked. "No… no, that can't be true. He—he worked towards order, for a better world, for his people—!"
"He set you up," Ryuta cut in. "He wanted me captured—to use me as a mana source for necromancy. You were bait, Aleksander. A pawn. He even planned for you to be the only survivor."
Aleksander's breath hitched, horror warring with denial. "Stop. Stop lying. That's—no. I know—"
"You don't know anything," Ryuta snapped. "That massacre you thought proved Asura's corruption? Those nobles were victims—blackmailed by the old prime minister to keep control."
"Lies!" Aleksander shouted, veins standing out on his neck. "Everything I did was for justice!"
"Justice?" Ryuta's eyes flashed. "You invaded a kingdom still rebuilding, still trying to heal. You would've butchered innocents based on whispers. You didn't purge evil—you served it."
Aleksander staggered back, voice shaking. "No… no, that's impossible. I would have seen it. I—I followed him because someone had to. Because no one else would."
"And now look at you," Ryuta said coldly. "Broken. Alone. Your justice is ashes. Your father's legacy? A curse on the world."
Aleksander's head snapped up. "Don't you speak about him!"
Ryuta didn't flinch. "Do you even know what he did? The Strife Zone exists because of your father. He murdered a priest who kept the chaos sealed. Thought he was saving the land—he damned it instead."
Aleksander's breath hitched. "That's… that's a lie. My father fought for the greater good! He—"
"Destroyed it," Ryuta finished. "And he chose to carry that guilt for the rest of his life. You would've ended the same way—just more pathetic. The fool who got played."
Aleksander's voice cracked, trembling with anger and despair. His legs gave out, and he dropped to his knees. "Wha… I…?"
Ryuta's gaze sharpened. "Here's one truth left for you. Laplace will return within the century. And Orsted prepares for that moment."
Aleksander's mouth opened, but no sound came. The name alone froze his blood.
"Laplace…? But—Grandfather defeated him. He killed him. That's what—"
"No one killed the Demon God," Ryuta said, calm and merciless. "Before the seal could take him, Laplace used an ancient Dragon technique to send his soul forward in time. When he returns, war will follow—and the world must be ready."
Aleksander's breathing quickened. Every belief his family lived by cracked apart. His grandfather's triumph, his father's training, his own purpose—hollowed out.
He pressed his remaining hand to his chest, feeling the pulse that refused to stop.
"Then… what was it all for?" he whispered.
Ryuta said nothing. The silence was answer enough.
Aleksander's gaze unfocused, drifting over the glowing lines of the circle. For a long moment, he looked lost—a child staring at ruins he'd helped build.
"If everything was a lie…" he murmured, voice breaking, "then at least let me make one truth in my path of becoming a hero."
He lifted his head, eyes bloodshot but steady. "I'll fight. For this world. For Dragon God Orsted. If the Demon God truly returns, then let me bear the duty—and the blade—to finish what my grandfather had started."
Light flared beneath him as he straightened, finding purpose in the wreckage of his beliefs. "I am North God Kalman III, Aleksander Rybak—seventh of the Seven Great World Powers. And I will fight under the Dragon God Orsted."
Ryuta's lips curved faintly. With a flick of wind, the barrier shattered.
Freedom.
That is, until Aleksander took one step forward—then the air itself crushed him down.
Invisible pressure forced him to his knees, bones creaking. His breath came in ragged bursts. "What—are you—"
In the next moment, Ryuta's hand plunged into his chest.
Aleksander's eyes went wide, choking as Ryuta's fingers closed around his heart, not quite crushing it, but also not loose enough for Aleksander not to feel the pressure it had on him.
They both made eye contact, but all Aleksander saw was the lack of light in Ryuta's eyes.
"Shut up," Ryuta whispered. "You are at the bottom. Not just under Orsted. Under me, too. That's part of your redemption."
Aleksander thrashed weakly, gasping, "I'll never bow—!"
"You already did when you swore to serve Orsted," Ryuta said, voice trembling between fury and anguish. "Do you even realize what you've done to me? You broke me. You made me live that nightmarish past again."
Aleksander's breath hitched, the words barely coming out of his mouth. "I—I didn't—"
"You did," Ryuta hissed. "Your benevolence. Your obedience. Your misconception. This—" he pressed harder on Aleksander's heart "—is what brought you here."
Blood flecked Aleksander's lips, his voice finally reaching out. "Stop! I'll fight! I'll fight for Orsted!"
Ryuta's cracked smile turned razor-thin. "No. You'll fight for him and me. That's how you pay for your sins."
Then, suddenly, Ryuta withdrew his hand.
Aleksander collapsed, clutching at his chest, his heart hammering in terrified rhythm.
Ryuta stood above him, voice cool and distant. "Our rematch—if it ever happens—will end with me holding your severed head."
Aleksander froze.
For the first time, the Seventh of the Seven Great World Powers—North God Kalman III—felt fear. Not of death, but of something he could never hope to understand.
A monster born from everything he once believed was righteous.
///