"Why… Albert?" Master Eizo's voice cracked.
The old martial arts instructor was on one knee, blood trickling down from a gash at his temple, his attire torn and smeared with dust.
He had faced cyclops, blades, and chaos only moments ago—yet nothing cut him deeper than the sight of Albert stepping forward.
Albert… the boy he had seen as a son.
Albert… the student he had defended from bullies, encouraged when he doubted himself, praised when he grew.
Albert… who now stood beside a traitor.
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Albert didn't look ashamed.
He didn't waver.
He didn't bow his head.
His jaw clenched, and his voice carried a bitterness that had clearly fermented for years.
"Y'all watched my father killed like a criminal," Albert said, his eyes burning—red with rage, wet with grief. "You all stood there and did nothing. Not one word. Not one hand raised. Not one of you defended him."
Master Eizo's breath caught.
The other students stared, stunned.
"I'm going to get my revenge on all of you," Albert continued, and then his gaze snapped to the emperor like a blade being drawn. "Especially your emperor."
Gasps rippled across the surviving fighters.
Albert's hatred was no longer hidden.
It was a storm, finally unleashed.
And it was aimed directly at Josh Aratat.
Aloysius burst into delighted laughter.
"Don't worry," he smirked, stepping closer to Josh. "He will die either way."
He turned to the emperor—who trembled with fury he struggled to contain—as if presenting him with a cruel joke.
"So, what's it going to be?" Aloysius asked lightly, almost playfully. "Will you sacrifice yourself for your precious Lola… or will you watch her die screaming?"
The arena held its breath.
Prince Typh tightened his grip on the pregnant empress.
Lola cried out—not in fear for herself, but for Josh.
"No…!" Lola's voice broke. "Forget about me! Josh, don't you dare—"
But her husband was already stepping forward.
"No," Josh whispered—not to her, but to the generals trying desperately to hold him back.
Naze, Joab, Shammah, Adino, and Relia tried to restrain him, shouting warnings, begging him to stop, but Josh tore himself free.
He pushed past them, refusing to let the woman he loved be defiled a second longer.
Every step he took toward Aloysius was heavy.
Not with fear…
but with the weight of an emperor's final decision.
Aloysius grinned wider with each step.
"Come closer," he whispered. "Come claim your fate."
Josh reached him.
The world seemed to pause—
—and Aloysius struck.
He didn't hesitate.
He didn't savor.
He drove the blade forward in one clean, merciless motion straight into Josh's heart.
The emperor gasped.
Every general roared in terror.
Lola screamed so loudly her voice tore.
Students fell to their knees.
Civilians wailed.
Even the cyclops halted, stunned by the magnitude of the moment.
Josh staggered back, eyes widening in shock as the life drained out of him.
Aloysius stepped away casually, letting the emperor collapse to the ground like discarded fabric.
And so it happened:
Josh Aratat—the emperor of the Nazare Blade Empire, beloved by millions, the man who once shook mountains and dyed oceans with the force of his power—fell to the dirt.
A good man died.
A great empire lost its light.
And a new darkness began.
"That's for my father—Emperor Groa Aratat!" Prince Aloysius spat, his face twisting with vengeance. His voice echoed across the devastated arena. "You murdered him just to sit on that throne. And besides… that seat was never meant for you."
His words sliced through the air almost as deeply as the blade he had just buried in Josh's heart.
Then something impossible happened.
Above the arena, the sky rippled—like a pond disturbed by a single drop of water—and a phantom manifested.
A spectral image of Josh Aratat hovered there, formed entirely of starlight and fading breath. The emperor's spirit raised a hand, touching his fist to his chest in the ancient salute of farewell.
Then he bowed.
Bowed to the people.
To the land.
To the empire he had loved more than his life.
And as the bow deepened… his spectral form dissolved into shimmering dust carried away by the wind.
A sound tore through the empire.
A howl—like the earth itself was mourning.
Like mountains were grieving.
Like the sky was splitting open.
Screams followed.
Cries.
Collapse.
Everyone… everyone felt the exact moment their emperor died. Even faraway cities felt a pressure drop, as though the empire had exhaled its last shared breath.
In this chaos, a radiant surge of mana burst into existence.
Amber Nois—the Great Archmage—materialized in the center of the arena, robes fluttering in a cyclone of golden magic. Before anyone could comprehend her presence, tendrils of spell-light expanded from her fingers, wrapping around:
—Lola
—the generals
—the surviving students
—the civilians nearby who hadn't yet fallen
In a single shimmering blink, she teleported them all away.
Just before she vanished, she thrust her palm toward Aloysius, unleashing a spell strong enough to flatten a mountain—
—but it shattered harmlessly a meter from his body, deflecting off an invisible artifact glowing faintly on his chest.
A magical immunity relic.
Amber's eyes widened.
An absolute nullifier? In a Rank 1 empire? How—?
She didn't even have time to finish the thought. Cyclops charged.
She vanished.
The Nymph Empire's army froze, stunned by the way she appeared and disappeared like a flicker of forbidden light.
Aloysius looked around—the arena, once filled with thousands, was now eerily empty. The only ones left were the foreign army, the traitors, and the dead.
Josh's body was gone.
Lola gone.
Naze gone.
The generals gone.
Every promising young fighter and mage—gone.
For a moment, confusion flickered in Aloysius's eyes…
But only for a moment.
He grinned.
"Perfect," he said, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves. "Loose ends can be hunted later. The Nazare Blade Empire is mine."
Lord Glaivus, however, was not as easily satisfied. His brows furrowed beneath his jeweled crown.
"What just happened?" Glaivus growled. He despised anomalies. He despised anything he didn't foresee.
Aloysius waved casually, already walking toward the exit of the ruined arena.
"Relax, Lord Glaivus. If I were to guess, the meddler was Amber Nois. The Great Archmage." He spread his arms smugly. "But as you saw—our artifact makes us impervious to magic. She couldn't kill us. Couldn't touch us. Could only run like a rat."
Glaivus considered this… and finally nodded.
"Very well."
Aloysius smirked deeper, emboldened by the acknowledgment.
"Our goal is achieved. The emperor is dead. His body gone, but his throne empty. The empire—wide open. As agreed, we take it… and divide the spoils."
Glaivus raised a hand, giving command to the Nymph soldiers who remained.
"Boys," he drawled, stepping forward with the leisure of someone who already owned everything his eyes saw, "let's head to the capital city."
He laughed—a deep, cruel laugh that seemed to carry the promise of ruin.
"I want the crowning ceremony done today."