The war was at its peak.
Across the ruined plains of Aerith's Divide, dust and flame swallowed the skies. Screams and spells blended into a rising roar of chaos. Shattered boulders hovered midair from energy backlash, while ash rained down like snowfall. The battlefield was scorched by sorcery, blades clashed with furious momentum, and blood fed the earth beneath.
In this madness, Mythic-ranked warriors, Omegas, Alphas, even Apex Knights collapsed beside torn standards. Zenith Kaelen of Obreth fought with blazing valor, his radiant glaive humming with solar heat as it tore through ranks of Magic Knights, his armor scorched but his stance firm. On the other side, Arslan—flames licking his shadowed body—struck down thirteen enemies with devastating precision. His techniques—Dread Spike Guard, TRINEX Surge, Split Pulse, and the devastating Volthren burst—unleashed a wrath no ordinary mortal could counter.
But even with their might, the enemy's tide wouldn't end.
From the eastern slope, horns suddenly pierced the thundering storm of battle.
"DOOOORUUUMMM!!!"
Drums answered. Thunderous. Deep. Rhythmic. It was not another battalion from Eshalorn, but something else. A noble kind of march.
Through the smoke, flags emerged.
Blue, Silver, Crimson.
Then the glint of elite armor.
King Musib of Varneth, clad in obsidian ceremonial steel, rode atop a wyvern draped in gold chains.
Beside him, on a colossal armored white elk, rode King Vange Cob of Thornevale, tall, old yet fierce-eyed, his green cloak fluttering like a banner of rebirth.
To their left, from the northern edge, marched King Sung Kimchi of Cael'Lorien, his soldiers draped in radiant blue silks beneath chainmail, moving like an ocean current—disciplined, graceful, unshakable.
Their arrival shattered the chaos.
A booming voice rose over the field.
"STAND DOWN!"
King Musib raised a fist. His generals echoed the order.
Magic Knights hesitated.
The Echelon Knights held position, wounded but unmoved.
The air shifted.
The clanging paused.
The war froze in place.
---
The three kings moved directly to the frontline, where King Farhan stood amidst the injured, his robes stained with ash and sweat, his crown battered but still gleaming. King Mamba of Eshalorn stood opposite, his army silent behind him, flame swirling from the edge of his Fire Blade.
King Musib was the first to speak. His voice was firm, his tone neutral yet commanding:
> "Mamba. Farhan. End this now. We are kings, not butchers."
King Vange Cob turned to Mamba. His tone wasn't angry—it was disappointed:
> "Mamba, your fire should have scorched the devils, not your brothers. We stand at the edge of extinction. Why is your blade turned inward?"
King Mamba's face twitched. His eyes remained narrow, burning with grief and vengeance.
> "You all stood silent when I lost my blood... my people... Farhan was warned... and yet... Eshalorn suffered. I will never forgive."
Suddenly, before anyone could react, King Mamba rushed forward—
FWOOSH!
His Fire Blade ignited with volcanic fury, arcing toward King Farhan's chest.
In a blink—
SHRAAAAKK!
A luminous shield of shadow and light exploded into place. A combination strike.
Arslan appeared with his arms wide open, shadows swirling like serpents, while Kaelen's glaive anchored a radiant arc into the shield.
The Fire Blade struck—
BOOOOOM!!!
Repelled.
King Mamba staggered backward.
In that same moment, four curved Shadow Blades hovered at Mamba's throat, mere inches from his skin.
Arslan's voice cut through the silence like cold iron:
> "One wrong move... and these blades will leave you in pieces. Don't test me."
The battlefield froze.
The flames around King Mamba hissed but didn't rise.
Everyone watched. Everyone breathed only when Arslan relaxed his hand.
King Sung Kimchi stepped forward, his expression gentle but resolute:
> "Enough. The devils are regrouping. The rifts widen. The demon sites evolve. This isn't our true war."
> "You want vengeance, Mamba? Earn it against the ones who broke us all—not against those who still stand beside you."
A quiet passed.
Then Arslan lowered the Shadow Blades. They faded like smoke in the breeze.
King Farhan took a breath, stepped forward, and said clearly for all to hear:
> "I forgot the past. I invited you to the Grand Meeting, you rejected. But I extend the hand again. If we unite, we still stand a chance."
All eyes turned to King Mamba.
King Vange Cob added in a tone of old wisdom:
> "We cannot change yesterday. But we can save tomorrow. Come back, Mamba. Your place is among us."
King Mamba's expression didn't change.
He turned, stepped backward, then spoke to his troops:
> "We're leaving."
No further words. No bows. No nods.
He vanished into the smoke, his army following.
---
When the dust settled, King Musib and King Sung addressed the gathered Echelon Knights, who stood bloodied but tall:
> "You have done what legends could not," said Musib. "You've protected not just one kingdom—but the entire balance."
> "Your names will be carved into stone and story," said Sung. "You faced the Magic Knights... and did not yield."
Kaelen of Obreth, though silent, bowed slightly to the other kings—a gesture of honor from Zenith to royalty.
Arslan stood with closed eyes, exhausted but focused.
Then the kings returned to their mounts. The soldiers began withdrawing.
Trumpets blew low, mournful but proud.
And as twilight began to color the smoke-stained skies, peace—however fragile—returned to Aerith's Divide.
The war had ended.
For now.