The land chosen by Veldora stretched wide and empty, a sea of sand and dry wind. Nothing grew here, not even stubborn grass. The sky stretched so far that it felt like even the clouds had given up. It was the perfect stage: no cities, no innocents, no kingdoms to be caught in the storm. Just them… and the inevitable arrival of Vorathis.
They had been here for three days. In that time, Veldora and the rest had raised makeshift shelters—large wooden halls that looked almost comical in the barren wasteland. Milim had insisted on painting hers bright pink with streaks of gold, while Guy built something that resembled a throne room instead of a house. Velzard and Velgrynd had gone with elegant icy-white and flaming-red lodgings, like their rivalry written in architecture. Diablo, Testarossa, Ultima, and Carrera had set theirs up like villas with sharp, luxurious touches—because even temporary housing, according to Diablo, "must reflect dignity."
And in the center, Veldora's hall, wide enough to host a feast, stood as the gathering place.
It was there, one late evening as the crimson sun dipped under the horizon, that Veldora felt the whisper in his mind.
Saiki.
"Where were you?" Veldora asked telepathically, his voice like a booming echo in thought. He glanced around the hall, but no one else noticed anything.
Saiki, leaning invisibly against a pillar, answered in his usual flat tone: "I just went to visit someone special."
Veldora's eyes narrowed, a spark of curiosity breaking through his regal calm. "Someone special? Who could possibly be 'special' to you, Saiki Kusuo?"
"Yare yare… don't be so noisy," Saiki muttered, sounding as if he were already tired of explaining. "Just get ready for what's coming."
Veldora smirked to himself, but didn't push further. If Saiki didn't want to talk, no force in the Cardinal world could make him.
That night, they gathered inside Veldora's hall. A long table stretched through the center, covered in food that Milim had insisted on bringing. She was already munching through a mountain of roasted meat while the others sat more reserved.
"Still no sign of Vorathis," Guy muttered, resting his cheek on his hand. His red eyes gleamed faintly in the firelight. "We wait, and the silence grows heavier. It's almost irritating."
"Almost?" Velgrynd raised a brow. "You're not the type to enjoy patience."
"Patience is for weaklings," Milim declared with her mouth full, pounding the table hard enough to rattle cups. "I say we just go find him and drag him here!"
Velzard gave her sister a cold glance. "Do you ever think before you speak, Milim?"
"Of course!" Milim grinned. "I think all the time—about food!"
Carrera snorted, nearly spilling her drink. "Pfft! Classic Milim."
Testarossa, sitting elegantly, tilted her head. "Though her idea is chaotic, there is truth in it. Sitting here waiting is… tiresome."
Diablo, calm as always, smiled faintly. "But remember, this land was chosen for a reason. Here, the fight will not endanger anyone. If Vorathis is as powerful as lord Veldora suggest, we cannot risk the rest of the world."
Veldora finally stood, his towering presence silencing them all. "We wait because this is not just about fighting. This is about protecting. If he comes and we are unprepared, lives may still be lost. Here, in this wasteland, we make our stand."
His voice thundered like a king delivering judgment. For a moment, even Milim stayed quiet.
Saiki, still invisible, sighed to himself. "Yare yare… dramatic as ever."
Far hidden in his own dimension....
Vorathis stood alone inside his chamber of shadows, the place where he planned his every strike. The air around him pulsed with red and black energy, the ceiling painted with drifting stars that weren't stars at all, but fragments of the countless realms he had walked through. He was silent, his burning eyes fixed on the void in front of him. He was about to unleash his full might on the strongest of the Cardinal world—Veldora, Velzard, Velgrynd, Milim, Guy, Diablo, Testarossa, Ultima, and Carrera.
That was the plan. A straightforward fight. A clash of strength to prove who was supreme.
But then Kaelor's voice reached him—calm, firm, but commanding.
"Vorathis."
Vorathis tilted his head, lowering his spear. "You summon me, master."
Kaelor's presence wrapped around him like chains of divine light. "I do not summon you. I instruct you. Change your approach. Do not make this trial a battle of brute force alone."
Vorathis's claw tightened on his weapon. "You doubt that I could crush them?"
"It is not about doubt," Kaelor answered. "It is about lesson. If you destroy them, they learn nothing. If they destroy you, they learn nothing. Give them a trial that forces them to see beyond themselves."
Vorathis growled deep in his chest, like a mountain cracking. "Then what would you have me do?"
"An illusion," Kaelor said. "A mirror of the Cardinal world. Let them believe their kingdoms burn, their people fall, their nations turn to ash. Let them fight not only for survival—but for the protection of all. Let them see what they claim to stand for. If they cannot protect, they cannot claim victory."
The chamber fell silent. Only Vorathis's breath echoed. His eyes narrowed, but not in rejection—rather, in thought. Slowly, a dangerous smile spread across his face.
"Ah… I see. A trial of consequence. Yes… this is far more fitting." He lowered his spear, letting its black edge touch the floor. "So be it, lord Kaelor. If they wish to stand against me, they will carry the weight of the entire Cardinal world on their shoulders."
Kaelor's voice faded like a whisper on the wind. "Do not fail me, Vorathis."
Vorathis stood in the center of the chamber, raising both arms as a storm of magic encircled him. Runes turned like grinding gears, drawing from realms beyond sight. He began to shape the illusion exactly as Kaelor instructed.
First came the lands themselves. He extended a claw and whispered:
"Stone halls of Dwargon, rise." And the dwarven kingdom appeared, filled with glowing forges, deep halls, and merchants busy at their trade.
"The Eastern Empire—unfurl your banners." Towering fortresses and endless legions took form.
"Ruberios… with your bells and cathedrals." White spires pierced the heavens.
"Falmuth, walls of trade and greed." A city bustling with movement, soldiers, and coin.
"Blumund, small yet stubborn." Simple homes, lively markets, and humble streets lit by lanterns.
He did not merely create images. He gave them life. Dwarves hammered steel. Priests sang hymns. Merchants bartered loudly in markets. Children played in the streets. Every sound, every smell, every flicker of firelight was real to the senses.
"Not even the dragons will know this is false," Vorathis said, his voice low and satisfied.
Next, he conjured the army, he created an illusionary host.
They rose from the mist like specters given armor. Tens of thousands, then hundreds of thousands. Each soldier tall as a man, faceless, clad in iron that gleamed like blood. Their spears burned with shadow-fire. Their shields pulsed as though alive.
He added monsters the size of fortresses—massive beasts with spiked backs and molten maws. He let winged leviathans circle in the crimson sky, their wings stirring violent winds.
"An army to make nations tremble," Vorathis murmured.
But he wasn't finished. He set them across the mirrored Cardinal world, poised before every nation. Some at Dwargon's gates. Some before Ruberios's cathedral walls. Others already marching on Blumund's narrow streets.
With a wave of his claw, fire streaked through the skies of the illusion. Castles collapsed. Civilians screamed. Cities broke apart.
"Yes…" Vorathis whispered. "They will believe this world burns. They will have no choice but to fight not only me, but to protect it all."
Vorathis planted his spear into the crystal floor and closed his eyes. He rehearsed what he would say when he faced Veldora and the rest.
"They think this is merely battle. They think defeating me is enough. How foolish." His voice grew darker. "I will show them their kingdoms on fire. I will show them their people broken. And then I will ask: Will you save them? Or will you watch them burn while you struggle for your own pride?"
He practiced the words, each syllable carrying weight like iron. He wanted his enemies to feel the illusion in their bones, to believe every scream, every ember was real.
"This is not a fight," Vorathis said to the silence of his chamber. "This will be their judgment."