"Courting death!" Yanek snapped, fury boiling away his fear.
"Inferno Whisper!"
Flames spiraled around him, forming a ring in the sky.
But then—
"Yanek!" Hogar's voice cut in, laced with panic.
"What—?" Yanek scowled, confused. As he swept the air with his spiritual sense, his eyes widened.
All around them, the shells detonated.
But there was no blast—only a mist of deep red.
As thick, iron-scented liquid sprayed through the air, a rain of blood fell on the two Magicians.
"—Aaaagh!"
Screams echoed through the sky, sharp and unnatural.
In seconds, their aura collapsed—like breath sucked out of the world.
They tried to resist, but their bodies gave in, crashing from the sky.
Soldiers surged in, weapons raised.
But when they saw what was left of the two Magicians—
Even the most hardened among them flinched.
The proud figures from moments ago now lay slumped and ruined.
Their hair had turned white. Their faces aged in seconds—skin sagging, drained of essence."
Yanek was barely breathing, gasping with shallow breaths. Hogar held on, but barely. His spirit flickered—dim, unsteady.
The battlefield had turned silent.
Not just the soldiers, even Angus—watching from the shadows—felt a chill crawl down his spine.
"If you surrender now, our Commander promises to spare your lives!" a soldier called out, his voice echoing across the silence.
Hogar coughed, bloody and broken, his gaze drifting toward Yanek.
'Surrender?'
He looked like he wanted to respond, maybe say something brave, but instead—he laughed.
A weak, bitter laugh that barely escaped his throat.
Yanek knew what was coming. He met Hogar's eyes and slowly shook his head.
With trembling fingers, he passed over his storage ring as his voice barely moved in the air.
"Go… At least... one of us will remember the stars."
His head dropped forward—and he was gone.
Suddenly, the sky tore open.
A crimson dragon emerged above, writhing in agony, its roars shaking the clouds.
It fought. Struggled. Clawed at something unseen.
But it was useless.
Its body thinned, bones cracking inward—until all that remained was skin.
Then—a gnarled, ancient root pierced through what was once the mighty beast and consumed it whole.
A strange, tragic beauty spread across the heavens, illuminating the world below.
At that moment, every being who saw it—human or not—heard the same words whispered through their minds:
"Tier 2 Wizard Yanek T'soan. A mortal for two centuries. Attained Arcana through the Wyrmroot. Fell in the Aether Dimension, struck down by mortals and the Terrene Mist."
"With his lifespan severed and Arcane lost, now, he returns to the stars."
All who watched… fell silent.
Beasts stilled.
Even the world seemed to mourn.
The vision lingered—haunting and majestic—for nearly half an hour before finally fading.
And when it was gone, the soldiers turned back to Hogar.
He was still there. Still breathing. But barely.
"Master Hogar, our Commander doesn't wish for more bloodshed."
"If you surrender now, your life will be spared…"
The soldiers kept repeating their message, but he didn't respond to their pleas.
Angus, hidden in the shadows, sighed.
'It's over,' he thought bitterly.
'I underestimated the Terrene Mist.'
'I thought I could catch a Magician alive…'
'But… it turns out Terrene Mist is a poison... to the Magicians.'
Meanwhile, Hogar stood motionless, eyes fixed on the sky where the vision had vanished.
"… The Wyrmroot," he murmured, his voice quiet and thoughtful.
Then, he straightened his battered frame and scanned the area, trying to sense the presence lurking behind all this.
"I don't know who you are," Hogar said into the open air. "Or what you're really after."
His fingers tightened around the ring Yanek had left him.
"Maybe it's the Arcanist Method. Maybe something worse."
"You hide in the shadows, moving pieces without ever stepping onto the board."
"But it doesn't matter. You used us—and drove us to the edge."
"For that, I have nothing more to say."
His gaze sharpened.
"But... I won't kneel."
He took a slow breath, his voice turning cold.
"My brother deserved better."
Then, without any further word,
Hogar began to rise, floating above the crowd, his gaze sweeping over the stunned soldiers.
"You pull strings, but never bleed. Scheme, but never suffer. And you think that makes you powerful?"
His face was unreadable. Neither anger nor sorrow. Only stillness.
"Someone like you—who dares not face us, who hides behind mortals, who uses the Terrene Mist…" Hogar's voice turned cold.
"... You're nothing more than a coward."
He raised his chin slightly.
"You saw my brother's Arcana," he said.
"Now see mine."
His voice rang out like thunder:
"Forged by the breath of heaven and earth—this is my Arcana."
Above them, a colossal iron sword burst into existence, jagged and broken.
Every creature below it felt it—like their minds had rusted over, thoughts slowed to a crawl.
"Watch closely," Hogar said calmly. "Moon Slash."
The sky split.
Time froze.
Then Oremaw City—shattered like glass.
Far below, Angus watched the world collapse. His voice was a whisper.
"…Blur."
The necklace around his neck dimmed and the energy restoration gauge plummeted.
Then a mechanical voice resounded in his mind.
"Existence Reset."
...
Angus slowly stirred, his mind still echoing with the memory of Hogar's final strike.
'So… this is what a magician is truly capable of,' he thought, stunned.
Yanek's earlier display—enough to level an entire city—had already shaken him. But Hogar's sword… that was something else entirely.
Something beyond comprehension.
'I couldn't even grasp the full swing,' Angus realized. 'Just watching it made my mind freeze.'
It was like watching a tidal wave crash while being nothing more than an insect on the shore.
'Without the Terrene Mist... even if I died a hundred times and schemed through every timeline...'
'I still wouldn't stand a chance,' he admitted silently. The thought left him both strangely comforted and deeply rattled.
'But what is this Terrene Mist, really?' Angus's brow furrowed.
'Magicians were once mortal—so why does the blood of mortals suppress them this much?'
There was something unsettling buried in that logic… something he couldn't quite name.
But now wasn't the time.
'Focus.'
"Let's assess this life's outcome first," he muttered, shifting gears.
The plan had unfolded mostly as intended—he lured the two out, bled them slowly with cursed bullets, used the Arcanist Method to distract them, then finished it off with a blood rain soaked in mortal decay—Terrene Mist, bane of Arcana.
'But... what I didn't expect… was how lethal the Mist turned out to be. Yanek died because of it.'
'I thought all that 'brotherhood' talk was just bluff… but it turned out to be real.'
'Unbelievable… and dangerous.'
When the trap was sprung, Hogar had warned Yanek without hesitation. And Yanek—fully aware of his fate—handed over the Method to Hogar.
'He knew he was going to die,' Angus realized.
'And Hogar… he didn't run.'
''He didn't even hesitate to burn his own life just to make sure someone paid for it.'
'There was no performance in their loyalty. No pretense.'
'Just two Magicians… who'd meant everything to each other.'
He watched the memory of Hogar's strike echo through empty space, felt the weight of power he couldn't match.
'They died because they had someone to die for.'
He exhaled, sharp and dry.
'And someday, they'll all die for someone else again.'
'But... I... I have no one to die for....'
'And that's why... I'll live.'