Not a sound was made.
Before anyone sensed it, she was already there.
The air itself buckled under the weight of her presence—overwhelming, absolute. An impossibly beautiful woman with flowing blue hair stood calmly in the room, as though the world had adjusted itself to accommodate her existence. Even without prior meeting, her identity was unmistakable.
She was beyond the curtain.
The one seated beside the Emperor.
The one known as the Marshal.
"V–Velgrynd-sama…"
Damrada's voice escaped him before he could stop it.
A True Dragon.
The intruder's expression stiffened as reality settled in. This was not comparable to any previous encounter. Power was no longer a matter of winning or losing. To challenge such an existence directly was nothing short of self-destruction.
And yet—retreat was not an option.
If the front door was sealed, then another path would be taken. The board was still in play, and as long as pieces remained, the game was not over.
"I never imagined the Empire's Marshal would truly be a True Dragon. Now I understand why Guy refuses to act lightly."
Velgrynd smiled faintly.
"How rare. A human who does not crumble at the sight of me. I'll commend you for that."
"Then allow me to ask you to leave."
"I won't. I'm not here for you," she replied calmly. "My lord is."
She stepped back.
Only then did the Emperor's presence become clear.
Standing beside her was a man clad in garments of absurd luxury, each thread radiating authority. His golden hair gleamed faintly, and his eyes—sharp, all-seeing—held a pressure that devoured the will of those who met his gaze.
There was no mistaking him.
"—Emperor Rudra."
Damrada dropped to one knee at once, not caring if his clothes were ruined.
"This is His Majesty Rudra," he declared. "The pinnacle of the Empire."
The Emperor regarded the intruder calmly.
"I'm busy," Rudra said evenly. "My game with Guy is nearing its end. I have little time for distractions."
Then came the order—spoken softly, yet pressing down like the weight of the heavens.
"Serve me. I will not strip you of your will."
It was not persuasion.
It was law.
Knees nearly buckled under the force of it.
This was not mere domination, nor a skill-based compulsion. This was something far worse—divinely inspired authority, the kind that bent the world simply by existing. The intruder resisted with everything they had.
Rudra chuckled.
"Impressive. You resisted on instinct alone."
Blood spilled. Rage followed. The grip was broken—but only barely.
Velgrynd leaned closer to Rudra, amused.
"You should be gentler. Your presence alone can crush them before they even realize what's happening."
Rudra frowned slightly, then shrugged.
"Is that so?"
Humiliation burned.
Enough.
"You rule the world," the intruder spat, steadying themselves. "And yet you still haven't conquered it. That's incompetence, no matter how you dress it."
Velgrynd's smile vanished.
"Shall I kill them?"
"No," Rudra replied. "Defiant pieces are more entertaining."
A dismissal. Absolute.
With no room left for words, the intruder lunged—pouring everything into a single strike meant to seize the Emperor himself.
They never reached him.
Velgrynd moved.
Not fast—absolute.
She caught the hand effortlessly.
The energy that surged back was catastrophic. It flooded the intruder's body far beyond tolerance, tearing through them from the inside. Bones screamed. Blood poured. Had the reaction been even a moment slower, destruction would have been total.
Velgrynd released them, untouched.
The gap was undeniable.
This was the level that stood equal to Guy.
Despair set in—but surrender did not.
Rudra stepped forward.
"I'll handle this. If you withstand my domination, you win."
It was a challenge. And a declaration of certainty.
The Emperor raised his hand.
"—Regalia Dominion."
The world collapsed inward.
This was not borrowed authority.
This was the true Ultimate Skill—Justice King Michael, unrestrained and absolute.
Resistance shattered.
The intruder collapsed.
Silence followed.
Velgrynd glanced down.
"You're letting them live?"
"Yes," Rudra replied calmly. "They resisted. That alone makes them interesting."
He turned to Damrada.
"When they wake, see to them."
"At once, Your Majesty."
Rudra departed, Velgrynd at his side.
As the Emperor moved, the world shifted.
That night, the sky bled red despite the hour. Crimson rain fell without pause, drenching the capital.
The purge had begun.
The eastern city of the Armed Nation of Dwargon was sealed tight by sixty thousand troops.
At least, that was how it looked.
In truth, the blockade was nothing more than a veil. Behind closed doors, both sides understood the reality: they were allies, not enemies. That fragile balance was exactly why the commanders were uneasy. One mistake—one misunderstanding—would be enough to turn cooperation into slaughter.
At the far end of the encampment, however, the mood was lighter.
Tents filled the plains, laughter and idle talk spilling from within. Dice clicked, food was shared, and jokes were exchanged. Even so, no one fully relaxed. Every soldier carried the same restrained tension, the kind born of discipline rather than fear. It spoke volumes about their training.
Their morale was high for a reason.
At this very moment, their leaders were holding a decisive meeting. The fate of a rebellion—of tearing down the Empire and raising a new nation in its place—was about to be decided. All eyes were turned toward the capital. All hearts were filled with expectation.
That was why they noticed it at once.
"So… red?"
"Is the capital burning?"
"What happened? Don't tell me they uncovered everything?!"
No one believed this was coincidence. On a night this important, such an omen could only mean one thing.
Something had happened to the leadership.
"Should we send scouts?"
"No—organize first!"
"Are you insane?! That would expose us completely!"
With no superior on site, panic spread fast. The so-called Mixed Corps—once mocked as a patchwork force—lost cohesion in an instant.
"Enough."
The single word carried weight.
A massive man stepped forward, eyes still half-lidded. His name was Zero, the acting commander of the corps, placed there by unseen hands higher up the chain.
"Do not act on your own," he said coldly. "We stay here. We wait. That order does not change."
There was no argument. Unsure of the correct course, the soldiers clung to the only authority left.
Still, the unease lingered.
And then—
"Good evening, fools. Just because it's a pleasant night doesn't mean you should forget where you stand."
She walked down the road as if on a stroll.
Leisurely. Unhurried.
A breathtaking woman with long blue hair.
Velgrynd.
"W-who are you?!"
The outer guards shouted, weapons raised. Anyone bold enough to approach an encamped army alone was either mad—or something far worse. Alarm signals were sent at once. Soldiers moved to surround her.
One man, confident in his strength, stepped forward.
"Hey, woman. You've got guts, but don't you see how many of us there are? We're the Mixed Corps, the strongest—"
"It's amusing," Velgrynd interrupted calmly, "how the weak insist on calling themselves the strongest. I might have ignored it as bravado, but allowing such delusions at the corps level is unacceptable."
The words alone crushed the air.
This was not arrogance.
This was authority—absolute and unquestionable.
Even the lowest-ranking soldier understood it. And Zero understood it best.
When he arrived and laid eyes on her, his face drained of color.
"I… I apologize, Lord Marshal."
He had never seen her before. He didn't need to.
The presence was unmistakable—the same overwhelming pressure said to exist beside the Emperor himself.
"Oh? So a few of you are perceptive," Velgrynd said lightly. "Good. I've been instructed not to annihilate you. I'll entertain myself until the others arrive."
That was all she said.
The slaughter began.
Far away, King Gazel of Dwargon lived each day under growing dread.
The war alone was burden enough. But the reports piling onto his desk made his stomach twist.
What in the world is Atem thinking?
The news was unbelievable. Not only had his forces grown stronger—his subordinates had crossed thresholds no nation should tolerate lightly.
Unlike the childish idealism others might have shown, Atem ruled Eterna with a king's resolve. He did not empower his followers recklessly. Every evolution, every ascent, was calculated.
That was precisely what terrified Gazel.
A "True Demon Lord" was not a title—it was a state of existence. A monster that had awakened fully, standing just below the realm of catastrophe. And now, multiple beings of that caliber served under Atem.
It was not excess.
It was preparation.
Gazel had shared his worries with Elmesia. In the end, all they could do was watch. Intervene too early, and they risked war. Intervene too late, and survival itself would be in question.
"I don't want that future," Gazel muttered.
Then came the next report.
"The Mixed Corps is in motion! They're… being destroyed."
Magic communication followed at once.
‹This is no human work,› came the strained voice of Admiral Vaughn. ‹Not a demon lord either. This is… something else.›
‹A True Dragon?›
‹Yes. I'm certain now. Velgrynd.›
Images flooded in.
The sky burned. Soldiers fell like leaves. Velgrynd moved with serene grace, flames blooming in her wake.
Then—
Her eyes turned toward the surveillance magic.
The crystal shattered.
"She noticed us…"
"That's impossible…"
"She traced the spell back?!"
Gazel needed no further explanation.
This was the meaning of "strongest."
No amount of preparation could close this gap.
"I will go myself," Gazel declared.
Objections rose at once, but Jaine cut them off.
"If he does not go, Dwargon is finished."
The decision was made.
As the Pegasus Knights took flight, Gazel found his thoughts drifting—not to fear, but to Eterna.
Atem.
Not naive.
Not reckless.
A king who moved his pieces only when the board demanded it.
Perhaps… this power was never meant for conquest.
Perhaps it was survival.
For the first time that night, Gazel smiled.
"Your Majesty?" Dolph asked.
"Nothing," Gazel replied softly. "Just a reminder."
A reminder that when kings truly began to move—
the world itself had no choice but to follow.