The doors to the cafeteria flew open with a violent crash.
"It's bad—no, it's disastrous! Something beyond control has happened!"
A messenger stumbled inside, breath torn from his lungs, face pale with fear. Before anyone could even question him, another voice cut through the room, sharper and more urgent.
"A report from King Gazel of Dwargon! Velgrynd has appeared before the Mixed Corps on the eastern front. The situation is collapsing. His Majesty requests immediate assistance!"
For a brief moment, silence ruled the room.
Then Atem stood.
There was no panic in his movement. No haste.
No confusion. The instant he rose, the atmosphere shifted—as though an invisible weight had settled over everyone present. This was not a ruler reacting to crisis. This was a king acknowledging a move that had already been expected.
"Relay my answer to King Gazel," Atem said calmly.
"I will handle this."
The messengers froze.
"Y-Your Majesty… shall we mobilize the army?"
Atem's gaze did not waver.
"No."
The word was final—clean, sharp, unarguable.
"No troops. No generals. No banners raised," he continued. "I declared this war would be settled by my hand alone. That decision has not changed."
No one objected. No one dared.
Atem turned away from the stunned messengers and faced the far wall. His presence sharpened, authority condensing into something almost tangible.
"Activate Anubis, the Eternal Watcher."
The space before him warped.
Ancient sigils—black and gold—spiraled outward like a celestial eye opening to the world. Light folded in on itself, forming a vast projection. The stone wall dissolved, replaced by a living image of the eastern plains of Dwargon.
What appeared stole the breath from every witness.
The battlefield was no battlefield anymore.
Thousands of bodies were suspended in the air, crushed and twisted by invisible pressure. Blood fell in sheets, staining the land a deep, unnatural crimson. Yet the ground itself was untouched—no craters, no shattered earth.
At the center of this massacre walked a woman with azure hair bound high, clad in elegant military garb. She strolled through annihilation as though through a garden path.
Velgrynd.
Gravity itself obeyed her.
Atem's eyes narrowed.
"So," he said quietly, "she chooses terror as a language."
The projection shifted.
Velgrynd stopped mid-step.
Slowly, deliberately, she turned her head—not toward the surviving soldiers, but toward the projection itself.
Toward Atem.
For the first time, her smile vanished.
The air around her rippled.
Atem stepped forward—not physically, but in presence alone. Through Anubis, his image manifested before her: tall, unmoving, eyes glowing with an ancient, sovereign authority.
He did not raise his voice.
He addressed her.
"Velgrynd," Atem said, his voice echoing across the battlefield like a decree etched into reality itself.
"You slaughter an army and call it strength."
The sky trembled.
"You call yourself the strongest," he continued, unflinching, "yet all I see is a dragon hiding behind excess power."
The words struck.
For the first time since her arrival, Velgrynd's flames flared violently.
Her expression hardened—anger flashing openly across her face.
"…You dare," she said, her voice low, dangerous. "You dare speak to me like that?"
The pressure around her spiked, mountains in the distance groaning under the surge of magicules.
Atem did not flinch.
"If you truly believe yourself unmatched," he said, "then prove it."
Velgrynd's eyes burned.
"You presume to judge me? To summon me?" she snarled. "Do you have any idea who you're challenging?"
Atem's gaze sharpened.
"I know exactly who you are," he replied evenly. "And that is why I am calling you out."
The world seemed to hold its breath.
"Come to Eterna," Atem declared.
"Stand before me—alone."
His voice dropped, heavy with certainty.
"If you believe yourself the apex," he finished, "then face the king who does not need an army."
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then Velgrynd laughed—but it was not amused.
It was furious.
"…How arrogant," she said, flames roaring around her. "A self-proclaimed king challenging a True Dragon."
Her gaze sharpened into something predatory.
"Very well," she continued coldly. "If you wish to be taught despair, I will indulge you."
Atem's expression did not change.
"This is not a threat," he replied.
"It is an invitation—to be corrected."
The projection ended.
The cafeteria returned, but no one spoke. The weight of what had just transpired pressed down on every soul present.
Atem turned back to the messengers.
"Send my reply to King Gazel," he ordered. "Tell him to hold his people safe. Dwargon will stand."
"Yes, Your Majesty," they answered immediately.
Atem looked ahead, eyes steady, unshaken.
Velgrynd's fury no longer smoldered—it boiled.
Plans, calculations, contingencies… all of it shattered beneath the weight of her rage. The humiliation she had tasted earlier refused to fade, and every second that passed only sharpened it.
"I don't care anymore," Velgrynd declared coldly, her voice carrying the heat of a star on the verge of collapse. "I will go to Eterna myself. I will crush Atem and end this farce."
Beside her, Rudra narrowed his eyes.
"…It may be a trap."
Velgrynd turned her gaze on him, sharp and burning. "Then let it be. I am done tolerating defiance."
For a moment, Rudra considered it. He was not blind—he had ruled too long to dismiss danger outright. But arrogance, polished by countless victories, rose faster than caution.
He scoffed.
"A trap or not, the outcome will be the same," he said with a thin smile. "Yes, Velgrynd. Let us go. We will end this war once and for all. We will win the game—"
His eyes gleamed.
"—and claim the Labyrinth."
Without another word, the two sovereigns vanished into the sky, their passage tearing through the heavens as they crossed the distance to Eterna in mere moments.
They arrived expecting resistance.
They found nothing.
The city of Eterna lay silent beneath them—streets intact, towers unbroken, not a single sign of panic or evacuation. No soldiers. No citizens. No defensive formations. Not even lingering mana signatures of movement.
Velgrynd slowed midair, frowning.
"…Empty?"
Rudra scanned the surroundings, his perception spreading outward in layered waves. "No living beings. No ambush formations. No hidden armies."
His brow creased slightly. "Too clean."
They descended cautiously.
Then Velgrynd saw it.
At the center of a wide plaza, beneath an open sky, a single table had been placed. A porcelain tea set rested upon it, steam rising gently from one cup.
And seated calmly in a chair—
A woman with pale blue hair, relaxed posture, and eyes as cold as eternal winter.
Velgrynd froze.
"…No."
Her voice dropped.
"That's—"
Her sister slowly lifted the teacup, took an unhurried sip, and smiled.
"Welcome, Velgrynd."
The world seemed to still.
"Velzard," Velgrynd said, disbelief edging into her tone. "What are you doing here?"
Velzard gestured gracefully to the empty chairs across from her. "Please. Sit. There is no hostility here."
Rudra did not move at once. His gaze sharpened as he scanned the area again—more carefully this time.
"…Still nothing," he muttered. "No guards. No barriers. No tricks."
Velgrynd clenched her fist. "Speak, sister. Don't tell me you came here to stop us."
Velzard chuckled softly, the sound light yet heavy with implication.
"I did."
Velgrynd's eyes flared. "So it's true."
Velzard set her cup down. "I asked Atem for permission to speak with you first."
That name lingered in the air.
"I wanted to convince you," Velzard continued calmly, "to stop. To not attack. To end this war before it consumes you."
Rudra clicked his tongue sharply.
"Tch. First Guy Crimson, and now you," he said with open irritation. "Why are you all so wary of this Atem? Has the world grown that timid?"
Velzard's gaze shifted—not to Rudra, but to
Velgrynd.
"Velgrynd," she said gently, "you cannot win against Atem."
Velgrynd stiffened.
"…What?"
Rudra turned sharply. "Explain yourself."
Velzard did not look away from her sister. "Listen to me. Even Guy and I—"
She paused, choosing her words carefully.
"—were restrained by Atem. Not by force. Not by technique."
Her voice lowered.
"By his aura alone."
Velgrynd's breath caught for a fraction of a second.
Velzard continued, unwavering. "I do not know what kind of power he possesses. I do not know its origin or its limits. But I am certain of one thing."
She leaned forward slightly.
"Do not throw your life away."
Velgrynd's shock turned instantly into fury.
"Who do you think you're talking to?" she snapped. "My sister? Just because you and Guy failed does not mean we will."
Her presence surged outward, blazing.
"And do not forget," Velgrynd continued coldly, "True Dragons do not die. Even if we are slain, we will be reborn. That is our nature."
Velzard hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"…I am no longer certain of that."
Silence followed.
"The power I witnessed," Velzard said slowly, "was not destruction. It was erasure."
Velgrynd's eyes widened despite herself.
"He can erase your existence," Velzard said quietly. "Not your body. Not your soul."
She met Velgrynd's gaze directly.
"Your continuation. Your rebirth. Your return."
Velgrynd took a step back.
"…That's impossible," she said, though her voice lacked conviction. "We are the apex. If such a thing existed, our brother would have told us."
Velzard closed her eyes briefly.
"I thought the same."
Then she opened them.
"I am not sure anymore."
Velgrynd clenched her teeth. "You've grown soft."
Velzard smiled sadly. "Perhaps."
She rose from her seat and turned away. "I have said what I came to say. I have warned you."
Before leaving, she paused and looked back.
"It was good to see you again, Velgrynd."
Then she vanished—without sound, without ripple, without leaving even frost behind.
Velgrynd stood motionless.
Rudra broke the silence with a low chuckle. "So even True Dragons hesitate now."
Velgrynd's eyes burned brighter than before.
"Enough," she said. "We proceed."