Subtitle: The Formation Cracks
Ray watched as both his parents leapt down, diving headfirst into the chaos below to face their own challenges.
His jaw dropped.
He smacked his forehead in disbelief.
Both his mother and father had crucial roles—responsibilities tethered to the very skies—yet they had cast them aside. His mother, who had been commanding the protective formations for the entire fleet, had abandoned her post. And then his father, who was supposed to be leading the whole operation, had followed suit.
Ray let out a deep, frustrated sigh, his eyes narrowing. The hum of floating hot air balloons filled the air around him, their shadows stretching across the clouds like drifting ghosts. He turned toward Alicia, the third concubine of King Daymond—regal even amidst crisis, her presence composed and unshaken.
"Your Highness," Ray said, voice firm but respectful, "I need you to take the lead. You are the second-in-command after my father. The fleet needs direction—now."
Alicia gave a curt nod, her eyes already scanning the battlefield. She stepped forward with authority, her voice slicing through the tense air as she began barking orders. With a commanding presence honed from countless battles, she moved seamlessly into Robert's role—arguably better. The soldiers responded swiftly, their fear replaced with focus.
Ray exhaled, lifting some weight from his chest.
Then his gaze flicked to another balloon drifting nearby. His grandfather stood atop it, arms crossed, eyes sharp despite his age. Ray cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Grandfather! You need to take over the formation Mother left behind. Both my hot-headed parents went down and forgot they were supposed to lead and protect!"
He hurled a formation control disk through the wind. It spun through the air like a gleaming silver crescent. William caught it with ease, nodding grimly as he turned to reestablish control of the protective arrays.
Diana's POV
Formations clashed like dueling swords, shimmering into existence only to collapse under pressure. Diana moved with calculated grace, weaving runes in the air with ethereal threads of energy. Each motion was precise, fueled by both mastery and emotion.
But her opponent, Daniel, was no less prepared.
He countered, matched, broke, and reconstructed his own formations with equal tenacity. The field around them was a chaotic dance of runes and power, sizzling with spiritual energy.
Diana narrowed her eyes. "It seems I'm not the only one who came prepared."
Daniel chuckled, the corner of his mouth curling smugly. "Of course not. We anticipated your thirst for revenge. Whether small-scale ambush or full-blown war—we accounted for it all. We watched Robert. We saw him visit each of his wives' families, collecting formations, pills, weapons, talismans... We braced ourselves."
He took a step forward, summoning a glowing blue formation beneath his feet.
"But I'll admit—this attack, this strategy—it was brilliant. The damage you've done is massive. Whoever planned it was a genius. But don't think you've won yet."
A flicker of pride lit up Diana's eyes—her son. Her son had orchestrated this.
No words. Only action.
She shifted her stance, golden light coiling around her arms as her formations began evolving—faster, sharper, and deadlier. Daniel met her power with equal force, and once again, their duel raged on in a delicate, dangerous stalemate.
Robert's POV
Across another battlefield, wind whipped through the skies as Robert squared off against Roderic. The tension between them crackled, intensified by their clashing elements—lightning versus earth.
Both men unleashed their peak golden stage auras. The ground beneath trembled. The clouds above churned.
Robert's body shimmered with electricity, arcs of lightning crawling over his limbs like living serpents. Roderic, ever grounded, summoned the essence of earth itself, forming a hardened shell of defense.
Robert sprang forward, electricity igniting at his feet, creating scorching friction trails on the wooden planks of the airborne battlefield. His momentum built like a storm until he and his sword became one—a streak of raw lightning.
He slammed into Roderic's shield. The earth formation groaned, a massive dent left in its wake.
But Roderic only chuckled. "If that's all you've got, then this is going to be easy."
Robert backstepped, his breath steady. He'd fought too many battles to be rattled by elemental disadvantage. Earth countered lightning—true. But experience, cunning, and timing could tip any scale.
Roderic remained smug, arms crossed, waiting.
Robert dashed again. Lightning roared. But this time—he unleashed sword force.
The power of the Grandmaster Stage rippled outward like a tidal wave. The very air split as Robert pierced forward, no longer just a cultivator but a storm incarnate.
[A/N: Sword Force has five progressive stages:
Qi Stage – The beginner's grasp of sword energy.
Apprentice Stage – The cultivator learns to guide intent.
Warrior Stage – Power and technique align in combat.
Master Stage – Sword and cultivator begin to move as one.
Grandmaster Stage – Sword becomes an extension of soul and will. Few ever reach this level.]**
Roderic's eyes widened. Too late.
He reached for his blade, barely parrying in time. The force still sent him flying—hundreds of meters through the air. He tumbled, flipped, and skidded—finally landing, boots digging into the surface to halt the momentum.
Robert grinned, lightning dancing around him. Across the field, Roderic smirked back, dirt smudging his boots.
"That was good," Roderic admitted. "You're the first to make me draw my sword."
Then, his tone shifted, voice low and confident.
"But you're forgetting something. You're the leader King Daymond sent here. You accepted my challenge. Your wife, a genius formation master, is locked in battle with Daniel. But this—all of this—is our territory."
[A/N: Split-screen moment—anime style]
In two distant battlefields, their voices overlapped:
Roderic and Daniel (simultaneously):
"This is our territory—and someone far stronger than us rules this kingdom. You've underestimated us."
Above the Battlefield
The skies, once steady, now roared with a growing storm. The heat of battle gave way to a new, chilling tension.
A piercing cry tore through the clouds.
The King of Ashbourne ascended—riding a magnificent, terrifying flying beast. Its wings blotted out the sun, casting a shadow over the fleet. Then, with blade in hand, the king launched himself into the air, descending toward one of the hot air balloons protected by intricate formations.
With a single, devastating strike, his sword collided with the shield.
The formation trembled.
The crack spread like a spiderweb, pulsing with unstable energy.
At the same moment—betrayal.
A traitorous mage, hidden among Robert's ranks, struck with deadly precision. William, focused on maintaining the fleet's defense, barely had time to react. The disk in his hand flew from his grasp, spinning into the void.
From their distant battles, Diana and Robert looked up.
They saw the sky begin to fracture—their formation, their protection, now hanging by a thread.
The tide was turning.
And the storm was far from over.