The torrent of starlight had only just swept through the underground chamber.
A strange scent hung in the air — a mixture of stone dust and the sharp tang of ozone left behind after the air itself had been ionized. Countless motes of light still floated and drifted downward like silver dust, making the whole chamber seem like a dream beneath a starry sky.
That overwhelming magic — so pure, so vast it made the soul tremble — still hadn't completely dissipated.
In the far corner, Gildarts pressed down the brim of his hat, his eyes still wide with lingering awe. Erza gripped her sword tightly, her crimson pupils shrinking sharply as the last traces of starlight shimmered across them.
Both of them could sense it clearly — in that single instant before, a power that reigned above all, magnificent and absolute, had purified this space entirely.
At the source of that light, the "Black Sails" guild master — the man who had hidden behind all the chaos — was now in a wretched, unspeakable state.
His humanoid outline was burned into the far wall of the chamber, leaving behind a scorched depression shaped like his body.
There was no intact skin left upon him — only blackened burns and cracked wounds. Wisps of dark smoke seeped out from his seven orifices and torn flesh, only to vanish the moment they met the lingering power of the stars still saturating the air.
The shadow magic he had once taken pride in — powerful enough to devour light itself — was laughably fragile before that absolute, celestial might.
This was not a clash between water and fire; it was the collision of existence and nothingness. His darkness had been erased — not destroyed, but conceptually removed from reality itself.
"Cough…! Hhha—ghk!"
A violent, wet coughing fit broke the silence, the sound of a man trying to drag his lungs out of his throat.
His charred body slid weakly down from the wall, leaving a foul smear of scorched blood and burnt flesh on the floor.
The guild master struggled to lift his head. One of his eyes had already been obliterated. Through the haze of blood and pain, his remaining eye locked stubbornly on the figure standing before him.
That boy — that figure — simply stood there.
The remnants of starlight still bathed him. The silver-white dragon scales etched into his skin glimmered faintly as they crawled down his cheek and neck, radiating a cold, divine beauty beneath the floating dust.
Fear.
A raw, primal fear — one he had never known before — seized the man's soul in an iron grip.
What was he seeing?
That was not a human being.
In those molten-gold eyes that looked down upon him, there was no anger, no joy — only indifference. It was the gaze of a god upon an insect, a gaze that crushed the spirit before the body even realized it was defeated.
"Y-you…"
His throat was ruined, his voice hoarse and rasping like rusted iron scraping against stone.
"…monster…"
Never in his wildest nightmares could he have imagined this — that the darkness he had pursued all his life, the grand ambition he had built to engulf an entire kingdom, would be shattered so utterly by a boy whose name had never appeared in any intelligence report.
No — he refused to die here!
A desperate instinct for survival, so fierce it burned away what little sanity he had left, surged through him.
He drew upon the dregs of his magic — thick, tar-like darkness — squeezing out every last drop of his life to fuel one final act of defiance!
His mangled hands slapped against the floor, spraying blood as he screamed hoarsely:
"Shadow Bind — Thousand Blades!!"
Instantly, the ground beneath him erupted.
Every shadow in the room — every patch where the faintest light could not reach — began to boil.
Darkness ceased to be the absence of light and became a living thing. Thick, viscous tendrils of black surged outward, congealing rapidly into tangible shapes — within a heartbeat, dozens of dark blades had formed!
Longswords, short daggers, cleavers, axes — each glimmering with a deadly edge sharp enough to carve through a soul.
Whsshh! Whsshh! Whsshh!
The air split apart with a screeching storm of blades.
A hurricane of death surged from every angle, every blind spot — all converging toward the boy standing at the center, the heart of the storm.
It was the guild master's final gamble — a desperate strike with everything he had left!
Yet Hoshino Arashi did not move.
He didn't even blink.
He simply stood there, motionless, as the storm of black blades swallowed him whole.
CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG—!
The entire chamber rang with a deafening metallic symphony — a relentless clash of blade against something far harder than steel.
Those weren't the sounds of swords cutting into flesh.
They were the cries of mortal weapons breaking against divine armor.
Each shadow blade, sharp enough to cleave through three feet of solid steel, shattered the instant it struck the star-forged scales upon Hoshino's skin.
The air filled with fragments of black metal — and then, as the magic animating them collapsed, the shards disintegrated into harmless wisps of smoke.
Moments later, the dust cleared.
Hoshino Arashi still stood where he had been — untouched, unbothered, utterly unharmed.
Not a scratch. Not even a wrinkle on his clothes.
"H…how… can… this… be…"
The guild master's remaining eye dimmed.
Despair — complete, absolute despair — flooded him, smothering his mind like the tide of a frozen ocean.
His strongest technique. His ultimate card. It hadn't even left a mark.
This wasn't a fight.
This was domination.
The gap between them was no longer measurable — it crushed the heart, crushed the will to live.
Step.
Step.
Step.
Hoshino began walking toward him.
Each slow, deliberate footfall echoed across the chamber, a steady rhythm that struck the man's heart harder than any spell could.
He stopped before him, lowering his gaze slightly, looking down upon the fallen master with the calm of judgment itself.
There was no pity in his eyes.
For those who trampled lives and dignity without remorse, he reserved only one mercy — purification.
No words of condemnation.
No triumphant declarations.
He merely raised his right hand.
It was an ordinary punch — no glowing aura, no crackling magic. Simple. Controlled. Quiet.
And yet, when that fist connected with the man's jaw —
BOOM—!!!
A sound like a divine hammer striking a war drum exploded through the chamber!
A shockwave burst outward, visible and raw, scattering debris like leaves in a storm.
The guild master's body lost all weight — flung into the air like a broken puppet, twisting grotesquely as he was launched across the room.
He traced a pathetic arc through the air, crashing brutally near the chamber's entrance.
CRASH!
Rubble exploded outward. Dust filled the air.
The body twitched twice — then went still.
He lay amid the debris, limp and motionless, the last shreds of life and defiance gone.
The fight was over.
(End of Chapter)
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