By the end of the fifth year, Carson McCain was unrecognizable.
He stood in the Icelandic volcano, Icelandic Magma swirling around his waist. He had reached the Peak of Level 14—Celestial Sovereign. He was the same level as his master, a feat never before recorded in the history of the Aegis.
His body was a masterpiece of biological engineering. His skin was clear, his eyes a piercing, calm grey that seemed to see through walls. He had cultivated 30 strands of Saber-Qi.
"Combine them," Hobs whispered from the edge of the magma.
Carson closed his eyes. The 30 strands in his heart began to weave together, spinning faster and faster until they blurred into a single, blinding point of light.
SHING.
A Saber Ray erupted from his hand. It wasn't a swing; it was a manifestation of pure will. The Ray sliced through the volcano's roof, parting the clouds and shooting into the upper atmosphere.
"You are ready," Hobs said, handing Carson a black card and the keys to a fleet of Phantoms. "Go back to New Seattle. Live your life. Buy your houses. Drink your wine. But remember: a Sovereign is only low-key until the world needs a reminder of who owns the sky."
Carson McCain stepped into the sunlight for the first time in five years. He was twenty-five, the wealthiest man on the planet, and the deadliest blade in the universe.
"Time to go home," Carson said.