That night was silent.
A gentle wind drifted above the estate of Clan Valerion—the clan of ice mages once feared across the entire continent. Crystal lanterns cast a tranquil blue glow over the vast compound… before everything changed.
Then—Shadows swallowed the horizon. One hundred thousand figures dressed in black appeared without a sound, surrounding the Valerion territory like a tide of darkness devouring the light.
"Form the array." The voice of a black-robed man rang out—calm, yet carrying absolute authority.
Fifty thousand soldiers immediately spread out, raising their hands in unison. Crimson runes ignited in the air, linking together to form a massive magic circle that blanketed the entire Valerion estate.
The air grew heavy. The ground trembled. An invisible pressure descended from the sky like a colossal hand pressing downward. Several clan members caught outside collapsed instantly, their breaths crushed under the unbearable weight.
"Attack." The command was short. The massacre began. Fifty thousand soldiers stormed into the clan grounds. Flashes of magic collided with desperate cries, blending with the thunder of collapsing buildings.
And yet—Amid the chaos, one man stood unmoving in the central courtyard.
Tharion Valerion.
A pale blue magic circle formed beneath his feet. Frost spread outward, freezing the very air around him. From the circle, countless ice needles emerged—small, translucent… beautiful.
And lethal.With a single motion of his hand—They shot forward. Every needle found its mark. Precise. Merciless.
Within seconds, thousands of black-robed soldiers fell simultaneously.
Only 34,896 remained.
"Clan Head of Valerion… Tharion."
A faint smile curved across the lips of a man hovering in the air. His crimson eyes glowed dimly in the darkness "Stand back. You are not his opponents." The soldiers immediately retreated, clearing the battlefield.
The man—Kael—dived downward, a black spear tearing through the air in his grasp.
"Kael… you brought an army of this size just to attack my clan?" Tharion's voice was as cold as the ice he commanded.
With two fingers, he caught the spear's tip.
"If this is what you seek… then you and your men have chosen death."
An ice blade formed in his hand and thrust toward Kael's chest—But before it could land—An overwhelming pressure slammed into Tharion's body, freezing him in place.
"Kael… you are too weak." A new voice echoed.
A man with closed eyes stood several steps behind Kael. His aura was quiet… yet suffocating.
He stepped forward. His palm gently touched Tharion's chest. Too gently.
Yet in that instant, Tharion's face turned pale. His breathing faltered. His body trembled violently as blood spilled from his lips.
Kael leapt backward and bowed respectfully.
Forcing himself upright, Tharion swung his blade toward the blindfolded man's neck—A single snap of fingers.
The wounds across Tharion's body deepened instantly, as though time itself had accelerated his injuries.
"Your clan has become a threat," the blind man said coldly. "Especially since you possess an artifact from the Peak Era."
He flicked Tharion's forehead.
The Clan Head was hurled backward, crashing against the transparent barrier of the enclosing formation.
"You are not allowed to leave this stage."
"Continue."
And the slaughter resumed.
Elsewhere—A woman with turquoise-blue hair knelt before a modest house at the edge of the city.
She embraced her three children tightly. "Father, Mother… I entrust them to you."
The old man nodded solemnly. "As long as we live, they will be safe."
The woman looked at each of her children in turn "Lylia… Serina… take care of Zevaron."
"Mom… come back quickly, okay?" Zevaron's small voice trembled. He was only five years old.
A gentle smile appeared on her face—Her last smile.
She turned away… and after several steps, her figure vanished like mist carried by the wind.
Back at the Valerion estate—That same woman lay on the ground, her body battered and barely able to move.
Standing before her was a black-haired woman with a cold, indifferent gaze.
"Are these your children?" Three small figures lay motionless nearby.
Tears streamed down the turquoise-haired woman's cheeks.
Yet deep within her heart—Relief. They were only clones. Her real children… were safe.
"Don't worry," the black-haired woman whispered calmly. "You will join them soon."
Darkness swallowed everything.
"Look," Kael said quietly to Tharion, who could no longer stand. "Your wife has already gone ahead."
In the stillness of the night, the head of Clan Valerion finally fell "All members of the clan have been eliminated," a masked figure reported.
The blind man lifted an ancient artifact that emitted a faint glow.
"Let's go. Our objective is complete."
And that night—The name Valerion ceased to be legend…And became a bloodstained memory in history.