The air at the Peak of Draconia remained heavy with the scent of ozone and the fading shimmer of corrupted holy mana. Kaelen, the "Hero" who had arrived with such radiant confidence, was now a hollow shell, staring at his trembling, empty hands. The Grail of Resurrection, once a beacon of the Union of Light, now sat in Valerius's grip, its ivory surface veined with pulsing black cracks.
"Kill me," Kaelen whispered, his voice cracking. "If you are the Demon King, finish it."
Valerius looked down at him, his red-and-black eyes devoid of malice—only a cold, academic interest remained. "A king does not swat a fly because he is angry, Kaelen. He swats it because it is an annoyance. Right now, you are not even that. You are a messenger."
Valerius turned to the rogue, the only other survivor, who was paralyzed with fear a few meters away.
"Take him," Valerius commanded, gesturing to the broken Kaelen. "Go back to your Union. Tell the Sages that the Void Eater has returned to its sheath. Tell them that the debts of a thousand years are ready to be collected."
The rogue didn't wait for a second invitation. He grabbed the catatonic Kaelen and vanished into a blur of high-tier movement magic, fleeing down the mountainside as if the shadows themselves were biting at his heels.
"Panginoon," Vorgath rumbled, stepping forward and kneeling. "Why let them live? They have seen your face. They will prepare."
"Let them prepare," Valerius replied, sliding the Void Eater into a sheath of condensed shadows at his hip. "Fear is a slow poison, Vorgath. It wilts the spirit long before the blade reaches the neck. I want the Sages to spend their nights wondering which of them I will visit first."
Aurelia, now back in her regal human form, adjusted her golden gown. "If I may, my King... the first to move will likely be Duke Ironheart. He governs the Iron Province to the North. He is the Sage of Fortification, and he holds the Aegis of the Seven—the shield that supposedly cannot be pierced by any magic."
Valerius felt a slight thrum from his sword. The Void Eater hungered for a shield that claimed to be unbreakable.
"Ironheart," Valerius mused. "He was always the most stubborn of the seven. He lacks the imagination of the others, but his mana capacity is like a stagnant lake—deep and immovable."
"He has already mobilized his 'Iron Legion'," Malphas reported, appearing from the shadows of a nearby rock. "My scouts say he has fortified the Pass of Skulls, the only way into the central plains. He has turned the entire mountain range into a literal fortress."
Valerius looked at his hand. With the recovery of his sword, his Mana Circuit was finally stabilizing. At 30%, he could feel the ley lines of the world beneath his feet. He wasn't just a warrior anymore; he was a force of nature.
"He thinks walls can stop the night," Valerius said with a thin, sharp smile. "Ignis, Vorgath, Aurelia—prepare the dragons. We do not march to the North."
"We don't?" Ignis asked, blinking his blue eyes.
"No," Valerius said, his gaze shifting toward the East, toward the great libraries of the Arcane Academy. "Ironheart wants a siege. He wants me to waste my energy breaking his walls. Instead, we will strike at the source of their knowledge. We go to the Sage of Whispers, Elara. Without her foresight and her scrolls, the Union is blind."
Suddenly, the ground beneath them groaned. It wasn't an earthquake, but a magical resonance. A massive projection appeared in the sky above the peak—a holographic image of an old man in silver-plated armor, his beard braided with iron rings.
"Valerius!" the image roared, the voice booming across the continent. It was Duke Ironheart. "I know you can hear me! You slaughter children and think yourself a god? I have built a tomb for you at the Pass of Skulls. Come and claim it, or stay hidden in your cave like the beast you are!"
Valerius didn't look up at the sky. He simply raised the corrupted Grail.
"Aurelia," Valerius said calmly.
"Yes, my King?"
"Melt that projection. It's an eyesore."
With a roar that shook the very foundation of the Peak of Draconia, Aurelia shifted mid-air into her true dragon form—a gargantuan beast of gold and fire. She unleashed a breath of golden flames so intense it incinerated the magical mana of the projection, leaving only a scorched sky behind.
Valerius turned his back on the North.
"The Sage of Whispers first," he repeated. "By the time Ironheart realizes I am not coming for his walls, I will have already burned his libraries to ash."
As the group prepared to depart on the backs of the last dragons, Valerius felt a strange pull in his soul. Somewhere in the East, at the Arcane Academy, a familiar mana signature was awakening—one he hadn't felt in a millennium.
"So," Valerius whispered to himself, "she is still alive."