"What?!" Adrian asked, his eyes widened in shock and agitation.
Close to him, Raven also frowned as she listened to him intently, her sharp gaze never leaving his face.
A few minutes ago, the system had pushed a ssage before his eyes—informing him that the Academy was under attack and Annabelle was in danger.
Naturally, the first thing Adrian demanded was to be sent back.
He had known the Acolytes were watching the Academy for days, their intentions hidden behind silence. Still, he never imagined they would strike at the precise mont he was absent. That timing alone told him this was no coincidence.
And the most troubling part was Annabelle.
That girl was the strongest Warden for a reason. For her to be placed in a life-threatening situation ant an existence had appeared that could potentially bring about the end of the world. Yet Adrian couldn’t bring himself to care about the world.
All he cared about was Bella.
He wanted to see her. To stand in front of her. To protect her—by any ans necessary.
Then ca the familiar, deeply unpleasant obstacle.
[An unknown entity is blocking world transfer. The system is solely converged at the duty to remove the obstacle. In just a few minutes, the issue would be resolved.]
"I don’t have a few minutes," Adrian snapped, his voice trembling with restrained fury. "I have to go back now."
[I understand your stance on this matter, host. Rest assured, it will only take a few minutes.]
Adrian growled low in his throat. His chest felt tight, his heartbeat violent and irregular, as if his body itself rejected the delay.
Raven exhaled slowly before muttering, "Whoever this being is, they know your presence would shatter whatever plan they had. That’s why they waited until you left... and why they’re blocking your path back ho."
Adrian clenched his fist so hard his nails bit into his palm. It was all deliberate. Calculated. Cruel.
If only he had checked Annabelle’s ssage earlier.
She had warned him hours ago—about a false alarm, about sothing feeling wrong, about the Academy possibly being targeted.
Raven hesitated, then gently reached for his hand. "Adrian... please, calm down—"
"You really think I should calm down?" he cut in sharply, turning toward her. "When Ariana and Annabelle are both in danger, and I can’t even reach them?"
Raven didn’t retreat. Her grip tightened instead as she spoke softly, firmly. "I know how you feel. But Adrian, most of your problems aren’t solved by your arms. They’re solved by your mind. Think. What can you do from here?"
Her words struck deeper than he expected.
Adrian frowned, his breathing slowly steadying as his thoughts were forced into motion.
And then—
An idea surfaced.
Instantly, he asked, "Are all dinsional portals being blocked?"
"No, host. Only this world."
Adrian’s eyes hardened. "Then connect to Valor. Now."
....
"I suggest you put them down," said a crimson-eyed youth, his voice calm yet edged with lethal certainty, "or this will end very badly for you."
He looked almost too delicate to be called a man.
Long black hair was tied at several points, cascading down his back. His face was smooth, almost refined, with sharp yet gentle features that masked the danger beneath.
A sword rested in his hand—silent, restrained, but humming faintly with killing intent.
Nytharos narrowed his gaze. "You... don’t belong to this world."
Valor tilted his head slightly, lips curling into a thin smile. "Of course I don’t. I’d never belong to a world where a scumbag like you breathes."
Nytharos snickered darkly. "A re mortal dares to curse a God?"
Valor tightened his grip on the sword. "Curse?" he replied evenly. "That’s the least of what I’m about to do to you."
With a violent motion, Nytharos shoved both won aside. But before their bodies could strike the ground—
Valor vanished.
In the sa instant, he reappeared beside Nytharos, arms already catching them with effortless precision. He lowered them gently, shielding them from harm as if the battlefield itself dared not touch them.
His expression softened for a brief mont. "Sorry for arriving so late, Idiot."
A claw tore through the air where his head had been a heartbeat earlier.
Valor ducked smoothly.
Nytharos’s eyes widened, his attack missing completely.
Slowly, Valor straightened. He took a single step forward.
Space folded.
In the next mont, he was standing at the very entrance of the Academy—sword lowered, crimson eyes burning quietly as the air around him grew heavy with pressure.
So instructors stepped forward, their expressions draining of color as they took in the sight of the two strongest won they knew lying unconscious on the ruined ground.
Valor offered them a gentle smile. "Please take care of them."
Gilbert swallowed hard, then gave a stiff nod. He imdiately gestured to Norma and Rylie. "Take them inside. Carefully."
As the two instructors hurried forward, Gilbert turned back to the crimson-eyed youth. His voice was tight. "Who... are you?"
Valor’s smile didn’t fade. "Adrian’s friend."
Before Gilbert could respond, the air scread.
A violent storm of mana erupted from deep within the forest, rolling over the battlefield like a collapsing sky. The pressure was suffocating. Gilbert’s knees buckled as his vision washed white, his mind staring into an endless abyss that threatened to swallow his thoughts whole.
Valor’s expression hardened. He lifted his blade slightly and spoke without raising his voice. "Go inside. Close the doors. I’ll deal with this maniac."
Gilbert’s body moved on its own. By the ti his mind caught up, he was already retreating toward the Academy.
Silence followed.
Not peace—but a tense, suffocating stillness.
Only two beings remained standing on the battlefield.
Nytharos hovered in the air, his gaze sharp and wary. He didn’t know who this youth truly was, but instinct scread at him—this was not soone to treat lightly.
"You are an intruder," Nytharos snarled. "Those idiot brothers of mine would never allow you to interfere with the balance of the world like this."
Valor calmly slid his long sword back into its sheath. He t the Fallen God’s glare without flinching. "If standing against them is what it takes to help my friends," he said evenly, "then so be it."
The ground beneath Valor’s feet cracked apart.
Stone split. Earth groaned.
Mana burst outward from the sheathed blade, invisible yet crushing, forcing the soil to cave inward as his feet dug deep into the ground.
"Moon Severance."
Nytharos reacted instantly. With a flick of his hand, the bodies of fallen monsters and soldiers lurched upward, twisting together into a grotesque wall of flesh and bone—a writhing at shield placed between them.
Valor didn’t hesitate.
With a light flick of his thumb against the hilt, he murmured, almost too softly to hear, "Third Form."
In one smooth motion, he drew the blade just enough to slash diagonally—then returned it to the sheath in the sa breath.
No explosion.
No shockwave.
The slash passed through the at shield as if it didn’t exist.
Nytharos’s eyes widened.
A silent line carved through his body, splitting him cleanly down the middle.
"Hm?" Nytharos tilted his head, confusion crossing his face as he looked down. His legs had separated from his torso, dark miasma writhing to keep them suspended in the air. Yet no matter how violently it churned, the lingering mana from that single strike clung to the wound, devouring every attempt to regenerate.
Snarling in frustration, Nytharos released the at shield, letting it crash lifelessly to the ground.
"Breaking the fundantal laws..." he growled, crimson eyes burning as they locked onto Valor. "You are an unwanted existence."
Valor grimly voiced, "You are the traitor god who should have long killed yourself out of guilt and sha."
Nytharos narrowed his eyes. He didn’t answer with words.
He spread his arms.
The sky twisted.
Space itself began to bend, folding inward like wet paper. The horizon curved. The forest stretched unnaturally, trees elongating and shrinking at the sa ti. The ground rippled as if it had turned soft, waves forming beneath the Academy walls.
Mana didn’t just gather.
It collapsed.
Teachers watching from the gates felt their breath leave them. So fell to their knees. Others clutched their heads as blood seeped from their noses.
"This spell—" one of them whispered, voice shaking. "It’s rewriting distance..."
Another choked out, "If this lands... the Academy won’t exist."
Nytharos’s voice bood across the warped battlefield.
"World Distortion: Final Descent."
A massive sphere of twisted space ford above him—inside it, light bent the wrong way, sound died, and even gravity scread. It wasn’t a spell ant to kill a man.
It was a spell ant to erase a region.
The teachers’ faces drained of color.
So turned away.
So closed their eyes.
So trembled, knowing there was nothing—nothing—that could stop this.
Then—
Valor took a step forward.
Just one.
The pressure vanished around him.
The distorted space refused to touch his body, stopping inches away, like it had struck an invisible wall.
Valor sighed.
"Always this dramatic," he muttered.
He placed his hand on the sword’s hilt—not drawing it.
Not yet.
Instead, he spoke.
"Domain Override."
The world went silent.
The twisted sky froze.
The collapsing space... stopped obeying Nytharos.
The massive spell shuddered, its shape breaking apart as if confused. The sphere cracked—not exploding, but unraveling, layers peeling away like dead skin.
Teachers stared in disbelief.
"He... didn’t block it," soone whispered.
"He took control of it..."
Nytharos’s expression finally changed.
Valor looked up at the broken sky, unimpressed.
"Your spell is loud," he said calmly. "But it’s useless."
He lifted his gaze back to Nytharos, crimson eyes sharp and cold.
"You don’t rule anything now. You are just a fallen God trying to reclaim which wasn’t yours in the first place."
Nytharos snickered and said, "We will see about that very soon. And when it happens, we will see who will have the last laugh."
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