They stood amidst what seemed to be a wasteland carved open by violence. Unlike the modern cities he had seen sprawled across the continent, the ground here had been torn apart in layers. Deep furrows ran like scars across the earth, intersecting craters collapsing into one another. Fragments of shattered weapons jutted from the soil, their enchantments long since faded or flickering weakly in protest. The destruction stretched far beyond what a single crash could have caused.

  He had assumed that it was the Ferry of the Dead and its crash landing which had caused all of this.

  But it couldn't have been.

  The longer he looked, the more obvious it became.

  Perhaps it was intentional on Merlyn's part that they had landed here because the area had been ravaged long before their arrival, with its civilians having been evacuated a while back.

  This was a battlefield.

  And they had arrived in the middle of it.

  Three figures were racing toward them across the desolate expanse.

  Even at this distance, Darren could sense the magical energy that poured off them in thick currents.

  They were powerful.

  Just like his System itself had said, he would have to survive against the strongest that this world had to offer.

  The man who had once wielded the blade now resting in Darren’s grip—the one Darren had killed in a single decisive strike—had likely possessed the same level of capacity for power.

  It was not a matter of weakness that had led to his demise.

  That man had simply been caught off guard.

  War did not forgive hesitation. It did not reward potential. It favored the one who acted first and doubted least. A single second of uncertainty could split the boundary between survival and death.

  Darren had learnt that as he waged war with Rowan of the Morningeyes Clan across the endless dunes of Khaitish.

  He would not hesitate now.

  Not when there was so much on the line.

  “Merlyn,” he said evenly, eyes never leaving the approaching trio. “Bring up my Mana Points at the top left corner of my vision.”

  The System complied immediately.

  A translucent display formed within his sight, unobtrusive yet clear. Numbers glowed faintly in the corner of his vision.

  He glanced toward it briefly.

  As expected.

  Even if it had not been him using the Authority of Hades to sail the ship through the cosmos, the Autopilot Program had used his own magical energy to function. It had taken a large toll to get past the undead immortal alive. What reserves he had once held in abundance were now reduced to a thin surplus.

  // MP (Mana Points): 9827 / 5500

  Still more than enough left to fight.

  He exhaled slowly.

  It would have to do.

  The three enemies were getting closer now, their magical signatures growing sharper with proximity. There was no mistaking their level. They stood on the same tier as the man Darren had slain. Perhaps higher. He would not assume otherwise.

  He turned his head slightly.

  Marianne was already preparing herself.

  The Wicked Witch of Humanity stood poised, the fabric of her loose pants twisting faintly in the unsettled wind. There was no panic in her posture. She, too, had recognized the inevitability of what was coming.

  “Try and keep up.” That was all Darren said.

  Before she could respond or even turn in his direction, he was gone.

  One instant he occupied the fractured ground before her. The next, there was nothing but displaced air.

  Marianne’s eyes widened despite herself.

  With the System's calculations, in terms of raw physical prowess alone, Marianne Elarion surpassed Darren. Strength, speed and even reaction time. By all conventional standards, she should have been capable of tracking his movement.

  She had seen nothing.

  Because Darren Ittriki was a master of the Internal Arts.

  He had learned the technique long ago, beneath a merciless sun. There in Khaitish, where heat blurred the horizon and the wind erased footprints as soon as they were made, Darren had been forced to confront the frailty of the body he had been born with.

  Mortal flesh had its limits.

  The Internal Arts had been the answer to surpass them.

  It was not magic in the conventional sense of spell casting, where magical energy was sent outwards to create an external reaction. Instead, the magical energy within his own Pool of Mana flowed inwards. Through relentless refinement, he had learned to circulate energy through every fiber of his being, to reinforce ligaments, to accelerate nerve impulses and thus surpass the limitations of his vessel. Every physical attribute—speed, power, perception, reaction—was amplified beyond its natural threshold.

  // MP (Mana Points): 9827 (-10) → 9817 / 5500

  Even against someone as formidable as the Wicked Witch of Humanity—whose General Level had been beyond even the likes of Charon, the Ferryman of the Dead—Darren’s physicality had eclipsed what Marianne could produce through raw prowess alone.

  Just as she had failed to track him, so too did their enemies.

  To them, it must have seemed as though he had appeared from thin air.

  Darren did not waste that advantage.

  He chose his first target immediately, the most physically imposing of the three.

  This man was enormous, as tall as he was broad, his frame thick with mass. Bare-chested despite the battlefield, a protruding beer belly hung over his waist, but there was no mistaking the strength he possessed.

  Darren struck before that power could be brought to bear.

  He stepped in close and drove a brutal front kick straight into the man’s knee, no telegraph for his foe to react to.

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  The impact landed, causing his joint to buckle and just like that the man's balance vanished. The massive warrior toppled forward awkwardly, his bulk betraying him as he crashed into the fractured earth. The ground shuddered faintly beneath the weight of his fall. Darren's enemy had not even been given the opportunity to throw a single punch.

  // MP (Mana Points): 9817 (-10) → 9807 / 5500

  Darren moved to follow through—intending to end it before the man could recover—but a sharpness in the air warned him against it.

  Another of the trio had been fast enough to react.

  He stepped back instantly.

  A blade carved through the space where his neck had been a fraction of a second prior. Had he been any slower, it would have severed his head from his shoulders.

  He turned to face this new opponent.

  It was a woman.

  Dirty blonde hair framed her face, strands whipping across eyes that were sharp and alert. She wore heavy silver-plated armor lined meticulously with gold, identical in make to the armor worn by the man Darren had slain earlier.

  Perhaps they had been allies of the same faction in this ongoing battle.

  The swordswoman's gaze dropped to the blade in Darren's hand.

  Her eyes widened, and for a brief moment her calm composure fractured. The implication was clear because she recognized that blade. She knew who it had belonged to.

  Her mouth parted slightly, shock overtaking discipline.

  Darren did not allow that moment to pass unused.

  He moved sideways in a tight, efficient step, closing the angle between them. Instead of slashing with the blade’s edge, he drove the butt of the weapon forward, slamming it directly into her nose.

  The crack of impact was sharp.

  He felt cartilage give way beneath the strike.

  The woman stumbled back with a choked cry, her free hand flying to her face as blood spilled between her fingers. Pain twisted her features, but she did not retreat fully. Instead, she lashed out instinctively, her sword cutting wide arcs to force distance between them.

  Darren withdrew just enough to avoid the wild slashes, analyzing even as he moved.

  This brief exchange told him what he needed to know.

  // MP (Mana Points): 9807 (-10) → 9797 / 5500

  Physically, he was superior.

  Among these warriors of Earth, his control, precision, and application of force outmatched theirs by a wide margin.

  But he did not allow that assessment to breed arrogance.

  Darren knew better.

  Because the rules of this world were not so different from Hiraeth’s. Here, just like it had been on his world, physical dominance was only one layer of power.

  Magic was the law of the land.

  And every one of his opponents was overflowing with it.

  The fallen giant was already stirring, magical energy surging violently around his frame. The armored woman’s aura flared through her pain, stabilizing her stance even as blood dripped from her chin.

  This fight would not remain confined to flesh and bone.

  In a world where magic was law, even the greatest mastery of the body had to bow to it.

  Both the swordswoman and the hulking man understood the same truth Darren did.

  Physical exchanges would not decide this battle.

  Mana surged outward from the two warriors in dense waves, pressing against Darren’s senses like an oncoming storm. The fractured ground beneath their feet trembled faintly as the atmosphere itself grew heavy, saturated with their Divinities.

  Darren did not advance.

  Urgency was necessary in war but recklessness was fatal.

  Charging blindly into unknown power was no different than offering one’s neck to the blade.

  Observing what they could do and understanding what their Divinities were capable of were just as important to Darren as data collection was to Merlyn.

  The armored woman bent her knees, lowering her center of gravity as she settled into a refined stance. Despite the blood trailing from her broken nose, her posture was disciplined, blade angled precisely. The earlier shock had vanished and in its place was focus.

  She was ready to strike.

  He wanted to see what her Divinity was capable of.

  But his attention was stolen completely by what was happening behind him.

  The man's transformation began slowly—muscle tightening, veins bulging—but escalated within seconds. His frame expanded violently. Flesh stretched and bone cracked audibly, snapping and reforming as if forced to accommodate a sudden and unnatural growth. The sound was grotesque, a chorus of fractures reshaping into something new. His shoulders broadened, spine arching as mass accumulated. Fur burst through skin in thick patches, spreading rapidly across his body. Fingers lengthened, nails blackening and curving into claws. His face pushed forward, jaw distorting as teeth sharpened and multiplied.

  When the change completed, the man was gone.

  In his place stood a towering beast.

  It was a bear, colossal in size.

  Its presence dwarfed the battlefield debris around it, paws the size of shields digging into the ruined earth.

  That was one hell of a Divinity.

  Before Darren could fully reassess, a flicker of light caught the corner of his vision.

  His head snapped toward it.

  There had always been three figures headed his way.

  And the third combatant had not remained idle.

  High above, atop the crumbling remains of a nearby building, a figure stood poised. The ascent must have taken mere seconds. In his hands was a cylindrical object, metallic and rigid, aimed downward with precision.

  Darren’s mind raced.

  What—

  A deafening bang split the air.

  Even Darren flinched. A violent flash erupted from the object’s barrel, smoke trailing in its wake.

  Through the enhancement granted by the Internal Arts, the world seemed to slow and his vision sharpened to impossible clarity.

  // MP (Mana Points): 9797 (-10) → 9787 / 5500

  He saw it.

  A tiny projectile tearing through the air toward him at blistering speed, spinning as it cut a path straight for his skull.

  He could move.

  He knew he could.

  His body was already primed to dodge, muscles coiled to propel him out of its trajectory.

  Avoidance would be simple but it would carry consequence.

  The swordswoman was watching him closely, blade ready. A full evasive maneuver would expose an opening, one that Darren figured she would not hesitate to exploit.

  In avoiding one threat, he would create another

  Darren made his calculation in less than a heartbeat—

  And then it became unnecessary.

  A streak of gold split the air.

  An arrow, radiant and humming with runic light, intersected the projectile mid-flight. The impact was precise beyond belief. The arrowhead, etched with glowing inscriptions, sliced cleanly through the tiny bullet before it could come within striking distance of Darren.

  The severed projectile fell uselessly.

  But the arrow did not stop.

  It continued forward with devastating momentum, crashing into the building where the marksman had been standing on. The structure detonated into splintered stone and dust, collapsing inward as if struck by a siege engine. The entire upper half disintegrated, raining debris onto the battlefield below.

  Darren glanced back towards where he had sprung into battle from.

  He was not alone.

  In the distance stood the Wicked Witch of Humanity.

  Marianne’s wooden staff had shifted form, its length curved into an elegant bow. Another arrow was already forming between her fingers, inscribed with the same golden runes that shimmered faintly along its shaft. Those runes had been put together, this time not to defend, but to attack. Her posture was practiced, eyes unblinking and fixed upon the fleeing marksman.

  The third warrior had leapt clear just before the building collapsed, landing atop another structure with agile precision. But the marksman had lost the advantage of surprise.

  Darren knew it then, that he would not have to worry about the incoming projectiles with the Wicked Witch watching over him.

  Marianne would handle the long-range warfare.

  That meant Darren could devote himself fully to the two before him, the armored swordswoman and the towering bear whose growl now reverberated across the shattered plain.

  // MP (Mana Points): 9787 (-10) → 9767 / 5500

  The introductory act of this battle had come to an end.

  Their fight had only just begun.