Glover never even saw it coming.

  The scarlet boot struck his jaw with a thunderclap, snapping his neck sideways. His body pinwheeled through the air, crashing into Ziraiah’s diamond wall. The fortress itself groaned under the impact as he tore through layers of crystal. The wall slowed his velocity, but not his ruin—he finally skidded to a halt a hundred meters away, carving a trench across the ground. Blood pooled beneath him. His teeth were shattered. He did not stir.

  He was unconscious.

  Inside the fortress, silence reigned.

  Eryndor sat upon the throne, the white flag glowing faintly in his hand. His emerald eyes narrowed as the ceiling trembled. A shadow pierced the roof with casual ease. Stone and dust rained down, smoke curling through the cracks of light.

  And then it landed.

  The ground quaked.

  Ziraiah stiffened instantly, her eyes flashing. Eliana gasped and summoned three radiant Guardians, their colossal lighg blades humming. Yet despite search spells cast since the very beginning, neither she nor Ziraiah had sensed the intruder’s presence. Not a flicker. Not a pulse.

  Even Eryndor’s jaw tightened. Every living being radiates an essence, Eryndor contemplated, his mind keen and exacting. Even Bravo wielders—though no different from beasts or men in that regard—resonate like embers in the dark. But him… there was nothing. A void where life itself should have stirred.

  The smoke cleared.

  The figure rose to his full height.

  Ten feet, eleven inches of sculpted muscle. Long braided blond hair that gleamed like threads of sunlight. Blue eyes like winter skies. Ears long and pointed — unmistakably Elven. He wore only a sleeveless red vest and fitted blue trousers, his simplicity somehow more daunting than any armor.

  The elf’s gaze settled on Eryndor, calm yet sharp. His voice was smooth, cultured.

  “You’re quite the large one, aren’t you? Green eyes. Black hair. The frame of an Elvhein… yet only one heart, like a human. Are you a blend of the two?”

  Eryndor’s eyes narrowed. “Humans? Not… Earthers?”

  The man shrugged. “Same thing.”

  A ripple of memory stirred in Eryndor’s mind.

  —

  He recalled Pungence’s words during training. He had been slumped on a bench, breath ragged, sweat dripping. Pungence drank water lazily, watching him with sharp eyes.

  “Your growth is… truly extraordinary,” Pungence said, voice low. “At times, I almost believe you’re a pure Elvhein.”

  Eryndor’s brow furrowed, his tone cool yet incisive. “What, then, befell the other humans who traversed into this world?”

  Pungence’s gaze hardened. “Humans? Ooh, you mean the Earthers. Why do you keep asking about them? It doesn’t concern you. And don’t use that word so loosely. Most here call them Earthers. The word human…” His tone sharpened, eyes cold as steel. “…is known only to those who’ve walked in Mazorik. If you ever hear someone use that word, Eryndor… know this: they are bad news. Very bad news. Be cautious.”

  —

  Back to the present.

  Eryndor’s icy arm flexed, frost glimmering along its edges. His voice rang steady, cold.

  “I trust you comprehend the ramifications of venturing here. Depart at once—intact—whilst the opportunity remains.”

  The elf tilted his head. “Children, that’s what you are. Talented children, yes — to have made it this far in the game. But children nonetheless. And this… is where it ends for you.”

  He extended a hand. His tone was almost gentle.

  “I have a daughter your age. I do not wish to hurt you. Surrender the flag, and I will depart. Take my mercy, and I won’t resort to force.”

  Then his blue eyes slid toward Eliana. “Does your father know you’re here, princess? Because if he does, I would be… very disappointed in him.”

  Eliana’s face darkened. Her Guardians hissed with radiant light.

  “Don’t talk as if you know me. Leave now — or you won’t like what happens next.”

  Eryndor’s aura flared in silence. Muscle augmentation, accelerated perception, indomitable defense — he layered each one upon himself, unseen, precise. Ziraiah mirrored him, her fists clenched, her stance braced.

  “Will you not surrender the flag?” the elf asked one final time, voice even.

  Eryndor’s icy arm shimmered. In the air, dozens of spears of frost materialized, their tips glinting. Eliana’s Guardians raised their glowing blades. Ziraiah’s hands flared with fire, her eyes sharp.

  The elf sighed softly. He lowered his gaze. Then he took a single step forward.

  The attack came like a storm.

  The ice spears howled through the air. Eliana’s Guardians swung down, blades of light cleaving arcs toward him. Ziraiah fired a beam of fire so intense it seared the stone black.

  To him… it was slow.

  Too slow.

  He tilted his head lazily, his long braid whipping with the motion. Both of his hands turned red with Fortis.

  The ice spears shattered as he deflected them effortlessly, catching two in mid-air. He flipped backwards, evading the light blades. While upside down, he fortified the stolen ice spears and hurled them back. They tore through two Guardians, whose forms only barely reformed seconds later.

  “Oh…” he murmured, eyes glinting. “They heal.”

  He flipped again, landing lightly. Ziraiah’s beam thundered past him — he twisted aside, the flames blistering the ground. Before she could react, he was already behind her. His fist snapped forward reverting back to normal.

  CRACK!

  His blow connected with her jaw.

  Ziraiah’s body burst through the castle wall like a cannonball, vanishing outside in a shower of rubble.

  “Eliana!” she heard her name shouted from behind, but the princess was already commanding her Guardians.

  They struck together.

  The elf spun, twisting mid-air. He dodged one, kicked the second in the throat, sending it spiraling out of the castle. But then Eryndor was upon him, descending from above like judgment.

  His right arm had become a blade of jagged ice, sharper than steel. He swung down with lethal force.

  The elf slid aside mid-air, but the blade’s tip still grazed stone —

  SHHHHHK!

  The ground split apart, a crater ripping across the earth eleven kilometers long.

  The elf flipped again, hopping in the air with impossible lightness. His eyes gleamed as he looked up at Eryndor, still suspended above.

  “…Not bad.”

  Vines burst from the ground, wrapping the elf’s arms and legs in a snare of living green. For a moment, they held him fast—

  RRRIP!

  —then he tore them away like threads, muscles flexing once.

  A Guardian’s face flared, unleashing a radiant beam.

  The elf bent aside. The beam scorched past, exploding through the ceiling. Dust rained down. Another beam came, and another—relentless, hammering the air where he danced. Each shot blasted new holes in the roof, tearing stone to ash.

  And then—

  CRACK!

  Eryndor’s left fist smashed into the elf’s face, augmented to its maximum.

  The shockwave detonated like the wrath of a god.

  The castle was blown apart in a single instant, walls disintegrating outward. The elf was hurled five hundred kilometers across the sky, a streak of gold and red.

  But he did not fall.

  He twisted mid-flight, turning himself upright, and with one thunderous leap, he came hurtling straight back at them.

  From above, a Guardian’s colossal foot descended, aiming to crush him into the lake.

  The elf twisted, sliding past, then drove a single Fortis-fueled punch into the Guardian’s chest.

  BOOM.

  The radiant titan hurtled upward, spiraling into the clouds.

  Ziraiah stepped forward, her diamond wall bristling. Dozens of shields erupted into being, layering one after another.

  The elf’s eyes sharpened.

  CRASH.

  He burst through them all like paper, shards scattering across the lake. His right hand slammed across Ziraiah’s face, fingers locking onto her skull.

  Her scream echoed as he hurled her down—

  BOOM.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  They cratered the lakebed seven kilometers wide, water exploding skyward like a tsunami.

  Blood gushed from Ziraiah’s mouth as she gasped, coughing, her body buckling.

  But then—

  The lake itself moved.

  The waters roared like a living beast, surging into the elf. Tides strangled him, coils of pressure hurling him through the depths, crushing his chest. Liquid claws forced themselves into his lungs, drowning him alive.

  He leapt upward, trying to break free—

  The water followed.

  Like a suffocating blanket, it smothered him, refusing to release.

  Above, Eryndor walked calmly across the water’s surface. His icy arm gleamed as he formed a spear of frost, sharp enough to pierce mountains. He aimed, then hurled it.

  At the same instant, five of Eliana’s Guardians converged from the heavens, beams of light raining down like divine judgment.

  The elf looked up. For a brief moment, his eyes glimmered—almost nostalgic.

  So… the new generation has grown. Ridiculously fast. Even little Eli… to think she’s bloomed this much. In a few decades, she might even catch me.

  His lips curved faintly. But not yet.

  Still choking under the water’s grip, he clenched his chest. His lungs flared red with Fortis.

  BOOM.

  He exhaled with volcanic force. The entire lake detonated outward. The waters shattered, the crushing prison bursting into steam and spray.

  The ice spear was in his hand.

  He had caught it.

  And in the same motion, he whirled and hurled it back.

  Eryndor’s shields sprang to life—one, two, three, ten, stacked like walls—

  SHHHHHK!

  The spear tore through them all, unstoppable.

  Eryndor tilted his head at the last instant—

  The spear grazed his cheek. Blood dripped down.

  Behind him, the spear struck the ground.

  BOOM!

  A crater thirty kilometers wide yawned open, shockwaves flattening the lake, hurling Eryndor backward. His body crashed into the land, sliding until flotation magic caught him. He touched his cheek and stared at the blood on his fingers.

  That, unequivocally, would have heralded my demise.

  FWOOM—!

  The torrent of beams converged, lances of pure destruction colliding into the intruder all at once. The sky shook, the air screamed.

  The elf did not dodge.

  He crossed his arms before his face, skin flashing scarlet as Fortis spread across his body like living steel.

  DOOOOOM!

  The beams struck him point-blank.

  The explosion was cataclysmic. Light speared downward, piercing straight through the water, boring deep into the island’s bedrock. Stone vaporized, molten earth blasting outward in titanic plumes. For an instant, it looked as though the intruder had been erased, body swallowed in divine radiance.

  But when the glow faded—

  He still stood there, on his cushion.

  Smoke curled from his body. His vest hung in tatters. But his arms, still crossed before his face, lowered slowly. His eyes gleamed cold blue.

  He exhaled once, a low, almost amused sound.

  “…Is that all?”

  The beams had carved a wound over a thousand kilometers deep into the island, gouging a crater straight through its underbelly. Yet his body was whole—bruised, scorched, but terrifyingly intact.

  Eliana was stunned.

  Ziraiah whispered through clenched teeth, “He… tanked it.”

  The elf rolled his shoulders, as though shaking off dust.

  Ziraiah burst free from the waters, rage burning in her eyes. Dark clouds coiled overhead, lightning crackling in her veins. She rose to the sky, thrusting a hand into the storm.

  Bolts screamed into her palm, chaining down into her other hand.

  CRACK-CRACK-CRACK!

  She hurled them downward.

  The elf tilted his head lazily. Lightning brushed past his ear. Another bolt tore into the lake, vaporizing half of it into steam.

  The elf chuckled.

  “First fire, then water, now lightning. How many attributes do you wield, girl?”

  But the Guardians were already upon him. Fists, kicks, blades of radiant light. He weaved between them, untouchable. Then he caught one Guardian’s foot, swinging it into another—both shattering in bursts of light.

  Eliana descended like a comet.

  Her body blazed in golden radiance, hair streaming with divine fire.

  “AAAAAH!”

  She seized his neck and drove him downward. Together, they carved a trench across the island, stone splitting under the drag.

  “You’re not getting our flag!” she screamed.

  The elf only smiled faintly. “You’ve grown so strong… I see why he allowed you to come.”

  “Shut up!” Eliana almost faltered at the words.

  Then Eryndor’s voice filled her mind through thought transmission.

  “Cast him aloft—let the heavens claim him.”

  She obeyed instantly.

  The elf soared upward.

  Eryndor raised his left hand. A vast disk of fire formed above it, five meters wide, its core boiling like a sun, edges spinning.

  He hurled it.

  The disk screamed through the air, ringing with power. The elf dodged—

  BOOM!

  It exploded in midair, shockwaves tearing the clouds.

  The elf fell.

  But before he struck the water, he twisted and launched himself forward, straight at Eryndor once more.

  Eryndor’s eyes narrowed. “Persistent.”

  He brought both wrists together, palms forward. The air compressed between them, condensing into a brilliant sphere of white. The atmosphere itself groaned under the weight of it.

  Through thought transmission, his voice reached both Ziraiah and Eliana.

  “Bind him. I will not brook the possibility of him eluding this blow.”

  Eliana stood tall atop the forehead of her Guardian as it tore through the sky. She raised her arm high.

  “GO!”

  The other two Guardians surged forward. One stretched a colossal hand to seize the elf from behind—

  The elf twisted to evade Eliana’s Guardians —

  But the air itself betrayed him.

  WHOOOM—!

  A colossal hand, invisible yet crushing, condensed from the atmosphere and seized him mid-flight. His body buckled as the pressure constricted against his skin, bones creaking under the weight.

  His eyes widened. “What…? What is this sorcery?”

  Though his eyes saw nothing, his body felt everything—the suffocating density of compressed air locking around him like the grip of a god.

  Below, Ziraiah thrust her right hand downward.

  The hand obeyed.

  BOOOOM!

  The elf was slammed into the ground, the island quaking under the impact. Stone fissured outward for kilometers, the lake heaving like a storm.

  Before he could rise, titanic vines erupted from the shattered earth. They coiled around his body, his arms, his throat—writhing like serpents as they squeezed with crushing force.

  Then another titan rose.

  A diamond hand, massive as a fortress tower, emerged from the ground. It clamped over the elf’s struggling form, the crystalline fingers locking him in place, pressure grinding into his ribs.

  And then—Eryndor struck.

  The compressed sphere of air in his palms detonated, a white-hot beam screaming toward the restrained enemy.

  The elf’s eyes narrowed. For the first time, his expression shifted—acknowledgment.

  “Your teamwork… flawless.” His voice was calm, almost impressed. Then, colder:

  “But even so… not enough.”

  His body pulsed.

  CLANG!

  A curved wall of Cushion erupted before him, one kilometer wide, shimmering like a shield forged of invisible steel.

  Eryndor’s blast smashed against it—

  SKREEEEEEE!

  —then split apart, shearing off in two diverging arcs.

  The beams vaporized everything in their path—trees, stone, mountains—scouring the land until, at last, they faded on the horizon.

  When the dust settled, the island bore the mark of their clash. A colossal Y-shaped scar carved deep across its surface, burning and steaming.

  And at the center of it, the elf still stood—held, battered, but very much alive.

  ---

  To Be Continued...