“Hmm?”
Salesin let out a sound without meaning to—an instinctive response to a sensation he was not familiar with.
That sensation was danger.
Danger? Was he truly feeling danger? Him?
Salesin’s gaze drifted toward Ludger.
There, facing him with a wounded palm extended, Ludger gave him a strange impression.
He had not used magic. Nor was he struggling to force open the sealed celestial gate within himself.
He had simply wounded his hand and scattered blood into the air.
That was all—yet Salesin felt something was wrong.
At the very least, the Ludger he knew was not someone who would ever perform a meaningless action.
Every action had a reason worthy of its execution.
‘Something is coming.’
The moment Salesin strengthened the divine power wrapped around his body in preparation—
A massive heat source surged from beyond.
Cutting through the storm clouds and piercing straight through the Galaharad Fortress was a bolt of red lightning.
CRRRRAAASH!
It flew faster than the sound that should have accompanied it, and only after the red lightning struck did the eardrum-shredding roar explode across the battlefield.
Clinton’s eyes widened at the sight.
At first glance, the red lightning seemed like a simple strike, but the magical elements woven within it were so intricate and complex that even he—a 7th-Circle ~Nоvеl𝕚ght~ <Impera>—could barely trace them.
Moreover, the point of origin was so distant that even his superior mana-detection senses could not locate it.
For it to be beyond his range, it had to have been fired from well outside the island.
‘This is... an 8th-Circle spell? They survived!’
Joy curled faintly at the corner of Clinton’s mouth.
Part of it was witnessing a legendary spell with his own eyes—
but more than that, the realization that the being he respected above all might still be alive made his heart race.
Just as Clinton recognized the sublime aesthetics within the red lightning, even the 6th-Circle mages present sensed something.
“Wow, what the....”
“This is magic? What in the world....”
Caroline and Elisa stared with their mouths open, not in admiration but in stunned disbelief.
Sedina, Casey, and Marias reacted the same.
Even to mages of color, this spell felt like the very essence of magic—something so far beyond them that mere imitation was unthinkable.
Its destructive power needed no explanation.
Where the red lightning passed, nothing remained.
The combined spell Sedina and Casey had used to restrain Salesin vanished without a trace.
Hundreds of red flashes flickered each second, bright enough to hurt the eyes.
The thunderous detonations shook the atmosphere itself, making the entire space tremble violently.
There was not even the smell of something burning.
Before overwhelming firepower, even scent itself had been erased—leaving absolutely nothing behind.
It was magic that created a literal void.
And yet, shockingly, even within that transcendental spell, Salesin did not die.
“This was honestly dangerous.”
For the first time, Salesin’s ever-present smile disappeared.
He, who always looked untouched as though existing on another plane, had actually suffered a proper blow.
The robe on his right arm had been completely burned away, and the exposed flesh of his right hand was covered in burns and torn wounds.
Even someone like him—capable of healing most wounds with ease—could not instantly recover from damage inflicted by Grander’s magic.
“Right. There was still that True-Blood Vampire. I thought its soul was damaged to the point of being a hollow shell... but it seems it left behind quite the trump card.”
Had he not felt a sense of wrongness from Ludger’s earlier action and instinctively braced himself, the damage would have been far worse.
But even so—Salesin had survived.
His right arm was badly wounded, but with time it would naturally regenerate.
“On the other hand, you just played your most important card here. And since you failed to finish me with it—what exactly do you plan to do now?”
Salesin sneered at Ludger as he spoke.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for Ludger’s reaction.
Ludger stood there, motionless, staring at Salesin.
If only he would say a word or move a step, but he looked more like a statue than a man.
The faint sense of wrongness that jangled through the air—
the first to notice it was Clinton, whose magical rank was highest among those present.
“You... right now....”
Clinton realized Ludger was not looking at Salesin.
Though his eyes were pointed in Salesin’s direction, Ludger was actually following something else entirely.
He was tracing the residual mana with his eyes.
Only then did Clinton notice: around Salesin, the lingering mana was still unnaturally thick and vivid.
‘Even for such a powerful spell, this much lingering mana... for this long?’
Something was wrong.
The next to sense it were the color mages—those who saw the world differently.
To their eyes, the traces of mana Grander had left behind in the air looked almost like a kindly prepared set of instructions.
More precisely—a blueprint of the spell.
How it was used. How it unfurled.
Every part of it remained imprinted as if out of benevolence from the spell’s caster.
‘A blueprint?’
Casey did not deny the idea that instinctively surfaced—but she could not shake her doubts.
This was 8th-Circle magic.
Even if someone kindly showed the blueprint, no one could possibly recreate it.
If every mage who received instruction could simply reproduce what they were taught, the world would be filled only with archmages.
Talent mattered.
Especially the talent to reach the realm of great mages—so rare that only a handful across the continent possessed it.
But then Casey Selmore suddenly remembered one man.
There was one, was there not?
One man with unfathomable talent.
One who had crossed countless mortal boundaries, honed himself to the extreme, and reached a depth no one could measure.
Everyone’s gaze fixed on Ludger.
Fwoosh.
Shadows rose around Ludger like black flames.
Racing up from his feet, they devoured his body, gathering in the right arm he had extended.
Sssssss.
Even for Ludger, this time was different—
his palm began to burn.
But Ludger did not stop.
The structuring of spells, the weaving and rearranging of mana, the endless strain on the brain—
he forced the hundreds of layered circuits and intricate diagrams into place by mental calculation alone.
The taste of iron filled his mouth.
But Ludger did not stop.
His mind felt as if it were splitting; his head felt as if it were melting into mush—an excruciating process.
Yet he advanced, refusing to surrender, and at last—he completed it.
Salesin’s eyes flew open at the sight.
“That is impossible.”
He reacted to the mass of black flame forming in Ludger’s right hand.
“You are using magic beyond your own Circle. That is physically impossible.”
“Did you forget what kind of magic I use?”
Ludger showed him a sharp, bloody smile.
“For me, building it purely as a proper spell is too much. So I added a little trick. I mixed in a fragment of ancient magic—performed through belief, conviction, and miracle alone.”
If normal magic was a perfectly fitted puzzle, then Ludger’s spell was one with missing teeth and broken pieces.
He had simply filled the missing parts with a shortcut.
But that did not diminish it being 8th-Circle.
A shortcut or not, 8th-Circle was still 8th-Circle.
“You—!”
Salesin drew a sword of light with his right hand to strike—
But a sharp sting flared through his hand, reminding him belatedly of his injury.
‘That vampire!’
Did it plan this even in that instant?
The arrogance of believing he would never be injured—his arrogance as an absolute being—caught his ankle at that critical moment.
That brief hesitation gave Ludger his window.
“Here. Try taking this one as well.”
8th-Circle original magic.
[Dark Thunder]
The black lightning swallowed Salesin whole.
* * *
A pitch-black bolt cleaved the sky, stretching beyond the clouds and echoing across the entirety of Bretus.
Soldiers repairing equipment along the receded shoreline stared at the sight with blank astonishment.
Red lightning first—then now black lightning.
Just what was happening inside the Galaharad Fortress? No one could begin to guess.
Even if they returned to their homeland and reported this exactly, who would believe them?
“What in the world is happening over there?”
Queen Yekaterina, who had joined the war under the pretext of supporting the allied forces, murmured as she looked up at the fortress.
She did not know what exactly was happening.
But she knew this much: that man was in there.
‘I do not believe you are a Demon King. You must have your reasons.’
Yekaterina was completely free of brainwashing.
It seemed many leaders of other nations had been affected, but she—along with a chosen few—had not.
The reason was the priestesses.
Salesin had sent priestesses to carry out brainwashing through divine authority, but they only pretended to obey.
They could not directly refuse Salesin, but if commanded by someone of equivalent standing, they could act with personal judgment.
And the one who ordered them to pretend to brainwash was Catherine.
They cast the faintest possible semblance of brainwashing—just enough to satisfy Salesin’s requirement without harming their targets.
Thanks to that, Yekaterina learned the truth and was able to stand on this battlefield.
‘Worrying will change nothing.’
Her role was to hold the defensive line here—to prevent the allied forces from advancing.
The overflowing cryptid horde had already diminished and then disappeared entirely.
Those who remained had nothing to do but wait and pray.
Indeed, some soldiers fell to their knees, praying silently.
Yekaterina looked at them with a pitiful heart.
If only they knew.
The one they worshipped so devoutly viewed everyone but himself as insects, yearning to rule over them.
‘Please win.’
So she prayed.
For the man fighting more fiercely than anyone.
May peace await him at the end of his path.
* * *
The spell Ludger unleashed created massive devastation.
A hole large enough to see the outside world through the cavern ceiling had been blasted open.
Thud.
Salesin’s charred right arm, which had been floating in the air, dropped limply to the floor.
From Grander’s spell it had been only the arm that suffered damage—
but this time, everything except that arm had been erased.
Even Salesin—who transcended the laws of the world—could not endure magic that itself surpassed law and principle.
It had become a spear sharp enough to pierce his heart.
“Sss... haa.”
Ludger exhaled raggedly.
Cold sweat streamed down his entire body. He had poured everything he had into using just one spell.
It was painful enough to question whether he should ever do it again—
yet the result was deeply satisfying.
“Heh... hahaha. To think I would witness 8th-Circle magic up close in my lifetime.”
Clinton let out a breathless laugh.
“Should I start calling you Great Archmage now?”
“That would be burdensome. Please call me normally.”
Ludger steadied his breathing.
Looking at his palm, he saw a severe burn. A wound caused by failing to fully control Dark Thunder—but even this felt acceptable in a moment like this.
The path to the next realm had finally been opened. His reaction was only natural.
“We finally... won?”
“My goodness. I still cannot believe it.”
The survivors could not tell whether this was reality or a dream.
Just when relief washed through the air—
A sharp, prickling sensation jolted through Ludger’s mind.
‘What is that?’
A tidal wave of unease crashed over him.
Salesin had fallen; there should be nothing left to fear. So why—?
Almost at the same time, Ludger’s eyes turned toward Salesin’s severed right arm on the ground.
And that arm twitched—like a living thing—raising its fingers to point at them.
“Everyone, move!”
Barely had Ludger’s warning left his lips when a massive burst of light erupted from Salesin’s right arm.