Clad in vicious black armor with thick metallic overlapping plates—their crudely jagged edges absorbing the beautiful day's light—Northern moved like a fearsome wind of darkness.
The hammer added a tremendous note of grotesque strength to his form, lending him a twisted, dark gracefulness that seemed almost blasphemous in its perfection.
He spared no one glances, nor did he waste precious moments on the monsters he slayed—they were merely obstacles, unworthy of his full attention.
He materialized abruptly before a monster, his hammer taking a terrifying upward swing. The weapon crushed the beast's jaw with a sickening crunch, sending purple viscous liquid arcing through the air like unholy rain.
The hammer was already carving another cruel arc, descending with merciless precision to pound the monster's head into the ground. Webbed cracks spread instantaneously across the concrete, fracturing without warning beneath the devastating impact.
Northern pivoted the hammer, impaling one of the creature's eyes with the razor-sharp end of its shaft. The four-legged monstrosity let out a guttural growl—thick and vibrative—a sound that matched the savage nature of its appearance.
Northern drove the hammer shaft deeper, piercing through the eye socket and out through the jaw below. He paid no mind to the brutal spray of blood staining his armor—which, eerily, evaporated almost immediately upon contact.
Nor did he flinch at the beast's fearsome cry that made the very ground tremble beneath them.
Northern was cold. Wicked. Devastating.
The monster's tail lashed at him, violently tearing through the air. But Northern ignored it completely, trusting his armor's defense enough not to waste even a glance on such a trivial attack.
The tail bounced off the Molten Vein armor with a shower of fiery sparks that flared briefly before dying out—unable to ignite against the supernatural metal.
With colossal might, Northern wrenched out the shaft of his hammer. A torrent of gore erupted into the air, painting everything in its path with death's signature. The monster growled terribly, its voice cracking under the strain of agony.
It thrashed wildly now, infected with the madness born from unbearable pain. Its tail whipped forward repeatedly, but each attempt met only the formidable metal forged in the depths of molten magma.
Eventually, Northern snatched the tail mid-strike, wrapping it around his hands like flexible wire—though they were clearly coiled muscles, powerful and strong.
But before his might, they might as well have been thread.
He stepped back and hoisted the monster by its tail, slamming it against the ground. The impact sent fractures racing across the fine but brutally stained concrete.
He pivoted and slammed the beast again before rolling his shoulder and launching it skyward.
The monster hurtled into the clouds and beyond, vanishing into the vast emptiness of space like a shooting star in reverse—a fleeting testament to Northern's terrible power.
He was already flowing toward the next monster—a seamless transition, like shadow becoming motion. The creature charged at him with ferocious strength, claws outstretched for the kill.
Northern stomped one leg on the ground, his foot crushing into concrete and sending shrapnel of stone spraying into the air. His hand moved with blurring speed, fingers flicking each fragment with imperceptible precision.
To any observer, it appeared only as invisible projectiles piercing into the creature's eyes, causing it to stumble mid-stride and roll helplessly toward Northern.
Of course, he wasted no such sweet opportunity. Grinning grimly behind the visor of Molten Vein—charged with thunderous electricity—he brought down the hammer. The impact released a shockwave that rippled outward in a cloud of dust and broken earth.
The entire battlefield trembled and everyone seemed to pause for a heartbeat.
Even the representatives of the Citadels, each locked in their own desperate battles, all froze momentarily.
Each of these monsters was at least a Maelstrom. There was no way a random stranger could be defeating Maelstroms with mere swings of some enormous hammer.
Unless...
Vector's eyes widened. He scratched his golden hair as he tried to comprehend the idea forming in his mind.
The creature that had perched atop his head was gone. In its place stood a ferocious yellow beast with black stripes rippling across its muscled body. Its eyes burned with rage, making that innocent look from before seem like a cruel deception.
"A Paragon?"
The words escaped his lips in a whisper of realization.
Even amidst the battle, the young representative of the Virelion Citadel maintained his nonchalance, seemingly disconnected from the chaos surrounding him.
But he staggered forward as he stared, transfixed, at Northern—the tail of a monster sweeping over his head where it had been mere fractions of seconds ago.
Instantly, his beast leaped onto the monster, both creatures locked in a fearsome struggle for dominance as they tumbled across the broken ground.
"A Paragon is fighting amidst us? Damn! We are saved!"
The words erupted from Vector, a rare display of emotion breaking through his façade.
As he shouted, the traditional swordsman representing Nytheris Citadel happened to land nearby, reeling from the terrible force of a monster's blow.
He glanced at Vector, eyes narrowing.
"Did you say a Paragon is here?"
His brows curved into a dark, serious frown.
Then he followed Vector's gaze, watching the stranger in dark Molten Armor as he fought with unbelievable ease, crushing monsters like he was playing some macabre game of whack-a-mole.
His expression paled as he witnessed the entire ground tremble when the armored figure hefted the hammer and whacked a monster like a golf ball, sending it sailing into the distance.
"Dear stars... such strength... but wasn't that hammer?"
The words died on his lips, confusion etching itself across his face.
The last person he had seen wielding that hammer was the strange, non-combative student—the very reason he had been forced to come to Milhwa festival and in extension, participate in this conflict.
And speaking of the student—he was over there, in his black lustrous armor, his path marked by vicious, jagged formations of ice that jutted upward and impaled monsters with cold ferocity.
He was holding a sword, the same blade everyone recognized as his signature weapon. He moved with uncanny speed, seemingly impossible to sense or track.
The swordsman found it difficult to keep his eyes on the student because he was perpetually in motion. Never stopping. His blade always singing—albeit with an emotionless melody that harvested death with each swing.
That was Northern.
This armored figure had to be a strange Paragon who had happened to claim the hammer and was now wielding it with devastating effect.
Indeed, they were all going to be saved today. Their fates were not as bleak as they had seemed—as long as a Paragon stood among them.
This... was how the tale of the enigmatic Heroic Paragon began.