Northern's gaze drifted forward to the man standing alone in the barren expanse.
Lieutenant Dante's black hair whipped in the cold wind sweeping across the ruins. Night had long since fallen, and the winds had grown biting as always. No one had noticed their chill before, masked by Burning Storm's overwhelming presence.
Now that the ferocious storm-bull had perished, the winds spiraled back like ghostly fingers reclaiming their territory.
Neither of them felt their touch. Northern possessed a body that defied nature itself, granting him uncanny resistance to weather and even stranger phenomena. Lieutenant Dante was a Paragon.
Dante stood frozen, his mind struggling to make sense of the figure in the distance.
Slowly, the color drained from Dante's face. His eyes widened as recognition dawned—the identity of the person standing before him becoming terrifyingly clear.
A chill crept through his bones as memories flooded back—watching this strange boy fight and kill without mercy or hesitation.
Dante's lips parted, words rising in his throat—then vanished as Northern's foot crashed into his stomach. The world flashed white, reality itself momentarily erased.
The impact sent ripples through the air—concentric circles of force expanding outward. Air blasted from Dante's back as his body tumbled across the ground like a discarded puppet.
Northern advanced with glacier-like focus. He overtook the Lieutenant's helpless form, seized it in his grip, and dragged him through the earth. Stone fragments scattered like rain as flesh met ground.
With one fluid motion, Northern launched the Lieutenant skyward, his body arcing helplessly against the night.
Northern rocketed upward, a blur of movement, and drove his fist into the Lieutenant's suspended form.
The air split with a thunderous crack. Dante's body became a missile, crashing through debris before skidding to a brutal halt against the ruined earth.
Above, Northern hung in the sky, his eyes cold stars observing the destruction below.
Each of his strikes could shatter mountains and tear through fortress gates like paper.
Every blow contained momentum—compressed, then unleashed in devastating bursts. He needed no buildup, no running start; his hands simply generated force beyond comprehension the moment they moved.
This same momentum principle fueled his impossible speed. Already unnaturally swift, Northern's velocity increased with every stride.
Momentum now answered to his call. He could simply reach out and seize it, bend it to his purpose. With each subtle shift of his body—and those around him—more energy flowed into his reservoir, though it wasn't limitless.
But Burning Storm offered even more intriguing talent abilities beyond this.
Northern examined his hands, turning them slowly before his eyes.
'I feel... so... powerful.'
Never before had such strength coursed through his veins. It felt right—it felt Supreme.
Northern descended from the sky, his form drifting downward like judgment itself. Lieutenant Dante had finally stopped moving, his broken body coming to rest just before the complex entrance. The massive structure trembled one final time from the impact of Dante's crash.
Northern's feet touched the ground before the Lieutenant, his face darkening into a scowl.
"I have always known you were up to something sketchy."
Lieutenant Dante rose to his feet with unnatural smoothness, as though the devastating blows had barely touched him.
A soft, sinister laugh escaped his lips.
"Nice to meet you again, boy."
His brows knitted together, shadows gathering across his face.
"And to what do I owe this pleasant surprise? As far as I know, you have no business here."
Northern's gaze turned to ice, his eyes focused somewhere beyond the present moment. Slowly, he shifted his attention toward the spot where Raizel's body lay motionless.
"You do. After killing my mentor, you have business with me."
Dante's eyes stretched wide, realization striking like lightning.
"What?"
The pieces clicked into place like a deadly puzzle. Paragon Raizel had mentioned a disciple. He'd spoken of crossing paths with Dante.
Dante had dismissed these details as trivial, unworthy of his attention.
Now, clarity washed over him like a cold wave. The boy Paragon Raizel had taken under his wing was the same one Dante had encountered at the rift—the one with the uncanny ability to mirror his talent.
'And what did he do to Raizel? Why are his punches so damn powerful?'
No blood flowed from Dante's body. As a Paragon, his flesh was nigh invulnerable, shrugging off attacks that would obliterate ordinary men.
But these blows—they felt capable of shattering reinforced alloy walls.
Every impact point throbbed with searing pain, demanding his attention. Focusing on anything beyond the constellation of bruises required monumental effort.
"To think that fate can be so unreasonable."
He swayed slightly, fingers tightening around his sword. His gaze lowered, the eye marked by an old scar remaining perpetually closed.
Northern stood precisely ten meters away, as though measuring the distance between predator and prey.
Silence stretched between them before Dante finally spoke.
"Can I use my one wish...?"
Northern's lips curled into a humorless smile.
"Seriously. It's quite shameless of you to ask, considering the disaster you have caused in this place. One wish?"
Northern's expression hardened into something ancient and merciless.
"Or perhaps, this was the reason why you prepared such a scenario back then? Because you felt if you couldn't control me, you could restrict me. By honoring my wish, you expected me to honor yours."
Lieutenant Dante regarded Northern with a face carved from stone—an unreadable mask that betrayed nothing of the calculations surely racing behind his eyes.
Northern's voice cut through the silence.
"It's a pity then, Lieutenant Dante, that I do not place value on things I can't afford. Honor, loyalty, those are principles I am too poor and selfish to uphold. If you're deserving to be killed by me... one wish or not. You will be killed by me."
Something dark and knowing passed across Dante's features like a shadow across the moon.
"Hmm. Say boy, do you think you control your Destiny?"
Northern's brows drew together, but before he could respond, Dante pressed on.
"Many people believe they control their destiny, yet they live life on autopilot, following paths laid out by others. When they crumble, they blame circumstances or others, never taking responsibility for their choices."
The Lieutenant paused, a ghost of a smile playing across his lips.
"Destiny is a concept that has fascinated humanity for hundreds of centuries. Is it pre-written or do we have the power to shape it? I believe the truth lies somewhere in between."
He shifted his weight, his gaze drilling into Northern's frost-filled eyes.
"Destiny is not a fixed road map, but a path that unfolds based on our actions, decisions, and mindset.
"Many people passively accept what life throws at them, believing that their future is controlled by external forces. They follow the routines and expectations set by society, rarely questioning their purpose.
"However, this passive approach limits potential. Your Destiny is not something you find. It's something you create. To take charge of it, you must move beyond comfort zones, embrace challenges, and take responsibility for your life.
"Success in shaping your Destiny requires courage, it requires perseverance. It takes boldness to reject societal norms that don't align with your dreams and strength to push forward."
His voice fell silent, the words hanging in the air between them.
"Boy. The Central Plains is a dying continent, a continent we have killed..."
He raised his hands, studying his open palms as if reading a future written in the lines.
"With my very own hands, I have decided to carve my destiny. Defy what is societal normalcy, and I am ready to tear down any obstacles, either you, the Kings and their nations, or the Ruler of Reimgard himself."