What V had done before had broken the encirclement.
It allowed humanity to breathe.
But what Abraham had done ..
was on an entirely different level.
A sword the size of a continent—
its light reaching even Snow in space.
Its radiance purified all darkness ...
annihilating demons,
reducing them to fragments of black and red dust scattered into the air.
The enemy had numbered in the millions—
many times greater than humanity.
Yet ... with a single strike ...
that advantage vanished.
The explosion deafened ears.
Many humans lost their hearing from its sheer force.
Others were blinded by the brilliance of the blade.
But losing sight and sound—
was a small price to pay compared to losing their lives.
In space, Snow remained silent.
Unmoving.
The scale of Abraham’s attack had left him stunned.
From above—
he saw it clearly.
"The Ultras Continent... has been split in two..."
A single strike.
A continent divided.
More than eighty percent of the enemy ...
erased from existence.
Abraham emerged from the fading light,
his body releasing scorching steam that caused the air around him to boil.
He stepped forward, sword in hand .
calm.
As though he had not just unleashed a catastrophe.
He looked upon the destruction before him ...
then turned his gaze to the allies behind him.
Clearing his throat, he addressed them all.
"Soldiers of the Empire—listen carefully."
"Carve my words into your minds... and into your hearts."
"This battlefield... was made for those ready to die."
"For men prepared to throw their lives away in pursuit of victory."
"Those who do not wish to die... those who fear death..."
"...have no place here."
He moved forward as he spoke—
chasing down what remained of the enemy.
"If you wish to live—then run."
"Leave this place. Do not return."
"No one will blame you."
"No one will call you a coward."
"Go back home."
"And do not fear... I will fight in your place."
Abraham’s words froze many where they stood.
It was a strange speech.
Unexpected.
A leader ...
who should have driven his soldiers forward .
had instead told them to flee.
If you are not ready to die—
run.
Save yourself.
It was...
mercy.
A rare thing in this era—
an age consumed by struggle and survival.
It was not the speech of a typical commander.
Yet ...no one complained.
Because Abraham had already fulfilled his promise.
He had annihilated most of the enemy.
And he was still pursuing what remained.
There was no need for soldiers.
No need for an army.
They were... unnecessary here.
But instead of shame ..
the soldiers of the Empire felt something else.
Gratitude.
Before the eyes of humanity’s champions—and the warriors of the Shadow sect—
it began.
At first, dozens.
Then hundreds.
Soldiers of the Empire turned their backs on the battlefield... and fled.
They did not break.
They did not panic.
They obeyed.
They retreated under the command of the very man who had just saved them—
the man who chose to show them mercy.
Faced with such a scene, neither the heroes of humanity nor the elites of the Shadow Sect could decide ..
was this wisdom... or folly?
Even if one wished to argue ...
Abraham had already silenced them.
What he had done... left no room for debate.
Above them, however—
one man was anything but silent.
The Emperor of Dragons snarled, fury rumbling in his voice.
"He held back that kind of power all this time—only to waste it on weaklings of no worth?!"
"What could have been a decisive trump card against the strongest enemies... squandered so carelessly!"
"What kind of commander reveals everything this early?!"
"What kind of leader tells his own soldiers to run?!"
Kalameet’s anger was justified.
From a purely strategic standpoint ...
Abraham’s decision bordered on recklessness.
Fulghor, however, remained silent.
There was no protest in his gaze—
only a quiet, unspoken respect.
As for Frey...
he said nothing.
Neither agreement nor denial.
Only observation.
Only thought.
’Incredible... while I was forging my strength... he was doing the same.’
There was no frustration in him.
No doubt.
Only a quiet, undeniable satisfaction.
His father—
had reached a height far beyond expectation.
Two Ignitions.
Stacked.
A Supernova.
A force so explosive that even Frey could not immediately measure its upper limits.
’Without question... in that state, Abraham stands among the absolute strongest in this war.’
Nameless spoke with genuine admiration.
This was no hollow praise ...
but recognition.
Of power.
Of presence.
Of inevitability.
’And what he did... was not meaningless.’
Frey nodded slightly.
"They’ve finally revealed themselves."
The near-instant annihilation of the demonic army had shaken even the enemy.
And so—
the true players began to move.
Amid a sea of puppets ..
something emerged.
A grotesque, mutated entity—
its body writhing with dozens of glowing blue arms.
Where its head should have been—
there was only a blazing blue flame.
Simon Manus.
No longer merely a creator .
but something reborn through the Devil’s Seed and that mysterious blue substance.
Its presence alone surpassed the SSS threshold.
From the west .
another figure advanced.
A demon.
Its gray skin cracked like dying stone,
sunken eyes hollow with something ancient,
dark blue lips curled in stillness.
With every step .
the ground froze beneath it.
Its power was no less terrifying.
But the greatest threat—
came from the east.
A monstrous surge of aura erupted—
and with it, shadows came alive.
They slithered across the earth like colossal serpents.
The third seat of the Higher Demons—
Vayne, the King Shadow.
And yet—
Amon did not appear.
Even so ... Vayne alone was enough.
A true monster.
Enough to draw forth one of their own.
Fulghor stepped forward.
At last.
"My opponent is here."
His voice was deep—steady.
"I’ll handle the Third Seat. The rest is yours."
Then—
he moved.
A golden meteor tore through the sky as Fulghor descended.
Unlike before—
he held nothing back.
No divided power.
No restraint.
This time ...
he carried one hundred percent of his immense aura.
His intent was clear.
To end Vayne.
Completely.
But this was no ordinary Third Seat.
Something deeper ...
something far more dangerous—
lurked beneath that demonic form.
even this clash defied prediction.
And then ... as if the battlefield had not already reached its threshold .
something else appeared.
Not below.
But above.
Far beyond the battlefield—
in the silence of space.
Before Snow Leonhart .. clad in his radiant white armor .
the fabric of reality distorted.
A gray fracture split time and space—
opening like a wound.
From it .. an old man stepped through.
Tall.
Long-bearded.
Wrapped in dark robes.
A weathered wooden staff resting in his grasp.
There was no overwhelming pressure.
No suffocating aura.
And yet— cold sweat slid down Snow’s back.
Because this was no ordinary enemy.
This was the Dark Duke of Hell.
Maskith.
"Well now... this isn’t very reassuring, Lord of Light."
Maskith smiled faintly, baring his teeth.
"Afraid already? The battle hasn’t even begun."
His tone was casual.
Almost bored.
"Forgive me for choosing you as my opponent."
"This place... is simply quieter."