"Yeah. Die, you creepy old king. Just because you’re D-grade doesn’t mean you’ll survive," Furan shouted as she launched a lance of water at the figure below.
The king stood unmoving. He was old, his hair and beard pure white, but his eyes burned like blazing flames. His uniform was deep red, and a long white cape danced behind him in the heat rising from his body.
It had taken Furan and her party of twenty elves a long time to find this place—and now, they weren’t about to leave empty-handed.
After all, he was just an Unari. Not an elf.
Even at D-grade, he shouldn’t stand a chance.
"Insolent brat," the king hissed.
Flames roared to life around him, exploding outward. The heat alone pushed the entire group back as her water lance evaporated mid-flight. His aura surged, crushing against them like a physical force.
For a brief moment, the party froze in shock, then they reacted.
One of the three archers loosed an arrow, and it sank deep into the king’s leg.
"You really think you can fight back?" Furan’s brother, Felran, roared in triumph after hitting the shot.
Furan felt a flicker of pride as she gathered more water, shaping it to counter the rising inferno.
This time, the king said nothing.
Instead, flames erupted from his body.
The fireballs twisted mid-air—eyes opening within them—then arms followed, forming clawed limbs.
"Counter the skill!" Furan shouted.
Barriers flared to life as the newly formed fire elementals surged forward. Archers and mages cut them down quickly—each one fragile, collapsing after a single hit—but the king’s aura fed them endlessly. More and more were born, faster than they could destroy them.
The arrow embedded in the king’s leg burned away, the wound closing instantly.
A grin spread across his face as he prepared to unleash even more power, but a dense beam of light suddenly slammed into his chest, blasting him off the rune-bound arena.
"Good job, Rajan," Furan called, already following up with a jetstream of water that hurled him even farther back.
The elves pressed their advantage.
For a moment, the king faltered. His skin darkened to a deep red as the damage accumulated.
"Enough!" he roared.
A shockwave exploded from him, sending multiple elves crashing into the ground. Bones cracked under the impact. Three of her fighters were instantly knocked out.
The healers rushed forward—but they needed time.
Then the king reached into his robe and pulled out a red crystal.
Before anyone could react, he drove it straight into his own heart.
Furan recoiled at the grotesque sight.
His body began to change.
He grew taller—nearly a full meter—as his muscles swelled unnaturally. Flames engulfed him, veins glowing like molten lava beneath his skin.
"Attack! Now!" Furan shouted.
This was their chance.
Arrows and spells rained toward his head—but before they could land, the king erupted with power once more.
He raised his arms—and simply tanked everything.
Even the strongest attacks slid off his skin without leaving a mark.
"Where is your elven arrogance now?" the king laughed, his voice twisted by madness.
"I will burn you all to ash… and feast on what remains."
His grin widened as the power consumed him.
The elves stepped back instinctively.
Everyone understood—this wasn’t a fight they could win head-on anymore. They just needed to survive until whatever this transformation was… ended.
The king’s body burned brighter and brighter, like a rising sun. He drew his hands together, preparing a devastating final attack and then a blade burst from his chest.
Time seemed to freeze.
With a casual motion, the sword slid sideways and the king’s body split in two.
Both halves collapsed to the ground.
Behind him stood a man.
Golden skin, black hair and Crimson eyes that burned like embers.
"Well… that was easy," the human said with a faint smile.
The elves instinctively stepped back as he reached forward, plunging his hand into the king’s chest and pulling out the small red crystal.
The king was still barely alive—his mouth open in a silent scream, his eyes filled with agony—before the light faded completely.
Only then did Furan notice the other two figures standing behind the human.
The first one was just another human.
But the second…
The second was an elf—and Furan knew that face.
"Honored Ricarda Chosen of Ferniel?" Furan stammered, unsure how to proceed. She had only ever seen the Chosen from afar—but what was she doing here, with them?
The black-haired human stood beside her, showing no respect. No bow. No hesitation.
At first, Furan thought they might be her slaves—but that idea fell apart instantly. Neither of the humans behaved like servants.
Especially not the one who had just killed the king.
Instead of handing the crystal to Ricarda, he casually turned to the other human, commenting that it was still hot and that he would carry it himself.
Even worse…
Ricarda didn’t react.
Her gaze looked distant. Empty.
What had they done to her?
Fury rose in Furan’s chest—but her brother was faster.
"How dare you disrespect the Chosen!" Felran roared. "Do you have a death wish, human?"
That finally drew their attention.
The golden-skinned man turned slowly, while panic began to flicker in Ricarda’s eyes.
"I’m not great with diplomacy," he said in a dismissive tone. "Ricarda, do you want to say something?"
"How dare you speak to the Chosen!" Furan shouted, already forming a water spike to strike him down but Ricarda’s reaction made her freeze.
When the elf spoke, it looked like she was on the verge of tears.
"Please… just lay down your weapons and hand over your treasures. If you have any."
Silence.
Every elf stared at her.
Furan instinctively checked the leaderboard—just to be sure.
Yes.
It really was her.
"Don’t worry, Honored Ricarda—we’ll free you from whatever spell this human has placed on you!" Felran roared, already drawing another arrow.
His power shots were unmatched—one of the reasons he was among the strongest archers she knew.
Furan felt a surge of pride.
The arrow shot forward, faster than the eye could follow, leaving a shockwave in its wake. Dodging it should have been impossible.
The human didn’t even use a movement skill.
He simply stepped aside.
The arrow slammed into the arena wall behind him, tearing a massive hole through stone and runes alike.
He glanced at it, mildly annoyed.
"No—please stop! There’s no need to fight!" Ricarda pleaded.
That made the elves hesitate.
"What have they done to you?" Furan asked, trying to steady her voice. "Don’t worry—you can tell us."
Something in her words… snapped.
"Just stop attacking them!" Ricarda shouted. "These humans will do things to you far worse than death."
That unsettled everyone.
The golden-skinned human tilted his head slightly.
"Worse than death?" he asked casually. "It hasn’t been that bad so far, right, Pikar?"
"I wouldn’t mind if the elves got the same treatment as our last opponent," the black-skinned human said with a shrug.
Furan thought she heard… anticipation in his voice.
Ricarda looked like she might faint.
"Not in this form," the golden one added calmly, "but we get double experience in this trial. It would be a waste to let them go."
Then he turned fully toward the elves.
His sword began to hum—low, heavy, dangerous.
As he stepped forward, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Even without releasing his aura, the pressure was immediate—oppressive.
The way he looked at them, reminded Furan of how eagles looked at prey.
"We’ll wait by the tablets," the black human said, gesturing for Ricarda to follow.
The way she obeyed…
It was like watching a beaten animal.
Head lowered. Movements stiff.
Right before disappearing into the staircase, she turned once more.
Her face was filled with sorrow.
Something inside Furan snapped.
"Don’t worry! We’ll save you after we kill him!" she shouted. "And you, human—your death will be slow and painful for what you’ve done!"
For a brief moment, she thought she heard a quiet oh no from Ricarda—before the elf hurried out of sight.
It didn’t matter.
Furan would save her.
And maybe earn a blessing for it.
"Stay back. I’ll handle this myself," Felran said with a confident smile.
Furan’s chest swelled with pride.
Her little brother was always so fearless.
She remembered their childhood—hunting together, laughing, celebrating their victories.
Family meant everything to her.
And that was exactly why she would grant him the honor of killing this monster.
"Yes, brother—go and bring me his head," she said with a smile.
She watched as two red vines, marked with golden spots, pierced into her brother’s chest and then, with a violent ripping sound, tore him apart completely.
Time seemed to slow.
His body split in two as it fell to the ground. His confident smile twisted into confusion… then pain… and finally into sheer, helpless horror.
Where the vines had entered, the flesh shriveled instantly, his blood vanishing into them as if devoured.
"AAAAHHHHHHHHH!"
It took Furan a moment to realize the scream came from her own throat.
"Kill the human!" she roared, summoning her strongest skill. Rivers of water surged into existence around her, but she froze as the human unleashed his aura.
It was overwhelming.
Pure bloodlust.
Cold determination.
Furan had fought countless battles—before and after the Integration—but this… this felt different.
He was still E-grade. Still below them.
And yet—
Still she would make him pay.
For her brother. For everything he had done to Ricarda.
With a furious cry, she unleashed her attack. Spells rained down on him as the melee fighters charged, blades drawn, aiming to cut him apart.
The human moved.
Effortlessly.
His movements were unnatural—too smooth, too fast for an early E-grade. Nothing touched him. Not a single strike. He dodged, deflected, and flowed through the battlefield as if he had already seen every attack before it happened.
Doubt tried to creep in, but rage crushed it.
One by one, the elves fell. He didn’t make a single mistake.
His strength far exceeded Ricans, their strongest warrior. The moment Rican engaged him, his arm was shattered—crushed like brittle wood—before the human spun past a lightning bolt and severed his head in a single, clean strike.
Commands, screams, and the clash of steel echoed through the arena.
"What are you doing? Hit him!" Furan shouted at a nearby mage, who had just released the weakest lightning bolt she had ever seen.
But then she stopped.
The mage had dropped to his knees.
Blood seeped from his skin, running down in slow streams. His hands clawed at his own face as if trying to stop it from escaping. His eyes were wide—frozen in terror.
For a moment, horror gripped her.
Then rage took over again.
She spun, unleashing a devastating barrage of ice, but froze mid-motion.
The human was looking directly at her.
And he made a small gesture with one hand.
A sudden, overwhelming sense of danger struck her.
From above.
Her head snapped upward, just in time to see a burning red portal opening in the sky.
From it, multiple crimson lances descended straight toward her face.
Then darkness.