In the Dwarf's workshop, Jonathan examined his upgraded sword, which now gleamed brilliantly—remarkably different from its previous state, reflecting the success of the enhancements. The Dwarf wore a satisfied smirk upon witnessing his client's contentment with his craftsmanship. He informed Jonathan that several attributes of the sword had been significantly enhanced during the upgrade and recommended that Jonathan test the weapon to ensure it met his expectations.
Jonathan concurred with the Dwarf's suggestion, prompting the Dwarf to guide him to the rear of the establishment, where several training dummies were positioned. The Dwarf assured Jonathan that he was free to utilize the dummies at his discretion, including the option to destroy them. Jonathan acknowledged the Dwarf's instructions and stepped forward to assess the capabilities of his upgraded weapon. The Dwarf positioned himself at a distance, observing and evaluating the sword's performance. Jonathan channeled his mana through the sword, causing it to emanate a bright light. He executed a swing, generating a mana-infused slash that surged towards the dummies with remarkable speed. The dummies, despite being constructed from robust steel, were easily severed, demonstrating that the sword had the capability to penetrate them effortlessly with a single stroke.
The Dwarf applauded, visibly pleased with the outcome of his labor. He then introduced another aspect of testing: the sword's durability. Presenting his finest weapon from his inventory, Jonathan prepared to engage in a clash of the swords. Notably, Jonathan refrained from offensive action, as this test was solely to assess the durability of his sword, essentially serving as a static point for the assessment. The results indicated that Jonathan's sword remained unscathed, while the Dwarf's sword sustained damage and ultimately broke. This outcome illustrated the exceptional durability of Jonathan's weapon, placing it in a superior tier within its category. Subsequent tests conducted by the Dwarf continued to affirm the sword's quality, with no scratches or signs of wear evident. Acknowledging these improvements, Jonathan expressed his gratitude to the Dwarf and offered a few gold coins as a token of appreciation. The Dwarf initially declined the tip, citing his satisfaction and happiness derived from Jonathan's fulfillment. However, Jonathan insisted, encouraging the Dwarf to accept the gesture.
Meanwhile, Mary was exploring the town, in search of an engaging distraction to alleviate her boredom. During her wanderings, she encountered a small vendor, where she noticed a lack of patrons purchasing items. Driven by curiosity, she decided to approach the merchant. Upon standing before the vendor, she examined the assortment of items on display, which appeared to consist of books and various miscellaneous objects. At that moment, an elderly woman emerged from the shadows of the merchant stall, dressed in tattered clothing and a plain skirt, grasping a staff.
"Young girl..."
The elderly woman addressed the young girl, her voice gravelly yet faintly resolute. Upon observing the individual before her—Mary, who appeared visibly taken aback—she raised her hand and pointed towards her.
"You possess a unique aura enveloping your being. I have never encountered anything like it before; it is quite extraordinary."
She continued, her hand trembling slightly due to her advanced age. Mary, though, seemed perplexed; she was unable to perceive the so-called aura and did not understand its significance. She speculated that the woman may have been referring to mana, perhaps mispronouncing it.
"Madam, I believe you are speaking of mana. If that is indeed what you mean, I possess a considerable amount of it and have mastered several advanced magical techniques."
The elderly woman shook her head thoughtfully and began to elaborate.
"Young girl, you have mistaken mana for aura. While they may seem similar, they differ significantly. Aura represents the interplay between power and determination, or in other words, your will. They function as a bridge, interconnected. A heightened state of determination enhances one's power. Furthermore, aura encompasses more than mere power; it pertains to the purpose and rationale behind the existence of that power. Absent of a sound purpose, power cannot manifest. It requires a sense of responsibility and intention. Determination parallels one's potential, forming a complex network with power as a critical element. Individuals with diminutive auras may lack determination, resulting in weakness and a propensity for failure, leaving them unable to confront their rightful destinies. Conversely, those with a larger aura are on the path toward achieving perfection—a truly commendable and worthy fate—and you, my dear, belong to that group. You may not recognize this presently, but soon you will come to understand your aura's significance."
The insight she had gained left Mary momentarily speechless. Aura, long considered a source of magical power, was thus clarified by the old woman. The misconception that had persisted over time had been skillfully dispelled. The concept of aura, intertwined with spirit and resolve, was revealed as a vital element of one's essence. This interdependence suggested that if either power or determination weakened, both would suffer, emphasizing their fundamental nature within creation.
"You see, some individuals are misled by their perceived faith; they stray from their designated paths, believing themselves to be powerful and capable of selecting their own destinies. However, this is an illusion, rooted in ego, which ultimately leads them to failure. I implore you to avoid such a path. It is crucial for you to sharpen your instincts and resist the allure of your ego. Your will influences your power, and power, in turn, impacts your will; they are inextricably linked yet can be balanced."
Once more, the elderly woman imparted her wisdom, leaving Mary in a state of confusion and disbelief at the gravity of the information presented. Observing the woman carefully, Mary posed a question.
"What occurs if an individual possesses a high will but lacks power?"
The old woman chuckled knowingly at Mary's inquiry, anticipating the question.
"Young girl, an individual who lacks power may appear powerless to others. Nevertheless, if they possess a strong will, they can progressively enhance their power. Although they may initially seem weak, with time, they can become significantly stronger. In fact, they may surpass individuals who, despite having ample power, lack the will to utilize it effectively."
Mary's mind spun with confusion and awe after the old woman gave an unexpectedly profound answer. Before she could even process it, the woman had already launched into a series of stories—tales laced with wisdom and strange metaphors. Mary found herself stuck, unable to excuse herself without seeming rude. She stayed, silently listening as the day melted into night. Later, they gathered in the town's modest cafeteria. A quiet hum filled the room, plates clinking and murmured voices blending into the background. Jonathan had made a decision—tomorrow, they would leave the town and resume their journey. Mary agreed without hesitation. They had rested long enough; it was time to move forward. After dinner, they each retired to their rooms. The night passed uneventfully, their sleep deep and undisturbed. Far away, in the heart of the Demon Kingdom, the Darkness Knight stood alone within the ruins of the Main Base. His body was now fully healed, every wound earned from the battle against the Black Dragon vanished. Yet, his armor bore the scars of that titanic clash—shattered plating, deep gouges, broken weapons. But that would change. He had summoned his subordinates, ordering the finest equipment the Demon Kingdom could produce. Now, they had arrived. Forged from the strongest materials known in the underworld—blacksteel, obsidianite, and the rarest demonic alloys—the new armor gleamed with a dark, sinister light. His new sword crackled faintly with chaotic energy, a weapon worthy of his strength. He donned the armor piece by piece. As he stepped from his chamber, the sharp echo of his footsteps rang out through the stone corridor. When he emerged from the ruined castle, a formidable sight greeted him: rows upon rows of demon knights, all standing at attention, armored and armed, their burning eyes filled with ruthless intent. They waited for him, their commander, their apex predator. Without hesitation, the Darkness Knight raised his new blade to the sky.
"We march."
His voice thundered across the battlements like a death sentence. And so, the legions moved, a tide of steel and hate, ready to erase anything that was not of their kind. Days passed. The army trudged through the desolate landscape—once fertile, now lifeless. The terrain bore the scars of devastation. Great craters pockmarked the ground, smoking fissures still hissed with heat, and the earth itself looked as if it had been clawed apart. This was the battlefield where the Darkness Knight had faced the Black Dragon. As they pressed deeper into the scorched terrain, they came upon the enormous corpse of the Black Dragon. The beast's scales were still smoldering in places, enormous wings torn and charred. Pools of molten rock surrounded the remains. Without a word, the Darkness Knight raised his hand and invoked a teleportation spell. The massive corpse vanished in a swirl of dark magic—sent directly to the Demon Kingdom's Grand Blacksmith for future use. Perhaps the dragon's hide would be reborn as armor, its bones reforged into weapons. The army marched onward, stepping over ash, burnt husks of trees, and ruined remnants of life. At last, they reached the edge of the Tyôush Kingdom.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the world, Mary and Jonathan left the quiet town behind. They were unaware of the rising tide of war and bloodshed. The few rumors they had heard came too late—and truthfully, they believed such matters had nothing to do with them. There were no heroes. They wielded no grand influence. To the world, they were ordinary travelers. And that was exactly how they saw themselves. Their journey was not to save kingdoms, but to uncover the deeper mysteries of existence. The truth—whatever it was—called to them. While legends battled dragons and armies clashed, Mary and Jonathan chose the quiet path of seekers. Mary lay in the back of the wagon, her thoughts tangled in the old woman's cryptic words. They made little sense at first, but something about them stuck with her. There was truth hidden in the riddles—she was sure of it. Though she couldn't yet decipher the meaning, she vowed to carry the words with her. Perhaps, in time, the answers would come. At the reins, Jonathan guided the horse with a steady hand. His pace was comfortable, unhurried, yet determined. The sun climbed and fell again, and before long, they entered a vast open field dotted with ancient, moss-covered ruins. Crumbling stone buildings and broken pillars stood like forgotten sentinels, slowly being reclaimed by time. They did not stop. They passed the abandoned structures in silence, knowing full well that nothing but shadows and echoes remained inside. Hours slipped by. As night fell across the plains, Jonathan made the decision to stop. He dismounted, quickly setting about building a campfire. Mary joined him, using her magic to spark the flames, then retrieving ingredients from their stores at his direction. The night air was unusually still. No monsters lurked, no distant howls broke the peace. It was strange—but welcome. They shared a quiet meal by the fire, their voices soft and relaxed. They laughed, talked, and allowed themselves a rare moment of comfort in a world full of uncertainties. When it was time to sleep, Jonathan lay outside, wrapped in his cloak beside the dying fire. He had long grown used to such nights—always half-awake, always guarding. Mary rested inside the wagon, safe and warm. They fell asleep under a star-filled sky, unaware that the Darkness Knight's army—an unstoppable force of ruin—was drawing ever closer.
The next morning came gently, the golden sunlight spilling over the open field where Jonathan and Mary had camped. As always, Jonathan rose early, preparing a simple yet hearty breakfast. The scent of cooking herbs and toasted bread filled the crisp morning air. Mary joined him beside the fire, and they ate together in calm silence, the peaceful setting belying the darkness stirring far beyond their sight. Once finished, Jonathan doused the campfire, ensuring no ember remained to spark danger. Then, with the wagon secured and the horse steadied, they resumed their journey. As the wheels creaked into motion, they left the tranquil field behind and entered the edge of a dense forest. Jonathan glanced to his right. According to the map, there should have been a towering mountain dominating the horizon. But strangely, the land ahead was flat—no mountain in sight. Frowning, he unfolded the map again, tracing the marked terrain with his fingers.
"This doesn't make sense."
He muttered.
"The mountain should be right there."
He turned to Mary.
"Are we on the right path?"
Mary, without hesitation, nodded.
"Yes. I checked the markings and the constellations last night. We're exactly where we should be."
Still uncertain, Jonathan said nothing. His instincts—sharpened from years of survival—urged him to continue. Something was amiss, but not necessarily wrong. Trusting his gut, he pressed forward. Hours passed. Eventually, they reached what remained of the mountain—the base still rooted in the earth, but its upper half entirely obliterated. Jagged stone jutted into the sky like broken teeth. Smoke-stained rubble littered the surrounding slopes. Jonathan stared, astonished.
"It was here,"
He whispered.
"But someone—or something—destroyed it."
His first thought went to the Black Dragon. That level of destruction matched the dragon's legendary power. Few beings in existence could reduce a mountain to ruin. And fewer still could do so without leaving witnesses. They moved on, weaving through narrow woodland paths and grassy clearings. Occasionally, they stopped by a lake or shaded grove to rest the horse and take brief meals. Though the journey was long, they pressed forward steadily, drawing ever closer to the borders of Tyôush Kingdom. By midday, the sun stood high above, its light casting sharp shadows on the ground. They entered a vast, open field—a picturesque landscape framed by distant hills and dotted with scattered boulders. The wind stirred the tall grass, and birds soared lazily overhead. But something felt off. Jonathan halted the wagon. His eyes narrowed as he activated one of his useful skills—Scan of the World. Immediately, his senses flared with alarm. An immense cluster of life signatures—hostile—was approaching from the southeast. His face turned grim.
"Mary,"
He said sharply.
"Prepare for battle."
They both leapt from the wagon. Mary's hands both glow with magic, already channeling energy for a high-tier spell. Jonathan unsheathed his sword. The blade shimmered with a radiant neon-blue hue, humming with condensed power. Then, from the distant hills, the enemy appeared. Marching in perfect unison, rows of demon knights emerged—armor gleaming black under the sun, their footsteps like thunder on the earth. At the front, a figure in obsidian armor led them. The Darkness Knight. His presence alone warped the air with sheer malevolence. Before the demons could spot them, Jonathan acted.
"Now!"
With a flash of light, Mary released her spell. A colossal magic circle appeared high above the demon army, its inscriptions glowing like a sun. The demons froze, stunned by its sudden presence. Even the Darkness Knight stopped, staring upward in disbelief. A beam of immense energy descended from the heavens. The blast struck the army with cataclysmic force. The explosion shook the land, a blinding light erupting from the impact, leaving behind a massive, smoking crater. When the dust began to settle, the field was silent—save for the distant crackle of burning earth. From the heart of the destruction, the Darkness Knight emerged. He was alive—but only barely touched. A single scratch marred his armor. Smoke clung to his frame as he stepped from the crater, his eyes burning red with fury. Another army lost. Another halt to his campaign. His grip tightened around his massive sword as he scanned the field—and found them. Jonathan and Mary stood on a slight ridge above, bathed in the light of the sun. Jonathan stood ahead, sword ready, while Mary remained behind, Hands glowing and eyes focused. The Darkness Knight's voice boomed across the field.
"You… mere humans! You dare to strike us? To challenge demons?!"
Without waiting for a reply, he launched forward—aimed straight at Mary. A bolt of darkness incarnate. But Jonathan moved faster. Their blades clashed with a sound like cracking thunder. The Darkness Knight recoiled, shocked. Jonathan had blocked the attack effortlessly, matching his speed—speed the Knight believed faster than light itself, honed in battle against the Black Dragon. Staggering back, the demon stared from behind his helmet.
"So… we have a real opponent."
He muttered.
"But you cannot defeat me."
He vanished again—this time at blinding speed. Jonathan responded instantly, his blade intercepting the attack. The collision sent out a shockwave, gouging the ground with the sheer pressure. The battle escalated. They blurred across the field, teleporting with speed and force no eye could follow. Each clash left craters. Trees fell. Stones shattered. The very air screamed with their power. Mary stood frozen. She couldn't intervene. Their pace exceeded her perception, and one misplaced spell might harm Jonathan instead. Then—the Darkness Knight unleashed a wave of raw mana, slicing through the air like a razor wind. Jonathan deflected it with a single upward swing. Counterattacks came in a torrent—fire, lightning, cursed energy. Jonathan danced through them, lunging forward, unrelenting. Swords met once more. The impact warped the space around them. Cracks spread across the ridge. Jonathan kept pressing, blow after blow, a relentless storm of strikes. The Darkness Knight struggled, forced back with every clash. He tried to retreat, to gain space. But before his foot even landed—Jonathan was there. Instantly. A blade was coming for his head. Eyes wide with fear, the Darkness Knight ducked, narrowly dodging the blow. The sword cleaved through the ridge behind him—stones split, and a grove of trees in the distance vaporized. Seizing the moment, the knight countered with a slash aimed at Jonathan's side—but Jonathan's response was superhuman. He lifted his leg and kicked the Darkness Knight with crushing force. The demon flew across the field like a broken doll, slamming into the earth with such power that the ground quaked beneath him. Groaning, the Darkness Knight rose, his armor dented, his limbs trembling. But Jonathan gave him no respite. In a blink, he was airborne—diving toward him with his sword poised for a final strike. The Darkness Knight, desperate, summoned a quick teleportation spell. Just before the blade connected, he vanished—reappearing at the edge of the battlefield. He had narrowly escaped death. But he now knew one terrible truth. This man—Jonathan—was not ordinary. He was a real threat.
The battle raged on with no sign of waning. Jonathan and the Darkness Knight clashed relentlessly, their blows echoing like thunder across the land. From one location to another, they tore through the terrain—uprooting earth, sundering cliffs, and eventually launching themselves into the sky. There, high above the world, they continued their fierce combat, dividing the clouds with every strike as if parting silk. The Darkness Knight, cloaked in infernal shadows, unleashed the full breadth of his demonic power. Blasts of dark energy spiraled from his blade, aiming to obliterate Jonathan. Yet Jonathan—either sidestepping with impossible grace or tanking the attacks outright—refused to fall. Each of their exchanges generated shockwaves that shattered boulders and flattened vast swathes of forest. Then, soaring high above the clouds, Jonathan drove a brutal fist into the Darkness Knight's abdomen. The impact sent the armored warrior hurtling downward like a meteor. He crashed into the earth with such force that the very landscape quaked. Even Mary, standing miles away, felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. Jonathan descended in pursuit, his figure cutting through the air like a falling star. The battle resumed on the ground, the earth splintering beneath their feet with every collision. Mary approached cautiously, watching from a distance. What she saw was a battle between apparent equals—but her intuition whispered otherwise. Jonathan was holding back. Despite the chaos, he was composed. In control. Overwhelming.
The two warriors exchanged strikes with blinding speed. At one moment, the Darkness Knight landed a clean hit to Jonathan's face, drawing a sharp gash along his cheek. But as quickly as it had appeared, the wound closed—healed instantly, as if the attack had never occurred. Minutes passed. Steel rang against steel. Mana exploded through the air like tempests of raw force. Mary watched in helpless awe, unable to intervene. Jonathan moved too fast, too unpredictably. One mistake on her part might put him in more danger than help. Then came a cataclysmic clash—a final, explosive push from both sides. The shockwave tore through the field, forcing them apart. They skidded backward, dust and wind swirling between them. Jonathan stood tall, his breathing steady despite the sheen of sweat on his brow. The Darkness Knight, by contrast, was drenched in perspiration, his stance faltering. His eyes narrowed beneath his helm, disbelief evident. He rested his great sword on his shoulder, then muttered with strained breath,
"I didn't expect to meet someone this strong… You're like the Black Dragon himself. But don't get cocky. You're still just a human—no match for a demon. Tell me, what is your name?"
Despite his tone, it was clear: he had come dangerously close to death several times, narrowly saved by blocks and evasions. Jonathan raised his head slightly, calm as ever.
"Jonathan,"
He said flatly.
"And let's be honest. You've been on the losing end this entire time. Drop the arrogance. I'm not here to play games—I've got better things to do."
The mocking tone hit its mark. Rage twisted the Darkness Knight's face. With a roar, he unleashed the full extent of his power, black flames erupting around him. He charged. Jonathan did the same. Their blades met once more—this time, the shockwave was apocalyptic. Trees snapped and were hurled into the sky. The earth cratered beneath their feet. They fought in rhythm, steel striking steel in a dance of sheer devastation. Jonathan summoned a colossal beam of mana and launched it across the field. The Darkness Knight barely evaded the oncoming blast. The beam carved a trail of annihilation—everything in its path was vaporized, leaving behind only scorched emptiness. Suddenly, the Darkness Knight appeared behind Jonathan, attempting a sneak attack. But Jonathan, ever alert, spun around and parried the strike without a moment's hesitation. Their eyes met. Jonathan's expression was unnervingly calm—unflinching, unreadable. They fought on, their powers ripping the sky and ravaging the land. The Darkness Knight finally revealed a hidden technique: Breath of Hell. He exhaled a torrent of demonic fire, like a dragon's wrath unleashed. Fueled by mana, the flames engulfed everything—grass, stone, and soil all reduced to ash.
When the smoke cleared, the battlefield was scorched black. The Darkness Knight stood amidst the ruin, believing his opponent destroyed. But then—Jonathan stepped forward, untouched. A shimmering barrier of energy dissipated around him. He wasted no time. In the blink of an eye, he was in front of the Darkness Knight, delivering strike after strike. Not singularly—but simultaneously, hundreds of slashes from every direction at once. Each wave of mana cleaved through the terrain: splitting boulders, flattening forests, gouging mountains, and even tearing the sky. The Darkness Knight tried to block, but Jonathan's speed was beyond comprehension. He was struck, again and again—his armor cracking, blood trailing in arcs. Still, the knight refused to fall. Gritting his teeth, he planted his sword and pushed his body forward. He had reached his limit once before. Now, he shattered it again. In a blinding dash, he lunged at Jonathan, moving faster than the eye could follow. But even as he surpassed his boundaries, even as he gave his all, he remained outclassed. Jonathan's sword came down like the weight of a mountain, his strikes growing heavier and faster. Every spell the Darkness Knight cast was cut down mid-air, rendered meaningless before it could reach him. Mary could only watch in awe and fear. The battle had become something beyond comprehension. Their movements transcended the speed of light—perhaps even time itself. To interfere would be suicidal.
There was a clear distinction between the two combatants: Darkness Knight's movements were dense, powerful, yet ponderous—each step a tremor, each swing an avalanche. In contrast, Jonathan moved with fluid agility, his strikes paradoxically swift and weighty, like thunder wrapped in lightning. Though the Darkness Knight revealed no visible openings in his guard, Jonathan defied logic, managing to wound him in ways that should have been impossible. Jonathan's movements became a blur—appearing at one location, then another, faster than the eye could track. Darkness Knight stood frozen in the chaos, barely able to follow his foe. Suddenly, he sensed Jonathan at his rear and spun around to strike—only to cleave through an afterimage. Too late, he realized his mistake. Jonathan had already slipped into his blind spot and delivered a fierce blow to his back. A grunt of pain tore from the Darkness Knight as he stumbled away, his breath ragged beneath the weight of his armor. Sweat beaded behind the steel of his helm, and his stamina dwindled toward depletion. Raising his blade to the sky, Jonathan summoned a brilliant radiance that flooded the heavens. The blade shimmered like a star, and even the sky seemed to brighten at its presence. Darkness Knight instinctively stepped back—he knew power of this scale could not be blocked, only evaded.
Jonathan swung down. A blinding arc of energy erupted from the sword, rending both sky and earth. The ground cracked open to its depths, the sky split as if the heavens themselves had been wounded. The slash moved faster than anything either warrior had exhibited—an incomprehensible velocity that forced even Darkness Knight to rely on reflex over reason. He leapt away just in time—but not unscathed. His left arm was gashed, the edge of the attack tearing through armor and flesh alike. The shock of the strike rattled the earth and echoed into the void of space—though it did not disturb the cosmos beyond. Jonathan followed with another swing, this time slicing upward, the cleave vanishing into the clouds and beyond, as if seeking to carve the firmament itself. The Darkness Knight shivered. These strikes… They exceeded even the might of the Black-Dragon—a creature once considered beyond compare. Yet still, he refused to yield. With a roar, he unleashed the last of his latent strength, forcing his body past its previous limits. His speed now rivaled Jonathan's—almost. Their battle resumed, each clash now like flashes of teleportation, indistinguishable to the untrained eye. Anyone watching would have sworn they had vanished, their combat reduced to streaks of light and bursts of force. Then, at last, the Darkness Knight saw it—a vulnerability. He struck without hesitation. His blade found purchase, landing a critical blow on Jonathan's side. Jonathan cried out, launched backwards by the force of the hit. The wound should have crippled him—yet the moment the injury formed, it vanished, healed by the divine power of the Constant Sword, a weapon that ensured Jonathan's survival by endlessly restoring his body.
But pain, though fleeting, still gripped him. Seizing the moment, the Darkness Knight conjured an array of magical circles in rapid succession. Each bore a unique element, launching a barrage of attacks with unprecedented speed. Jonathan, regaining his footing, wove between the onslaught with supernatural agility. Then came another surprise. The Darkness Knight materialized in front of him through short-range teleportation and brought his sword down with devastating force. The impact nearly shattered Jonathan's guard, sending his sword flying from his hand. He reacted just in time to shield his core, but the Darkness Knight anticipated the movement. The knight's left hand, imbued with layered enhancement spells, clenched into a fist. With a roar, he drove it into Jonathan's abdomen. Jonathan was sent hurtling backwards, tearing a trench into the earth with the force of his flight. A cloud of dust and debris followed, veiling him from sight. When he landed, he coughed blood—but the Constant Sword healed the wound instantly. The pain lingered, sharp and bitter. From afar, Darkness Knight drove his sword into the earth and leaned on its hilt, gasping for air.
"You are… formidable, Jonathan,"
He rasped.
"I never imagined I would meet another who could injure me so gravely. Only the Black-Dragon has pushed me this far. You… you are stronger than the Hero himself."
Jonathan's brow furrowed at the mention. The Hero? He had heard of the famed warrior—champion of humanity. The idea that he had surpassed such a figure was… disorienting. Dusting himself off, Jonathan raised his blade. Darkness Knight stood firm, though wounded. With renewed resolve, Jonathan charged forward—this time faster than ever before. But Darkness Knight was prepared. At the precise moment Jonathan closed the distance—mid-air, weapon raised—Darkness Knight triggered a wide-area teleportation spell, drawing upon the depths of his mana reserves. The spell activated before Jonathan could react, and in a flash of blinding white, they vanished.
Far to the west lay the grand Kingdom of Eóushyúfth, a sprawling realm of wealth and resilience. This kingdom had once stood shoulder to shoulder with the Hero, sending elite knights to aid in the war against the Demon King. Nestled within natural fortifications, Eóushyúfth was surrounded by towering hills, each topped with vigilant outposts. The terrain was so well defended that even demon battalions had struggled to breach its walls. Years ago, the Hero and his companions had ventured here on a mission to eliminate a high-ranking demon commander. Together with the kingdom's soldiers, they succeeded in wiping out the invading force—cementing an alliance between Eóushyúfth and the Holy Kingdom. The monarch of Eóushyúfth, King Boush Yon Vaskath, ruled with wisdom and strength. He had one son and three daughters, and under his reign, the kingdom prospered in peace. Until now…
In a moment that began in complete serenity, the skies above the Kingdom of Eóushyúfth split open—not from divine judgment, but from the violent arrival of two warriors locked in a battle that defied the limits of mortal comprehension. In an instant, Jonathan and the Darkness Knight were there—appearing as if space itself had spat them out. Jonathan, without hesitation, continued his offensive momentum. With the sheer force granted by the Constant Sword, he delivered a mighty strike that hurled the Darkness Knight across the cityscape. The armored foe crashed through a cluster of towering buildings, their reinforced structures crumbling like sandcastles beneath the impact. The earth trembled; dust and debris choked the air. But then reality struck. As the dust settled, Jonathan's eyes widened. The battlefield… was the heart of a kingdom. People. Civilians. Families. Children. They were in the midst of it all. All around them, panicked screams rose as citizens fled in terror. Some were too slow. A few had been crushed under the collapsed buildings struck by the Darkness Knight's body. The smell of smoke, dust, and something far worse—blood—began to fill the air. Darkness Knight emerged from the wreckage, undeterred, casting a volley of dark magic—beams of sickly violet energy lanced toward Jonathan. He raised a protective barrier, deflecting most of the attacks. But then, he noticed something horrifying: some of those beams had never been meant for him. They had passed him—exploding behind, leveling homes and streets, claiming more innocent lives.
Jonathan's heart skipped. The distraction was fatal. The Darkness Knight surged forward with terrifying speed, his sword cleaving through Jonathan's shield with a crash like thunder. Before Jonathan could react, the blow landed. His body sailed through the air, colliding with another large building. It collapsed around him. Buried under the rubble, Jonathan groaned. The Constant Sword healed his wounds almost instantly, yet the pain still lingered, sharp and real. He pushed himself from the ruin, stepping over corpses—children, elders, soldiers. His fists trembled. And then he saw him. The Darkness Knight stood at a distance, gripping his sword, his breathing labored. Though his face remained hidden beneath the helmet, Jonathan could feel his cruel satisfaction.
"No more,"
Jonathan whispered. But the Darkness Knight did not grant time for thought. He closed the distance in a flash, swinging again. The sound of their swords colliding roared through the air, their duel cutting through stone and steel alike. Building after building fell, thick plumes of smoke rising like funerary pillars. The two blurred across the city, faster than the human eye could follow. Only the brief flashes of impact gave any hint of their presence. Jonathan tried—desperately—to shield the civilians. He fought with precision, limiting his strikes, redirecting attacks. But the Darkness Knight fought like a beast unleashed. Each swing of his sword was meant to destroy, not merely to kill. Even the knights of Eóushyúfth, renowned for their valor, fell before they could intervene—caught in the crossfire or vaporized by stray magic. To bystanders, it was as if gods had descended into their city to wage war. Then came the turning point. The Darkness Knight channeled his mana into a massive spell, a magic circle forming above the entire kingdom—glowing ominously, pulsing with deadly energy. Jonathan looked up and realized the horror: it would annihilate everything. Without hesitation, he poured mana into the Constant Sword. With a mighty upward swing, he sent a beam of holy energy hurtling skyward. The magic circle shattered, light cascading like glass from the heavens.
But it had all been a feint. The Darkness Knight struck from below, his sword slicing across Jonathan's chest. Pain exploded through him as he stumbled back, blood spraying—but within seconds, the wound sealed. He gasped from the residual agony. His guard had dropped, and it had cost him. Before the Darkness Knight could press the advantage, Jonathan extended his left palm, a strange magical circle appearing on it. A blast of compressed force shot out. The Darkness Knight barely blocked it with his blade, the impact reverberating through his arm. Before he could recover, Jonathan struck again—another blast from the same palm. The knight flew through the air, demolishing yet another building. Then Darkness Knight roared. He began casting enchantments upon himself, enhancing his speed, strength, durability—every facet of his being. The ground cracked beneath his feet as he launched forward, faster than ever. Jonathan led him away from the city's populated zones, toward the outskirts. There, with no innocents to protect, he was free to unleash. Their swords clashed in midair, in ruins, on rooftops—everywhere. The air trembled from the shockwaves. Fire, ice, lightning, darkness, and light all rained down in bursts of raw, destructive force. Magic of the highest tier ravaged the landscape. Whole sections of the kingdom fell into ruin. People could only watch from afar, horrified and awestruck. Their home had become a war zone.
The royal knights, even stationed far away, dared not interfere. They had seen comrades vanish like whispers in a storm. King Boush Yon Vaskath himself had ordered the retreat—intervention was suicide. The battle raged beyond comprehension. Time itself seemed to warp around their movements. Their speed surpassed reason, their bodies vibrating between reality and something more elemental—photons, particles of light. Darkness Knight summoned black spikes of corrupted mana, rising from the ground in jagged rows to restrict Jonathan's movement. Jonathan weaved through them with grace, finally casting a long-range beam that scorched the field. The Darkness Knight blocked it with summoned spikes, but a second attack—a crescent slash of condensed mana—carved through the cityscape, slicing stone and steel like butter. Jonathan deflected it effortlessly. It felt endless. Each blow shook the air, distorted space, shattered structures. Eventually, with the civilians now fully evacuated, Jonathan unleashed his true power. With a cry of fury, he hammered the Darkness Knight with a barrage of strikes. Then—boom!—an explosion engulfed the knight, sending him soaring. As the dust cleared, floating debris began to lift around Jonathan. His left hand glowed with a brilliant green magic circle. One by one, massive chunks of building hovered, trembling, then launched at light-speed toward the Darkness Knight. He reacted swiftly, slashing them midair, dodging others. Still, some broke through his defenses. He countered with dark lightning and beams of destruction, but Jonathan used the debris to shield himself. It became a dance of ruin—Darkness Knight leapt across rooftops, pursued by flying wreckage. Then—silence. Darkness Knight paused. Suddenly, the wall beside him exploded, and Jonathan burst through like a bullet, swinging his blade midair. The knight barely raised his sword in time. The impact was colossal—he was hurled backwards, smashing through building after building. Still, he rose. The battle was not over. But Jonathan's eyes now burned with unrelenting resolve. He would end this. For the Kingdom. For the people. No matter the cost.
This is it, Jonathan thought. This battle must end now.
The city had fallen eerily silent. The once-crowded Kingdom of Eóushyúfth was empty—its streets abandoned, its air heavy with dust and dread. Most of the civilians had been successfully evacuated. But not all had made it. Scattered corpses of the unfortunate few who had been caught in the crossfire between Jonathan and the Darkness Knight lay amidst the rubble, a silent testament to the carnage of their duel. Jonathan stood at the heart of the ruined plaza, breathing heavily, eyes unwavering. Slowly, he raised his sword. Its tip pointed skyward, gleaming under the blood-red horizon. A soft hum vibrated through the air as the blade began to shimmer. Within moments, its surface transformed—its steel now a brilliant neon blue. Ethereal light surrounded him, pulsing like a heartbeat, crackling around his body in radiant streaks. The ground beneath his feet glowed faintly, reacting to the surge of mana radiating from him.
He stared ahead. Across the broken stone and ash, the Darkness Knight rose sluggishly from the rubble, armor dented and cracked. His gaze met Jonathan's—then dropped to the blade in his opponent's hand. It was no ordinary weapon now. It radiated power, like something torn from legend—something wielded only by divine heroes. And then, the skies split apart. A thunderous rip echoed above as the heavens themselves were torn asunder. The clouds disintegrated into nothing, replaced by a great, circular rift in the sky. From it spilled a blinding celestial light that scorched the land with its mere presence. The Darkness Knight shielded his eyes with a gauntleted hand, squinting up toward the source. For the first time since their battle began, the flame of his fury dimmed—replaced with awe, and something even deeper: fear. A massive, incandescent beam had formed within the breach—its surface roiling like molten stars. It began to descend. Fast. Faster than he could comprehend. He had seen this once before. Long ago, this very attack had obliterated the entire Carvosh Kingdom, wiping it from maps and memory alike. And now, it was here again. The Darkness Knight's eyes flicked back to Jonathan, who stood motionless beneath the falling light, the faintest hint of a smile on his face. It wasn't pride. It was certainty. Confidence in an inevitable end. But the Darkness Knight had not survived centuries by yielding easily.
He slammed his sword into the cracked earth and conjured a wide-area teleportation circle around him. Complex glyphs ignited, forming a glowing matrix beneath his feet. Light surged from the circle—activation imminent. But then—step—Jonathan moved. He stepped onto the circle beside his opponent. The Darkness Knight's eyes widened, but before he could react, the circle flashed—and both vanished. A heartbeat later, the beam struck. The entire kingdom erupted in a cataclysm. Light consumed everything. Buildings vaporized. Trees disintegrated. The stone foundations crumbled to dust. Knights stationed far from the center were hurled into the air like dolls, caught in the devastating shockwave. The ground roared as it split and trembled—then all went still. When the dust cleared, the Kingdom of Eóushyúfth was gone. A massive crater remained where once a proud civilization stood—smoldering, barren, silent. Those who witnessed it stood in shock. Their homeland… had vanished.
Far from the ruin, amidst a peaceful sea of green hills, Mary stood beside a humble wagon. The wind was still. The silence… unsettling. Suddenly, a burst of light surged nearby. A teleportation circle flared to life on the grass. Jonathan and the Darkness Knight emerged—blades locked in a blinding clash the moment they materialized. Mary gasped and leapt to her feet, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. Their duel continued with frightening speed. Sparks burst with every blow. The ground cracked and heaved under the pressure. Mary couldn't even track their movements—flashes of light and shockwaves were all she could see. Then—pause. The two warriors stood apart. The Darkness Knight's chest heaved with exhaustion, but his stance remained firm. Jonathan, on the other hand, looked calmer—his breath uneven, but his grip unshaken. The sun had begun to set, casting the landscape in hues of gold and orange, as if nature itself watched in solemn silence. Mary watched from afar, awe etched into her face. She had seen Jonathan defeat the Black Dragon, but this—this was something else entirely. The Darkness Knight had also slain that monstrous beast, and now they clashed as equals… or perhaps not. The Darkness Knight shifted his blade again—unwilling to yield. Jonathan raised his own in kind. And then—they struck.
They moved faster than light itself. The very air around them warped. Time slowed. Sound ceased. Their blades sang in bursts of invisible force. With each clash, the Darkness Knight's sword fractured, cracks forming like spiderwebs along its surface. He noticed—but could not afford to falter. Until, finally, with one final strike—CLANG! They were blown backward by the force, both skidding to a halt. Jonathan took a breath, then poured the last of his mana into his blade. Blue fire surged along the edge, and with precise timing, he unleashed a wide, horizontal slash—an arc of pure energy screaming through the air. The Darkness Knight tried to block it.
He failed. The impact sent him sliding back, boots carving trenches in the earth. His sword cracked further, unable to withstand the force. Then—with a sound like shattering steel—it broke. A million shards flew through the air. His eyes widened in disbelief. And then the slash hit him. It carved through his chest, shattered armor and flesh alike. Blood erupted from his mouth as he was thrown backward, collapsing onto the earth. Still. Silent. Jonathan slowly approached, staring at the fallen knight. The helmet still obscured his face. There was no movement. He's gone, Jonathan thought, turning away. Mary rushed toward him. Her eyes brimmed with concern and awe as she watched him stagger toward the wagon, clothes caked with dirt and blood. Jonathan offered a weary smile and raised a hand in greeting. Without a word, Mary cast a cleansing spell. A gentle light washed over him, wiping away the filth and blood. In seconds, his clothes were clean again.
"You fought him…"
Mary whispered, voice thick with disbelief.
"The General of Demons. One of the most powerful Generals they have. You actually—defeated him."
Jonathan blinked.
"General of Demons? Huh… I didn't know that. I don't keep up with politics or titles. I usually stay away from the news. Just trying to get through my journey."
Mary stared at him in disbelief.
"You… didn't know who he was?"
Jonathan shrugged.
"Didn't need to. He was hurting people. That was enough."
Mary sighed. He was either the most humble man she'd ever met—or the most dangerously ignorant. Still, they said no more. With the sun dipping low, they set off toward the distant Tyôush Kingdom. Mary took the reins, guiding the wagon forward. Jonathan leaned back against the wooden wall, sword across his lap, eyes growing heavy. Days passed. In the heart of the Demon Realm, unrest began to stir. Reports from the Darkness Knight's battalion had ceased. No messages. No updates. Silence. This was unlike him. His forces regularly submitted progress reports, battle outcomes, or requests for reinforcement. The lack of any communication was troubling. At first, they suspected a delay. Now, they feared the worst. An emergency report was dispatched to headquarters. A full investigation was ordered into the whereabouts—and the fate—of the Darkness Knight and his army.
Would they uncover the truth? Or would they discover nothing but ruins?
Only time would tell…
-To be Continued...