At this time, Josh had begun closing the distance between himself and the crumbling husk of the once-proud golden toad.
Each step he took was heavy and deliberate, echoing across the broken chamber like a death toll. In his right hand, he dragged the gold-grade, high-level sword—the weapon humming softly, leaving a shallow groove in the shattered floor. Sparks danced as metal scraped against stone, the screeching sound like a banshee's cry—grating, ominous, and final.
The golden toad—now reduced to his true form, bloated and trembling—staggered backward. His breath was ragged, his magic reserves dangerously low, his limbs sluggish. His once-gilded skin, which shimmered like treasure under sunlight, now looked faded, cracked, and bruised. His bulging eyes, filled with mockery before, were now wide with dread.
He didn't know who Josh Aratat really was. Not his name. Not his origin. But he felt the truth clawing at the edges of his fading soul.
This man—this harbinger of destruction—had to be connected to him.
To the Black Dragon.
Maybe he's his champion... or his second-in-command, the golden toad thought desperately, his mind clawing for any explanation.
But if… if this is the Black Dragon himself... then I was dead the moment he walked in.
The toad had heard the stories. Everyone in the Empire had.
The Black Dragon—an enigma wrapped in fire and shadow. A figure who brought kingdoms to their knees without raising his voice. Tales of his feats had seeped into every tavern and tower from Region 1 to the haunted cliffs of Darush Hollow.
It was said that he slew the Manticore Overlord atop the jagged peaks of Manticore Mountain in El'dan city. A feat even the emperor's chosen warriors had failed at.
Some whispered that he had faced the Scarlet Raven, the ghost-winged tyrant of the Northern Skies—and left the immortal beast bleeding and screaming into the clouds.
And others spoke in hushed tones of how he alone brought down the Kraken of the Wastelands—an ancient-beast that turned armies into chum. While others ran, he stood his ground… and carved death into the monster's head with nothing but grit, guts, and a blade laced with resolve.
The golden toad had dismissed those tales before. Thought them exaggerated myths spun by drunk soldiers and poetic fools. But now... as he looked at Josh's strides—strides that burned not with hatred but with divine certainty—he realized:
The stories hadn't gone far enough.
The sheer force of presence radiating from Josh Aratat, the precise movements, the complete control of every thread of combat—it was more than elite skill. It was dominance woven into the core of his being.
Everywhere the name "Black Dragon" reached, it stirred something. Fear in tyrants. Hope in the oppressed. Awe in the wandering. And in hidden places like Ruma Swamp, it became legend.
Many prayed he would one day dethrone the current emperor—a man seen as corrupt and unworthy—and take the mantle of ruler himself. A sovereign who would wield both sword and justice. But Josh never spoke of his true intentions. No one knew what he really wanted. Except, perhaps, for the only two people most trusted among those trusted enough to walk beside him:
Lola—his blade in the shadows. And Conrad Stan—his shield in the storm.
And now, here in the burning ruins of the Toad god's sanctuary, with ash and ruin thick in the air, the golden toad realized his empire was over.
"Wh-Who are you really?" he croaked as he spoke with fear, his voice cracking like shattered porcelain.
Josh stopped. Just for a breath.
He didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The silence screamed everything.
As the golden toad—the once the feared alchemist-lord of Ruma Swamp—watched Josh Aratat draw nearer, the last ember of hope flickered out in his chest. Each screech of the gold-grade sword grinding along the scorched floor sounded like the tolling bell of his execution.
The ruined arcane laboratory trembled under Josh's presence. Flames licked what was left of shattered walls. Blood stained the summoning stones. Magical fumes and scorched bones painted the room in horror's colours.
The golden toad's eyes widened, not just in fear now, but in mad desperation. His life didn't just flash before his eyes—what he saw besides that, were the futures he would never grasp: a throne made of coin, an empire forged from black alchemy, and endless power beneath his bloated feet. All slipping away.
He knew death had arrived in the form of this man with the thunder in his eyes and justice in his hand. But if he could not live to win—then perhaps he could die to destroy.
His broken tongue twisted into an ancient dialect, so vile it made the very air shudder.
"Ravzume, armiea quevovuma meruma allium..."
The golden toad called out, with all that was left of his magical reserves.
Josh's instincts screamed.
A dark chill passed through the broken chamber. Arcane glyphs burst to life beneath the toad's feet, lighting up with a sinister violet glow that wasn't there a second ago.
Josh didn't hesitate. He bolted forward, sword raised high. Whatever was happening—whatever the toad was trying to do—it had to be stopped now.
> "Oh great one, the Trickster God… I summon you from the Fifth Dimension—come to my aid—!"
SHHHINK!
The gold-grade sword sliced through the air with divine precision—and in the next breath, the golden toad's neck was separated from his body. His amphibious head flew high, mouth still open mid-chant, eyes wide in shock as blood geysered from the stump of his neck.
Josh didn't stop moving. He dashed past the falling body, eyes darting around for lingering threats. But then…
A low hum reverberated through the earth. Followed by a pulsing rhythm that wasn't from this world.
The summoning circle remained.
Still glowing.
Still pulsing.
Still… activating.
Josh's eyes narrowed as he turned back to the summoning circle.
> "When the hell did he even draw that?"
He scanned the floor again—charred stone, cracked runes, bloodied tiles. But now he saw it. Faint inscriptions laced around the arcane laboratory's foundation, hidden beneath grime and ash. Recently carved. Fresh. Still glowing.
The bastard had been preparing it all along.
> "He was drawing it… while we fought."
The realization hit like a punch to the gut.
Each backward step. Each feint. Every time the toad had fallen or shifted forms—it hadn't been out of desperation. He was buying time. Laying the glyphs beneath Josh's feet in real time. And now, with his final breath and final drop of blood… he'd completed the trigger.
Josh cursed beneath his breath, eyes sharpening.
This wasn't a spell.
This wasn't a desperate escape.
> This was a sacrifice—a soul willingly offered to power a summoning.
And not just any summoning. No cheap demon or half-wit specter. The energy pouring out of the circle now wasn't chaotic—it was intelligent. Amused. Mocking.
A slow, deliberate laugh began to echo—not loud, but oily. A whisper that oozed into the corners of the ruined lab like leaking ink.
Josh took a step back.
The golden toad's body twitched slightly, a spark of residual energy twitching from the decapitated corpse into the circle like a moth into flame. That spark… was his soul.
The summoning seal responded. It pulsed—once, twice—and then flared upward with a beam of colorless light. The temperature dropped. The very air warped.
A second later, the symbols along the edges began to move. Not glow. Move. Like worms wriggling through a corpse, they slithered and reformed into a new language—one not meant for mortal minds.
Josh gritted his teeth. Even his Kingly Awareness faltered slightly under the distortion. He could sense the approach of something ancient. Something that played by no laws but its own.
And worse—he recognized the name.
The Trickster God.
Even in ancient scrolls and buried texts, the Trickster God was spoken of only in warnings, never in worship. A being exiled from the Prime World millennia ago for upending the harmony of creation. Stories whispered of kingdoms undone by a single joke. Of rivers of blood from laughter forced by madness. Of stars devoured by illusions that became real.
The Fifth Dimension was his prison. And the golden toad, in his final breath, had opened a door.
"Of all the filth from the Fifth… he called the least loyal of them all…" Josh muttered. "This isn't just madness. It's treason against existence."
The summoning circle surged with impossible energy. Reality itself bent inwards like paper being sucked into a void. Symbols twisted, changed, spoke. A cackle—not loud, but sly and serpentine—echoed faintly from nowhere.
Josh took a step back.
The veil between worlds had cracked.
And through it…
Something wicked began to crawl.
A slender, clawed hand made of laughing shadows pressed against the barrier. It didn't break it—it tickled it. Teased it. Dared it to yield.
Josh's grip tightened on his sword.
If he didn't act now, this wouldn't just be a battle in a swamp base.
It would be the beginning of a world-ending joke.