The battles in Edrisyl and Sestia had begun nearly three hours ago.

Far beneath the roots of Yggdrasil, where neither moonlight nor the pulse of natural mana could ever reach, an ancient cavern remained wrapped in suffocating silence.

The chamber was enormous, vast enough to resemble the hollowed remains of some buried cathedral. Jagged pillars of black stone rose toward the darkness above while countless crimson mana stones embedded within the walls cast a dim and ominous glow over the underground ruins. Their light spilled across the floor where enormous incantation circles had been carved directly into the earth itself.

Layer upon layer of archaic inscriptions spread throughout the chamber like scars engraved into stone.

Some were ancient enough to have nearly faded away while newer carvings had been etched over them repeatedly across generations. Concentric circles overlapped one another in a maddening labyrinth of curses, rituals and forgotten language.

And seated at the very center of it all was the Dominus.

He sat cross-legged in absolute stillness.

The heavy folds of his black robes spread around him like liquid shadow while his pale hands rested loosely over his knees. The silver pendant hanging from his neck remained still against his chest, the ram skull engraved upon it appearing lifeless beneath the dull red glow of the cavern.

For several moments, nothing moved.

Then the symbols beneath him began to react.

A faint black haze seeped upward from the carved grooves lining the floor.

At first it resembled smoke escaping from cracks in the earth, thin and sluggish, barely noticeable against the darkness surrounding the chamber. But gradually, more and more black mist began pouring from the inscriptions until the entire ritual formation seemed to exhale corruption itself.

The dead mana spread across the cavern floor before slowly spiraling toward the seated figure at its center.

The air grew heavier and oppressive. The crimson mana stones flickered violently as though their energy was being drained merely by existing too close to him. One after another, their glow dimmed while the black mist continued converging inward in endless streams.

The currents of dead mana began circling around the Dominus like a storm orbiting its eye.

His robes stirred softly beneath the pressure.

The black mist thickened further, rising higher and higher until it completely surrounded his seated figure in spiraling layers of darkness. Slowly, it seemed to take a shape of a black serpent which circled its body around the meditating man while its tall hood towered over the man.

The entirety of the black misty serpent drew itself into the pendant and the instant the first strands of dead mana touched the ram skull, the silver surface darkened.

A deep crimson glow emerged from within the hollow eye sockets of the pendant.

The light pulsed and the dead mana rushing through the chamber intensified violently.

Streams of black mist surged from every direction and poured directly into the pendant as though the small object contained a bottomless abyss within it. The surrounding cavern trembled faintly under the pressure while the inscriptions carved into the ground started glowing dimly beneath the Dominus.

The ram skull’s crimson eyes brightened further. Until the pendant itself resembled the gaze of some ancient creature staring out from the darkness.

Still, the Dominus did not move.

Not until the final strands of dead mana disappeared into the pendant entirely.

The chamber fell silent once more.

A suffocating stillness settled over the underground cavern as the last traces of black mist vanished into the darkness surrounding him.

Then, the Dominus opened his eyes.

The faint red pupils that once lingered within the endless black of his gaze now burned with an intense crimson glow powerful enough to pierce through the dimness of the cavern itself.

A slow smile curved across his pale lips, the quiet anticipation of someone finally watching years of preparation bear fruit.

The Dominus rose smoothly from the center of the incantation circle. The black robes draped around him shifted softly against the stone floor while the lingering traces of dead mana continued curling around his figure like obedient shadows reluctant to part from him.

The moment his feet touched beyond the boundary of the ritual formation, the glowing inscriptions beneath him gradually dimmed once more, returning the cavern to its earlier oppressive stillness.

He inhaled deeply.

The air of the underground chamber carried the scent of stone, dead mana and decay.

Then he exhaled slowly before walking toward the massive altar situated at the far end of the cavern.

A large map had been spread across its surface.

The parchment itself appeared ancient, its edges darkened with age while countless markings and inscriptions had been etched over the territories. Thin black lines stretched beneath the map like veins, converging toward four separate points marked upon the parchment.

Each of them pulsed faintly like beating hearts.

The Dominus stopped before the altar and lowered his gaze toward the markings.

For several moments, he simply watched them.

Then his pale fingers hovered slowly above the four black points.

"Decay... Carnage... Dread... Time..." he murmured softly.

The crimson glow within his eyes deepened faintly as the corners of his lips curved further.

The calamities had fully bloomed. The undead had created fields of restless bodies that could no longer die. The mutated shifters slaughtered and caused more deaths. The chimera terrorized the humans.

And above all else, the Dragon continued wasting time without even realizing it.

Everything was proceeding exactly as intended.

"It is time," the Dominus said quietly.

His voice echoed softly throughout the cavern like a decree whispered into the abyss itself.

He folded the map carefully before taking it into his grasp and turning toward the massive exit of the underground chamber.

As the Dominus walked through the underground tunnels, the distant echoes of battle reverberated faintly through the roots of the island above.

The ritual had begun.

And across Sestia, the chosen calamities were steadily pushing the Vanguard forces toward exhaustion.

***

Dahlia quickly realized that the battle was becoming far more troublesome than she had anticipated.

The dark mages were not merely strong, they fought with an unnatural coordination that constantly disrupted her rhythm. The whip wielder never attacked directly unless she was distracted by the giant carrying the hammer, while the one standing farther behind continuously spread dead mana through the battlefield, driving the mutated shifters into violent frenzies.

Every moment spent fighting the dark mages also meant defending the knights from the shifters swarming around them.

Dahlia swept her spear through the neck of an incoming beast before immediately twisting around to block the black whip rushing toward her side. The impact traveled painfully through her arms and she was forced to pull back before the corrosion spread further across the shaft of her weapon.

"It destroys metal too quickly," Sir Adler grimaced after narrowly avoiding another strike from the whip. The sword he had borrowed earlier already looked worn and brittle from just a few clashes.

Dahlia’s eyes briefly shifted toward the third dark mage standing farther behind.

That one was the real issue.

Every time the black mist spread across the battlefield, the shifters became stronger and more aggressive. Even injured creatures that should have collapsed continued attacking like maddened beasts.

"We need to separate them," Dahlia muttered.

But accomplishing that proved easier said than done.

The hammer wielder smashed apart the battlefield whenever they attempted to advance while the whip user constantly targeted blind spots, forcing them to remain defensive.

Another deafening impact erupted as the hammer struck the ground again, sending nearby knights and shifters alike flying backward.

Dahlia steadied herself with visible irritation.

For the first time in a long while, she felt genuinely cornered in battle.

Alarice’s situation was not much better.

The northwestern trade route had already been reduced to ruins beneath the repeated clashes between aura and steel.

The two dark mages wielding claymores fought with frightening discipline. Their attacks were heavy enough to split apart the earth itself, yet neither of them wasted a single movement.

Alarice could immediately tell they were experienced killers.

The moment he blocked one strike, the second blade was already descending toward him from another angle, forcing him to constantly defend without any opportunity to counterattack properly.

Sparks exploded repeatedly throughout the battlefield while nearby knights struggled to even approach the fight.

One wrong step near those massive blades was enough to lose a limb.

Alarice drove one dark mage backward with a burst of aura only for the other to immediately appear behind him, forcing him to twist around and intercept another crushing strike.

The impact numbed his arms slightly.

His expression darkened.

They were testing him.

Gradually forcing him to reveal his habits while conserving their own movements.

And unlike ordinary enemies, these two showed absolutely no emotion while fighting. No anger. No impatience. No recklessness.

Only calculated pressure.

Alarice exhaled slowly as he steadied his footing again beneath the rain.

These were not opponents he could overpower carelessly.

He would need to figure out how they fought first.

Otherwise, this battle would drag on long enough for the entire situation in the northwestern region to collapse around them.

***

Several mounted figures charged into the ruined town at frightening speed, their horses tearing through the muddy roads while the surrounding knights followed closely behind them. At the very front rode two young men whose presence immediately disrupted the battlefield itself.

The first one wielded a longsword overflowing with blazing violet aura.

Every swing of his blade carried overwhelming force behind it. Gargi watched one enormous mutated shifter leap toward him from atop a ruined cart only for the young man to cleave straight through the creature alongside the stone road beneath it in a single strike.

The resulting shockwave erupted outward violently enough to send nearby shifters tumbling across the battlefield.

The rain itself seemed to split apart around him.

The young man did not slow down after the strike. He drove his horse straight through the middle of the horde while his sword carved blazing arcs through the darkness one after another. Each swing created openings large enough for the knights behind him to advance.

The second young man fighting beside him was entirely different.

Where the first resembled overwhelming destruction, this one felt unnaturally cold.

Frost spread rapidly across the streets beneath his horse while sharp ice spikes erupted from the ground beneath charging shifters, impaling them instantly before freezing their bodies solid. His sword moved with frightening precision and every motion of his hand manipulated the battlefield itself.

The rainwater touching the ground around him froze almost immediately.

A wave of freezing mana burst outward from his blade and several shifters charging from the side suddenly became encased in ice before shattering apart beneath the following attacks of the knights.

Gargi’s eyes narrowed faintly as she watched the two. These two were far stronger than the knights she had encountered earlier.

And more importantly, the beasts under her command were hesitating.

The mutated shifters that had rampaged fearlessly through the town until now instinctively slowed around the two young men as though sensing genuine danger from them. Or was it because she herself was feeling hesitant?

The dark mage standing beside Gargi clicked his tongue softly.

"So these are Sestia’s prized heirs."

Another dark mage farther behind them laughed quietly beneath his hood.

"They’re troublesome," he admitted. "Especially the ice user."

But Gargi remained silent.

Her gaze stayed fixed upon the battlefield below while the rain dripped steadily from the ends of her dark hair.

The aura user carved paths through the horde using sheer destructive force alone while the mage steadily locked down the battlefield beneath layers of frost.

For the first time since the assault began, the humans were advancing.

One of the larger mutated beasts suddenly lunged toward the aura user from atop a ruined building, its massive claws aimed directly toward his head.

The young man reacted instantly.

His sword flashed upward and the creature exploded apart midair.

The sheer pressure behind the strike sent rainwater blasting outward like mist.

Then the young man slowly lifted his head and his sharp violet gaze landed directly upon Gargi.