I am no monarch. I might be holding onto an ancestral tree—a sigil, a token of monarchhood—but ultimately, I was no monarch.

The clearest affirmation of that fact is the title bestowed upon me: "Sigil-holder" instead of "Monarch." I haven't acquired the title, and while I can wield the sigil and use its power, I can't use it the way Goblin or Aquaflora do with their respective sigils. Unlike them, I lack the predisposition to make myself the owner of the sigil—just its wielder.

This comes with tragic consequences. For one, I can't access some of the most useful features of an Ancestral Tree as a sigil. Affinity enhancement? I can’t. It kind of makes sense that I can't benefit from it—as a human, I don't even have an affinity section to begin with. But somewhere deep down, I expected to unlock some skill related to spiritual affinity over the past ten years I've trained with the Obsidial Tree, which is essentially an ancestral tree manifested from the majority of the spiritual sub-affinities. But no, it grants me no such advantage.

Another thing I can't do, as a human wielding an ancestral tree, is produce a new "family" member like the elven monarchs do. That, arguably, is one of the main functions of an ancestral tree: to create beings in your image. Technically, I could do that—but it requires literally birthing them, something the Patriarchs or Matriarchs never had to do to expand their families.

But that’s a loss I can live with. I didn’t feel the need to produce new family members. I already had one—the Noctils elves I requisitioned from the Umbryan Patriarch. That was enough elves without exaggeration. So really, not being able to use the Obsidial Tree to produce new elves was a loss I could simply ignore unlike the fact that, as a human wielding an ancestral tree, I was unable to use the resource-drawing function of the sigil. This feature—across all sigils, whether human, angelic, or demonic—is the most important. I’d go as far as to say it’s the main reason any sentient being would ever want to be a monarch. And it wouldn’t be unreasonable to claim that. All known monarchs—the emperors, Seraphim, Matriarchs, Patriarchs, Archdukes of Hell—wound up creating a ruling system where they had subjects.

So really, it was a tragedy that I was not able to use that feature. And it still is, even though I’ve found a way to bypass that inability.

***

Conjured through his grimoire, which acted like a wand would, enhancing the effect of his magic, elements flared in all directions. It wasn’t even worth dodging or shielding myself. I left the job of mitigating the damage to my magical resistance and defense while relying on what had allowed me to survive this battle without being a monarch myself to undo whatever harm I suffered.

I chose to ignore the fire, lightning, light, and other elements unleashed at me, letting them burn and shock me as I countered. I zigzagged through the midair, not to avoid the exploding elements but to avoid Cleon.

His approach to movement had evolved—using his platform not just as a foundation but as a literal springboard to propel himself at me. He even adapted to mostly using wind magic instead of earth magic for propulsion, nullifying the aerial advantage I once had.

Evading yet another of his attempts to hurl himself at me, our gazes met as he managed to halt midair. Wasting no time, he reforged his sigil—the spear he’d just tried to impale me with—into a bow. Drawing it back, he unleashed a barrage of arrows like a damn minigun.

These arrows, summoned through his elemental Arcana skills via his grimoire, came in different flavors: light, lightning, and fire, all enhanced with wind magic for unprecedented speed. I’d withstood and healed from worse attacks, but I wasn’t about to let this one hit me without counterattacking.

I retaliated with a hail of spiritual projectiles and ice stalagmites, unleashed alongside wind elemental Arcana for enhanced speed. What blossomed between us felt like the heart of an apocalyptic lightning storm—an instant cold, the next scalding from his elements meeting mine.

When our projectiles collided, what little didn’t clash found its target. Both he and I ignored the hits, equally confident in our ability to undo the damage. For a moment, we were locked in this strange stalemate—not quite a staredown, since we were hurling projectiles at each other.

It took the interference of my cold-blooded copy to break the HP-costing deadlock. Coming into view from a safe distance behind Cleon, she—or perhaps I should say I—delivered a kick that sent moon-like spheres hurtling toward him. Naturally, these were moons summoned by the skill [Lunar Cataclysm].

By the time Cleon noticed her presence behind him, it was too late. He ate the full blast of the dozen small moons kicked at him.

The explosion was powerful enough to flatten a chain of mountains. The shockwave surged forth, loud and strong, but I didn’t budge. My immunity held firm, and so should hers—but she, ever the strategist, allowed herself to be swept away to create distance between herself and Cleon. We both knew he hadn’t died in that attack. Staying as far from him as possible was a wise decision.

As the aftermath had yet to settle, projectiles shot from the mist that still engulfed Cleon, baiting me into thinking he had made her his target. But no—the moment I prepared to assist her, he came charging at me.

“Tsk,” I cursed, watching Cleon reform his bow sigil into a sword. He swung at me. I dodged the first attack despite the distance, but the second came faster—I avoided it, though barely. So it came as no surprise when he caught me with the third strike.

His blade buried deep into my left shoulder blade.

That was nothing. What followed was easily worse.

A moment of stillness followed, then a searing light erupted from the wound.

“Die,” Cleon growled.

The explosion wasn’t just sound or light; it was a force that obliterated the left half of my body, reducing it to dust and ash. It literally melted part of my face. I screamed but remained in control of my rationale. I didn’t let the pain dictate my next move. Reason prevailed as I activated [Cryostasis], summoning a spiritual shield to block the blade he thrust toward my face.

Clang. Clang. Clang. Clang.

My layered spiritual summons strained upon meeting his sword, layers shattering one after another. It took wrapping the Chains of Permanence around his arm and sword to bring his weapon to a halt—if only for a fraction of a second. But he wasn’t done. He reforged the weapon, and I could only hope to curse it, but since it was a sigil, my curse didn’t work.

The weapon reformed into a spear. Its newfound length shattered the remaining layers of my shield as it made its way toward my head—or rather, where my head was, as I quickly slipped to the right to avoid being impaled. But as I did, he swung his other arm at my face, now perfectly aligned for his next attack.

Active skill [Cryostasis] gave me the fraction of a second I needed. I undid the damage that had been done to me, then intercepted his fist with one hand. It still met my face, but the force was reduced to a withstandable level. With my newly regrown arm, I grabbed Cleon’s throat and opened my mouth wide, unleashing [Draconic Breath] point-blank at his face.

Amidst the cold, intense beam, I heard his scream. I felt and saw his spear reform into something else—a blade he used to cut my right arm clean off again. He broke free, blasted away by the Draconic Breath, until he managed to claw his way out of the attack’s trajectory.

With the beam still active, I followed the heavily frostbitten Cleon, stumbling in midair. Some of his limbs shattered and fell off, but the bastard had gotten better with aerial maneuvering. As soon as he began healing his injuries—even while being tumbled around by my breath attack—he weaved his way out of its trajectory and prepared a counterattack.

But before he could execute it, he was caught off guard by my clone, who now hovered at a distance above him. She unleashed [Judgment of the Firmament], which this time didn’t come in the form of a single gigantic lance but rather countless smaller ones. They rained from the sky, homing in on Cleon.

Infused with [Arctic Oblivion], they detonated almost simultaneously upon reaching him, unleashing energy that tore the very air apart.

One thing I had come to realize about this fight, a realization now firmly rooted in my being, was that there was no end to this. This wasn’t a battle where, upon obliterating your target, you gained experience. I’d seen both him and myself deliver blows that would have ended any conventional fight right then and there. But this wasn’t a conventional fight.

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So even at the sight of him being obliterated by the explosion, I knew it wasn’t over.

From the mist, layer upon layer of slashing energy spread out, creating a grid-like web of destruction aimed at my clone. She tried to evade, but the speed of the attack was overwhelming—especially with the sheer volume he unleashed. She managed to evade the first wave, but the second and third waves were unavoidable.

As she plummeted down from the sky, a partially healed Cleon came swooping in to finish her off. The violence with which the barbarian killed my much-needed clone was beyond unnerving, yet there wasn’t much I could do—except avenge her. And that’s exactly what I did.

He was perfectly positioned to taste [Judgment of the Firmament]. Like the one "she" unleashed upon him earlier, this version manifested as countless smaller lances, hurtling at him at full speed. As they reached him, they unleashed their secondary effects—but unlike earlier, when it was just Arctic Oblivion, this hail of lances came infused with wind and water elements.

What followed was chaos—a ripple of color, a blast at least ten times the strength of the previous one unleashed by my brave clone. The explosion was so fierce that its blastwave shook me. Unlike ice-elemental attacks, which I was completely immune to—both directly and indirectly—I wasn’t as thoroughly immune to the other two elements.

Hovering there, I watched the chaos subside into aftermath, wishing dearly that I had avenged my brave copy. But once again, I knew better.

I was battling a man who could draw a substantial percentage of energy from the kings, nobles, and Verdenkind serving those nobles across this continent. He wasn’t dying from an attack like that. The problem wasn’t even the strength of the attack but rather that weapon he constantly reforged and the grimoire he used as an artifact. With those sigils, there was no defeating him.

While that circumstance might make it seem like his sigils were more convenient than those of the elves, it actually wasn’t the case. When it came to that feature, human and elven sigils were similar—if not equal. The difference was, with the elves, we managed to lure the elven monarchs away from their domains—the source from which they drew their energy. Had we fought any of the elven monarchs in their respective domains, the battle would have panned out just like our fight against the Argyrian Patriarch with the monarch obliterating us in the long run.

I wished there was a way for me to take Cleon down the same way we did the elven monarchs—lure him out of his domain—but I knew for a fact that wasn’t happening. I literally gave myself as bait to see if such an approach could be taken, if he would take the bait and leave his domain to step into Dungeon Master 00's. It took me fifty years to realize that it wouldn’t work, leaving me with only this painful option to take him.

Through the dissipating mist, I saw a mangled Cleon, his sigils lit with unique brilliance as all my hard work was undone right before my eyes.

“There goes my revenge,” I sighed, glancing at my left arm that had been cut off earlier. With a thought, I undid the damage just like he did. Taking another sigh, I activated [Yin Manifestation] again, summoning a perfect copy of the me I just lost. Ready to throw myself at him again, I watched as he didn’t immediately charge.

Instead, he stood there amidst the faintly lingering mist, staring at me with… apprehension. No, that wasn’t it. It took me a moment to notice, but once I did, it seemed so obvious. So far, I’d say he’d looked at me with the same expression we began this battle with—annoyance and greed. Greed for the Obsidial Tree I wielded. As the battle went on, there was more annoyance, more greed—especially when he realized how much it allowed me to keep up with a monarch like him.

Then there was this look of confusion. I could tell—especially when I sometimes caught him glancing at the eastern corner of my Ancestral Tree manifested around us. He wasn’t looking at that corner in particular, but rather what was beyond that ancestral tree in that very direction—Goblin, Aquaflora, and, last but not least, the fleet. I’m sure that’s what he was most apprehensive about.

Being complacent is something I’d look down on him for, but I wouldn’t fault him for being ignorant—well, at least not that ignorant. Sure, he came to the logical conclusion that the fleet was where the Obsidial Tree I was using drew its reserves from. The distance between here and the Umbryan capital made any attempt to draw reserves from the capital impossible.

What was in his eyes wasn’t annoyance, greed, or apprehension. It was something new—something I didn’t expect this soon: Fear.

A smile appeared on my face as I realized that I might be avenging my dear clone much sooner than expected. Alongside my other clone, I made a rapid ascent to meet him midair, giving him all the more reason to fear me.

A battle between monarchs, where both parties are equal in strength and can fully utilize their sigil abilities to draw energy from their subjects, could go on forever. In that moment, the deciding factor would be—if it weren’t also equal—the amount of energy each could possibly draw from their subjects. Who would exhaust their reserves first?

Even though I wasn’t a monarch, the conditions for his or my victory were pretty much the same. From what I knew, human monarchs couldn’t draw as much energy from their subjects as elven monarchs could. While elven monarchs could draw up to 100% of their subjects’ reserves—provided distance wasn’t an issue—human monarchs could only draw less than a third of that.

Considering the number of people who were his subjects, I doubted—despite all the effort I just displayed—that he had exhausted even half his reserves. But for him to feel this afraid so early on, I knew we were closing in on ending this fight.

For now, I just needed to battle as I had been—matching his pace, dealing damage, undoing the massive ones he inflicted on me like he did mine. Never faltering. Making him understand that this battle, this dance of elements, weapons, and blood, was as futile for him as it was for me.

It took the old bastard several broken limbs, a shattered jaw and skull, and a frostbitten body—as much as it cost me torn limbs, a shredded belly, and scorched skin—all of which we both ultimately undid, for him to finally understand. Hovering there atop one of his platforms, he watched me, all the expressions previously present in his eyes now even more pronounced.

Ascending to his level, I declared, "What's going on, Your Majesty? Already feeling tired of this? Because I can go on all day."

My words were just taunts. At this point, I doubted he’d exhausted even half of his reserves. But still, I thought it was not an unreasonable thing to assume that he might soon be reconsidering his approach.

At my obvious taunt, Cleon bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable with the words about to come out of his mouth. "I'll admit it,” he said, “I have grown tired of all of this."

My smile widened. He looked at me with an expression that screamed, wipe that smile off your face.

Bringing the floating grimoire to his hand, he sneered. "You've grown strong, that much I'll acknowledge. But so what? I'll finish this with a single blow."

In that moment, I felt it—it was here. I had known from the beginning that if I managed to match his pace, he would resort to this.

It was just the smartest thing to do.

Just like the Ancestral Tree—the elven sigil with properties that allow it to serve as either a barrier or a prison—the human sigil had its own unique characteristics.

Human sigils typically manifested as artifacts, and their form dictated their properties. For example, a sigil manifesting as a sword would possess all the qualities of a sword, enhanced to an extraordinary degree. Similarly, a staff would retain the properties of a staff but be augmented with enhancements tailored to its wielder's needs.

But human sigils had one more defining trait: the ability to unleash an ultimate attack. "Ultimate" in this sense meant an effect magnified to staggering proportions, without the sigil bearer bearing the burden of the resource cost. This, I could tell, was exactly what he was about to unleash on me, especially as a flurry of notifications rang from my identification skill, flashing in the corner of my vision.

Activating these skills and manifesting them through his grimoire, which acted as an enhancer artifact, several multicolored and complex magic circles materialized, overlapping one another to summon an ominous, giant orb of intense color. The sphere reflected the ridiculous power ready to be unleashed.

One would be tempted to think I was the target—but no, I wasn’t.

Should that thing be unleashed at me, no doubt I would be obliterated. I say that myself, as I don’t have any skill or ability—and certainly not the constitution—to withstand something of such ridiculous power. I would instantly disintegrate. But so what? I’d proven time and time again throughout this exchange of lethal attacks, underestimating my abilities to negate damages would be a huge mistake.

Cleon seemed to have understood that, which is why his target was the Ancestral Tree I had summoned around us at the beginning. Logic dictated that with no usable sigil, I would be like any average peon before a monarch—someone he could squash with no chance of coming back.

But he didn’t unleash that ultimate attack instantly, as I hoped he would. Instead, Cleon looked at me with an apprehensive expression, one that soon told me he had figured it out.

He realized that if he unleashed the attack on the Obsidial Tree, I would set the sigil to act not as a prison, but as a barrier. That attack would just pass right through, inflicting no damage, wasting his energy. In light of that, his target tragically shifted from the barrier… to me.

The air around me grew charged, the hairs on my arms standing on end as the sphere expanded, crackling with raw, untamed energy. The smile on my face shifted from a slight grin to a full-blown grimace—one that grew even uglier when he finally unleashed the attack. I could feel the weight of my impending obliteration, heavy and inescapable. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. The sky itself seemed to shrink back.

Left with no better option, I braced myself and gave rapid instructions to the Obsidial Tree.

With a simple motion, the condensed attack—massive and terrifying—hurtled toward me. Time seemed to dilate, each fractions of a second stretching endlessly. I could see every ripple of energy, every swirl of elements within the sphere. The sound was deafening, a roar that filled the world, drowning out everything else.

It felt intensely long, but ultimately, it came: impact.

My defenses were instantly overwhelmed. There was no undoing to the instantaneous damage that exploded in my face. The force struck me like a comet, engulfing me in blinding light and searing pain. I felt myself being torn apart, disintegrated molecule by molecule by the overwhelming power. My thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, fragments of fear and resignation flashing through my mind.

And then, as swiftly as it had erupted, everything turned black.