The morning sun broke through the horizon, casting a warm glow over the group as they stood at the edge of their journey’s next chapter. Noah surveyed his companions, each face bearing a hardened resolve forged in the fires of their personal struggles. The weight of their mission hung heavily, but in their eyes was the unshakable determination to see it through.

Noah gripped his sword tightly, lifting it into the air, its gleaming blade catching the morning light. “Today marks the beginning of our greatest challenge. Together, we will march into her domain and slay the Black Witch!” His voice carried with it a steadfast conviction, rallying the group.

“I won’t let anything happen to you, Noah. I know we can do this,” Ava said, her voice strong as she raised her dagger alongside his blade, her gaze locked on his with unwavering faith.

“No mercy. The Witch shall fall,” Cyrus added, conjuring a blade of jagged ice that shimmered coldly in his hand. He held it high, the frost curling from it reflecting his unyielding vengeance.

“I’ll see this through. For all of us,” Adam said, lifting his spear, Cú Chulainn, its mythic aura pulsating faintly as if answering his resolve.

“I will make sure we can save Jasper,” Lucy declared, her greatsword glowing faintly as she raised it in solidarity with the group. The determination in her voice was as fierce as the strength she exuded.

“How charming,” Lux said with a smirk, leaning against a nearby tree. “All you need now is a name for your merry little band of heroes.”

Cyrus shot him a glare, his tone biting. “Annoying god. Don’t mock us, especially if you’re not going to contribute.”

Lux shrugged nonchalantly. “I already did my part. I scouted the Black Witch’s barrier last night. Turns out, it’s more than just Sicil-proof—it’s locked down against anyone who’s been alive since the first apocalypse. A pity for me, but it also means the Crows’ second and third commanders can’t enter either. Consider that a blessing.”

“Fine,” Cyrus said, turning back to the group. “We didn’t need you anyway.”

Noah, trying to ease the tension, glanced at the others with a sheepish grin. “If we were to name our adventuring party, what should we call ourselves?”

Cyrus raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re seriously thinking about this now?”

Lux chuckled. “Oh, let the boy dream. Every legendary group needs a name, after all. It’s tradition.”

Noah stood at the center of the group, the weight of Lux's suggestion making him pause. “Well, Noah, you’re our leader. Go ahead and give this party a name,” Cyrus said, a sly smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Noah frowned in concentration, his brow furrowing as if he were attempting to solve the mysteries of the universe. The intensity of his thinking was so exaggerated it seemed as if steam might start pouring from his ears. Finally, after a dramatic pause, he snapped his fingers. “Alright! From this moment onward, we shall be known as The Fools' Tea Party! That shall be our name!” he proclaimed, puffing out his chest with mock grandeur.

The room went silent for a beat before Lux burst out laughing. “What kind of name is that?” he cackled, nearly doubling over.

“Yeah, Noah,” Ava giggled, struggling to keep a straight face. “Your naming sense is… something else.”

Noah crossed his arms defensively, his cheeks reddening. “It’s a play on the Witches’ Tea Party, you know, that legendary organization of witches from the first apocalypse, we are about to say a witch afterall?”

Lux raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite himself. “The Witches’ Tea Party, huh? I remember them. But why fools?”

Noah grinned, his eyes glinting with a mix of self-awareness and humor. “How else would you describe a group of idiots marching off to raid one of the strongest beings on the continent?”

Adam let out a resigned sigh. “He’s got a point. There’s no better description than fools.”

Lucy’s lips curled into a small smile as she added thoughtfully, “The name may sound self-deprecating, but the Fool in tarot represents more than just recklessness. It symbolizes boundless potential and the courage to embark on an unknown journey. It fits us.”

Cyrus chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Find. The Fools’ Tea Party it is. What a ridiculous, yet oddly fitting name.”

Noah's grin widened as he raised his sword high. “Then it’s settled! From this day forward, The Fools’ Tea Party will take on any challenge, no matter how impossible!”

A new voice interrupted, dry and laced with disapproval. “I can’t believe I entrusted my daughter to an idiot like you,” Orist said, stepping into the room.

“Orist!” Noah exclaimed, startled by the older man’s sudden appearance.

Ava groaned. “Dad, you couldn’t wait to embarrass him later?”

“I came to see you all off,” Orist admitted, his gaze softening. “I’d join you, but with the influx of refugees, someone has to stay behind to keep things in order. Just try not to die out there, you fools.”

“Thanks, Orist,” Noah said, giving him a determined nod. “We’ll make it back. I promise.”

Orist’s expression grew stern. “Promises are only as good as the actions that follow them. Go prove that your name isn't entirely true.”

The morning sun filtered through the vibrant canopy of Alfheim’s forest, casting golden light across the multicolored trees. The atmosphere buzzed with life, a deceptive beauty hiding the danger that lurked within. The Fools' Tea Party stood at the forest’s edge, their faces reflecting a mix of determination and focus.

“Let us embark,” Noah declared, raising his sword as it caught the morning light, the blade shimmering faintly with energy. “We will rid the world of the Black Witch and any members of the Crows who dare to stand in our way.”

With those words, the group pressed forward, their footsteps crunching softly against the underbrush. The forest was vast and otherworldly, its kaleidoscopic foliage swaying in a gentle breeze. Vibrant reds, deep purples, and radiant golds painted a landscape that seemed almost dreamlike. Yet, the deeper they ventured, the more oppressive the air grew, a subtle darkness creeping in around them.

It wasn’t long before the monsters began to appear, as if the forest itself sought to bar their way. Slimes oozed from the shadows, their gelatinous forms glistening ominously. Goblins, their eyes gleaming with malice, scurried between the trees, brandishing crude weapons.

Noah’s voice rang out. “Stay sharp! Don’t let them overwhelm us!”

The party sprang into action, each member moving with practiced precision.

Noah charged forward, his blade dancing in the air. With fluid movements, he sliced through the slimes, their bodies dissolving into harmless puddles as his sword glowed faintly with his dark energy. Whenever one of his allies received a scratch or bruise, he extended his free hand, a shadowy aura leaving there bodies and entering his. His dual focus, offense and support, made him the linchpin of their group.

Cyrus, standing slightly behind the vanguard, lifted his hand, his demonic eyes glinting a soft azure light. “Freeze,” he commanded. Shards of ice materialized in the air above him, raining down like a deadly hailstorm. Goblins screeched as crystalline spikes pierced their flesh, immobilizing them for his allies to finish off. The ground around him shimmered with frost, his control over ice turning the battlefield into his domain.

Ava darted between shadows, cloak, Robin Hood, glinting as she became a blur of movement. One moment she was visible, the next, she vanished entirely. Goblins and slimes alike fell silently, their forms crumpling to the ground as her blade struck true. “They never even see me coming,” she muttered with a smirk.

Lucy took a more methodical approach. She extended her hands, her dryad powers summoning thick vines from the forest floor. The vines slithered and coiled around her enemies, trapping them in place. With a powerful swing of her greatsword, she cleaved through her restrained foes. Her strikes were precise, her strength formidable. “Don’t let your guard down,” she called to the others. “The forest will only grow more hostile as we approach her territory.”

Adam, calm and deadly, wielded Cú Chulainn, the crimson spear, with unparalleled accuracy. Each throw of the spear found its mark, piercing the monsters’ hearts and returning to his hand as if drawn by an unseen force. His movements were efficient, wasting no energy as he dispatched enemies with chilling precision. “Keep moving forward,” he said. “We can’t afford to linger.”

The forest seemed alive, responding to their presence with increasing ferocity. The monsters grew larger and more coordinated, as if some malevolent force was guiding them. Yet, the Fools' Teaparty pressed on, their teamwork and individual prowess carving a path through the opposition.

As the group paused briefly to catch their breath, Noah looked around, his gaze sweeping over his companions. Despite the challenges, their determination remained unwavering. He tightened his grip on his sword and nodded to the group. “We’re close. Stay focused. The Black Witch’s territory is just ahead.”

The forest around them darkened further, the vibrant colors dimming into muted shades as they approached their destination. An eerie stillness settled over the group, broken only by the distant, haunting calls of unseen creatures. The air itself felt heavier, carrying with it the faint scent of decay.

The eerie atmosphere of the Black Witch's territory weighed heavily on the group as they ventured deeper. The trees loomed larger, their twisted forms casting long, jagged shadows. The stench of blood and decay grew stronger with each step, a grim prelude to what awaited them.

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As they emerged into a clearing, a chilling sight greeted them. Corpses of knights lay scattered like broken dolls, their armor twisted and crushed, their bodies grotesquely mangled. Some had caved-in chests, others were headless, their helmets rolled off like discarded toys. Amid the carnage sat a lone figure on a weathered tree stump, a serene yet unsettling contrast to the slaughter around her.

Her hair was long, unkempt, and as black as the shadows that seemed to cling to her. Scars criss crossed her pale arms, and two jagged marks on her face twisted her features into the semblance of a permanent, macabre smile. Her bright orange eyes gleamed with a disturbing mixture of amusement and bloodlust, locking onto the newcomers with predatory intent.

The woman rose from the stump with a deliberate grace, her cloak billowing unnaturally as if moved by an unseen wind. A faint metallic clink accompanied her movements, drawing the group's attention to the heavy handcuffs binding her wrists. Beside her, a massive greatsword, its blade darkened with dried blood, was buried into the ground, waiting like a predator ready to pounce.

On her forearm, a tattoo stood out starkly against her skin, two interlocked swords forming a sinister emblem. Cyrus’s sharp intake of breath broke the tense silence.

“Noah, get back,” Cyrus hissed, stepping protectively in front of the group. His voice, usually steady, was edged with something Noah had never heard before—fear.

Before Noah could respond, the woman tilted her head and smiled wider, her scars stretching grotesquely. “Hello there,” she said, her voice light and almost cheerful, belying the horrors she had clearly wrought. “Are you my new friends?”

In a flash, she was no longer by the stump but directly in front of Cyrus, her sudden movement a blur. The oppressive aura surrounding her made the air feel suffocating. Cyrus stiffened, his pupils dilating as terror rooted him to the spot. Beside him, Lucy and Adam instinctively took a step back, their faces pale. The recognition in their eyes was unmistakable—they knew her. They knew what she was capable of.

Noah, still uncomprehending, tightened his grip on his sword and stepped forward. “Who are you?” he demanded.

The woman smile at him, her gaze now fixed on Noah. She leaned closer, studying his face with a mix of curiosity and amusement. “Oh, I like you better,” she said, her voice laced with mockery. “You’re not on the verge of tears, at least. That’s refreshing.”

Niamh's unsettling smile deepened, the scars on her face twisting grotesquely as she introduced herself. "I’m Niamh," she said, her tone a mix of playful mockery and chilling menace. "Some call me the Greatsword Monarch, others prefer the Slaughter Witch. Both work, depending on how you'd like your story to end."

Noah’s breath hitched at her words, recognition flashing in his eyes. "Monarch?" he echoed. "You’re one of the Martial Art Kings?"

A flicker of satisfaction crossed her face at his realization. "So you've heard of me. How flattering," she replied, resting a bound hand on the hilt of her greatsword.

Noah’s thoughts raced as fragments of his father’s stories surfaced. The Martial Art Kings were the living apostles of the God of Combat, a being once known as the Fourth Apocalypse. Though sealed long ago within an iron maiden, his influence persisted. Through sheer willpower, he chose seven individuals—masters of their respective weapons, to act as his avatars in the world: the Sword, the Spear, the Greatsword, the Fist, the Bow, the Axe, and the Shield.

This was no ordinary appointment. Most gods could only sustain three apostles without weakening themselves. But even in his confinement, the God of Combat maintained seven, a testament to his immense power. His criteria for selection were as indifferent as they were ruthless—he cared not for morality or purpose, only for unmatched skill in martial arts.

Among these seven, the Greatsword Monarch stood apart. Tales of her exploits eclipsed those of her peers. Unlike the others, she bore a second title, one just as ominous, Witch.

"Witches..." Noah murmured, his stomach sinking as the weight of her reputation hit him. The title of Witch, dated back to the First Apocalypse, bestowed only upon women who could unleash devastation on a catastrophic scale. In the present day, only two bore that dreaded designation, the Black Witch and the Slaughter Witch.

Niamh’s eyes gleamed as she noticed his growing unease. "Ah, so you’ve pieced it together," she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. "The stories probably didn’t do me justice. But I assure you, they didn’t exaggerate."

Cyrus clenched his fists, his voice strained as he forced himself to speak. "You... You killed thousands. Entire armies fell to you. Why are you here? What do you want?"

Niamh tilted her head, feigning a thoughtful expression. "Want? Oh, I’m just passing through," she said casually, then her grin widened into something far more predatory. "But I must admit, it’s been a while since I’ve had the pleasure of entertaining guests."

Her bound hands shifted slightly, the chains on her cuffs clinking ominously. Even restrained, her presence was overwhelming. Each member of the group could feel the oppressive aura emanating from her, a suffocating mixture of malice and bloodlust.

Noah tightened his grip on his sword, stepping forward despite the fear clawing at him. "We didn’t come here to fight you," he said, his voice steady but his knuckles white. "We’re here for the Black Witch. If you’re not involved—"

Before he could finish, Niamh laughed—a sharp, chilling sound that echoed through the clearing. "Oh, my dear little hero," she interrupted, her eyes locking onto him. "You don’t understand, do you? You don’t get to decide who you fight. Not here."

"If you want to reach the Black Witch," she said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "you’ll have to survive me first."

Noah’s voice trembled as he took a step forward, desperation edging his tone. "Why are you doing this? Why cause so much pain? What could possibly drive you to destroy so freely?"

Niamh tilted her head slightly, her unsettling grin widening. Her orange eyes glowed with predatory amusement as if she relished the question. "Why?" she repeated, her tone mockingly thoughtful. "Why do you eat every day? Why do you sleep each night? Why do you protect those you love? Why do you even bother to keep breathing, little hero?"

Her voice dropped, each word cutting deeper than the last. "Your question is as meaningless as mine. I do what I do because it’s a part of who I am—no grand purpose, no higher calling. I kill because it is instinct. Because it’s life." She spread her arms, the chains of her handcuffs rattling like the chime of a death knell. "And in life, there’s no escape from death. Especially not for you."

Before anyone could react, she vanished. A blink later, she reappeared in front of Lucy.

"Fast—!" Lucy started, but her words turned into a cry of pain. Blood spattered the ground as she crumpled to her knees, her legs torn as if pierced by invisible blades. Niamh hadn’t drawn her sword. She hadn’t even moved her hands.

"Interesting," Niamh mused, circling Lucy like a predator sizing up its prey. "You wield a greatsword too. But I doubt you’ll make me use mine. You’re not worth it."

Lucy gritted her teeth, clutching at the searing pain in her legs. "Bastard," she hissed, forcing herself to stand despite the agony.

The ground beneath Niamh erupted as massive vines burst forth, wrapping around her limbs and hoisting her into the air. "You’ll regret underestimating me!" Lucy growled, her ability surging with fury.

"Not bad," Niamh said, barely glancing at the plants restraining her. "But not good enough."

Before Lucy could respond, Adam and Cyrus joined the attack. Adam hurled his crimson spear, its deadly arc aiming directly for Niamh’s heart, while Cyrus unleashed a barrage of razor-sharp ice shards.

For a split second, it seemed the combined assault might succeed.

Then everything fell apart.

With a single motion—a mere flicker of movement too fast to track—the vines were shredded, the ice shattered into harmless shards, and Adam’s spear splintered mid-air.

Adam staggered, coughing violently as he clutched his chest. The destruction of a regalia isn't permanent, but the backlash coursing through his body was crippling. Blood dripped from his lips as he dropped to one knee.

"Pathetic," Niamh sneered, landing gracefully on the ground. "You’ve already lost your weapon. And you?" She turned her gaze toward Cyrus, whose ice shards were little more than glimmering dust in the wind. "You think a little frost can stop me? Cute."

Her presence grew heavier, the very air seeming to buckle under the weight of her aura. The group froze, each member paralyzed by the sheer force of her killing intent.

Noah stepped forward, gripping his sword tightly, his heart pounding in his chest. "We’re not done yet," he said, his voice trembling but resolute.

Niamh’s eyes locked onto him, a flicker of curiosity crossing her face. "Oh? And what will you do, little hero? Will you save them? Will you stop me?"

Noah raised his blade, his determination burning brighter than the fear coursing through his veins. "I’ll try," he declared.

Niamh tilted her head, her unsettling smile widening into something far more sinister. “How cute. You’re not really afraid of me, are you?” Her orange eyes glinted with cruel amusement. “No, no… you’re terrified of something else. You’re afraid I’ll hurt her.” She gestured toward Ava, whose trembling form stood frozen behind Noah. “If she died… what would you do, little hero?”

“I won’t let that happen,” Noah said firmly. His voice quivered, but the resolve in his words was unshakable. Drawing on his deepest reserves of power, he absorbed the pain and fear radiating from his allies. The dark energy, raw and potent, began to coil around him, seeping into his skin like tendrils of smoke. It surged into his sword, engulfing the blade in a shadowy aura.

With a roar, Noah brought his sword down in a devastating slash, the energy crackling violently as it carved through the air toward Niamh.

But it wasn’t enough.

With a single hand, her fingers wrapped around the blade, stopping it cold. The impact sent shockwaves through the earth, but Niamh stood unfazed, her vicious smile deepening. "Adorable," she whispered. "I like you, little hero."

Before Noah could react, an intense pain erupted in his stomach. He hadn’t even seen her move. In an instant, her fist had buried itself into his abdomen, sending him crumpling to his knees.

"You have potential," Niamh said, looming over him as he gasped for air. “I recently killed the Sword Master. That seat is open now, though I do have a student in mind to take it. But you…” She crouched, gripping his chin with a forceful hand and forcing him to look into her gleaming, predatory eyes. “You could be even better. I’ll let you live, little hero, but only on three conditions.”

Noah winced but held her gaze. “What… What are the conditions?”

Her grip tightened as she leaned in close, her breath warm and menacing against his skin. “Condition one: Obtain a sword-based regalia. If you’re not wielding a proper weapon the next time we meet, I’ll kill you. Condition two: Learn swordsmanship. Enough to keep me entertained, at the very least. And condition three…” She smirked, her tone laced with sadistic glee. “Land a hit on me. Just one.”

Noah’s chest tightened as he glanced toward Ava, who was staring back at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. Niamh’s gaze followed his. “If you fail, little hero… if you don’t fulfill these conditions the next time we meet, I’ll kill your girlfriend first. And I’ll make you watch every second of it before I finish you off.”

The world seemed to freeze as her words sunk in. Noah clenched his fists, forcing himself to meet her piercing gaze once more. "I’ll do it," he said through gritted teeth. "No matter what, I’ll get stronger. I’ll meet your conditions."

"Good doggie," Niamh cooed mockingly, patting his head as though he were a child. “I look forward to our next encounter.”

And then, in the blink of an eye, she vanished. The oppressive aura that had suffused the air disappeared with her, leaving an eerie stillness in her wake.

To the party’s shock, their injuries began to heal instantly, as if some unseen force had mended their wounds. Adam, who had been pale and coughing blood moments ago, sat up with a groan. Lucy tested her legs, now free of pain, while Cyrus shakily summoned a shard of ice to his hand to confirm his ability still worked.

“What… just happened?” Ava whispered, her voice trembling.

Noah remained silent, staring at the spot where Niamh had stood. The weight of her conditions bore down on him like an iron chain, but his resolve only burned brighter.

“I’ll do it,” he repeated softly, gripping his sword tightly. “No matter what.”