At the edge of the Central Area, a heavy silence hung over the battlefield. The air was thick with the stench of iron and burned flesh, mingling with the cold night breeze. The grotesque remains of demonic beasts lay scattered, forming twisted mountains of corpses. Atop one of them, a lone figure moved.

Luminus.

He pulled his sword from a pile of fallen monsters, the metallic ring of steel cutting through the stillness. The blade slid free from dead flesh, dripping with a dark, viscous liquid that shimmered under the light of the twin moons overhead.

Those moons, once distinct celestial bodies, had finally merged into a single luminous sphere. A rare omen. A sign of transition.

The two rifts in reality—once spewing forth abominations—were now closing. The tear between worlds was slowly mending, and the horrors that had emerged from that abyss had been vanquished.

Luminus panted.

“Huff… Huff…”

His breath came ragged, muscles burning from exhaustion. His chest rose and fell heavily, sweat trickling down his forehead, mixing with the blood staining his clothes.

A low chuckle echoed behind him.

“Don’t tell me a mere thousand demonic beasts were enough to wear you out, Luminus.” The voice carried a blend of amusement and disappointment.

Luminus didn’t need to turn around to recognize the approaching figure.

Thomas—his father. The patriarch of Dracknum.

His jaw clenched as he shut his eyes for a brief moment before responding, still struggling to steady his breath.

“Patriarch, you forced me to face every last beast using nothing but swordsmanship. No magic, no aura, no enhancements—only my raw strength and endurance. And as if that wasn’t enough…” He raised his sword, revealing his hands tightly bound to the hilt. “…you also made sure I couldn’t let go of the blade.”

His sword was long and subtly curved, resembling a katana. Its edge gleamed with shades of blue, reflecting the moonlight, and its design was simple—no extravagant embellishments or jewels. Yet, despite its modest appearance, it was an instrument of absolute destruction. Incredibly durable. Sharp enough to cleave through steel without dulling.

Thomas raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “Hmph. All I hear are excuses.”

Luminus rolled his eyes. “Excuses or facts?”

“When I was your age, I did this blindfolded. With one hand tied behind my back. And standing on one foot.” Thomas’s voice carried a theatrical seriousness, but the glint in his eyes betrayed his playful tone.

Luminus narrowed his gaze and stepped forward.

“Oh, right. Just like when you were my age, you had already won the hearts of thousands of maidens?”

Silence.

Then… Thomas burst into laughter.

A deep, carefree, almost nostalgic laugh.

He stroked his chin, pretending to ponder, while a smug grin stretched across his lips.

“Not thousands. But a few hundred? Definitely.”

Luminus scoffed.

“You really have no shame, do you?”

Thomas spread his arms dramatically.

“Shame? For what?

Every single one of them fell for me for good reasons!”

Luminus sighed, shaking his head.

“Good reasons, huh…”

“Of course! One of them even ended up becoming your mother.” Thomas added.

Luminus blinked, momentarily caught off guard, and fell silent.

At that moment, a strong wind blew, carrying away the stench of death and dust. The fused moons cast their glow over the warriors, stretching their shadows across the ruined battlefield. The land had finally fallen quiet. No new threats emerged.

“So… what now?” Luminus broke the silence.

“We’re done here. The rest should be manageable for the forest guard.”

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The black vortex sealed itself with a silent roar, swallowing the last traces of the mercenaries who had fled beyond mortal reach. The night breeze carried a nearly tangible weight, dust hanging in the air—a lingering echo of the chaos that had ravaged the battlefield just moments ago.

It was a failure.

The warrior of Dracknum knew that. His duty was to capture those responsible for the invasion, yet the two main culprits had escaped. True, he had managed to seize one of their accomplices, but the boy he now dragged by the hair—golden eyes shut in unconsciousness—was worth far less than those who had gotten away.

Even so, he didn’t seem troubled.

The Dracknum warrior walked at an unhurried pace, his firm steps echoing against the parched earth. In his free hand, he gripped a massive claymore, its blade trailing along the ground, carving deep grooves in the dirt. He sighed, his gaze sweeping over the unstable fissure in reality as it slowly sealed itself before him.

“This thing is really starting to piss me off…” he muttered, furrowing his brow.

Before he could take another step, a noise rose from the rift. A grotesque sound—a warped echo from a world beyond human comprehension.

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And then, it emerged.

A black, twisted beast, shifting like a living shadow. Its form resembled a panther, but unnaturally elongated, each muscle rippling as though it lacked bones. Six legs, each ending in blade-like claws. A head like an eagle’s, crowned with lifeless, burning crimson eyes radiating pure hostility.

The creature roared as it fully emerged, its talons tearing into the ground with a sound like shattering glass.

Israel didn’t even blink.

“Hence why they call them demon beasts…”

The monster lunged at him with primal, instinctual ferocity.

“…But this one is just low-level.”

Without breaking stride, he lifted the claymore in the same hand he had been dragging it with and, in a single precise vertical strike, cleaved the creature cleanly in two.

The beast’s body split apart, black blood spraying through the air before evaporating into wisps of purple smoke. Its severed head spun midair for a moment, jaws still locked in a silent snarl—then it, too, dissolved completely.

The man exhaled. "Pathetic."

The rift was closing now. It seemed that the creature had been the only one to use that passage—perhaps due to the influence of the scrolls wielded by the boy he was still dragging by the hair. Regardless, his task here was complete.

"I knew it."

A youthful voice cut through the silence.

Israel turned his head, meeting the sharp gaze of Nikolas Beaumont. The boy stood his ground, while a few meters behind him, Alexander remained unconscious—no one had noticed, but a small wolf pup was gently licking his hand.

Now that the overwhelming pressure had faded, Nikolas’s voice came out steadier, though it still carried traces of exhaustion.

"You’re Israel Dracknum."

Israel pivoted on his heel, curiosity flickering in his expression as he closed the distance between them.

"Oh? Interesting… You’re still conscious."

Nikolas held firm, eyes locked onto the man before him.

"Of course I am." The confidence in his voice contrasted with the lingering fatigue in his body. Then, a faint smirk tugged at his lips. "You really don’t remember me? I’m Nikolas Beaumont. You were my tutor for a while."

Israel paused, observing the boy. Then, as if the pieces of a forgotten puzzle finally clicked into place, recognition flashed in his eyes.

"Ah… So you’re the Count Beaumont’s son? It’s been quite a while. I almost thought you had been declared dead."

Nikolas folded his arms, scoffing.

"Who would dare kill me? I disappear for three years, and suddenly I’m dead?"

A quiet chuckle escaped Israel. He fixed his gaze on Nikolas Beaumont, his expression composed, yet his voice carried an undeniable weight.

"You know your own world well, Beaumont." His words were firm, yet unhurried.

“The maximum period someone can remain in the Judgment without a search team being sent is two years. You were gone for three—without a single report confirming your survival.”

Nikolas furrowed his brows.

Israel continued. “Your only saving grace was your father’s stubborn refusal to accept your death. Otherwise, your funeral would have been held long ago.”

Silence fell between them, sharp as a blade.

Nikolas said nothing, still processing those words. He knew Israel was right, and that was precisely why he had no response. The shock was clear in his eyes, yet his lips couldn’t form words.

He drew a deep breath, trying to push through the invisible barrier of uncertainty hanging in the air. But before he could speak—

The portal, which had been slowly closing, suddenly stopped.

Israel felt it immediately. Danger.

His eyes narrowed. “Damn it…”

Then, something emerged.

A massive, black tentacle burst from the rift, its surface pulsing like the flesh of some wretched, living thing. It writhed through the air, and, as if possessing a will of its own, began to split apart.

From it, ten more tentacles took shape.

Two shot toward Nikolas.

Six lashed out at Israel.

The last two slithered like serpents toward Alexander, still unconscious on the ground.

Israel gritted his teeth.

‘Shouldn’t have let my guard down so soon…’

His body moved before he could finish the thought.

With an agile leap, he propelled himself backward, narrowly evading the six tentacles that slammed into the ground where he had stood moments before. The sheer force of the impact split the earth beneath them.

But Israel didn’t hesitate.

Still midair, Israel swung his claymore single-handedly, the blade gleaming with a deadly silver sheen. With a precise strike, he cleaved through all six tentacles in a single motion. The air was filled with a grotesque hiss—a twisted blend of pain and fury echoing from the rift.

But as his feet touched the ground, his eyes widened.

The other tentacles… had reached their targets.

Nikolas was struggling fiercely, his body twisting as he fought to free himself from the vile appendage wrapped around his torso and leg. His breath came ragged, his skin pale, and the muscles in his arms trembled from the sheer effort of trying to break free.

He kicked, he pulled, he used every ounce of his strength. But it was useless.

The tentacle was dragging him back toward the rift.

Alexander, on the other hand, was utterly helpless—still unconscious, his body already halfway into the pulsating void, offering no resistance.

A cold dread shot through Israel.

Reality hit him like a punch to the gut: ‘If that portal closed… they would never return.’

His teeth clenched, and a low, frustrated growl rumbled in his throat.

“This wasn’t part of the plan…”

Without hesitation, he released his grip on the unconscious boy’s messy hair and bolted toward Nikolas. His legs exploded with force, the ground beneath him cracking from the sheer power of his movement.

With one swift, decisive swing of his claymore, he severed the tentacle constraining Nikolas.

The boy collapsed onto the ground, gasping for breath, sweat dripping from his face as his chest heaved erratically.

But Israel didn’t stop. He was already moving toward Alexander.

His gaze locked onto the boy, who was now halfway inside the rift, the shadows around him writhing like invisible claws, ready to swallow him whole.

His instincts screamed at him: ‘Not fast enough!’

Israel tightened his grip around the hilt of his claymore, channeling his aura.

A brilliant blue glow erupted from the blade, roaring to life like a living flame, pulsating with raw power.

He lunged forward, his sword spinning through the air.

With a precise motion, he delivered a vertical slash, the blade leaving a luminous arc in its wake.

The ethereal glow roared as it cut through the space between him and Alexander.

In an instant, it struck the tentacle—ripping through it.

A piercing screech echoed from the portal.

The tentacle convulsed violently before crumbling into dust, its ashes sucked into the vortex.

But… it was too late.

Alexander, motionless, vanished into the darkness.

Israel watched, eyes wide in a mix of shock and frustration, as the boy was swallowed by the portal.

The rift trembled, pulsing like a dying heart. Then, with a sudden snap, it sealed shut—emitting a hollow thud, as if the very night had held its breath.

And then… silence.

Israel remained still, claymore still raised, every muscle taut. His gaze stayed locked on the empty space where, just moments ago, Alexander had been.

Behind him, Nikolas was still on the ground, supporting himself on one arm, his breath unsteady, his expression lost in confusion.

The dust slowly settled.

And Alexander… was gone.