As the final countdown to the decisive battle dwindled to zero, the solemn chime of the distant Bostei Cathedral bells echoed languidly across the firmament. At that very moment, the vanguard of the knightly alliance’s diversionary force surged forward in a ferocious assault. Yet Chronos—the Master of Time—remained resolute in defense. Twin obsidian mirrors wrought from Dark Jade, summoned with uncanny precision, flawlessly consumed the roaring barrages of energy cannons, cruise missiles, and even the fusion powers of the vanguard knights. Amid the tumult, maddened war cries and thunderous explosions rent the air, and the once-hushed battlefield was once again engulfed in furious flames.

As the numbers of combatants and the array of armaments swelled, those knights—usually the epitome of refined, devout chivalry—launched themselves into battle with a desperation reminiscent of cornered prey, their onslaught frantic and unrestrained. Forced by the relentless pressure, Chronos had no recourse but to halt his energy accumulation, compelling him to deploy both Dark Jade and the enigmatic Shuyu simultaneously in defense.

Despite the allied forces’ relentless exertions, not a scratch was wrought upon the Master of Time. The casualties among the knights mounted inexorably. Already depleted by previous clashes and further weakened by the fading vestiges of power borrowed from the Netherlord, Chronos felt the crushing toll exacted by these twin artifacts; his might was waning, and the struggle had degenerated into a state of agonizing stalemate.

In the meantime, Sa’o assumed command of the allied mage corps formerly led by Orant. Without delay, they began to erect a colossal projection formation within the canyon above the western waterfall. Carved from the very contours of the landscape, the formation sprawled across the sheer cliffs like a spider’s web spun of violet light. With deliberate grace, Sa’o wielded his ebony pine staff—set with gleaming phosphorite—and chanted earthbound incantations to construct a vast platform behind the array. Meanwhile, supporting mages ceaselessly poured their magical energies into sustaining the formation, and long-range sorcerers gathered their latent power, waiting in hushed anticipation for the command to strike.

“Action!”

At the order of interim commander Guan Feng, the encirclement operation was launched in earnest. The diversionary force surged headlong into Chronos’s domain. The ferocity of the ground combat afforded the battered “Grass Python” fighter a fleeting opportunity to breach the bombing envelope. With cautious precision, Breton guided the aircraft in a rapid descent to the predetermined altitude, preparing to release a beacon projectile.

Yet even in his desperate resistance, Chronos’s keen awareness detected the hovering “Grass Python” in midair. Seizing an opening, he fired a pinpoint-accurate Shuyu spear at the aircraft.

“Damn it—this time there’s no escape! Brace for impact!”

Watching the target expand ominously on the radar, Breton realized their doom was imminent; he had even steeled himself for the unthinkable act of abandoning the craft.

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At that critical moment, a knight of the Kamlem Empire, invoking his fusion ability, propelled himself with tremendous recoil into the air, desperately interposing his body along the path of the Shuyu spear. Yet fate was cruel—the lance pierced through his outstretched chest, and in an instant, his form was transformed into a petrified statue, plummeting like a wounded dove.

Suppressing the tears that threatened to spill, Arthas seized the sole remaining opportunity. With trembling hands he realigned the reticle manually and, without hesitation, launched the beacon projectile.

What struck Chronos with equal astonishment was the sudden, orderly retreat of the allied forces—a formation that, mere moments before, had pressed forward with reckless abandon under the cover of successive magical onslaughts. An ominous premonition surged within him as he beheld this unexpected withdrawal.

At the edge of the atmosphere, the Sky Army’s joint fleet—tasked with fire support—had already received its assault orders. Under the steely command of Captain Morris, the space carriers roared to life; three colossal motherships poured every iota of power into their main cannons, while legions of coordinated personnel labored with singular focus to ensure the success of this unorthodox operation. Overloaded systems sparked fires across their ranks, and at the commander’s signal, the main cannon discharged its volley toward the designated coordinates. The colossal energy of the light cannons, intertwined with the fury of a tempest, converged upon a single point with devastating might.

Amid the relentless barrage, Chronos—hovering in the void—remained unnervingly composed. With his hands clasped together, he invoked a massive, bowl-shaped black mirror from Dark Jade to shield himself. Such force, powerful enough to penetrate the very mantle of the earth, did not unsettle him; after all, he was the thirteenth envoy who had partaken of the forbidden fruit of wisdom, a being capable of crafting miracles for every age.

“Beacon confirmed—three, two, one… Fire!”

Simultaneously, emergency adjustments by the Rhin Empire’s Aviation Authority coaxed forth the long-hidden “Poseidon Spear” system from its years of dormancy on the moon’s dark side. Slowly, its protective cover peeled away like the parting scales of a long-dormant drake, exposing its fearsome fangs.

From the launch tubes, tongues of flame erupted, and dozens of massive, geometrically perfect metal wedges—congealed from the pinnacle of Peso Company’s technology, forged from tungsten-gold alloy and Grade-4 diamond steel—hurtled through the starry void like a frenzied python in pursuit, lancing toward the azure planet. Following a trajectory reminiscent of Qian Xuesen’s calculations, they skimmed the atmosphere in a water-like ballet of multi-stage acceleration, delivering a deathly impact upon their target.

The watchful eye of the Master of Time instantly registered this extraordinary force: under emergency conditions, the hastily assembled Shuyu defensive shield was rent asunder by the furious collision of the first Poseidon Spear, disintegrating into mere dust. The tungsten wedge, its course altered by the impact, careened toward a small Tajik town some dozens of kilometers from Bostei City; that once-peaceful settlement was, in a heartbeat, reduced to a swirling, sandstorm-like debris under the crushing shockwave.

In a frantic bid, Chronos detached a second defensive black mirror from his Dark Jade to repel the incessant barrage of Poseidon Spears. Both the defensive fortitude and annihilative prowess of Dark Jade had been pushed to their absolute limits. A formidable array of Poseidon Spears, in concert with the overloaded cannons of the allied fleet, engaged in a vicious, mutual consumption upon the two “black holes”; exploding bursts of luminous particles transmuted the dark mirror into twin blue light shields, while searing shockwaves even coaxed vaporous mists to rise from the nearby sea.

At last granted a fleeting respite, Chronos shook his head slowly. In his eyes, humanity’s frenzied resistance had long surpassed his wildest imaginings—a single, colossal tungsten wedge possessed the power to annihilate an entire city, and the ruthlessness of their methods recalled to him the nuclear vortex—the butterfly effect—of the last great war. “Is this what they mean by ‘from destruction comes creation’?” he murmured to himself. Though the cunning defenses had left him exasperated, he could not help but acknowledge, with a dark satisfaction, that no matter how fiercely humanity fought, it could never vanqu