Valera stood there, her legs feeling as if they had turned to stone on the cold snow, her entire body trembling. Not from fear, but from a rage so overwhelming it threatened to choke her. Before her lay Razor Wardenholf—a man who had risked his life to save her in the most perilous moments, a man she respected like a second father—now just a headless corpse, lying quietly on the blood-stained snow.

The world seemed to freeze. The shouts, the clash of metal, the chaotic screams of the battlefield receded into the distance, faint as if from another world. All that remained was the pounding of her heart in her chest and the rush of blood in her ears. Everything around her became meaningless.

Valera's deep blue eyes glistened with tears, but not a single drop fell. They burned like twin flames, filled with pain and a fury beyond words.

"General Razor..." she whispered, her voice swallowed by the wind.

In the distance, Ior smirked. He turned towards Valera, his blood-red eyes gleaming with challenge. Razor's body lay silently at his feet, like a brazen trophy. He spread his arms wide, red and black energy swirling around him, his massive form like a mountain of darkness ready to crush everything.

Valera gripped the hilt of her Espada Ropera, her fingers white from the pressure. She didn't respond to his taunts. There was no need. Her eyes—cold and sharp as a blade—said it all: vengeance.

From afar, a warrior shouted, "Valera, don't! He's too strong, we need a plan!" But she heard nothing. Her world had been scorched the moment Razor fell.

"Atheria’s Mystique: Blood Flower Twin Swords!" Her voice rang out, cold as steel, piercing through the foggy battlefield.

She pulled a crimson vial from her left side, its light flickering. Without hesitation, she pressed it firmly, letting the liquid seep through her armor, merging with her blood.

A burst of red-pink light erupted, so bright it outshone the cold glow of the snow. The ground trembled, the ice below cracked, sending sharp sounds echoing across the battlefield. A strong whirlwind rose, sweeping away flags and armor.

When the light dimmed, Valera emerged transformed. Her jet-black armor had vanished, replaced by radiant platinum battle armor, trimmed with fiery red. A long cloak billowed behind her, like a piece of the most brilliant sky. The Espada Ropera in her right hand now glowed a bright red, while her left hand wielded another sword—its light pure white, as if crystallized from the souls of the fallen.

Valera walked slowly towards Ior. Though her steps were measured, each left cracks in the ground, as if the world couldn't bear the power within her. The afterimage of her steps created an ethereal feeling, as if she moved through reality itself.

Ior just sneered. “An avenging angel? Fine. Come, Valera, and I will crush you, as I did Razor.”

He was unfazed. In fact, he began to charge up energy. Red-black electricity coiled around his arms, his feet stomping the ground, causing widespread tremors.

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From a distance, the remaining human warriors watched silently. Some clasped their hands in prayer, others stood still, eyes filled with hope. Valera was no longer just a warrior. She was their last symbol, a faint light in the darkness of despair.

The cold wind swept across the battlefield, carrying the whispers of fallen souls. The two stood opposite each other, a few steps apart, but the distance felt like the boundary between life and death, light and darkness.

Valera raised both swords. Her breathing was slow but powerful, merging with the rhythm of the battlefield. Then she charged, leaving a storm of furious light in her wake. The atmosphere grew heavy, as if all living beings sensed the vengeance blazing from the petite figure.

“From Atheria to the Blood Child Dimension Nexus: Phantom Trinity.” Her voice echoed, cold and authoritative.

Valera's body emitted a radiant light, and from within, two perfect phantoms of her appeared. All three Valeras—the true form and the two phantoms—moved in unison, as fast as lightning, forming a triangular formation around Ior. Their movements were so synchronized it was impossible to distinguish between the real and the illusion.

Ior squinted, barely grasping the situation before Valera struck.

Her attacks came from all directions, each sword strike flashing down on his body. The Espada Ropera in her hand pierced through Vankenholf's regenerated armor—a defense that had withstood the Alsma artillery—like a knife through paper. Each stab targeted the joints, destroying the weak points of the armor.

Ior roared, unleashing destructive punches towards her. But he only hit air, as each time he attacked, Valera's phantom vanished like smoke, while the true form struck sharp blows amidst the chaos.

“Playing cat and mouse? You think you can stop me?” Ior roared, his voice tinged with frustrated rage.

Valera said nothing, continuing her deadly dance on the icy battlefield, her phantoms swirling around him like a cyclone. Each stab was precise, striking vital points on his body.

“From Atheria to the Blood Child Dimension Nexus: Death Reversal.”

The words were like a death sentence. Valera's attacks now didn't just break the armor but also severed the energy flow from Ior's core. The wounds on his body began to glow, red-black blood flowing incessantly.

Ior's breaths grew labored. His massive body trembled, his legs wobbled, and each punch became a futile effort. The Alsma energy within him seemed sealed, unable to be released.

Valera didn't stop. Her eyes were cold, emotionless. As Ior collapsed to the snow, she raised her sword, its red and white light intertwining on the blade.

“From Atheria to the Blood Child Dimension Nexus: Blood Flower's Rise.”

From the wounds on Ior's body, red-black blood began to coalesce, like living serpents crawling over him. Thorny vines grew from the blood, binding him tightly, squeezing his joints and flesh. He screamed, struggled, but in vain.

A black bud slowly bloomed on his chest, mockingly. When it fully blossomed, an energy explosion drained the life from the once-invincible General. The vines pierced through him, destroying internal organs, crushing the Alsma heart within.

In the moment the flower fully bloomed, Ior's body shriveled, dried up like a husk drained of life. No more roars, no smug smile, just a gray corpse lying on the cold ground.

Valera approached, her eyes void of emotion, looking down at the fallen enemy. She said nothing, just raised her Espada Ropera high, bringing it down in a brutal slash, severing Ior's head from his body.

She impaled the head on a steel spike, setting it upright in the battlefield, letting it stand amidst the desolation as a testament to the bloody vengeance and indomitable will of humanity.

The flame of vengeance within her blazed, but in Valera's eyes, everything had faded, no emotion remained. Only victory, and Ior's corpse lay still at her feet.