The Southern Continent's Strongest Versus the Strongest

Across the immense Creti Memorial Square, only two figures remained: the White-Robed Pope and Hyacinthus. A biting wind howled, and the heavy snow fell in a near-weightless drift. A vast curtain of snow shrouded the entire square, painting the world in a desolate, boundless white. Snowflakes swirled in the gale like countless crystalline butterflies, wheeling and dancing above the battlefield. The moment those crystal butterflies fluttered past, the clash between the two was finally unveiled to those beyond the barrier. Even their simplest collision kicked up tempestuous air currents, scattering the snow in every direction and obscuring the view of all onlookers. Hyacinthus gripped the Heroic Spirit Sword of Cyros, the Cyros curse-marks on the blade shining like a bright moon in the dark night. With a mere casual flick of his sword, he seemed capable of slicing the barrier-warded ground into quarters. The White-Robed Pope stood at the epicenter of the fracturing square, without giving up half a step. "Show some real skill, Hyacinthus." The White-Robed Pope gazed indifferently at Hyacinthus, as though telling him that his current might was far from enough to injure him. Wherever the divine-era silver radiance swept, the void shattered and reality warped; even space itself was severed by this peerless power. "I heard your combat style leans toward defensive counterattacks, so why do you just look like a turtle shell to me?" Hyacinthus's slashes rendered the buildings outside the square as flimsy as paper. Entire rows of towers shuddered and cracked under the onslaught of sword aura, and bottomless chasms spread like cobwebs, tearing the hard earth into ragged fragments. Lofty churches were cleaved into countless rubble chunks by the sword aura, collapsing like dominoes in thundering crashes. The square's stone floor was ripped up, and statues and monuments fared no better—cleaved and pulverized by sword aura, reduced ultimately to dust. "I'm simply worried this barrier won't hold," Lanqi replied, standing firm without retreating half a step. Behind him, the roar of fracturing rock and the rumble of collapsing ground rang out unceasingly. The shockwaves of the slashes even caused the Crystal Sky-Canopy Barrier shrouding the square to continually shatter. Under the assault of the sword aura, the crystalline barrier cracked inch by inch, giving off ear-grating crunches. Broken crystal shards rained down like glittering stars, refracting dazzling colors across the earth. Yet the barrier's regenerative power was remarkable as well; whenever a fracture occurred, new crystals would swiftly grow, reversing time itself to fill the void. Against Hyacinthus's casual offensive, however, this restoration began to falter. The rate of destruction was already overtaking the speed of repair. And "Loren" had not even taken the initiative to unleash an offensive technique yet. Two kilometers away, at the edge of the second tier of the Crystal Sky-Canopy Barrier. "Monster..." Beads of sweat covered Simonro's brow, and his hands trembled violently from maintaining the barrier. Even through the sturdiest barrier, the Eleventh War God, Simonro of Emerald, who was upholding the barrier, could feel the shockwaves of the battle. Even dampened by two layers of shielding, those shockwaves still left him trembling with dread. Every cell in his body screamed in protest, but he gritted his teeth, enduring the searing pain of his mana and energy nexus resonating in severe overload to keep the barrier stable. This barrier was the last shield protecting the citizens of Brillda. If it collapsed, the outside world would face the brunt of this cataclysmic battle, and the consequences would be catastrophic. High atop the towers outside this sturdiest second tier of the barrier, bloodthirsty journalists were still filming this earth-shaking duel. They had set up heavy equipment and were risking their lives just to capture this historic moment. "Hyacinthus and Loren have begun fighting! It looks like only a probing phase for now, but the power..." Gleams of mingled excitement and terror flickered in their eyes as they gave impassioned commentary to the cameras behind them. Yet the shockwaves of the clash were far too overwhelming. Even dampened by the barrier, the ferocious blasts sent the journalists flying through the air, while their equipment was repeatedly swept up and smashed down. Simonro watched with burning urgency. He cast small breeze shield spells to catch and buoy the reporters, ensuring they landed safely and unharmed. Dividing his focus to protect them while maintaining the barrier pushed him to his absolute limits. Sweat rolled down Simonro's cheeks. He turned his gaze once more toward the center of the battlefield, his expression grave and somber. Far away at the center of Creti Memorial Square, Hyacinthus held the Heroic Spirit Sword of Cyros. His next slash seemed ready to cleave the world in two; wherever that divine silver stream of light passed, fine fissures spiderwebbed across the air, threatening to collapse at any moment. "Are you unwilling to strike, or unable to strike?" Hyacinthus brought his sword down to press closely against the White-Robed Pope's neck, asking coldly. "If I strike as well, I'm afraid this barrier won't hold up. Better to wait a bit longer." Facing Hyacinthus's earth-shattering strikes, Lanqi stood with hands clasped behind his back, not even bothering to take a defensive stance. He weathered Hyacinthus's slashes head-on, letting the sword aura run rampant before him. He showed not the slightest intention of attacking, doing nothing but defending and neutralizing each blow. Yet this defense was impregnable. It was as though an invisible bulwark firmly shielded the Pope within; no matter how razor-sharp the sword aura was, it could not leave even a scratch upon him. "How strange," Hyacinthus mused, studying the White-Robed Pope. Under his slashes, the Pope's white robes remained as pristine as ever, his expression calm and detached, heedless of this monumental battle, as if everything were entirely within his grasp. The defense was practically flawless. This detachment did not seem feigned. Yet at the same time, it reeked of incongruity. Piles of rubble and shattered remnants of walls were swept high into the air, whirling in a frenzied maelstrom. The atmosphere around them was compressed, dense and oppressive. At this very moment, the entire Creti Empire—and indeed the entire Southern Continent to the north—held its breath, waiting for the outcome of this initial clash. Who held the upper hand, and who was at a disadvantage, would determine who truly stood in the position of the challenger. Countless eyes were glued to the trembling, glitching broadcast feed. "Could it be that you cannot attack, rather than merely not wanting to?" Hyacinthus stopped slashing at the White-Robed Pope and asked, letting the blizzard in the air settle back down with gravity amidst the briefly steadying currents. Even if an opponent knew he excelled at counter-magic, refusing to make a single move for this long defied reason. Combined with the Pope's earlier quasi-threatening demand for a thirty-minute ceasefire, this waiting looked far more like a prolonged stalling tactic. His foe was waiting. Waiting for an opportunity to counterattack, a chance to turn the tide. Or waiting for a particular moment to arrive. Yet was this opportunity inside the battlefield, or outside of it? "You are welcome to gamble on it," Lanqi said, playing his usual mind games. "The more I look at you, the more suspicious you seem." Hyacinthus analyzed the situation. Rather than a powerhouse wielding genuine divine authority, this White-Robed Pope resembled an actor. The Pope's defense was inherently illogical. No defense was truly flawless. The more formidable a defense, the steeper the price and the heavier the restrictions usually attached to it. Yet this White-Robed Pope's defense showed no apparent weaknesses or side effects. It was like an eternal wall standing before Hyacinthus, unyielding no matter how he attacked. Unless this astounding defense had been bought with a specific tradeoff: perhaps he lacked any offensive capability whatsoever, with every ounce of his power funneled entirely into defense. Or taking it a step further—perhaps this White-Robed Pope had been bluffing from the very start, and wasn't nearly that powerful at all. "Since you refuse to make a move, I'll go eliminate your companions first. Now, do you have what it takes to stop me?" Hyacinthus looked straight at the White-Robed Pope and stated. "..." On the surface, the White-Robed Pope remained unruffled, but internally he knew he was reaching his limit. His greatest vulnerability was simple: if Hyacinthus decided to walk away, he had no means of stopping him. After sustaining this facade for so long, Hyacinthus was bound to spot the discrepancy. All Lanqi could do was stall Hyacinthus for as long as humanly possible. And it seemed that time had now run out. "You truly won't stop me?" A smirk played on Hyacinthus's lips. His test had succeeded after all. Just as Hyacinthus was about to ignore this white-robed "Loren" and depart, his steps suddenly halted. "..." Hyacinthus frowned and turned his head toward the Hall of Divine Descent in the western part of Brillda. At that exact moment, he sensed an unprecedented surge of mana. Lanqi, too, finally exhaled a breath of relief, venting a plume of white mist into the cold air. "Sigrid, I knew you were the most dependable," he murmured, a smile curling at the corner of his lips. That mana was pure and overwhelming. Like a thunderclap, it detonated in the depths of the souls of every powerhouse across the city-state of Brillda. Two kilometers away. Simonro, who was reinforcing the barrier, stared wide-eyed toward western Brillda. "What on earth is happening...?" Simonro knew this mana all too well. It was even clearer than what he had felt during the siege against Loren in Valhalla Gorge, some three hundred kilometers outside the eastern border of the Kingdom of Aloran. If one bypassed sight and relied purely on mana perception, the presence radiating from the Hall of Divine Descent felt far more like Loren than the white-robed "Loren" on Creti Memorial Square! ... To the southeast, at Hassel Port, within the territory of the Brierda Mafia. Amidst the dancing snowflakes, Iphatia moved with graceful agility. Sparks of curse-fire danced between her fair fingers; when she puffed out her cheeks and blew upon the embers, they erupted into a sky-filling deluge of pitch-black curse flames that washed over all their enemies. As though endowed with life, these curse flames surged straight toward Canzel, who spearheaded the War Gods' side. Everywhere they passed, the blizzard instantly evaporated into curling wisps of black smoke. Tongues of flame hungrily seared the prosthetic metal body of the Eighth War God, Canzel of White Gold Stone, sizzling violently. Canzel allowed the flames to ravage his frame. Under the firelight, the metallic plating covering his body stood as impenetrable as an iron fortress; though the flames burned furiously against him, they could not inflict even the slightest sensation of pain. "Don't even think about it, Seventh War God!" Talia's gaze caught a flash of light. With a backhand sweep, gray vine-like fissures suddenly stretched outward like giant pythons bristling with rigid thorns, lunging with thunderous speed toward the ambushing Seventh War God, Philip of Blood Carnelian. All this time, Philip of Blood Carnelian had been trying to breach the two women's defensive line to reach Migaya. Wherever the vines swept, shipping containers were severed at their waists, everything crushed and pulverized in their wake. "Nuisances." The Fourth War God, Jasper of Emerald, directed her mechanical legion to intercept. Countless automaton puppets leaped into the air, clashing fiercely with the vines. Lasers and artillery fire collided with thorns and boughs; as vines were severed, automata were batted away, filling the sky with wrecks and debris. Within a hundred-meter radius, the harbor was reduced to utter wreckage and ruin. Having successfully evaded the vines' grasp, Philip had fallen entirely into a rampage state. A crimson glow flickered in his eyes as he charged straight through Iphatia's sea of curse flames, blood-qi surging wildly around him. The ground cracked beneath his tread, every thundering stride leaving massive craters that scorched the earth for several meters around. He slammed his fist into the ground, and the blood-qi erupted like magma, forcing Iphatia, Talia, and Migaya to fall back repeatedly. "Does he feel no pain?" Seeing this, Iphatia knitted her slender brows. At the same time, she gathered her mana once more, intensifying the blaze with full faith that her sister could intercept the charging Philip of Blood Carnelian. The curse flames spiked in temperature, turning from pitch-black to deep purple, weaving into a massive net that expanded behind Canzel, intent on swallowing up Jasper, whom he was protecting. On the other side of the battlefield, Jasper had already unleashed her full might. Her aura skyrocketed as she pressed the detonator in her grip. In an instant, countless silver gleams manifested from the void, shining in the snow like falling stars. Neatly ranked mechanical soldiers appeared in legion strength, their numbers so immense they virtually blotted out the sky. The next moment, at Jasper's command, the entire mechanical legion moved in unison. Their limbs shifted into cannons, gun barrels, and blades as they swooped down through the blizzard. Amidst self-destruct detonations from some of the units, artillery roared in deafening thunder. Dense volleys of light beams and bullets poured downward, while razor-sharp blades sliced through the freezing wind, bombarding Talia and Iphatia with the force of a collapsing sky. Confronted by this overwhelming barrage, the space before Talia warped in an instant, spiderwebbing with gray fractures. Seconds later, with a low hum, the fissures abruptly expanded into a spatial vortex, swallowing the oncoming mechanical soldiers whole and erasing them without a trace. Then, like a miniature black hole, the vortex erupted with radiant light before detonating into crisscrossing shocks. Migaya immediately hurled the teddy bear puppet in his hand to the ground. Dark threads surged outward into a barrier, weaving together in the blizzard into a colossal stuffed bear that stood before the three of them, shielding them from the brunt of the shockwaves. "This is tough to weather... Why are they so tanky and hitting so hard?" Dark threads of mana looped around Migaya, darting like living spirits to mend the plush bear's injuries while bolstering its dark-current shield. Migaya seized the chance to cast healing spells on Iphatia and Talia. Once the shockwaves of this clash cleared, another round of assaults and suppressive fire from the enemy would surely follow. The battle was locked in a brutal stalemate. Migaya could clearly feel that the pressure on their side was growing far heavier. Yet at that exact instant. All six combatants seemed to sense something simultaneously, turning their heads in unison toward the western part of Brillda. There, an unimaginably potent mana had manifested, laden with faith power as massive as mountains and vast as the sea. "Sister Side succeeded!" Iphatia murmured, her eyes brimming with delight. "I can feel that Lanqi was in quite a panic—it's like his heartbeat was transmitting straight to me," Talia said, wiping a sheen of sweat from her brow. Even Lanqi, who was always unshakeable on any battlefield, carried the lives of all his companions this time. Talia could clearly sense the crushing weight upon his shoulders. "Wait, sister... could it be that you drained too much of his mana, and that's why his heart was pounding so fast?" Iphatia suddenly chimed in. "Ipha, you..." Talia was left speechless. She had no idea when her little sister had been corrupted by Lanqi, adopting his peculiar brand of logic. ... In the skies outside Saint Creti Monastery in southern Brillda. The three War Gods, who had still been listening to Pranay propose a negotiation plan, all sensed the upheaval emanating from the Hall of Divine Descent. "How could an even more powerful mana source appear?" "Just what level of existence is that, meow?!" the Twelfth War God, Bianca of Cat's Eye, asked in utter disbelief. Could it be that the figure on Creti Memorial Square earlier was a counterfeit Loren who had duped the world? And that the sole purpose of his appearance was to deceive them, corner Gyath, and lure him into undoing the seal on the Illusory Domain? Her heart pounded wildly. "Was your goal just now also to stall for time, all to buy the window needed to rescue the real Loren?" The Ninth War God, Ryan of Amethyst, pieced together the likely cause and effect in an instant. "Now we have a real Tier 9 on our side too," Antanas said with a smug grin. Their stalling mission was complete. Lanqi usually assigned the safest tasks to the three of them. Aside from Blood Moon City, where they had been forcibly sent before powerful foes by Marchioness Heritier, the Seventh Progenitor, Lanqi rarely had them fight if it could be avoided. Through Lanqi's sleight of hand, the tilted balance of power had finally been righted. She no longer felt any psychological burden or fear. "I still maintain that there is no need for us to fight. We need only wait for them to decide the outcome," Pranay continued to the three War Gods across from them. On the surface, his expression didn't waver, but inside he breathed a long sigh of relief. In the past, he would never have agreed to gamble like this; it was only through an almost bewitched trust in Lanqi that he had gone along with scheme after reckless scheme. "Damn it!" Ryan gritted his teeth in hesitation, looking back and forth between the monastery and the three Great Demons. He knew full well that this was the weakest skirmish front, and whoever won here would hardly alter the situation on the main battlefield. If they went to Creti Memorial Square, they would most likely only get in the way and tie the hands of their own Tier 9 combatant. Yet thinking that way felt like falling right into the enemy's plot. [Ryan, stop stalling with the enemy! Defeat them quickly and go help stabilize the barrier!] The voice of the Fourth War God, Jasper, came through the communication channel, ringing in the ears of the three War Gods. Clearly dissatisfied with the stalemate here, she took direct command. Among the Ninth, Tenth, and Twelfth War Gods, Ryan was skilled in both physical and magical disciplines, whereas Julius and Bianca were physical combatants. Ryan could assist Simonro in reinforcing and upholding the barrier, while Julius and Bianca could seize initiative beyond the battlefield. "No way! We won't fall for your tricks again, meow!" Bianca's slit pupils fixed upon the demons as she shrilled. "You despicable demons intentionally chose Saint Creti Monastery as your battlefield, but don't think I'll hesitate any longer." Following his gritted teeth came resolute battle intent. Ryan summoned his deep-purple Gryphon Magic Sword from the void, his figure flickering as he swung his blade down before the three Great Demons. They might have already failed their duty gravely. Now, the only way to make amends was to fight to the death. Sinora's long dress billowed without wind. She darted forward, clashing head-on with Ryan. Black garments intertwined with purple shadows, sword gleams crossing scythe silhouettes, as a translucent pale-blue barrier expanded, the figures shifting rapidly across midair. ... Ostro Heights, the Hall of Divine Descent. In the central space encircled by twelve magnificent archways, within the forbidden zone directly beneath the transparent glass mirror— In the collapsed depths, the black chimeric puzzle cube glowing with an eerie red light was bound by layers of chains beside the stone pedestal, the flashing anti-magic steel pillars already undone. Loren emerged from the dense, misty haze, freed from the Illusory Domain. "No, impossible..." Gyath's voice shook, his pupils contracting repeatedly. Though subjectively he was no traitor, looking closely at the suspicions against him combined with what he had actually done just now, he was worse than a traitor! All was lost. Short of having personally backstabbed his comrades, there was no way he could ever wash his hands clean! "Gyath, why are you so afraid of me?" Loren merely cast a sidelong glance at Gyath. With a flick of his index finger, several crisscrossing walls of light descended from above, locking Gyath within and rendering the heavily wounded, demoralized War God completely immobile. He had long grown accustomed to enemies staring at him in inexplicable terror. Right now, his priority was certainly not battling Gyath, though he would not allow a War God like Gyath the freedom to do as he pleased either. As for the true questions, only one person present could answer them— "Bishop of Domination Sigrid." Loren looked toward Sigrid. He had heard from the Ice Witch that she was one of the few Cardinal Bishops in the Northern Continent who maintained good relations with the Goddess of Fate. Unlike the hostile standoff in the Southern Continent, the Domination branch could even be considered a partner of the Church of the Goddess of Fate. Even though he had just emerged, he could deduce from Gyath's reaction that the Bishop of Domination had used a stratagem to rescue him, forcing Gyath to unlock the Illusory Domain. "Spare the chatter, hurry and go help Lanqi! He's disguised as you and fighting Hyacinthus right now. If Hyacinthus defeats us today, every allied nation will become that lunatic's battlefield." Sigrid tossed a recording crystal key to Loren, which he caught securely. "..." Loren accessed the information inside the crystal key, flashing it through his mind at ten thousand times the normal speed. The crystal key contained records of the Silver Moon Restoration Society's assault on Blood Moon City, along with the deductions Lanqi had made upon returning to the surface. Sigrid believed that with Loren's mental power, combined with his perception of the overarching battle across Brillda, he would swiftly comprehend the contents and piece together the full picture. To the War Gods and the citizens of Brillda, the information recorded within might easily be dismissed as fabricated, but Loren was part of their allied faction, and Lanqi firmly believed Loren would trust him. "Thank you for rescuing me." Even as he processed the crystal key, Loren swept the entire situation across Brillda with detection magic. In the blink of an eye, his figure vanished from the Hall of Divine Descent. ... Within a two-kilometer radius of Creti Memorial Square, buildings had long been reduced to rubble, leaving only crumbling walls blanketed in snow. At the center of the square, Hyacinthus glanced back slightly toward the motionless White-Robed Pope, seemingly understanding everything. "Interesting." His conclusion had been correct: this white-robed fellow had been bluffing from the very beginning, lacking any ability to detain him. To go through such intricate scheming and manipulation, all just to rescue the real Loren. This struggling like an actor struck Hyacinthus as remarkably amusing. "I'll execute your companions today as your punishment." With that, Hyacinthus surged toward the barrier outside Creti Memorial Square. Though his back was turned to the Pope, he could feel the gaze burning into him, filled with icy hostility. Yet the White-Robed Pope could not stop him. He could only watch helplessly as Hyacinthus pulled away. Just as Hyacinthus's figure was about to clear Creti Square, a violent tempest abruptly sliced across the snowy sky, slamming like an invisible greatsword against the scabbard Hyacinthus raised in an instant. Hyacinthus had reacted in that split second, parrying a storm powerful enough to shake even a Tier 9. "Hyacinthus, your opponent is me." A voice laden with fury resonated within the Crystal Sky-Canopy Barrier. Afar, atop a high-rise, divine-era wind gathered in midair. Around the figure of the black-robed priest, air currents transmuted into pure electrical arcs, setting off concussive snaps within a cocoon of lightning. Raising his hand with sky-piercing force, he blasted Hyacinthus back with a greatsword of gale. "I will not permit a creature like you to harm the innocent people of the Southern Continent any longer." The void cracked, thunderous roars accompanied by blinding radiance echoing through the barrier. Loren's profile was sharply etched in stark contrast of light and shadow, his short brown hair whipping in the gale—the gaze of an absolute powerhouse looking down upon the mortal world. "Oh?" Hyacinthus lowered his scabbard and looked at the Tier 9 powerhouse who had appeared in the distance. "All that effort was just to pull you out, was it?" Hyacinthus let out an amused, almost scornful chuckle. He did not seem irritated in the slightest. For in his eyes, it made no difference whom he fought—the end result would invariably be their death beneath his blade. In the very next breath, Loren's figure flashed onto Creti Memorial Square, standing beside Lanqi. "Lanqi, pull back. Leave the rest to me." Though Loren felt complicated emotions after grasping the situation—it had all started with an ordinary entrance exam, when he, as Dean of the School of Sages, inspected an incoming class of students as in any other year, and from that day on, the gear of fate turned by the Goddess of Fate had begun spewing flames— right now, Loren had no leeway to ponder the future. Behind him lay the hearths and lights of countless innocent homes; thus, the only right thing for him to do was not to waste the efforts everyone had made to rescue him, to defeat Hyacinthus, and to stop this madman. "Good luck, Dean." Lanqi had thousands of words he wanted to say. The person he had thought he might never see again had appeared beside him, solid and real. Yet in the end, all those words condensed into this single phrase. He patted Loren firmly on the shoulder, then turned and walked away. "Mm." Loren nodded gently, turning his attention away from Lanqi as he retreated and fixing his eyes solely on Hyacinthus ahead. He trusted that Lanqi could withdraw safely without his protection. Lanqi had grown far stronger than he had ever imagined, capable of fearlessly holding his own against an opponent like this for so long. Or rather, the evaluation everyone in the School of Sages had made of Lanqi from the beginning had been spot on: his mind was that of a true monster. As long as Lanqi was around, even a catastrophic, collapsing situation could be salvaged. *Goddess of Fate, thank you for keeping Lanqi on the path of righteousness,* Loren silently prayed to the Goddess. Lanqi's excessive talent and extreme way of thinking often placed him right on the razor-thin line between good and evil; the slightest deviation could easily have led him down a dark path akin to Hyacinthus's. Yet Lanqi possessed an unwavering mind. He always knew precisely which lines could never be crossed, and would never lose himself no matter what. That was the very reason Loren had been willing to let Lanqi grow freely and placed his trust in him. ... At Ikerite Academy, the clock had just ticked past ten in the morning. On Jera Memorial Square, the outdoor giant screen and the surrounding terraces were bathed in sunlight. Unlike normal days, the students watching the outdoor screen numbered dozens of times more than usual. Shouts and discussions rose in an endless din, and the streets near Jera Memorial Square were packed so tight that movement was impossible. "What's going on? That White-Robed Pope earlier wasn't Dean Loren?" "Although the White-Robed Pope looked even more like a master than Dean Loren, refusing to attack at all was strange. Granted, Dean Loren's style leans toward defensive counterattacks, but he wouldn't just defend purely like that." "Either way, the strongest versus the strongest has finally come to pass!" "It must be the result of everyone's successful scheming!" "Defeat Hyacinthus!" The people of Ikerite were not shaken by the sudden revelation; instead, their cheers grew even louder. To them, Hyacinthus was no longer an invincible, unsolvable calamity. Because on their side, they now had an equally reassuring, ultimate power. ... In the harbor district of the Brierda Mafia, the battle footage projected onto a shipping container by Abigail's mechanical assistant relieved the mental strain on Talia and Iphatia, invigorating them amidst their fight. With Lanqi having successfully accomplished his mission, Talia could fight without reservations. Migaya looked warmly toward the distant center of Brillda and at his strongest, dearest friend who had appeared on screen. "Do your best?" "Don't die?" Through their communication channel, everyone learned that the plan had succeeded. Sensing that the Tier 9 Loren had engaged Hyacinthus, they were thrilled beyond measure. Although the greatest gamble in their perilous plan today was betting that the Tier 9 Loren could defeat the Tier 9 Hyacinthus, now that this moment had arrived, none of them felt the need to worry for Loren or cheer him on. Because he had always been a man whose victories seemed only natural. "Win this, my dear friend," Migaya murmured, tightening his fist and sending his blessing toward the battle on screen. A wind swept across the desolate Creti Memorial Square. Hyacinthus and Loren stood on opposing sides, facing one another. The mere clash of their Tier 9 auras and mana cracked the sky-canopy barrier, cleaving and scattering the falling snow in terror before the only two powerhouses in the divine domain across the Southern Continent. The duel between the strongest was about to begin.