The Next Day…
A few hundred meters beyond the boundary line of Four Stars Academy, the land lay unnaturally still—save for the presence of hundreds of Zengas assembled in silent formation.
They stood shoulder to shoulder, unmoving, their hollow eyes fixed forward. Their armor bore no insignia, no mark of allegiance. They were not soldiers in the traditional sense. They were weapons—mindless, obedient, waiting only for the command to be unleashed.
The plan had reached its final stage.
Corinth Ransthrol advanced through the ranks with measured steps, his boots crunching softly against the hardened earth. On either side of him, the Zengas did not react, did not even acknowledge his presence. They existed solely to obey. That, above all else, pleased him.
Walking beside Corinth was Lord Absolam.
The Intermediate Henkei-level being carried himself with an air of composed dominance. His posture was straight, his hands folded behind his back, his expression unreadable. He looked like a man who had never once doubted the inevitability of victory.
Everything they had worked toward—every alliance forged in shadows, every city destabilized, every life quietly erased—had been for this single moment.
Tomorrow.
Tomorrow, while half the continent gathered to witness the grandeur of the tournament, to cheer and celebrate strength and honor, Corinth would reduce Four Stars Academy to ruins.
The irony was beautiful.
The low, thunderous voices of the Kaiju Brothers reached Corinth long before the massive figures themselves came into view. Their conversation rumbled through the air like distant avalanches, yet there was something strange about it.
There was no hierarchy.
No dominance.
Their words carried an unsettling sense of equality, as though neither considered himself above the other.
Corinth's steps slowed.
Then he heard another voice.
It was unfamiliar.
He strained to place it, but failed. No—this wasn't merely someone he couldn't recognize. He had never heard it before.
That realization sent a chill crawling up his spine.
Who was Dementor speaking to?
His jaw tightened. He had been clear. No outsiders were to be brought here. Not now. Not at this stage. This place was sacred to the plan.
Anger flared.
Corinth surged forward, his body propelled by irritation more than intent—
—and then the ground trembled.
It wasn't violent. Not an earthquake. It was subtle, rhythmic, like the land itself was reacting to something unseen.
Corinth slowed.
Then stopped.
So did Absolam.
That alone was enough to make Corinth's blood run cold.
He turned, confusion flickering across his face. Absolam stood frozen, his body tense in a way Corinth had never seen before.
And then he saw it.
A flash of emotion crossed Absolam's eyes—so brief it could have been missed.
Awe.
And beneath it…
Fear.
Corinth's heart skipped.
What kind of presence could make an Intermediate Henkei tremble like that?
There were only a handful of beings capable of such a thing.
The Five Legends.
His mind raced.
No.
Carpathia had vanished without a trace.
The Flame Emperor—his father—had not left his territory in decades. Besides, Father knew of the plan. There was no reason for him to appear here.
Kime was in Lestrel City; Corinth's spies had confirmed it.
The Scholar had not been seen in over ten years.
And that gluttonous legend remained deep in seclusion.
None of them fit.
Which left only one possibility.
A rogue legend.
Someone newly ascended. Someone whose power had crossed the invisible threshold that separated monsters from myths.
Why here? Corinth wondered.
He advanced again, slower now, stopping before the Kaiju Brothers.
Behind them stood a figure shaped like a man—but radiating brilliance so intense that Corinth physically could not face it.
Light poured from him, not blinding, but overwhelming, pressing against Corinth's senses like divine pressure.
Corinth raised an arm, shielding his eyes.
Still, he forced himself forward.
"It seems we have not met," he began carefully. "I am Corinth Ransthrol—"
"Ransthrol?"
The voice was calm. Curious. The man spoke the name slowly, as if weighing it against memory itself.
"What is your relationship with the Flame Emperor?"
Corinth hesitated—but only briefly.
"He is my father," he answered. "And you are?"
The light dimmed just enough for Corinth to see the man clearly.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, clad in crimson armor worn smooth by time. His gaze carried a weight that could not be imitated.
For a moment, he seemed lost in thought.
Then—
"I am Fadex BuVūon," he said. "I am—or perhaps was—a knight of the Order of Crimson."
Corinth stiffened.
The Crimson Knights had been annihilated a year ago.
Carpathia himself had wiped them out moments after slaughtering the Apostles of Death in Tamoru. Not a single survivor had been reported.
Yet here one stood.
A shiver ran down Corinth's spine.
The memory of the Apostles of Death surfaced unbidden. Even now, the idea that remnants might still exist somewhere on the continent sent goosebumps across his skin.
But fear quickly gave way to inspiration.
Hatred.
No one despised the Five Legends more than Corinth.
Except perhaps the Crimson Knights.
A smile spread across his face—thin, calculated, not reaching his eyes. He extended a hand toward Fadex.
"I have a proposition for you, Mr. BuVūon," Corinth said smoothly.
"One that I believe will bring you as much pleasure as it brings me."
Fadex regarded the hand without taking it.
"And what is that?"
Corinth's smile widened.
"Join me," he said, voice steady, ambition burning beneath it.
"Join me in taking over the world."
---
Elsewhere…
Kime moved through the forest with unhurried grace.
Leaves parted before him without being touched. Roots withdrew subtly from his path. Even the air seemed to shift to accommodate his presence.
His usual green kimono was gone, replaced with a dull grey robe tied neatly at the waist. His hair flowed freely, drifting as though stirred by some unseen current—divinity brushing against mortality.
In one hand, he carried a large watering kettle.
In the other, a bag of seeds.
Deep within the forest, hidden from all but those who knew how to look, stood an ancient shrine..
At its gates were two statues.
One depicted a massive tortoise bearing a mountain upon its shell.
The other showed a powerful man holding the heavens aloft, muscles strained yet unyielding.
Above the gate, etched into weathered stone, were the words:
"Those who fight for dominion must first be willing to carry the weight of the world."
Kime passed beneath them.
The flowers he had planted during his last visit were already in bloom. The cherry blossoms, once pink, had begun turning green again—cycling naturally, obedient to time.
Yet dust coated the stone floors.
The place felt abandoned.
That was unsurprising.
The one who resided here rarely emerged, and the last time Kime had visited had been over six months ago—just before Carpathia disappeared.
The shrine was silent.
But Kime knew he was not alone.
At the door, he knocked.
Three sharp knocks.
Then two.
Then one.
The door opened soundlessly.
Inside, the hallway was dim, illuminated only by red-flamed candles lining the walls. Their light cast long shadows, giving the space a bloody, oppressive aura.
At the far end sat a massive figure, seated in lotus position upon a mat.
He was utterly still.
Not breathing—not in any conventional sense. His body absorbed oxygen directly through flesh and spirit, maintaining itself in perfect balance.
A voice echoed—not spoken aloud, yet heard clearly.
'Is it time?'
Kime answered.
"Yes."
The figure inhaled.
His first organic breath in six months.
Eyes opened. Muscles shifted. Life returned.
"Then," the figure said calmly,
"let them come."
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