In every city square of the Naiser Empire stood a grand statue of a knight.
And in this very moment, those statues began to glow—one after another, beams of light shot skyward, and the phantom figures of ancient knights emerged behind Roland.
Some looked majestic and solemn, others fierce and resolute.
Some bore stern expressions, others gentle smiles.
Yet all shared one thing in common—their presence radiated an aura of battle spirit no weaker than that of Roland himself.
"From the moment I was born, I have devoted myself in faith to the Lord of Light.
For His radiance, I am willing to give all.
Former kings of Naiser, tell me—do I possess loyalty and soul?"
"You do."
Two knights—one with a stern countenance, the other with kind eyes—spoke in unison.
They took a step forward and merged into Roland's body.
"When I came of age, to avenge the evils the Divine Ascension Church committed upon our lands, I ventured alone into Beastman territory and fought two Saint-tier warriors at once. Tell me, my forebears—do I possess courage and justice?"
"You do."
Again, two knightly spirits strode forth and merged into him.
"For over thirty years of my reign, I rewarded my vassals generously and taxed my people lightly.
In the days of my rule, every citizen of the Naiser Empire had a meal to eat and a roof above their head.
Tell me, my kings—do I possess generosity and compassion?"
"You do."
"Today, to prevent this continent from falling into ruin, I ride toward certain death—only to stop the demons' invasion.
Tell me, my forebears—do I possess humility and honor?"
"You do."
"I, Roland of Naiser, thank you, noble kings of old, for your sacrifice and grace.
I offer my soul and flesh, my spirit and will,
in exchange for even a single chance at peace."
With those words, he raised his knight's spear high.
The griffin beneath him let out a thunderous cry as they shot into the sky.
His surging battle aura ignited into searing flame, engulfing his body entirely.
Even the radiant glow of the nation's protective magic seemed faint beside the inferno blazing from him.
He was like a rising sun—blinding, unstoppable, purging all darkness in its light.
Every shadow, every trace of evil, burned to ash beneath his flame.
Even the countless tentacles reaching out to stop him disintegrated the instant they drew near, consumed by the holy blaze.
"He can do it!"
Watching Roland's charge, Paracel and Augustus both shouted with fierce hope.
Having received Paracel's blessing and invoked the sacred Knight's Oath of the Naiser Empire,
Roland's strength had risen to terrifying heights.
Paracel even suspected he had touched upon that long-lost realm—
beyond Saint-tier, into the Half-God Domain, unseen for millennia.
But perhaps sensing the danger, the Circle of Corruption stopped sending its tentacles,
focusing instead on completing the Gate of the Underworld.
Seeing the gate grow more solid by the second, Roland pushed himself faster,
like a piercing blade that tore through the Circle's formation in a single instant.
The energies sustaining the ritual froze for a heartbeat—
but still, threads of corruption slipped free, drifting toward the dark sky above.
Roland, now before the Gate of the Underworld, thrust his spear—
imbued with his faith, strength, and the hopes of all the kings before him—
straight into the gate.
A thunderous explosion followed.
The gate shuddered as the holy force burned everything it touched.
A massive shockwave erupted outward, leveling everything in its path.
Below, the Circle of Corruption took the full brunt of the blast.
The central formation shattered instantly, the outermost ring barely holding together.
The Snowpetal Fortress beneath was obliterated, reduced to dust.
As for the fanatics of the Divine Ascension Church—few, if any, survived the storm.
When the fires faded and the shockwave ceased,
the broken Gate of the Underworld stood revealed—
battered, twisted, barely holding its shape.
"Is it… still not over?"
Roland muttered.
Using the Oak Guardian Shield, he had survived the blast—barely.
He tossed away the charred remnant of the shield,
drew his sword, and charged again.
He knew this form would only let him unleash two more attacks.
Not because his energy would run dry, but because his weapons could no longer endure such force.
Each full strike melted steel to liquid; by the end, nothing would remain.
If this strike failed to shatter the gate—he would face it barehanded.
As he surged forward, the broken gate began to open on its own.
He saw it—but it was too late to turn back.
All he could do was gamble—that his attack would destroy it before it opened completely.
He gathered everything—his flame, his faith, his very soul—into the blade.
One strike. One outcome. Either the gate shatters—or I do.
But just as his sword's tip was about to pierce the gate—a hand reached out from within.
A slender, flawless hand.
It extended just one finger—and touched the sword's tip.
In that instant, all the holy energy in Roland's blade froze.
His momentum halted midair.
Then—flick.
With a simple flick of that finger, his radiant battle aura twisted,
turning into pure corruption.
The sun-bright flames that had burned so fiercely snuffed out in a heartbeat.
Then came the fall.
As corruption consumed his light,
Roland's body was swallowed by the darkness he sought to destroy.
The arm behind the gate pushed further—first the forearm, then the shoulder—
until the outline of a being beyond mortal comprehension began to emerge.
An overwhelming, divine pressure swept across the world, so potent that every creature—no matter where it lived—felt their breath choke in terror. If this being were to fully step through, the only fate awaiting the world would be annihilation.
And just then—three faint crimson pillars of light rose from within the shattered Circle of Corruption, piercing the heavens under the shroud of despair