[Location - The Skyward Region]
"How can this be..."
The Dragon King murmured, completely astounded by the scene unfolding before him. A meteor shower of bedrock, possessing enough kinetic energy to demolish a city, was rendered utterly ineffective. Despite the terrestrial mana he infused into the attack, the moment the colossal pillars neared Raiking, they rapidly disintegrated, turning into dust as though the stone itself succumbed to the touch of death.
To worsen the situation, the Dragon King sensed an unusual, suffocating pressure emanating from the meditating cultivator. He was uncertain whether this oppressive aura was merely a natural byproduct of the man's trance or if it indicated he was quietly harnessing energy for a potentially cataclysmic attack.
"...He is no ordinary cultivator."
Despite Raiking's incredible speed and formidable destructive abilities, there was a more glaring concern. The Dragon King could not ascertain his cultivation stage. Typically, a cultivator's aura was only completely obscured if they operated at a higher realm than the observer. For a monarch at the very pinnacle of the Demigod stage, such a notion was unprecedented.
Unless...
"Are you a God?" the Dragon King whispered. Raiking responded not with words, but with the sea below revealing his true nature.
A shockwave of pure Entropy burst forth in all directions. It not only obliterated the remaining stone pillars above in a silent cascade of decayed grey dust but also split the vast ocean below with cataclysmic force. Towering, roaring walls of water exploded skyward like twin tsunamis, born from the abyss's fury.
The massive walls of the parted sea climbed ever higher, defying all natural laws until their peaks reached the altitude of the floating islands overhead.
"What in the...? Is his True Divinity the Water Element?" the Dragon King stammered, desperately trying to piece together an explanation for this blatant defiance of cultivation rules. "No, that's impossible. The Holy Warrior of Dawnfall was already chosen as its vessel!"
However, what sent the deepest, most primal chill down the Dragon King's spine was the realization that the sea remained parted. It did not collapse back down. The towering walls of water hovered there, enclosing the Skyward Region in a liquid prison.
Even without Raiking opening his eyes or uttering a single word, the message was terrifyingly clear.
This wasn't a display of power.
This was a warning.
With nothing more than a stray thought, the God of Death could unleash those abyssal walls whenever he desired. The entire Dragon Kingdom would be obliterated from the sky and consumed by the sea in mere seconds.
---
[Location - Phoenix Clan's Ancestral Homeland]
The Dragon King was not the sole entity rendered motionless by the apocalyptic events transpiring in the heavens. On the charred and ravaged lands of Phoenix Island, the Draconic Guards stationed at the ancestral temple stared up at their capital with a profound sense of dread.
"Wha—what is happening?" one guard stuttered, his eyes locked on the towering tsunamis in the distance that foretold impending catastrophe.
"Didn't the King assert it was merely a Phoenix?!" the Captain exclaimed, his eyes widening as he sensed the overwhelming entropy radiating from the distant enemy their leader faced.
"No Phoenix could wield such power..." murmured another guard, instinctively stepping back with a tremor.
It would be his final act.
An unexpected, ghostly breeze swept past the guards at the temple's entrance. As mere Divine Stage cultivators, they remained entirely unaware of the deadly intent that had just enveloped them. Their only warning was the sharp, metallic CLICK of a blade being sheathed with perfect precision.
They lacked the time to turn toward the sound's origin.
Simultaneously, blood erupted violently from their throats, their armored bodies collapsing heavily onto the scorched earth, falling all around Ezmelral. The silver-haired Sword Spirit looked on coldly as life faded from their eyes, their hands feebly clutching at their damaged throats in a futile attempt to regain any semblance of control.
Libinea denied them the dignity of a slow death.
Descending from the sky in her humanoid form, with the sleeping Faye securely in one arm, Libinea snapped her war fan open. With a casual flick of her wrist, she unleashed a focused burst of Azure flames, instantly reducing the bleeding bodies to ash before her feet even touched the ground.
She didn't spare another glance at the smoldering remains, immediately issuing her next command.
"Guard the entrance," she instructed, stepping past the Sword Spirit to enter the temple.
Ezmelral complied with a silent nod. Despite her vastly superior cultivation compared to Libinea, a strict, unspoken hierarchy existed within the Guild. During field operations, Libinea effectively served as second-in-command. She was instrumental in helping Raiking establish the Guild of Monsters from its inception, technically making her the Matriarch of their formidable family.
As Libinea entered the ancient sanctuary, the heavy stone doors began to slowly close behind her. The last sight she beheld before the temple sealed shut with a resounding, echoing THUD was a new wave of Draconic Guard recruits charging fiercely toward Ezmelral.
In that moment, Libinea fully grasped the tactical brilliance of Raiking's plan.
Had Ezmelral stayed to confront the Dragon King, victory would not have been assured. By having Raiking occupy the sole Demigod-level threat, Ezmelral was free to serve as an unbeatable bodyguard. Given the rarity of True Divinity and Demigod cultivators, no one on Phoenix Island could withstand Ezmelral's immense power.
It was a flawless, ruthless strategy to ensure the Guild suffered no casualties.
"Your father is quite clever, isn't he, little one?" Libinea whispered affectionately to the peacefully sleeping Faye.
She directed her golden gaze toward the grand, silent altar at the far end of the hall, drawing a deep breath as she prepared to initiate the sacred Nirvana ritual.
---
Meanwhile, just beyond the massive stone doors of the temple, Ezmelral had become a storm incarnate. Her unmatched expertise with the blade was on full, terrifying display.
"Who is she—"
The charging Draconic Guard couldn't even complete his sentence. His head had already been severed, leaving his companion to gape in disbelief at the sheer speed required to render a Peak Divine Stage warrior utterly insignificant.
That moment of horror was fleeting, as Ezmelral swiftly dispatched him as well.
Then she moved on to the next. And the next.
They were unable to parry. They couldn't retreat. They couldn't even follow her movements. All they felt was a brief, suffocating regret for having ever made an enemy of this silver-haired specter.
It was a massacre no one would have believed possible. The elite, heavily-armored soldiers of one of the world's most powerful kingdoms were being slaughtered as effortlessly as common street thugs.
To make matters worse, the dying guards had no time to alert their superiors to stop sending in more troops to the slaughter. Anyone who dared to raise their hands to cast a distress flare found their wrists severed before the first spark could ignite. They were left with no choice but to collapse onto the ground, slowly bleeding out as they helplessly watched their comrades fall, one by one.
This horrific scene would not only haunt their souls in the afterlife but would also force the rest of the world to remember a terrifying truth. This was not the typically playful, food-loving Ezmelral known to the Guild.
This was the legendary blade that had once brought the entire cosmos to its knees—and she was finally unleashed.