As soon as Ares's voice fell, the air trembled—subtly at first, then with increasing intensity—as ripples like those on the surface of a disturbed lake spread outward in all directions.
Then, with a deep, resonant tearing sound, the sky itself split open.
A rift, wide enough for a grown adult to walk through, tore across the heavens. From within the gleaming crevice descended a woman—elderly, kindly in appearance, yet exuding a presence that made time itself seem to hold its breath. She walked on air as if gravity held no dominion over her, slowly, gracefully descending toward the battlefield.
And throughout her descent, Alan felt nothing.
No tremor in the surrounding mana. No shift in magical pressure. Not even a flicker of spell formation.
Exactly like when Emperor Denken had appeared.
That could only mean one thing.
This woman didn't use magic in the conventional sense. She simply rewrote reality to suit her will.
She didn't bend the rules—she authored them.
