The clang of steel, the roar of fire, the screams of spells breaking against stone—it was chaos.
But through it all, Volgas moved with purpose.
From the rear of the battlefield, he strode forward, flanked by his most trusted guards. His face was calm, unreadable. Then he stopped beside one of them.
"Give me my weapon," he said quietly.
The knight nodded without question and handed over a massive battle axe, its blade engraved with divine runes and its haft wrapped in sun-colored cloth.
Volgas rolled his shoulders, tightened his grip.
"Clear the way," he ordered.
And with one mighty leap, Volgas launched himself into the fray.
Derek saw him coming.
The captain landed like thunder, carving through dust and debris with one swing of his axe.
He cut down a barricade, knocked two guards aside with a nonlethal blow, and raised his weapon high as he locked eyes with Derek.
Derek raised Excalibur, breathing steady.
Volgas circled him slowly.
"Your stance. Your movement. That blade." He tilted his head. "You're no ordinary mercenary. Not a common thug. You move like… a knight."
Derek didn't respond.
Volgas smirked faintly. "I've heard a rumor. Of a man who wounded a black dragon with a greatsword. You must be the one."
He raised his axe into a guard position.
"Don't disappoint me."
Then he attacked.
The clash shook the street.
Volgas's axe met Excalibur with brutal force. He pressed in, raining blows like a hammer against stone. Derek parried and countered, his movements tight and fast—but Volgas was a veteran, and he fought like one.
He drove Derek back step by step, his footwork sharp, his control relentless.
"You're strong," Volgas admitted, striking again. "But not strong enough."
Derek's arms shook from the force of each hit.
He tried to strike back—low swipe, twist, overhand—but Volgas blocked each one with clinical precision.
"You've trained," Volgas said. "But not like me."
Derek grunted, sliding back across broken cobblestone.
For a moment—it looked like he was losing.
Then—Excalibur pulsed.
The sword vibrated in Derek's grip. The ancient runes etched along the blade flared to life, glowing with a deep, burning blue. The air around the sword shimmered with energy. A faint wave of pressure burst out in all directions.
Volgas's eyes widened.
"…Sword aura?"
He stepped back a half-step, surprised.
"Impossible. Only a true swordmaster can manifest aura. Even I cannot—"
The aura intensified, wrapping around Derek like a silent storm. His movements grew faster. Sharper. Every swing now carved trails of blue light in the air.
Volgas barely blocked the next strike.
"That sword," he said, now serious. "That's not just any relic."
He met Derek's next blow—barely. The impact forced him back, boots sliding.
"This power… it's not yours. You're skilled, yes, but not enough to manifest the sword aura. So—"
He clenched his jaw.
"It must be the sword."
Derek didn't respond. He simply struck again.
The two clashed—blade to axe, sparks flying, pressure shaking the street around them.
The battle paused only when Volgas stumbled back, a shallow cut carved across his shoulder armor.
He looked down at it.
Then up at the battlefield.
His army was faltering. Bam's fire magic lit the air like a festival of destruction. Bob stood like a mountain, holding the line. Marcus was—somehow—still sniping useful targets. And now, even his elite knights were retreating, broken and scattered.
Volgas exhaled sharply.
"…So be it."
He raised his axe, not to strike, but to signal.
A burst of light erupted skyward.
The holy army began to pull back.
Trumpets blared. White banners turned. Mages fell into defensive formations.
Volgas stepped away from Derek, gaze locked.
"This isn't over."
Derek lowered his sword. "No. It's not."
And just like that, the army of Athenea—bruised, scorched, and stunned—retreated into the hills.
The city didn't cheer.
Not yet.
They were too busy watching smoke rise from the edges of town and wondering how they were still standing.
Up in the mansion, Anna flicked her finger. The Magic Eye vanished.
She sipped her now-lukewarm tea.
"Idiots," she muttered. "All of them."
But she said it with the faintest smirk.