“Who are you—who on earth are you?” Medith’s fear fluttered like a sparrow under a hawk’s shadow; her soul trembled.

The boy’s grime shook off like ash in wind, revealing a clean face. “You’ve seen me. Think—white-robed man, black-and-white armies, a boy, a fall from the sky, a glorious white mushroom cloud.”

“You—you’re… impossible…” Memory struck; her spirit staggered like lanterns snuffed by a gust.

“Medith! Remember this! The name of this power is—[Destruction Chess]!” The boy became a blade of white light and surged into her palm.

“Ah—ahhh—” The world around her collapsed like sand cliffs; a colossal wheel of fate unfurled, and a giant gear locked her in place, unmoving.

White flooded her vision, like drifting in the cold cosmos. Pain gnawed her body; her soul felt torn like silk. At last, she blacked out.

…

“Medith… Medith?” Through the haze, she heard a woman sobbing. Tears fell to her crimson lips, salty as sea spray.

Dizziness spun her like a leaf in eddies. She forced her eyes open, and finally—

“Sa…is?” Her voice rasped; her body felt paper-thin with weakness. Night had fallen. Women circled her bed; Sais cried like a pear blossom in rain, Haidra’s face tight with worry, and the army medics wore grave looks.

When Medith woke, joy broke across their faces like dawn. Some stared in disbelief.

“Medith! Medith… I—I thought you…” Sais knelt at her waist, cupping Medith’s face; that perfect beauty was washed into a mask of tears.

…

“I… fainted at noon in the market? Where’s that boy?” Medith was stunned. They said she collapsed in the bazaar, lost all vitals, her temperature plunging. The medics even declared her dead—yet no one believed it and cried from noon till night.

“What boy? There was no boy in the market.” Haidra’s tone was firm, like iron set.

Medith frowned, doubt rippling like wind over water. “No? How’s that possible… but…” She looked at her hands—soft, pale, unchanged.

Suddenly, the cold towel slipped from her head. The women gasped. “Medith! What’s on your head?”

She reached for it and felt nothing, while Haidra stared as if seeing a ghost.

They scrambled for a small mirror and pressed it into her hands.

“A… gear?” On her forehead lay a brand: a gear with twenty-four teeth, its rim ringed with spikes. The hollow center wasn’t skin, but a dead-black void; a few threads of Crimson Sun tried to pierce that darkness.

It looked like a black sun biting the edge of a silver moon, with strokes of Crimson Sun—just like the Dusk Legion’s emblem.

“You… it seems you’ve really become a Magic Breaker…” Haidra’s expression turned complex, joy and dread braided tight.

“Tell me everything. Now.” Medith’s urgency rang like a drawn bowstring.

…

A throb cut through her head; she pressed her brand, brows knotted like storm clouds.

“Magic Breakers smear their own blood on the brand and shout ‘Regido’ to meet the condition. Then Regido overtakes them.

“Once you’re a Magic Breaker, a brand appears somewhere on your body. Shape and position vary.

“During breaking, the brand’s pattern shows inside a pillar of light. Above second-tier, no two patterns repeat—each is unique. A sky-piercing pillar marks the break, like a lighthouse. It exposes your position. That’s a flaw.

“The effects of Regido vary; most shift weapons and appearance. Colors are mostly pure white; those with strong control sometimes show milky white.

“The pillar’s size changes with personal strength.

“Broadly, there are two types.

“First: Burst type.

“Ninety percent of Magic Breakers are like this. Smear blood on the brand and shout ‘Regido’; you transform. Appearance, weapon, and body shifts match your nature.

“At the same time, at least a five-meter circular ‘Destruction Ring’ blooms. It’s the most direct sign of Regido. Its power is fierce; no device, weapon, or human has ever tanked it at zero range.

“The ring compresses air the instant the pillar shatters, repelling everything but the user, including magic.

“Once possessed by Regido, the corresponding part can annihilate lower ‘Impado’. Simply put, one Bonecrusher Arrow fired by Regido hits five times harder than Impado.”

——

“Second: Transcendent type.

“A handful of elites can freely control the ring’s range, even convert their physical output.

“Kasda is this type. That plaza blast—he fully compressed it. The activation for Lachesis requires a Magic Break blast of equal power…

“By the way, Lachesis in crystalline state equals [Tsunami] strength. Manto’s Lawbreaking Ability reaches at most [near-Tsunami] and can’t hit the threshold.”

——

“By Western Kingdom stats, Magic Break strength has four tiers.

First: [Downpour]

Second: [Cyclone]

Third: [Earthquake]

Fourth: [Tsunami]

Rumor says there’s a tier above, called [Sovereign], but no one knows if it exists.”

Haidra laid out the lore of Regido in one breath; the women’s eyes widened and their lungs drew sharp air like fish surfacing.

“These [Downpour] and such—do they trigger those anomalies on use, or what?” Sais asked, worry gripping her like frost. She clutched Medith’s hand, afraid she’d slip away again.

Haidra tossed her hair like a night river. “They’re strength codenames. But at certain tiers, those anomalies can happen.”

Medith nodded, memory ringing like iron. When Erig broke, that black pillar hammered Sia City itself; the city let out a colossal groan. Ten meters around were torn in, and though Iling fled the lethal ring, shards and splinters flung by it nearly killed her.

They’ve escaped now, lurking in shadowed corners. Manto’s caution, paired with Erig’s unstoppable battlefield charges, is a true threat. Their knot is deadlocked—neither side will rest till the other is dust.

“I’ll test my ability when I can. I’ve got a lot to figure out.” Medith’s voice was cool, like moonlight on steel.

The women murmured, anxiety pooling like rain. She was still so weak, yet wanted unknown trials—hearts tightened.

But once Medith decided, they knew they couldn’t sway her. They let it be.

Medith gazed at the mirror’s eerie brand, thoughts hidden like stars behind clouds.

…

Time rolls back to 11.16. Erig and Manto lay panting on the deck, staring at a noble from the Eastern Nation, brows knotted. “Why save us? Do you know who we are?”

The captain turned, his face a snarl carved in scar. “Then do you know who I am, Manto?”