A dreadful wail—oooh, oooh—rose as a radiant mushroom cloud climbed, tens of meters tall, draping everything within five hundred meters like a shroud.

Chaos followed. A savage surge of force gnawed at everything within two hundred meters. The overpressure bore down on Gill like the weight of sky and earth. His Magic Breaker Circle was eaten away in seconds, and the blast hurled him dozens of meters.

Then came a level-seven typhoon. The blast wind lifted Gill, slinging him a hundred meters, tumbling him end over end until he lay sprawled, unable to move.

The cloud settled and held its shape—a white mushroom that would haunt the city’s memory forever. It stood higher than the tallest castle spire. The vision and the pressure it carried made every self-styled Magic Breaker go pale.

This was true dominion—sovereignty over all powers. Anyone who beheld it felt soul-deep awe, worship rising unbidden, as if they’d seen a god.

The mushroom cloud snapped back into Medith in a rush. The park, after Medith unleashed her Magic Breaker, lay in ruin. The fountain was blasted apart, water slicking the stone like a spilled mirror.

Emerald trees were torn up by the roots. Flowers snapped; leaves blew like a storm of paper. Behind Medith, whole towers lost their glass, windows and doors shattered into glittering rain.

Walls were scarred in places, yet they held.

Medith wasn’t at full strength. If she had been, two kilometers around would have been turned upside down, the world remade and unrecognizable.

Even so, the exertion had drained her near empty. She had enough strength left to flee with ease. To press an attack, not enough.

Medith walked to stand over Gill. He lay motionless in the dust. Her eyes held a quiet pity.

Gill twitched a finger, groaned, and with all he had left, rolled himself over.

He was wrecked. His left arm had been caught inside Medith’s destructive ring and pulverized—blown to pieces.

Meat hung ragged; white bone grinned through, stark as winter branches.

Seeing the blood pour and pour, Medith knew he’d bleed out within minutes even if she did nothing.

“Gill, you lost.” She gripped his shoulder, dragged him to a heap of broken stone, and pressed him onto a long slab blasted into a neat straight strip.

“Heh… heh-heh… a killer, killed in turn… I’m sorry about your sisters. But I don’t regret it. Give me the chance again, I’d still… choose the same.” Blood glazed his lips as he spoke.

“I know.” Medith’s tone was cool, like answering a question that didn’t matter.

She drew her greatsword and raised it high with both hands, the blade itching to fall toward Gill’s head.

“Sais… she’s in the castle dungeon… Jade won’t touch her. He’s a pure egotist. Didn’t think… he bet right… Do it.” Gill shut his eyes and laughed softly.

Gill’s Time

He saw himself and Herbert as boys, wild and grinning. They made trouble, climbed mountains, chased and wrestled, came home caked in mud, and got smacked until their teeth rattled.

They grew a little older, hearts stirring. They teased pretty sisters of the neighborhood, fingers wandering with the swagger of their status, until Mother caught them—hands nearly broken for their sins.

Time spilled on. They became men. Five years ago, Cecilia came to apply, joining the guild he’d just taken over.

She was beautiful, figure fine, bright with youth, warm and close to people. Her popularity soared. She worked cleanly, ability sharp, and climbed into the elite in no time.

Step by step, she became one of the subordinates he was most proud of.

Haywood joined three months after Cecilia. Honestly, that black-tower body scared me at first. His strength dropped my jaw even lower.

He barely spoke, barely smiled. We kept our distance, cowed by his frame and face.

Only Cecilia went to chat with him often. Sometimes she perched on his shoulder, long legs crossed, striding through the guild like a queen.

Only then would that silent giant crack a knowing smile.

Gus arrived not long after. Father recommended him. I didn’t think much of him at first—he looked unreliable, always half-asleep, lazily drifting.

But his mind worked. He shorted out sometimes, sure, but he helped me through one early crisis after another.

Eddie had been in the guild for ages. He was nothing special at first, but when Regido grew mainstream in the city, his talent bared its teeth.

He advanced fast—too fast—and became our first member to reach [Tsunami, mid-tier]. We basked in that glow for a good while. His temperament’s a lot like mine. Sometimes I thought he’d make a better little brother…

O’Neil was never fully reliable, but he was capable, so it was fine. Father always said: trust the ones you hire; if you doubt them, don’t. If a man’s capable, a flawed temperament can be forgiven.

Too bad I learned too late. O’Neil’s problem wasn’t temperament. It was rotten roots. I brought this on myself…

Jade… an odd one. His ability was absurd, yet he never got close to us. He was more a lone blade, a swordsman from the Eastern Isles, a pure individualist.

He seemed to have a purpose he had to fulfill. Pity—I’ll never know it now.

Huh? Wind Sprites in the east besieged by Mountain Bandits—bandits routed, almost wiped out? Even Nessos, the strongest of the eastern bandits at [Tsunami, initial], dead?

Wait, isn’t the Elf Clan supposed to be naive and slow? Since when do they play tactics? They probably don’t even know what Impado is. How did they pull that off?

Medith again? Even the [Heaven-Fiend Brothers] got taken down this time? Bandits are one thing, but those two were giants of the old era, blazing at their peak…

This woman’s terrifying…

What? They headed toward the Free States? And crossed Bloodhand Andrew’s people? Herbert, kid… don’t start trouble…

…

A thousand shards of memory flashed and faded. Gill felt content.

A pitiful, bloody life, sure. But… a beautiful one, in its way.

Herbert, all of you I’ve killed—let’s meet in hell.

“No—don’t—Medith—I found the real culprit—Andrew!! Bloodhand Andrew—from the Southern Kingdom—don’t swing—!!!” Not far away, Cecilia stared at the hundred meters she could never cross in time. Powerless tears fell like broken beads.

Medith didn’t look. Her eyes went wide.

[Don’t swing… Medith… don’t swing…]

A sharp déjà vu struck. Medith wavered for two breaths. Then Melia’s fragments rose in her mind. In the end, she swung the sword.

A round head thumped to the ground and rolled. Cecilia collapsed to her knees, her howl tearing the sunlit sky, long and unending.