“Did it work?”

The red‑haired mage stared at the blizzard like a white cliff, worry gnawing under a small coal of hope.

Before Uroboros, power piled like mountains, and answers scattered like ash on the wind.

Against an enemy of a True God, the only record lay buried in a distant legend, like a bell tolling from under the sea.

In this age, no one had seen a True God’s true face; facing a myth felt like praying at an empty shrine.

The thought stung like winter air, and Senro sighed, breath turning to frost.

If only the lord of the Demon World could come in person, like a torch in this midnight storm.

“Zoning out in a fight’s a bad habit~”

The teasing voice slipped from the blizzard like a blade dipped in honey, making every heart jolt like struck drumheads.

Ink‑black gleam and crimson fire flashed, cutting through snow like night and dawn crossing swords.

The storm that had frozen a Demigod Plague of Beasts shattered like brittle glass, snow exploding into a thousand shards.

Flames surged skyward like banners in a gale, while black radiance scythed through towering ice pillars like a razor through silk.

Uroboros walked out of that furnace of frost and flame, ink‑dark wings unfurling like a midnight canopy that shut the world out.

She was still composed, still elegant; the divine art Senro was proud of tasted to her like a snack on a queen’s plate.

“So? Want to try again?”

Her voice was light as falling ash; Senro’s face tightened like ice sealing a lake.

She’d thought, even if the spell couldn’t wound Uroboros, it could buy a sliver of time like a wedge in a door.

Reality answered like a slap; before absolute strength, all they did was snow thrown at a volcano.

“Ah, your companion seems to have finished the conversion.”

Uroboros halted mid‑step, smile blooming like a black flower as she looked at the darkness cocooning Duke Dion.

She left her back to them like an open gate, yet none felt the courage to lift a blade; terror lay on their hands like frost.

Her words fell, and the darkness erupted like a bursting seedpod; a massive silhouette tore the last black streamers and walked out with thunderous steps.

From that ink gleam stepped not the aged Duke Dion, but a youthful hulk in close‑fitting mail, a statue chiseled from storm‑black steel.

Explosive muscle coiled like braided cables, lines of strength clean as a river’s cut; a jagged scar still scored his face, a banner of identity.

“Heh. Former general of the Demon World, how does the True God’s power taste?”

Duke Dion threw back his head and howled; Thunder cracked like a sky splitting, and a black sea of lightning spilled like oil.

No more deep‑violet Thunder—now only black bolts like vipers; pride curved his mouth like a drawn bow.

He dropped to one knee without a heartbeat’s doubt, head lowered like a blade to the floor.

“Of course, my Empress. I’m more than satisfied. As you said, the True God’s power stands beyond the mortal peak, like a star above a torch.”

“How could this be…”

Color drained from the red‑haired mage like blood from snow; her lips trembled like leaves in a cold wind.

“My Empress, shall I grind these ants beneath your heel?”

Grinning like a wolf, Duke Dion paced before Uroboros; the black sea shrank, hardening into an austere greatsword that stood like a gravestone.

“That’s not Duke Dion anymore…”

Senro’s tone went glacial, her gaze like a blade; in his eyes, they were no comrades, only crawling ants in dust.

“I approve. Treat it as your debut. With the reborn Thunder the Prime Dark granted you, give them annihilation.”

He gripped the greatsword and licked his lips like a predator, impatience crackling like dry twigs in flame.

Black lightning boomed across the sky; in a blink he ghosted past the two beside the red‑haired mage like a shadow sliding over snow.

Before the sword’s afterimage faded like smoke, fresh red spread across the ground like spilled wine.

Two bodies folded like cut reeds; heads thumped aside like dropped stones, and the red‑haired mage’s breath hitched like a snared bird.

“D‑Duke Dion…”

She turned, shaking, to the greatsword at her side, death breathing at her cheek like a winter wolf.

“My Empress, may I keep this pitiful ant?”

He pivoted back and knelt again, zeal blazing in his eyes like furnace coals.

“Reason.”

“I judge this woman worth converting. Once she tastes the sweetness of power, she’ll kneel at your feet like rain seeking the sea.”

Disbelief flared in the red‑haired mage’s eyes like lightning; fury followed like a wildfire through dry grass.

“You. Dare. Insult. Me!”

Crimson flames burst like a volcano; a scarlet dragon’s phantasm rose behind her like a mountain cloud.

A Titleholder‑tier fire spell hammered the kneeling Duke Dion, a meteor striking an iron cliff.

When the blaze blew apart like a dandelion, he was unscathed, only waiting for Uroboros’s nod like a hound awaiting the whistle.

“Heh. Interesting. As you wish.”

Her ink‑black gaze snapped the mage’s surge like ice stilling a river; the dragon phantom stuttered and collapsed into formless fire.

“Much obliged. As you command, Your Majesty!”

Duke Dion rose; his greatsword arced into the sky like a thrown star, and black lightning cracked toward the rear like a falling guillotine.

The target was Senro; wrapped in ice like a chrysalis, she couldn’t dodge and had to meet the thunder head‑on like a cliff meets surf.

The red‑haired mage shut her eyes in despair, lashes shaking like moth wings.

“What?!”

His shout tore the air; she cracked her eyes like dawn slitting the horizon and looked to Senro.

Black Thunder blew apart half a step from Senro like ink splashed on a hot plate; a cloaked figure now stood before her like a stone lantern.

“What is…”

Even Uroboros turned, as if feeling a shifted current, her gaze catching on the cloak like a hawk sighting prey.

Senro’s surprise rippled like a chill in warm water; the aura felt familiar, yet the memory slipped like fish through fingers.

No one burned hotter than Duke Dion, his failed strike stoking rage like bellows; black lightning coiled around him like a storm harness.

He roared, a beast given man’s frame, and charged with peerless momentum like a boulder down a mountain at the cloaked shadow.

“Heh. Interesting.”

A soft laugh rose under the hood like wind through reeds; then titanic fist met a slender fist, iron against silk hiding steel.

Arcane Power burst like a thunderhead; the shockwave rolled out like a tide, forcing Senro and the red‑haired mage to raise shields like umbrellas in hail.

That fine‑boned fist hid monstrous force like granite under moss; after one clash, the beastlike Duke Dion flew back like a struck kite.

The cloaked figure didn’t waste the opening; like a swallow diving to its nest, she was on him the instant he sailed.

Another brutal crack rang like a drum; the cloaked one stayed rooted like a pine, while Dion tumbled like a cut puppet, gouging crater after crater.

She exhaled, a quiet wind after storm, and lifted the tattered cloak, a waterfall of bound black hair spilling like night silk.

“Looks like I’m a little late. Good—there’s still time to mend what broke.”

Under the hood was a face of mature grace, calm as moonlight; she smiled and traced two silver‑white arrays like frost‑bright rings.

They slid to Senro and the red‑haired mage like gliding swans; the arrays became pure radiance that smoothed wounds like rain on dust.

Even their tangled Arcane Power settled like a lake after a tossed stone.

“So… it’s you…”

Senro let the ice‑blue phantom fade like mist; her eyes on the woman turned complicated, like clouds gathering and parting.

“Eldest daughter of the Hydra Clan, long time no see. Last time I saw you, you were a child~”

She smiled and stood like an unbreakable shield, her mere presence a hearth in winter.

The red‑haired mage edged to Senro like a wary bird, whispering near her ear like a leaf’s touch.

“Lady Senro, who is she…”

Before Senro could answer, Uroboros laughed, a little mad, like night wind in temple bells; her black wings unfurled again like three midnight banners.

This time there weren’t one but three pairs; the black radiance circling the sky fell like rain and poured into Senro’s scepter like a river into a gorge.

In a blink it shaped into a black lance, a storm frozen into a spear.

“Valkyrie, O Valkyrie, I crossed ages just to see you!”