After Silva eliminated the two Grand Sage-tier Cultists and the rest, the remaining Cultists offered little resistance. The Royal Guard swiftly wiped them out.

As the last Cultist—desperately buying time—collapsed, Silva turned to a Royal Guard member with a gloomy face.

“Alert the Imperial Archmage immediately and lock down the entire city!”

“Hehehehehe…”

The man, pale as death, suddenly let out a cold laugh.

“Hehe… Imperial Archmage? Hahahaha! What nonsense! How utterly laughable!”

A chilling, cunning voice slithered from his lips. Silva and the guards instantly stepped back, weapons raised.

“Those old fossils are sleeping soundly. Why would they let you ruin their sweet dreams?”

He spread his arms, a mocking smirk twisting his lips.

“Now… fall asleep too!”

Light dimmed. Profound darkness surged from the horizon like spilled ink, swallowing sky and earth. An eerie silence fell—no wind, no breath—only darkness creeping inward, devouring all.

“A Shadow-element mage?” The Royal Guard captain frowned. This felt like a Forbidden Spell-level shadow ritual… yet no shadow energy stirred in the air.

“He’s not one of us! He’s a Cultist—this is sinister magic!” a guard shouted.

No sooner had he spoken than a silver flash shot forward. Yenoa, face unreadable, slashed her longsword at the Cultist’s neck.

Unafraid, the man burst into maniacal laughter.

*Slice.*

His head tumbled—but no blood spilled.

Worse: the severed head kept grinning grotesquely.

“You can’t kill me! Ahahahaha! This world is mine now! You’ll all die! ALL OF YOU!!!”

Yenoa spun, splitting the head in two. Still hollow. No blood. No contents.

Shock flickered across her eyes. She hacked the pieces into fragments.

Yet the laughter never ceased. The chunks levitated, fused, reformed—first halves, then whole. His face wore blatant mockery, teeth gleaming.

She shattered it again. And again.

Goosebumps rose. Throats tightened. *How?*

*Is he even human? A demon summoned from hell?*

His malevolent gaze swept the crowd. Souls felt stripped bare. Blood ran cold.

The head flew back onto his shoulders. The neck sealed seamlessly. He cracked his neck, flashing pristine teeth.

“Stop resisting. You’ve seen it—I am immortal!” He clenched his fist.

The darkness surged like a tidal wave.

“Defend to counterattack!”

Guards formed a circle, auras blazing—flames, lightning, gales, frost, stone, tides—a kaleidoscope of magic crashing into the void.

Space warped. A storm of raw power erupted.

And vanished. Swallowed whole.

“This…?!”

“Holy shit, what?!”

“Impossible!”

Chaos erupted.

“Dream Realm!” the Cultist roared, arms wide to the abyss. Darkness accelerated.

“Dream Realm?! The legendary dream magic?!” the captain gasped.

“Correct!” He laughed. “I am Dimensional Dream—one of the Three Heavenly Kings of the Church of Annihilation. And your end.”

Silva’s face tightened. She knew the name.

Thirty-seven years ago, Crimson Tail—a sentient malevolent entity blessed by The Malevolent God—founded the Church of Annihilation after Violet-Gold adventurers barely crippled him. It grew into the Moshando Empire’s greatest plague.

Dimensional Dream: master of dream-weaving. Victims drowned in blissful illusions, life force drained unnoticed. Reality blurred. Sleep came unseen.

*We’re already inside his dream.*

A chill gripped her. *If the darkness takes us… will we ever wake?*

Her last thought.

Then—nothing.

…

…

…

Hidden in shadow, Roland’s chest tightened. *Why the hell am I panicking?*

*Those Cultists targeted the Royal Library… Is there a hidden grimoire inside?*

He’d pinpointed them. No time for plans.

“Damn the odds—headfirst charge!”

A slender figure emerged from the gloom—Roland still wearing Silva’s form.

He reached into his cleavage, fumbled…

…

Gatling gun!

His lips curled into a wild grin. He kicked the library doors open.

Inside, Cultists froze mid-search, staring dumbfounded.

*What is that thing?! How’s her tiny frame holding it?!*

“Three thousand rounds per second—delivering mercy to the world!”

He pressed the trigger.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!!!

Magic-compressed bullets erupted—a storm of steel. Bookshelves shattered. Vases exploded. Pages swirled in chaos.

Unlucky Cultists became sieves. Flesh turned to pulp.

The rest scrambled behind frantic shields.

*What magic is this?! Who IS she?!*

Roland stopped firing.

They sighed in relief—

—then he pulled *another* Gatling from his cleavage.

Twin barrels roared. Defensive arrays shattered like glass.

Bodies dropped. Neat. Silent. Dead.

The guns spun down. Roland surveyed the ruins. *All clear.*

He turned to leave—

*BOOM!*

The ceiling exploded inward.