With Norman's destruction as the turning point, the pace of the battlefield accelerated exponentially. It wasn’t because of the Masters like Henya and Ragis, the Undead-killing squad Keter had brought, or even the knights advancing with tactical precision. Everyone here knew why. In one area of the battlefield, the corpses of the Undead were piled like mountains. Even the high-ranking Undead—the fallen angels—lay dead and scattered. On the other hand… Eslow, who had taken down four fallen angels and hundreds of Undead, didn’t have a single scratch on him. His clothes were merely a bit dusty. He calmly glanced around, then crossed the weapons in his hands. A wave of energy burst from the crossed double-edged black axe and an invisible sword, and warped the very fabric of space. After a brief three-second resonance, Eslow swung the axe and sword outward. Then, the darkness split. A crack appeared in the darkness barrier known as Deep Dark Fantasy. Darkness was sucked into the crack at an exponential rate and began to disappear. Then, Eslow hurled his axe into the air. The moment it was embedded in the space, cracks like a spiderweb spread outward. With a sound like shattering glass, Deep Dark Fantasy completely collapsed. Sunlight from the outside world poured in, gently dissolving the remnants of darkness. The Undead, now directly exposed to sunlight, shrieked in agony. The weaker ones immediately caught fire. Even the higher Undead, though still mobile, visibly weakened under the sunlight’s touch. “His Grace has broken the darkness! Press the attack!” “Don’t let a single one escape!” The knights, who already held the advantage, now fought with the confidence of victory. But some grew even more composed. “Hold formation! It's only a matter of time before we clean them up. Don’t rush in recklessly and cause unnecessary casualties!” At Myle’s call, the knights hesitated, then regained their composure. “He’s right. There’s no need to take unnecessary risks.” “He doesn’t look that experienced, but his calmness is impressive... Did he say his name was Myle?” “Maybe that’s just a Sefira trait. Even when their arrows missed, none of their archers even flinched.” The knights maintained formation as they pushed forward, minimizing losses. Meanwhile, the moment Deep Dark Fantasy shattered, Eslow soared toward the palace. He was headed for Ailos, the mastermind behind it all. Seeing this, Taragon ran up to Keter. “Keter! His Grace is heading for the palace. Leave this to us and go after him!” But Keter looked at him like he was speaking nonsense. Taragon blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected question. “Well, it just seemed like the thing to do, given the mood...” Keter had just taken down Norman in one strike. If he were to take out Ailos next, he would be hailed as a hero. That wasn’t why Taragon said what he said, but if Keter pursued Ailos now, his reputation would surely skyrocket. Of course, Keter also knew that this was the perfect opportunity to play the hero. But that wasn’t his style. It would just be a show—nothing but a dumb performance. Without answering, Keter lazily waved his hand, gesturing that he wasn’t interested, and casually looked around. Under the sunlight, the Undead lost their immortality and weakened. Now that morale was at its peak and the Undead’s natural enemies were working together, it was like snow meeting summer. With the skull of the last skeleton knight shattered to pieces, the Undead were fully eradicated. The knight who landed the final blow let out a ragged breath and raised his sword. The other knights followed suit, raising their blades and shouting. “The Undead are all defeated!” Strictly speaking, there were clear heroes behind the win, but every knight cried out as if they were the heroes of the battle. The surviving spectators also broke out in joyous cheers. “W-we’re alive! We lived! Hahahaha!” “When I get home, I’m confessing to her for sure!” “Oh, Queen Lillian, thank you, thank you!” “We survived thanks to Queen Lillian...” Of course, not everyone was celebrating. Some wept in sorrow, grief-stricken. “Father, please... open your eyes!” “My arm! My arm… No…” Though they had survived, many citizens mourned for what they had lost. All anyone could offer them was a moment of silence and futile comfort. A stillness settled over the arena, but grief didn’t move the world forward; one could not remain in sorrow forever. And so, the cleanup began. Even amidst the chaos of tending to the wounded, all eyes were drawn to a single point: the Order of the Sun, the Death Eater Mercenary Corps, the Saint Zarbella Foundation—and the man standing before them all, Keter. The crowd watched him with a mixture of awe and curiosity. The first to approach was the Order of the Sun. All the priests were bald. One of them, a middle-aged man with the roundest head of them all, stepped forward. “I am Bishop Sunray of the Order of the Sun. On behalf of His Holiness the Pope, I convey our deepest gratitude to Keter of Sefira for the opportunity to smite the seed of darkness.” “Is His Holiness doing well?” “You know His Holiness?” “I wouldn’t be asking if I did.” “Haha, you’re quite funny. His Holiness is well.” “That can’t be right.” Sunray blinked in confusion, but Keter dropped the subject. Thinking it was a joke, Sunray didn’t dwell on it either. Instead, he pulled out a necklace bearing the Order of the Sun’s emblem. “Please accept this. It is a symbol of comradeship with the Order of the Sun. Though we have no church here in the Lillian Kingdom, it will bring you great favor within the Samael Empire.” Keter had received the help, yet it was Sunray offering thanks. This was because the Order of the Sun had gained immensely from this battle. The order considered dark mages their worst enemies. Their doctrine was to kill them without exception or explanation. As such, any information on their whereabouts was treasured. Keter had provided the location of not just any dark mage but Ailos, a high-ranking dark mage: Aylus. Not only that, he had showcased the power of the Order of the Sun in front of tens of thousands of people, broadening their reach. It might have seemed meaningless in the Lillian Kingdom, where the Order of the Sun was prohibited, but that was precisely why this opportunity was meaningful. They had essentially carried out legal missionary work, something that would have been impossible to do otherwise. They protected people from the Undead, bolstering the order’s authority. Public worship was still forbidden, but some would surely become secret followers. Either way, it was beneficial for the order. The Order of the Sun primarily operated within the empire, so how could they have made their way to the southern region of the Lilliam Kingdom? This was only because they had been conducting their missionary work in secret. Sunray smiled warmly, but inside, suspicion toward Keter burned. How did this Keter know we were operating in the shadows here? He also found us and tried to make contact… This incident definitely helped spread the word about the Order of the Sun in the Lillian Kingdom, but that didn’t mean Sunray trusted him. He might be a rogue working with the dark mages. There was a chance Keter was scheming to win the order’s favors and then destroy them from within. Sunray wasn’t being delusional, as it wouldn’t be the first time. The order had been betrayed like that in the past. That was why Sunray offered the pendant—it was a test. If Keter truly was a pawn of the dark mages, he would leap at the chance to cozy up with the Order of the Sun. “May the Sun’s blessing be with you.” With one last cheer, the Order of the Syn left the scene, as they were still unwelcome in the kingdom. Next came the Death Eater Mercenary Corps. “I am Grogg, captain of the Death Eaters.” Grogg was bald too, but unlike the priests, his body was covered in tattoos. Keter recognized that those tattoos weren’t just to look scary but were symbols of sorcery to resist dark magic. Grogg extended a hand. It was a mercenary-style greeting showing he bore no weapons or ill will. Keter accepted the handshake. Then began the unspoken contest between men, each subtly testing the other’s grip. Grogg’s arm was twice the size of Keter’s, but it was Grogg who broke into a sweat. “...There’s a reason why the regional director of the Lillian Kingdom Regional Mercenary Headquarters has his eye on you, my lord.” The Death Eater Mercenary Corps had been hired by Keter through the regional director. “You didn’t earn your pay.” The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the 𝓷𝓸𝓿𝓮𝓵~𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕖~𝙣𝙚𝙩 “…Are you saying the twenty thousand gold you paid wasn’t worth it?” “It wasn’t. Because I got professionals like you for only twenty thousand.” Keter pulled a check from the Infinite Bank and held it out. “Bonus pay. I noticed your tattoos got scuffed in battle, and it’s not pleasing to the eyes. Please restore them.” “If you’re worried about how others see them, we don’t need it.” “If you don’t want it, forget it.” Keter never offered twice. As he slipped the check back into his coat, Grogg panicked. “What are you waiting for? If you’re done, go. Next person’s waiting,” Keter said, gesturing at the alchemists from the Saint Zarbella Foundation. Flustered, Grogg glanced at his fellow mercenaries and said, “We’ll take the check.” “Too late. Maybe next time—if there is one.” Grogg stepped away, disappointed. They had only exchanged a few words, but it was enough for him to realize that Keter didn’t go back on what he said. Finally came the alchemists from the Saint Zarbella Foundation. “I am Natalie, a second-class alchemist of the Saint Zarbella Foundation. Per our agreement, we’ll be collecting the remains of the Undead.” The Saint Zarbella Foundation was one of the top five alchemical groups in the world, and they were especially obsessed with dark magic. Keter had lured them in with the offer of Undead corpses. They were normally a nuisance to dispose of, as they could rot the skin just on contact and cause epidemics if abandoned, but to alchemists, they were priceless research specimens. It was a win-win: Keter got help, and the foundation got materials. “Fine, but clean up your alchemy junk, too. Leave so much as a glass shard behind and…” Alchemists weren’t mages. They couldn’t create something from nothing; they just altered what already existed, and that was what they did this time. That made reverting their changes far harder than making them in the first place, but no one dared reject Keter’s words in front of thousands. Thus, the groups Keter had brought were all dealt with. Onlookers stared in stunned silence, jaws on the floor. The Order of the Sun was small in number but powerful enough to have a nation of its own. Keter had not only recruited a bishop from such an order but also received a reward from them. The Death Eater Mercenary Corps weren’t elite themselves, but the regional director they mentioned was. The director of the Lillian Kingdom Regional Mercenary Headquarters was as powerful as the master families; even high nobles were careful around him. Yet someone like him seemed to be friends with Keter and even personally arranged his hires on his behalf. Conventionally, nobles and mercenaries didn’t get along. Yet here was Keter, defying that truth. And the Saint Zarbella Foundation, one of the most elite, eccentric alchemy guilds in the world, was practically taking orders from him. At this point, everyone wondered where Keter’s limit was. He had already overwhelmed veteran Masters, and he had obliterated the monstrous Norman in a single blow. He moved entire organizations with ease. And on top of that, he was likable. He didn’t talk much, but he had spoken with many nobles during the tournament. “He’s the opposite of Sefira, who is closed-off and insensitive.” “He has everything Sefira lacks.” Those with keen insight were already recognizing his worth, and others agreed. Myle, Anis, and Taragon watched quietly. They couldn’t help but feel proud, even if the praise wasn’t directed at them. To have Keter as their younger brother was a joy, even if he acted like a brat and made their lives a constant risk. Still… I like you just the way you are, Keter. The eyes of countless citizens and nobles alike now turned toward one man: Keter, who was only eighteen years old. It was an age when attention could feel both intoxicating and overwhelming, but Keter took the stares of tens of thousands in stride and smiled. There was no way he would stay quiet in a moment . He pointed to himself with a smile and shouted, “Call me the big shot of Sefira!”