A billowing cloud of radiant, golden ash erupted from the dragon’s maw, rapidly flooding the cathedral with shimmering motes of light. It carried no thermal heat. It possessed no kinetic force. It was purely psychic. It bypassed armor, mana shields, and physical barriers, sinking directly into the minds of every living soul in the room.
It forcefully subjected them to the annihilation of Drak’thar.
Nathan was violently ripped into Vorlagrath’s perspective. He felt the blinding terror of the Towers erupting from the earth. He felt the cold, indifferent gaze of the Shepherd. He watched the Demi-Beasts—proud, beautiful warriors—slaughtered by the tens of thousands, their bodies crumbling into grey ash. He watched the dragons fall in flames. The sheer, concentrated grief of a king watching his world end over centuries was compressed into a single, mind-shattering second. It was the agonizing weight of surviving when everyone you loved had died.
Around the cathedral, elite Climbers broke. A seasoned Silver Drake tank collapsed to his knees, openly sobbing, his shield forgotten. A Red Dragon pyromancer screamed, clutching her head as the phantom grief tore through her mind. Even Captain Torren, the most stoic man on the field, was driven to one knee, his knuckles white around his axe handle.
But the psychic payload hit Mirko and Kuro the hardest.
The golden ash forced them to witness the genocide of their own people. They saw the ancient Demi-Beasts cut down by pale light. They saw friends and comrades they could no longer name die in agony. They saw their own ancient deaths—the bloody, desperate final stands of the warriors they used to be.
Mirko screamed. It was not a scream of grief. It was a roar of absolute, unadulterated defiance.
"Hmph! You weaponize death as if I should cower from it!" Mirko planted her boots, hersword aimed squarely at the dragon’s snout. [Impenetrable Fortress] exploded outward, but it was no longer just a barrier—it burned with a fierce, blinding emerald light, acting as a beacon in the suffocating ash. "I have already died! I have been shattered, deleted, and reformatted! I have been weak, and I chose to become strong! I fear no memory, because I am afraid of NOTHING!"
She stepped forward, the emerald light pushing the golden ash back. "I am Mirko! Knight of the Bunny Girl Legion! First summon of Master athan Cross! I am the shield that will never break! I am the blade that will never dull! I am the fire that REFUSES TO DIE!"
Through the golden haze, Kuro moved like a wraith. The psychic visions tried desperately to latch onto her, but [Silent Step] allowed her to seamlessly phase through the trauma untouched. When she spoke, her mental voice was terrifyingly calm, sharp, and absolute.
I do not remember the name I was born with before. I do not remember the face I wore before this life. Kuro materialized directly behind Vorlagrath’s massive skull. But I know what my purpose is. I am the shadow that watches. I am the blade that waits in the dark. I am the silence before the end. I am Kuro, Shadow Assassin, and I will not be broken by the memory of a death I do not claim.
[Blind] triggered. The shadow magic violently smothered the dragon’s golden eyes, plunging him into darkness and severing the psychic broadcast. As the dragon blinked in shock, [Assassinate] fell. Shink-Shink. Both daggers buried themselves deep into the thick scales at the base of his skull.
The psychic ash instantly dispersed, dissolving into harmless light. The suffocating grief lifted from the room.
Inspired by the sheer, unyielding defiance of the Demi-Beasts, the broken Climbers rallied.
"Now!" Nathan roared, his voice cracking but resolute. "While the channel is broken! Hit him with everything left in the tank!"
The army surged forward in a wave of desperate, furious violence. Silver Drake’s surviving vanguard battered the dragon’s flanks. Red Dragon engulfed him in overlapping infernos. Goldcrest swept the joints. Celestial Peak orchestrated the chaos. Nathan fired relentlessly—Thwip-Thwip-Thwip—threading [Mana Arrows] through the melee to strike every microscopic gap in the ancient armor.
The Capacitor plummeted. Thirty percent. Twenty. Fifteen.
Vorlagrath, bleeding, grounded, and blinded, finally spoke. The booming roar was gone, replaced by a quiet, profound weariness.
"You are strong," the Last King murmured, his voice echoing in their chests. "Stronger than any who have trespassed here. Your Knight shattered the trauma. Your Assassin rejected the grief. You fight with a unity I have not witnessed since the golden age." He lifted his heavy head, his unblinded eye locking onto Nathan. "Perhaps... you are the executioners I have been waiting for."
He did not surrender. He was a king, and kings die on their feet.
Vorlagrath stopped thrashing. His movements lost their desperate fury and became terrifyingly precise. It was the calculated, lethal focus of a master warrior accepting his final duel.
His solar breath was no longer a wild storm; it was a surgical beam that forced the tanks to scramble. His claws struck with devastating economy of motion. He was no longer trying to annihilate them; he was testing them. He was demanding that they prove they were worthy of taking his life.
"An old king once asked the wind why it never tired," Vorlagrath’s voice drifted through Nathan’s mind as the battle raged. "The wind replied: I do not carry the weight of my own grief. I let it pass through me, and I move on." The dragon’s golden eye fixed entirely on the archer. "You carry too much grief, Summoner. You carry the crushing weight of your limitations. The terrifying burden of leadership. The quiet, gnawing fear that you will never be enough. Let it pass through you. Do not fight for a hollow victory. Fight for a purpose."
Nathan drew Moonlight.
The Capacitor hit ten percent. The Leyline Ring was screaming, burning his finger like a hot coal. His mana reserves were effectively empty. The F-Rank ceiling was actively crushing his lungs, a physical barrier trying to force him to his knees.
He nocked the arrow anyway.
"I don’t fight for victory," Nathan grunted, the bowstring biting into his fingers. "I fight for them."
He released. Thwip. The arrow struck Vorlagrath’s heavily armored chest, shattering harmlessly against the thick scales.
He drew again.
Thwip. Another deflection.
Thwip. A cracked scale.
Thwip. A deeper fracture.
Every single shot chipped away at the ancient armor, violently draining the absolute last dregs of his life force.
"Mirko! Now!"
Mirko launched herself into the air, her heavy blade raised high. Her tenth [Unstoppable Force] strike descended like a meteor onto the fractured scales. The accumulated kinetic energy of the entire brutal fight—every blocked solar flare, every deflected tail whip, every ounce of pressure she had absorbed—multiplied into one catastrophic impact.
KRAK-KRAK-KRAK.
The ancient armor violently shattered. The dragon’s massive, glowing heart was finally exposed.