Snow fell thicker by the minute, blanketing everything in a white shroud that blurred the edges of the forest. The trees bent beneath the weight of ice, creaking softly as if whispering to one another. From far away came the muffled echoes of battle, distant explosions, screams, the clash of steel, a cruel reminder that time was running out.
The group gathered near half-buried ruins, the cold biting through armor and flesh alike, fatigue heavy in every stare. They all knew what waited for them. The Midnight Lord was still out there, and if they didn’t face him now, there wouldn’t be another chance.
Luke drew in a sharp breath, the icy air burning his lungs. Somewhere in the forest, the Warden Generals thundered after the retreating maids, their roars cutting through the wind. Chaos ruled the battlefield, the kind that devoured reason and mercy alike. One mistake, one death, and the plan would fall apart. These were the strongest survivors of the tutorial; if one went down, the rest would follow.
“This is your plan?” Erza asked, her voice steady but edged with disbelief.
“Yes.” Luke didn’t hesitate. “And before you say it, I know. There’s no honor in it. It’s cheating.”
“It’s downright dirty,” she replied, lifting her gaze to meet his. “But better dirty than dead.”
Her hand brushed the bracelet on her wrist. A metallic click echoed as it activated, and a black scythe materialized from thin air. Its handle was carved from the darkwood of the capital’s forests, and the blade, an opaque, cold alloy, caught the faint reflection of the snow.
“Looks like I’ll have to give everything I’ve got just to try killing that bastard,” she muttered, testing the weapon’s balance.
The wind swept through the ruins, carrying the smell of smoke and fresh blood. None of them spoke. They all understood what that silence meant: it was time.
Anne adjusted her grip on her weapon—a massive blade shaped like half of a giant pair of shears, its blue sheen glinting against the snowlight. In her other hand, she held a slender wand, its tip pulsing faintly with magic. Without a word, she broke into a sprint toward the distant roar. Charlie followed close behind, her tattered cloak snapping in the wind like a torn banner.
Across the clearing, Evangeline, Mason, and Jack caught the tail end of the exchange. A single look was enough to tell them everything.
“You stay on support,” Mason told Luke, not waiting for agreement.
The group scattered through the forest. Shadows twisted between the trees, and the snow crunched under their boots. The air was so cold it felt like every breath might splinter.
Allison led the charge along the main trail. Undead burst from the frozen ground, only to be cut down by her precise strikes. Each fallen corpse rose again, not as an enemy, but as a monument. Her Ice Sculptor skill turned the dead into grotesque statues, frozen towers humming with blue energy. Near them, her power grew stronger, a domain born from carnage.
Luke sprinted beside her, pulling arrows from his quiver and loosing them in rhythmic precision. The sharp thuds of impact echoed against the giant form emerging from the mist, the Wyvern, the Midnight Lord, its eyes burning like coals. Charlie and Mason flanked from opposite sides.
The Wyvern’s chest flared with fiery light as it opened its jaws, unleashing a torrent of flame that tore through the air. Allison countered with a freezing breath, and when the two elements collided, the impact made the air tremble.
The ground split beneath them, and a wall of steam rose into the storm. Erza burst through the fog, spinning her scythe in a wide arc. Dark threads whipped out from the blade, wrapping around the wyvern’s left leg. Charlie’s spectral chain caught the right. The two of them pulled hard, straining to unbalance the beast—and for a brief, glorious moment, it worked.
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