All across the battlefield, the clash of steel and roar of beasts suddenly dulled as something heavier filled the air. A wave of pressure rolled out, making soldiers stagger where they stood.

From near the Legate's position, a sharp cry cut through the storm of war.

Diago, who was locked in combat with Kaizen, turned his head at once. His blade lowered slightly, with his eyes brightening. "Silas… you finally broke through." For the first time in the chaos, his lips curved into a genuine smile.

Across the lines, Lucian's soldiers felt it too. The aura was familiar, sharp and unshakable. Their weary voices rose in cheer.

"Lord Silas has advanced!"

"We can still win this!"

The surge of morale spread like fire on dry grass, soldiers rallying, their spirits reignited in the middle of blood and dust.

At the center of devastation, where the earth had been charred and broken apart, Lucian stood battered. His armor was cracked, his skin scorched, his breath ragged. He had been holding the Legate back alone, every swing of his weapon tearing at his body. Yet, even covered in wounds, he smiled faintly as his eyes lifted. He could feel it, his comrade had truly advanced.

But the Legate only tilted his head, his cold eyes flashing with disdain. His voice rumbled out, low but carrying across the entire field.

"Is this it? Is this the one you've been relying on to beat me?"

Lucian's brow furrowed. "…What?"

The Legate's voice rose like thunder, booming with raw contempt.

"IS THAT ALL!?"

The cry shook the ground. Soldiers froze mid-swing, some dropping their weapons from the sheer weight of the sound.

"I've been patiently playing with you," the Legate snarled, his tone breaking into madness, "and this is all you've got to show me?"

His laughter twisted into a roar, echoing across the battlefield until it felt like the world itself shook with his voice.

"THEN DIE IF THIS IS ALL YOU GOT!"

The Legate's aura erupted like a volcano, surging out in a violent storm. Flames of energy and killing intent rolled in every direction, crushing the air, making the weak stumble to their knees.

The battlefield, for a moment, fell into silence again, not from peace, but from the suffocating might of a single man.

Lucian and Silas felt it first. The weight pressing down on them wasn't a skill, not some trick of magic like General Lafuente's gravity. This was pure, unshackled aura. It was heavier, crueler, like the sky itself had decided to crush them.

Both men staggered. Blood ran from the corners of their mouths as their bodies trembled under the pressure.

Lucian tightened his grip on his sword, forcing his legs to move. His voice cut through the choking air.

"Silas… let's stop him."

Silas wiped the blood from his lips with the back of his hand, his twin daggers flashing as he lifted them. His jaw clenched, but his eyes burned with fire. "Right. No matter what, it ends here."

Together, they charged.

Lucian swung first, his sword glowing faintly as he poured everything into the strike. Silas darted in alongside him, his daggers crossing in a blur of silver. For a heartbeat, their blades screamed through the air with enough force to tear the earth apart.

But the Legate barely moved. His arm swept out lazily, and Lucian's sword was flung wide. The shock sent Lucian skidding back, dirt exploding under his boots as his body nearly gave in.

Silas darted in low, striking for the throat, the heart, the ribs, fast and precise killing blows. Yet the Legate's aura surged and his hand came down like a hammer. Silas was struck across the chest, his body lifted clean off the ground before he crashed into the dirt with a violent thud.

Lucian's knees buckled, but he dug his sword into the dirt and used it as a crutch to pull himself upright. He thought of the men behind him, of the people that would fall if he did. His grip tightened, he couldn't yield, not here.

He roared, rushing again, his sword cleaving arcs that split the air. Silas blurred back into the fray, his daggers slashing in tandem with Lucian's strikes. But each time, the Legate swatted them aside. His blows carried no wasted effort, no hesitation, just raw power.

Lucian's blade, once gleaming, was chipped and jagged, each clash throwing sparks as steel screamed against the Legate's spear. His arms shook from the shockwaves, but he refused to lower it.

Silas spat blood, laughing hoarsely as he pushed himself up. "Tch… he hits like a mountain, huh?"

Lucian staggered beside him, his arms shaking, sword still raised. His breath came ragged, but his eyes stayed locked on the Legate. "Then… we'll break the mountain."

Side by side, they charged once more, their battered forms still burning with resolve.

….

From a distance, Lumberling's eyes narrowed as he fought against Serik and Garron. Even while parrying their heavy blows, he stole glances toward the clash at the center of the battlefield.

'Why are they… losing?' he thought, his frown deepening. 'No… maybe I'm just overthinking. Maybe this is just the part where they take a beating before turning things around… maybe just a little longer, and they'll get stronger.'

But Lumberling had underestimated what it meant to face a Legate.

Minutes dragged on like hours. The sound of weapons crashing thundered through the field. Lumberling's own fight pressed him hard, yet when his eyes flicked back toward Lucian, the sight made his gut twist.

Lucian's golden hair was glowing faintly, blazing like a torch, but it flickered weakly, like a candle fighting its last breath before going out. His sword swings were heavy but slowed, every strike carving at the cost of his body.

Silas was worse. His twin daggers were fast, his movements desperate, but he was thrown aside again and again, slammed into the ground like a rag doll. He still stood, blood dripping down his face, but his body trembled each time he rose.

Lumberling's thoughts turned sharp. 'What in the world…? Isn't this where the protagonist pulls through? Isn't this the part where they defy the odds and beat the undefeatable? Then why… why are they being crushed like this?'

Reality answered for him.

The Legate's spear flashed, sharp and merciless. In a single thrust, it tore through the air straight toward Silas's chest. Time seemed to freeze, the strike would have ended him there.

But at the last moment, Lucian roared and threw himself forward. His golden hair flared as his sword met the spear, sparks bursting in every direction. The clash rang like thunder, but Lucian bore the weight alone, his body shuddering under the force.

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