Martheuw's gaze burned brighter, his form pulsing faintly with golden light.

"Xerxez," he said, his voice echoing through the vast void, solemn and resolute. "If I am ever freed from this Dungeon of Entities, will you accept me as your guardian — to stand beside me, to wield my power — and together, defeat Draco, Triangulum, and every wicked force that threatens creation?"

Xerxez stared at him in silence for a moment. His hand trembled slightly over the pedestal, but his eyes were steady.

"You still haven't told me who you really are," he said, his tone caught between doubt and faith. "I don't know if you're Orion… or another of the ancient ones. But if your goal is truly to protect humanity from the darkness — if your will aligns with Genesis's light — then you should find a way to free yourself from that dungeon."

As he spoke, Xerxez lifted the weapon he had chosen — a relic etched with faint celestial runes — and placed it gently upon the glowing cylindrical pedestal.

A pulse of light surged upward, rippling through the void like waves of living fire. The weapon resonated with his heartbeat, accepting his will.

Martheuw's expression softened. A faint smile — proud, yet tinged with sorrow — crossed his face.

"I will," he said, his voice lowering to a promise. "Do not doubt that, young prince. I will find the path to freedom… and when that time comes, I will aid you — not only to face the cosmic evils, but to reclaim your homeland from the Ursa nation."

" Ok...but...this time ... I must hurry back to the summoning field, maybe our faction was now in... I don't want anyone think I backout because of my incapable to summon my weapon, hehe. "

" Ok...enjoy your summoning day..."

Then, Xerxez was disappeared in the preserver void like a shattered reality.

"I am the Constellar king ... I must escape from Triangulum's spell."

****

The eternal decay devoured every particle, every whisper of existence. Martheuw Cereun stood within the vast rot of the void — a realm that breathed corruption. The air moved like liquid shadow, thick with the stench of death and the slow groaning of lost souls. Beasts' carcasses drifted through the gloom, their bones dissolving into drifting ash.

"This dungeon…" Martheuw muttered, his voice echoing like a ripple through still water. "It is an eternity of decay. There is no life, no purity here. Everything is consumed — dissolved into rot, as if the universe itself has forgotten beauty."

Then, from the endless dark, a voice slithered through the silence — cold, vast, and ancient.

"Do you truly believe you can escape my spell?" it said.

The sound was like rusted metal scraping against the stars.

"You are mine, Martheuw Cereun. You belong to the decay — to the voiceless, the broken, the forsaken. Your name will fade like dust. No soul will remember you."

Martheuw lifted his head, his eyes burning like dim embers in the void.

"Even if I am forgotten," he said softly, "the light within me will not fade. I have seen the dawn once before — and even the abyss cannot erase that memory."

A cruel laugh echoed from nowhere and everywhere, rolling like thunder across the rotting expanse.

"The light within you?" the voice mocked. "Your power here will wither into nothing. This place devours stars, Martheuw — even the eternal bows to decay."

The shadows rippled as the voice grew colder, dripping with venom and mockery.

"How pitiful. The great Constellar King reduced to a caged relic. You, once the radiant heir of the stars, now rot within my spell. Draco was far more deserving of that title… or perhaps even I."

A hiss followed — bitter, almost amused.

"But I no longer care for titles or thrones. I care only to watch you suffer — to see the once-mighty drown in the silence of eternity. Here, there is no time, no redemption. Only decay."

The void pulsed faintly — a heartbeat of corruption. Martheuw felt the echoes of his own essence trembling, fading against the weight of infinite rot.

Then, after a pause, the voice whispered one last time — quiet, almost tender, and yet colder than death.

"Don't worry… soon, you will no longer be alone here."

And with that, the voice vanished — swallowed by the groaning dark. The dungeon fell silent again, except for the faint hum of decay consuming all things.

Back in the mortal world — the Summoning Field

The morning sun blazed over the training grounds, casting long shadows across the circle where glowing runes pulsed faintly beneath the soil. One by one, factions stepped forward to present their creations — shimmering spears, blazing swords, and radiant bows born of spirit and will.

Xerxez stood among the crowd, his heart pounding. The announcer's voice echoed through the field.

"Next — the Fire Faction!"

A roar of energy burst from the ground as flames danced around five trainees summoning their weapons in a brilliant display of scarlet light.

The crowd cheered.

Xerxez swallowed hard. His hands trembled. "Where have you been, Xerxez?" Evenneor's voice snapped him back to the present.

He turned, then he saw Evenneor arms were faintly twisted with emberlight, the marks of his own awakening.

"I was just… practicing for a while," Xerxez said quickly, trying to steady his breath. "Making sure my summoning doesn't fail."

"Really?" Evenneor smirked. "Then good luck. Zenny's eyes are already on the Fire Faction — don't go summoning some lame weapon."

Xerxez forced a grin, though his throat felt dry. "Trust me," he said, lifting his chin. "I won't let you down. I'll summon something rare. Just watch me on that stage."

Evenneor chuckled. "Ha! You? Remember last time? Your archer looked like a toy. Now you talk as if you could summon a legendary relic?"

Xerxez didn't answer. His gaze drifted toward the Wood Faction, where Zenny stood — calm, composed, her focus sharp as a blade. He clenched his fists and whispered under his breath, steadying his racing heart.

When his name was finally called, he stepped up onto the platform. The air thickened with murmurs and expectation.

He lifted both hands, stretching them toward the glowing circle carved into the stone floor. A faint hum rose from beneath his feet.

"Come on…" he muttered softly. "I summon you… appear."

His voice trembled. Inside, he called out again, more desperately —

Why is it taking so long? Did the talking dagger forget my request?

The silence that followed was unbearable.

The audience watched, waiting — breaths held, eyes fixed.

A few laughed quietly among themselves.

"What a loser…" one whispered.

"He probably can't summon anything."

"If he does, it'll look like that toy weapon again," another snickered.

From the side, Zenny's eyes gleamed with sharp judgment, her arms crossed.

But then — a voice rose from the water faction's crowd.

"Matheros," Xerxez realized.

"You can do it!" his friend shouted. "You're just nervous — overcome it, Xerxez! Go, go!"

Xerxez looked at him. For a heartbeat, doubt nearly crushed him — but Matheros's words sparked something within.

He closed his eyes tightly.

Talking dagger… where are you?

Mr. Martheuw… please. Help me now. Give me the weapon.

The air began to ripple — like heat waves bending light. A low vibration pulsed from Xerxez's palm, spreading outward in concentric circles. Then, with a blinding surge of silver light, a weapon emerged — massive, gleaming, and unlike anything seen before.

A cannon — crafted of pure argent steel and etched with runic veins — hovered in front of him. Its design was intricate, almost alien, its core pulsing faintly with energy.

Gasps filled the field.

"A fantastic weapon!" the announcer exclaimed, his voice trembling with awe.

"This… this cannon — I've never seen its kind before!"

He turned toward Xerxez, eyes wide.

"Now, present your weapon to us! Demonstrate how it works!"

Xerxez froze.

"W–wait, I have to use it?"

"Of course," the announcer replied. "Every summoned weapon must prove its worth."

"O–okay…" he stammered, gripping the strange weapon's handle.

Oh no… what do I do now? he thought, sweat gathering on his brow. I don't even know how this thing works.

He stared at the weapon, taking a shaky breath.

Maybe… maybe it's like a gun. I just need to pull the trigger… right?

The moment Xerxez's finger brushed the trigger, the cannon hummed — deep and resonant, like a sleeping beast stirring beneath the earth. A faint shockwave rippled outward. Dust trembled.

"Wait—!"

A voice boomed across the field.

"Enough!!"

One of the elders stood, his cane striking the platform with a thunderous clang. His eyes were wide with alarm.

"Do not use it! I know that weapon — that is no ordinary forgecraft!"

The crowd fell into uneasy silence.

The elder's voice lowered, trembling with the weight of memory.

"That weapon was from the old era… the Age of Abyss. Humanity once invented it to deliver annihilation. A single shot could shatter a field — and everything within it."

Murmurs swept through the trainees like wind through dry leaves.

The announcer hesitated, glancing between Xerxez and the elder.

"But, Elder Faidenthor… the young prince only just summoned it. Surely, it can't be that weapon. We are simply evaluating potential, not invoking legends."

"Tell me, young prince," another elder demanded, stepping forward. "Did you copy it? Or was this self-made?"

Xerxez's hands trembled as he steadied the cannon, its runes glowing faintly like molten veins.

He swallowed hard. "The one who first created this weapon… it was one of our ancestors — the engineer Willion Cavon. His energy forge produced a weapon capable of destroying abyssal beasts in one strike."

He looked down, uncertain whether to meet their eyes.

"The weapon was called the Cannon Gun… a relic of pure devastation."

Gasps rippled through the panel of elders.

One of them whispered, half in awe, half in dread,

"Willion Cavon… the true genius of the Abyssal War."

"But how," another questioned sharply, "could a young prince of Thallerion summon an exact replica? That weapon has been lost for millennia — wiped from our archives!"

"Did you study the old scripts?"

"Have you seen one before?"

"Did someone teach you the design?"

Questions flooded toward him like arrows.

"N–no…" Xerxez stammered, his voice cracking. "I… I didn't copy anything. I just— I just wished for a weapon strong enough to protect my people…"

He faltered, dizzy under the barrage of voices and eyes. His vision blurred slightly — the pressure immense.

One elder leaned back, stroking his beard with trembling fingers.

"This is… unprecedented. Even we could not summon such a relic. And yet, the boy calls it forth as if it were bound to him."

Another snorted with uneasy laughter.

"Oh, I'm too jealous," he muttered. "How can someone so young summon what entire generations could not?"

Whispers and awe began to swirl again — admiration and fear tangled together.

Finally, the announcer stepped forward, voice edged with both curiosity and caution.

"Young prince… answer us truthfully." He peered deeply into Xerxez's eyes.

"How do you know of this weapon? Who taught you its name?"

The cannon in Xerxez's hands gave a faint metallic pulse — as if breathing. Then it disappeared.

Inside his mind, a whisper coiled like smoke:

"Careful, kid… tell them nothing." the talking dagger hissed on his mind.

"Well...maybe it was just a coincidence...i didn't meant to be like what willion Cavon did."

"If that so...you can be an engineer of weapon...you are a true genius... "

"

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