Thud.

It was the sound of Christine collapsing to the ground.

The mages, positioned far from the frontlines in a relatively safe area, were preparing their spells. Christine was burdened with guilt for not being able to fight alongside the soldiers, a sense of responsibility for those dying under the monsters’ onslaught, and the mission to save them. It was driving her to the edge.

"Christine!"

The other mages rushed to her side. These were mages who had left the tower to join the army. They grabbed Christine’s arms and tried to help her up.

"I’m fine."

Christine rejected their assistance and propped herself up on her own. She raised her hand over the spell circle she had been working on. Her mana coursed through the magic circle, feeding her information about the incomplete structure. There wasn’t enough mana.

"If I push a bit harder, I can finish the third layer."

Her words were hopeful, but she knew time was running out. The longer she took to finish, the more soldiers would die on the frontlines. Christine bit her lip in frustration.

"Christine, if you collapse from exhaustion, the spell's completion will only be delayed further."

One of the mages, concerned, voiced their worries, but such concerns only stoked Christine’s determination. A white light began to gather at her fingertips.

"Christine!"

"...I’m almost there. If we don’t finish this now, it’s going to be a catastrophe..."

She pushed away the arm blocking her and muttered:

"...and disaster will follow."

Suddenly, she felt a hand on her shoulder, causing her to flinch.

"You're constructing quite the spell here. A fire-type, I see. Not too complex, but the destructive power should be high."

The voice was calm, completely unconcerned with the urgency of the battlefield. Christine shook off the hand and turned around.

"You’re still as sharp as ever."

There stood several mages clad in deep green robes—the formal uniform of the Mage Tower when on official business. Christine’s gaze darkened as she looked at the professors who were evaluating the magic circle.

"We’ve come to help, Christine. For now, forget the past and focus on defeating Behemoth. But..."

"You’ve finally arrived," Christine muttered bitterly.

The professor scrutinized her condition and then chuckled.

"Judging by your state, I doubt you’ll be much help with this spell. What were you thinking, trying to construct such a massive spell?"

Christine didn’t answer. The professor gestured, and one of the mages brought forth a small transparent vial filled with a bright blue liquid. He held it up for Christine to see.

"This is a potion that will help restore your mana. If you want to help, it would be wise to drink this."

Christine narrowed her eyes at the vial.

"And you expect me to trust something you’re offering me?"

"Trust it or don’t, that’s your choice. I’d just like to believe you’re still capable of making rational decisions."

The professor tossed the vial at Christine’s feet. She glared at him, but he merely shrugged. There wasn’t much choice. Christine picked up the vial. The professor, seeing this, clapped his hands and gathered the other mages.

"Now then, let’s finish this spell."

Christine sighed, watching as the spell rapidly neared completion. She stared at the vial for a moment before reluctantly unscrewing the cap. With a swift motion, she downed the potion. A burning sensation coursed through her, but her mana quickly began to replenish.

"So, they actually sent mages from the tower," one of the mages working with Christine remarked. The army's mages didn’t have the best relationship with the Mage Tower, and the sight of the professors only seemed to agitate him.

"Did they send mages like this fifteen years ago?"

The professor sighed heavily.

"Back then, no one realized the gravity of the situation. Who could have known? Everyone thought Behemoth was just a myth, a creature from ancient stories."

"And now, they finally send help?"

"Indeed."

The mage’s voice turned harsh as he spat out his next words.

"You selfish bastards..."

"We may be selfish, but we’re not so foolish as to ignore a threat to our own survival. The Tower Master acted swiftly."

The professor glanced at the mages completing the spell.

"So, can we put aside our differences for now and focus on Behemoth? We can settle the rest of our disputes after the war."

The mage had no response, unable to argue further. Instead, he turned his attention to the magic circle forming in the sky.

"The spell construction is impressive. I must say, I’m rather touched."

The circle glowed crimson, and the surrounding mana churned with hostility as if ready to unleash destruction at any moment.

"I’ve enlarged its scale."

A massive ball of fire, almost like a miniature sun, appeared, and it began to descend toward the battlefield, where the slaughter continued.

The fireball fell upon the monsters.

A punishment from the heavens.

Or perhaps, since it was delivered by humans, it was a punishment of mankind. The professor chuckled at the thought. The small fry monsters were mostly dealt with by now, thanks to the knights and magic. All eyes turned to the one target still standing amidst the flames—Behemoth.

The professor’s expression twisted into discomfort. Behemoth didn’t seem fazed by the knights attacking him.

"We’ll need a different spell."

Christine stepped forward, her face showing signs of recovery.

"...What are you doing?"

"I have an idea for a spell."

Christine gazed toward the distant platinum light.

"This time, I’ll need your cooperation."

As fire rained down, punishing the world, and the knights' horses charged with powerful cries, the monsters brought by Behemoth were trampled, crushed under the hooves of warhorses.

Behemoth staggered for the first time after being struck by the large-scale spell. The commander of the royal army, the vice-captain of the Royal Guard, held a massive lance at his side. Aura swirled around the charging lance. Knights capable of using aura formed ranks, slicing through the monsters as they pressed toward Behemoth.

"Target: Behemoth!"

The commander shouted with authority. The knights, as one, maintained their formation, becoming a spear aimed at Behemoth.

"For the kingdom!"

The knights crashed into Behemoth. A brilliant flash accompanied the impact, but no one expected the first strike to cause significant damage.

Behemoth groaned, annoyed. Teodora watched as the kingdom's greatest knights launched a concentrated assault on a single target.

With each strike, Behemoth growled, seemingly more irritated than harmed. The remaining monsters tried to retaliate, but they were immediately cut down. Swords and spears, radiating aura, relentlessly attacked Behemoth’s legs.

The pinnacle of swordsmanship cut deep into Behemoth's flesh. Aura clashed with aura, and Behemoth’s strength was slowly whittled down. The commander abandoned his horse and leaped onto Behemoth’s forelimb.

"Die!"

The lance plunged into Behemoth’s leg. Behemoth let out a roar. The knights hoped, desperately, that there was some pain in that cry.

Behemoth’s balance was failing. The knights, seeing their opportunity, increased the intensity of their assault. A cracking sound echoed, and finally, Behemoth collapsed forward, one foreleg crashing to the ground.

Soldiers from the reinforcements began approaching Behemoth. This was the beginning of their journey to bring down a god and end the kingdom’s eternal war.

Massive hooks were launched into the air, aimed at Behemoth’s hide. Of course, no hook could penetrate that tough skin, but it latched on, holding fast. Behemoth was too preoccupied with the knights' attacks to pay attention to the hooks.

"Pull it down!"

The enchanted ropes were anchored into the ground, and only then did Behemoth realize it had been hooked. It roared in fury, pulling against the ropes, but they held fast.

"Knights, draw out all the aura you can!"

The commander’s voice carried a tone of victory. His lance, wrapped in swirling aura, emitted a howling wind. The knights followed suit, intensifying their aura.

"We will end this war here!"

The knights raised their swords in response.

It looked like a scene from a whaling expedition. Dozens of men were stabbing at a massive creature, hoping to bleed it dry. But this wasn’t a whale—it was Behemoth.

"Pitiful."

Behemoth spoke. The knights attacking it froze in shock. Time seemed to stop, rendering them unable to move. Behemoth’s eyes were cold, indifferent to the struggle unfolding around it.

Behemoth shook its body violently. The enchanted ropes snapped as if they were nothing. With a sound like a mountain crumbling, everything around it—trees, rocks, monsters, and knights—was reduced to dust.

"How dare you."

Behemoth found the knights' aura pathetic compared to the platinum aura that had briefly threatened it. Even if these knights attacked for a month straight, they couldn’t bring it down.

Behemoth took a step forward.

The ground collapsed beneath its massive weight, crushing soldiers and monsters alike.

It took another step.

More soldiers died.

"Stop it!"

"Get more ropes!"

Soldiers screamed in panic, only to be crushed underfoot.

"Activate aura! Block it!"

The knights scrambled, but none could keep up with Behemoth’s movements. As it continued to advance, the trenches were obliterated. Myura was now just a few steps away.

Then, the platinum light appeared once again in front of Behemoth.

Teodora stood, gripping her sword.

More than ever, she was aware of the weight of the weapon in her hand. The platinum aura that enveloped the blade moved from the sword to the hilt, then up to her body. Her heart beat steadily, calmly.

There was no need for further preparation.

Teodora faced Behemoth once more.

This time, Behemoth acknowledged her presence, choosing not to press forward but to face her directly. Teodora swung her sword. Each strike landed on Behemoth, leaving a wound. Each attack grazed her in return, growing more dangerous with each passing moment. But Behemoth was bleeding now, injured from her strikes. Teodora felt the boundary between herself and her sword blur.

All she could do was swing, cut, and inflict wounds, aiming for its life.

At that moment, nothing else entered her mind.

Just a little more.

If she could reach just a little further—if she could deliver a stronger, more precise strike.

Teodora was convinced her sword could reach Behemoth’s throat.

She dashed up its foreleg, aiming her sword at its neck. As her line of sight met Behemoth’s, her blade lost its aura. The platinum light faded, and the sword shattered as it grazed Behemoth’s neck. A swipe from Behemoth's arm sent her crashing to the ground.

Her helmet shattered into fragments as she fell.

"Commander!"

"Teodora!"

The margrave, barely standing after Behemoth’s earlier attack, managed to catch her. Teodora, blood streaming from her head, struggled to stay conscious. The margrave quickly carried her to safety.

"It’s...not over..."

Even as the margrave supported her, Teodora refused to let go of her sword. She shook off his arm and raised her sword against Behemoth, who continued to advance. But no aura radiated from her blade.

Teodora’s aura, once akin to that of the ancient heroes, had been strong enough to pose a threat. But Behemoth had overcome it. Now, nothing could stop it.

Behemoth resumed its march, its wounds deep but healing. The knights, rising from the wreckage, couldn’t stop it. And from the sky, another magic circle began to form. It was the final act of defiance.

That magic spell.

It was the only thing left that could hinder Behemoth.

However, like the knights' aura, it would only halt Behemoth’s advance, not defeat it.

But Behemoth was in for a surprise. This spell took a different shape than expected. Teodora, watching from the ground, widened her eyes.

"Chains..."

Massive chains of light shot out from the magic circle. Behemoth let out a furious roar, but the chains did not break. They wrapped around Behemoth, binding its forelimbs, shoulders, and back, holding it down.

Behemoth thrashed, but the more it struggled, the tighter the chains grew.

Teodora knew instinctively that she had to move forward. But her sword no longer radiated aura. Her legs gave out, and she sank to her knees. If she could just land one more perfect strike, she knew she could sever Behemoth’s head.

The chains began to dim.

Even the most powerful spell couldn’t hold Behemoth for long.

This was the only chance—the only chance to kill the monster.

The chains cracked. Behemoth’s struggles grew more intense. When the chains broke, Behemoth would surely march on Myura.

A sword struck the ground.

Teodora felt a faint breeze as she collapsed forward.

She expected to hit the hard ground, but the impact never came.

"Teo."

Was this a dream?

Teodora wondered. Perhaps it was a final vision of the person she most wanted to see. Beneath that voice, those strong arms supporting her, Teodora felt utterly fragile.

"Maxim..."

She faintly whispered the name.

Maxim was holding her. His golden eyes met hers. Teodora lifted her hand.

Maxim took it in his own. She gripped his hand tightly. Maxim gently cradled her in his arms. Soldiers and knights, stunned by his sudden appearance, watched in silence as he carried Teodora.

Someone approached Maxim slowly.

"You really are..."

Paola looked at Maxim with a twisted expression, but upon seeing the look Maxim gave her, she fell silent.

"Take care of Teodora."

Maxim asked Paola to ensure Teodora was taken to safety. Then he drew his sword—an ordinary iron sword he had always carried.

Teodora, through her blurred vision, watched Maxim walk away.

"Maxim...?"

Realizing it wasn’t a dream, she reached out, calling his name.

"Maxim!!"

Maxim glanced back. Teodora, half-rising, struggled against the soldiers trying to take her away.

"Maxim!! Why did you come...? Why...?!"

"Commander, please, calm down..."

Teodora fought against the soldiers' restraint, but her strength was spent from the battle with Behemoth. She couldn’t break free.

"Maxim!! Don’t!!"

Her voice grew louder, nearing a scream. Maxim paused for a moment, clearly hearing her cries. He gazed at her, expression unreadable.

"Don’t go...Maxim... Please... don’t go..."

Teodora broke free from the soldiers’ grip and ran toward him, her face streaked with tears. She tried to reach for him, but Maxim held up his hand, stopping her.

"Why... Maxim..."

Without a word of apology or farewell, Maxim gently patted her head. Then, with a smile—a boyish smile, like the one he had always shown her in their younger days—he turned and walked away.

Teodora, stunned, could only watch his back as he walked toward Behemoth.

Maxim moved forward, step by step, toward the monstrous creature still bound by the chains of light.

"This is getting old."

Maxim lowered his sword as he spoke. There was no one to hear him, but at times like this, a man needed to leave something behind.

"You wouldn’t understand."

Behemoth remained silent. Maxim focused his mind, gathering his mana. His heart pounded, and his scars throbbed with pain as though being stabbed. But his concentration did not waver. He only needed to think about one thing right now.

"I need to vent a little."

Golden light, faint and steady, began to wrap around Maxim’s sword from the hilt, slowly climbing toward the blade. It wasn’t a brilliant light, but it was pure and unwavering. It wasn’t as bright as the gold of a sunset, nor as radiant as newly mined gold.

But Behemoth understood.

That light.

That light was what it had feared most, the glow that once surrounded the swords of ancient heroes.

"You...filth..."

Behemoth growled, struggling violently. The chains shook as though they might snap, but they held long enough for Maxim to close the distance.

The wounds left by Teodora, the knights, and the mages had accumulated on Behemoth’s body. Maxim’s eyes fixed on the smallest cut on Behemoth’s neck—the one left by Teodora. It was the guide for his final strike.

He raised his sword.

The chains gave one last pull, dragging Behemoth’s head down toward the ground.

Maxim’s body was failing. His mana, gathered by sacrificing his life force, was nearly gone. The curse devoured him rapidly.

Black blood trickled from Maxim’s mouth. Blood also seeped from his eyes.

His memories.

With each passing second, more memories slipped away.

The Black Crow Knights, the capital, the Bening and Borden families, his own family, Apart, the academy.

Like mud washing away in the rain, Maxim’s memories dissolved.

But.

"Teo..."

Maxim clung to that one name, refusing to let it go.

Even if he lost everything else, even if he died here, there was something he had to remember.

"Teodora Bening."

Maxim spoke her name aloud, and though he no longer knew why, he smiled in satisfaction.

The sword, which had consumed all of Maxim’s being, was finally complete.

With faltering steps, Maxim approached Behemoth.

As Behemoth opened its mouth for a final roar, Maxim’s sword traced a perfect arc and sliced through Behemoth’s neck.

The neck of the once invincible Behemoth flew through the air.

Golden light painted the sky.