[Location - In The Sky, Aboard Libinea's Phoenix Form]
Nearly thirty minutes had passed since Raiking and the Guild set off for the Skyward Region, aiming for the sacred temple situated deep within the ancestral lands of the Phoenix Kin.
Before they departed the festival, Raiking had instructed the Storm Dragon to return to the Guild's estate. This command, however, proved more challenging than anticipated, given the towering beast's struggle to detach himself from his three new, toddler-sized Phoenix companions. Eventually, after an intense and strategic effort to distract the young ones with a shiny new toy, the Peak Divine-stage creature succeeded in freeing himself. With a grateful, thunderous exhale, he launched toward the Dawnfall Region to resume his watch over Greenhollow.
As for Libinea, after offering a final farewell to Elder Wenya and the jubilant crowds below, she ascended into the skies.
Now, they soared above an endless, shimmering ocean that extended as far as the eye could see.
"So, this is the Skyward Region..." Ezmelral murmured.
The high-altitude wind swept through her silver hair as she leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the horizon. Directly ahead, suspended over the open sea and just below the cloud cover, was a massive, gravity-defying floating island.
"The home of the Dragon King..."
Libinea whispered, her telepathic voice carrying a subtle tremor of unease. The painful legacy of her people's past had not been entirely erased—not until she felt the calming, steady presence of Raiking's hand gently stroking her fiery feathers.
"Do not worry. I am here," Raiking assured, his voice a calm beacon amidst the tumultuous winds. "Anyone who stands in our way will meet the same fate as the Silent Blade Clan."
His cold, unwavering vow provided profound reassurance. It had been a millennium since any descendant of the Phoenix Kin had dared to set foot on their ancestral homeland after their brutal exile. To finally return and reclaim the skies that were rightfully theirs was a moment she had yearned for her entire life.
With a resolute nod, she beat her massive wings, accelerating further. She soared toward the majestic, floating sanctuary that had once welcomed, then mercilessly banished, her people.
---
[Location - Azure Mountain Patrol Rendezvous Area]
Underneath the luminous dominion of the Phoenix Queen, Morgal methodically began her malevolent takeover of the terrain below, launching the initial bloody phase of her assassination scheme.
Unaware of the underlying threat, the patrollers regrouped at the appointed location to exchange any findings.
"Melivek" was the last to arrive at the rendezvous, emerging from the shadowy treeline with a makeshift oak stretcher. Upon its rugged branches lay a young girl, pale and fragile in appearance.
"Help!" the patrolman exclaimed, his voice colored with a counterfeit sense of urgency.
The squad immediately abandoned their posts, gathering around the stretcher. Their faces were etched with concern as they looked upon the unconscious child.
"Who is she?" the Captain questioned.
"I don't know," "Melivek" replied, wiping fake sweat from his brow. "I found her unconscious by a bush at the eastern border. Look at her clothes—they're human robes."
A heated discussion quickly ensued among the squad about the appropriate action to take regarding a human child found near the borders during a sacred festival. Drawing on her vast experience as a field medic, the Captain promptly took charge.
"We will take her into the outpost tent for now," she directed. "The rest of you, maintain a perimeter outside."
Once the stretcher was secured inside, the squad dispersed to their positions. The Captain remained with the girl, her stern gaze softening as she leaned in to evaluate the child's condition.
Unexpectedly, the young girl opened her eyes.
The Captain gently stepped back to avoid alarming her. "Are you alright, little one?"
Morgal nodded slowly, feigning innocence.
"Where are your parents?" the Captain asked softly.
Morgal shook her head, her voice small and feeble. "I do not know."
The Captain regarded her momentarily, sympathy piercing her disciplined demeanor. She offered a warm, reassuring smile. "You are safe now. Just rest. I will get you some water."
Turning away, the Captain walked to a wooden table to fill a wide clay bowl from the pitcher.
"Do you think your mommy will be sad if I kill you?"
The Captain froze. "Pardon—"
SCHLICK.
The Captain's head was severed cleanly from her body, crashing to the ground with a heavy, metallic thud, her helmet clattering against the dirt floor.
Outside, Beninar heard the sharp clang of armor. "Captain?" he called, immediately pushing through the tent flaps.
He halted abruptly, eyes widening in sheer horror as he gazed at his Captain's decapitated head, her lifeless eyes staring back at him.
His seasoned instincts kicked in, his hand reaching for the hilt of his blade—but he never drew it. A sudden, excruciating pain shot through his abdomen. Beninar looked down slowly. A hand, slick with his own blood, protruded from his stomach.
He weakly turned his head over his shoulder, coughing up blood, only to see "Melivek" standing behind him with an expressionless face.
Outside the tent, Illinos had just turned around. He saw "Melivek" positioned in a striking stance just beyond the tent flaps. Moments later, "Melivek" slowly withdrew his arm from the shadows, revealing a hand dripping with fresh blood.
"Melivek... what's happening?" Illinos asked, his voice trembling as he drew his sword and cautiously stepped forward.
Before he could advance any further, a violent gust of purple void mist erupted from the tent, enveloping him entirely. When the thick smoke dispersed a moment later, Illinos found himself suspended two feet off the ground, thrashing wildly. Morgal floated effortlessly before him, her small, pale hand clamped around his throat, lifting the grown warrior into the air as if he weighed nothing.
"Illinos!" Anastasia screamed.
Acting on pure, desperate instinct, the rookie conjured a blazing crimson fireball in her palm and hurled it high into the night sky to alert the tribe.
Yet the light never breached the canopy.
From the dense branches above, a jagged, crystalline Void Guardian plummeted downward, snatching the fireball from the air. It landed heavily in front of Anastasia, crushing the flames in its fist. Anastasia gritted her teeth, drawing her longsword to fight—but she never had the chance.
The Void Guardian exploded violently. It shattered into countless razor-sharp crystalline shards that tore through the air, piercing Anastasia's armor and flesh one by one.
"ANASTASIA!" Illinos roared, his eyes bloodshot as he watched the witty, vibrant rookie collapse into a bloody heap on the forest floor.
Morgal's grip tightened around his throat, forcing him to look back at her. Her dark purple eyes gleamed with sadistic delight.
"Focus on me," Morgal whispered, her voice echoing directly into his mind. "We have one last game to play. It's called Catch the Piggy."
She abruptly released her grip. Illinos crashed into the dirt, gasping for air.
"Run," she commanded.
Illinos didn't hesitate. Driven by pure adrenaline and overwhelming grief, he scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the pitch-black forest. As he ran, he desperately conjured another fireball, hurling it toward the sky.
CRASH. Another crystalline beast leaped from the shadows, intercepting it mid-air.
An eerie, melodic giggle echoed through the trees from every direction. Illinos threw another fireball. Intercepted. Another. Crushed by the void.
"Run, little piggy," Morgal's taunting voice echoed ominously through the darkness, dripping with sheer, venomous arrogance. "Did a creature like you truly dare to savor the taste of swan meat?"
Illinos was oblivious to the fact that Morgal had glimpsed through the connection of the Void's Will, nor was he aware that she knew precisely whom he had so audaciously tried to court. He was completely ignorant of the reality that he had been flirting with a woman who was connected to the apocalyptic force that had just obliterated Morgal's entire clan from existence.
In Morgal's twisted, parasitic mind, the thorough and brutal torment of Illinos was merely an excellent way to earn favor and secure her rightful place beside Raiking.
She was indifferent to which master she ultimately served. Be they Kings, Demon Lords, or Gods of Death, it made no difference to her, as long as they permitted her to hunt and satisfy the insatiable hunger of her Void Constructs.
At this moment, the terrified young noble was doing exactly what she desired.
He believed he was fleeing for his life, but in truth, he was acting as her guide. Like a panic-stricken deer, Illinos was unwittingly leading the predator straight to the sanctuary—a house teeming with four Peak Divine Stage Chieftains, their immense, arrogant souls ready to satisfy her voracious appetite.