Azzy lifted his hand, showing the glowing Music Box of Semele, its divine curse radiating waves of golden and black light across the hall.

"I came only to retrieve this — to ensure the world remains safe."

The Werewolf Lord's growl faltered as Azzy continued.

"This," Azzy said, turning the box slightly so the engraved Olympian symbols glinted under the fading lightning, "is not the treasure of mortals. It is a relic of the gods. It does not belong in your hands — or in this world."

His eyes, cold and absolute, met the Werewolf Lord's as he said words of finality. "As such, I have the full right to take it with me, and Gaia wouldn't punish me for that."

The beast fell silent.

Behind them, the surviving Arcana Masters — Cyro, Iphi, Celia, Myra, and others — stood at the far edge of the room, their expressions a mix of disbelief and awe as they had encountered a demigod for the first time. They only learnt about demigods in the books. Seeing one is just something they could do in dreams.

Azzy turned slightly, his gaze falling on them. He then asked calmly. "Do you wish to continue this battle or leave?"

The group exchanged glances. No one spoke, not understanding whether he was asking them or testing their personality.

Azzy waited patiently, though his gaze seemed to pierce through them one by one. When silence remained, he sighed softly as none gave the answer.

"Who is your leader?" he asked.

Before anyone could answer, his eyes had already turned toward the one whose aura stood out above the rest.

"You," he said, locking eyes with Cyro, the only Rank-9 among them. "Are you the leader?"

Cyro straightened immediately. He bowed low like a soldier's reflex. "Greetings, Your Grace," he said, voice steady but strained.

Azzy's mouth twitched, not quite a smile. "What's your name?" he asked, almost casually.

"David," Cyro replied without hesitation. "David. Your Grace."

Azzy looked at him for a long beat, eyes unreadable. Then he raised a single finger and pointed it at the gathered group, the cave, the trembling Werewolf Lord pinned by a crackling energy arm mere meters away. "Mr. David," he said slowly, "you have ten seconds to answer me one question. Do you want to continue this battle, or do you wish to leave with me right now? Either way, I am not going to kill the Werewolf. Decide your fate."

The beast snarled, a sound like rock grinding. Its golden muzzle bared rows of kill-keen teeth. "Who are you to decide our fate?" it spat, voice slashed with rage. "I will break you all and become Fenrir. I will take the gods' relic and—"

An energy hand snapped out from Azzy's palm in the next second. It hit the Werewolf Lord mid-roar, closed around his throat, and slammed him back into the cavern wall. Stone cracked in a spiderweb from the impact. The beast's flanks heaved; blood misted from its nostrils. It thudded there, pinned like a trapped titan.

The room froze for a heartbeat. Then all heads turned to Azzy.

He glanced at the Werewolf, "Shut up," he said. Two words, cold as a blade. "Know your place and be quiet. We are talking."

David's fingers curled on the hilt at his hip. He swallowed, feeling the pressure. He heard the panic in his own breath, the tremor in the muscles of his men.

The ten seconds slid by like knives. Then, Azzy turned to him. "Make your choice."

David's jaw worked. He looked at his scattered team, at the carved altar where men and wolves had bled, then back to the beast. The rest of the Arcana Masters watched like students waiting for a teacher's cue.

"We have to kill him," David said before the word could choke in his throat. "The dungeon will soon break and his army will cause chaos in the society." The words trembled, but the conviction didn't.

Azzy cocked his head. "From fear and stress, you probably can't feel it properly." He stepped closer, voice patient as a sharpened blade. "There are no werewolves left to feed him. They're dead. So, take this information into your head and make your choice again. Also, I won't stabilize the dungeon."

David's shoulders sagged slightly. He looked at his teammates — men and women who'd followed him when the map was only rumor and blood. Their faces were raw with exhaustion and shock, but their eyes waited on him. He straightened after thinking about this thoroughly.

"Your Grace… I ask one thing," he said, voice steady now. "Let me fight him alone. Keep the others safe and send them out if I fall."

The cave breathed. The commanders who'd been ready to move called out, "Cap—" but David cut them off with one look. "Watch," he told them. "Record this battle in your heads. Learn his weakness if I fall. Then report to the higher-ups and form a plan to avenge my death, later on."

"Cap…"

All eyes turned at the sudden shout.

A young girl with twin pigtails stepped forward from the group. Despite the exhaustion and grime on her face, there was a spark of defiance burning in her amber eyes.

"Let me join you," Iphi said, her tone steady. "I may be Rank-7, but I have more than one life to spare due to my Phoenix."

Before Cyro gets to react, Azzy reacts first. His head turned slightly, his sharp eyes fixing on the girl as if her voice alone had pulled a buried memory to the surface. For a brief moment, his expression shifted — a furrowed brow, then faint surprise.

"Iphi Magnolis?" he said at last.

"Eh?" The girl blinked rapidly. "You… know me, Your Grace?"

Azzy's gaze softened just slightly, remembering the girl from the past timeline. He remembered the Champions League, where he fought with her, and of course, defeated her.

Surprisingly, even after nearly four decades, the girl still looked exactly the same.

But since Azzy doesn't want to jog her memory as she doesn't remember his face anyway due to time travel's side effect, he merely said in a smooth tone, "No… but I know your sister. Sapphire Magnolis."

"My… sister?" Iphi's eyes widened, disbelief flashing across her face. "My sister knows a demigod?"

"I'm not friends with your sister," Azzy replied calmly. "We've only met a few times. But her Griffin Arcana Spirit left quite the impression. Besides—" He glanced over the rest of the team. "The Magnolis family holds the highest number of Supreme Realm experts in the continent. It isn't uncommon for me to know of your family's bloodline."

Whispers rippled through the squad.

Iphi, however, took a quiet breath and shook her head, her tone softening with something personal. "Your Grace, while we still carry the Magnolis surname… we no longer have ties to the main branch. My family left due to certain reasons. And my sister…" She hesitated, eyes lowering. "She's been missing for nearly two decades."

Azzy nodded slowly as if he didn't care about Sapphire at all. "I understand."

He let the silence linger for a few seconds and then spoke again in a commanding tone. "Anyway, I will honor your leader's request."

He raised his right hand, his tone resonating across the chamber like a low vibration. "I'll create a barrier similar to what you have been staying earlier, but this one is quite indestructible. Those who remain within it will be safe until this battle ends. Those who step outside…" — his golden eyes swept across them — "cannot re-enter. Life or death will be your responsibility. Choose wisely."

Before anyone could respond, Azzy turned his palm upward.

A wave of golden energy erupted from his fingertips and spread across the chamber like ripples in water. It expanded, bending, twisting — forming a vast dome-shaped barrier that sealed the squad in its warm glow.

Azzy lowered his arm and looked to Cyro. "I've released your enemy. Do as you wish. I will not intervene. The laws forbid me from choosing sides."

The golden arm that had been pinning the Werewolf Lord against the wall suddenly vanished, dissolving into the air. The beast dropped to the floor with a snarl, claws digging into the shattered stone, hate burning in his molten eyes.

Cyro bowed his head once. "Understood. Thank you, Your Grace."

Then he turned sharply, his cold gaze slicing through his team.

"Everyone, follow your superior's orders," he barked. His voice carried authority. His eyes fell on Iphi. "And you—don't even think about stepping in. Just because you possess the flames of the Phoenix doesn't mean they'll help me. Our elements are opposites. You'll do more harm than good if you interfere."

Iphi's lips tightened, her fiery spirit burning behind her silence.

"Captain…" she tried, but Cyro had already turned his back, fists clenching, frost gathering around his shoulders.

He faced the Werewolf Lord, who had already begun to rise, aura burning with bloodlust.

Cyro's voice dropped low, his breath turning to mist. "Your opponent is me."