After the Durns' betrayal, their numbers had already thinned, their unity shattered. Now, standing before a being like this, everyone understood, if the Lord of the Ruin chose to strike, none of them would even have time to scream.

Slowly, all eyes turned toward the key figures who had yet to speak, the people from the academy.

They stood at the front, unmoving. At the center, the elder's face was calm, but his eyes gleamed with something deeper, a blend of fear, awe, and grim realization.

He stared unblinking at the throne, as though trying to pierce the shroud of black miasma concealing the figure seated upon it.

"That name…" the elder muttered. "Azeroth…"

"Elder," Princess Ling Yan called softly. "What should we do?"

For a moment, he didn't answer. Finally, his dry lips parted.

"…It is as I feared," he murmured. "The Lord of this Ruin, no doubt is a Greater one."

His tone hardened. "We'll withdraw. That presence is not one we can afford to confront right now."

Princess Elize spoke up, tension in her voice. "Elder… do you know anything of this ruin lord?"

"Only little," he replied, face shadowed. "Azeroth was once counted among the Abyssal Lords, beings who roamed the world in the age of the human Emperor."

Abyssal Lords…? Many did not fully understand the title, but anyone who had heard tales of the human Emperor's era knew this was no ordinary threat.

A quiet murmur rippled through the commanders, their faces paling.

Lina also added. "I think it would be wiser to retreat for now. I've already recorded the energy signatures and structure of this place. With that data, we can devise countermeasures after returning."

The Elder gave a slow nod.

"Agreed," he said. "A frontal confrontation would be risky."

Yet his eyes did not waver from the throne.

"Prepare the teleportation formation." He waved.

The four guards instantly moved, sprinting to the corners of the hall. Arcane light burst from their palms as they began inscribing glowing runes into the golden floor. Symbols spiraled outward, connecting into a complex array.

Just then, the miasma around the throne stirred.

It began as a faint tremor, then deepened into movement. Tendrils of darkness uncoiled from the figure upon the throne, writhing like serpents through the air.

A collective gasp rippled through the coalition ranks as the tendrils slithered downward, stretching toward the kneeling Durn army.

More precisely, toward something within their ranks.

There, at the center of the Durn formation, lay the body of the Durn prince, headless, blood long dried.

The tendrils reached him, wrapping around his remains like ribbons of shadow, enveloping him completely in a cocoon of darkness.

The air pulsed. A deep, resonant vibration echoed through the golden hall, shaking every chest, every bone.

The Durn soldiers fell flat against the ground, voices trembling in feverish worship. "Glory to the Lord Azeroth…"

Suddenly,

CRACK!

The sound split the silence like a thunderclap.

The cocoon shuddered. Something inside began to move.

The cocoon of miasma split apart with a blinding surge of black light.

A wave of miasma burst outward, slamming against the coalition's barrier with a force that made it quake.

Soldiers stumbled back, raising their arms to shield their faces as the darkness rolled past their barrier like a violent storm.

When the haze finally thinned, they witnessed something impossible.

There was a figure standing there in the center.

The Durn prince, Vearos.

His body, once severed and lifeless, was whole again. His skin gleamed deathly pale, veins faintly pulsing with violet light beneath the surface.

The wound that had severed his head was gone, seamless, as if he had never died. His eyes, once blue as the northern sea, now glowed an eerie amethyst that shimmered with madness. Wisps of miasma drifted from his back like ghostly wings.

The resurrected prince flexed his fingers slowly, staring down at his hands as though he were rediscovering himself. Then his gaze lifted toward the coalition army.

A cruel smile spread across his lips.

The air around him tightened, heavy, and tainted.

It wasn't life that pulsed within him, but something foul and ancient.

"He…he's alive again!" a commander said in disbelief.

"Resurrection?!"

"This isn't resurrection…" the Elder whispered, his voice grave. "It's corruption."

No one spoke. The golden hall seemed to listen, holding its silence as the prince straightened to his full height. His head tilted slightly upward, eyes reflecting the dark throne looming above.

Then, in a slow, reverent motion, he dropped to one knee.

"Thank you, my lord," he said, voice hollow yet layered with echoes. "For bestowing your mighty essence upon this unworthy subject."

A low hum rumbled through the hall, deep and resonant, like the heartbeat of something colossal and long dead. The miasma around the throne stirred faintly, pulsing in acknowledgment.

The prince rose again. His once-elegant armor, still stained with dried blood, gleamed faintly in the golden light. His right hand trembled as he pressed it against his abdomen.

"My lord," he continued, his grin stretching wider, eyes burning with delirious worship, "For your grand return, I present you the core flame of my empire."

Without warning, he plunged his hand into his stomach.

The sound that followed was flesh tearing, bone cracking. Gasps rippled through the soldiers at the grotesque sight.

And then, from the prince's chest, he drew forth an orb.

It floated above his trembling hand, an ethereal flame, radiant and alive, veins of golden light pulsing through it like the heartbeat of a dying divinity.

The energy that poured from it was sacred and heavy, pure enough to burn away the shadows that dared touch it.

Yet, in his bloodied hands, it looked defiled.

He lifted the glowing core high above his head, his voice breaking into feverish reverence.

"Please, my lord," he cried, "accept this humble offering, our empire's eternal flame!"

The being upon the throne stirred.

The miasma writhed like an awakening storm, coiling upward before extending, a single tendril of shadow, long and sinuous, sliding through the air toward the offered orb.

But before it could reach below, a voice boomed.

"Stop them!"

The Elder's voice thundered through the hall, sharp and commanding.

His calm composure shattered, replaced by raw urgency as his staff blazed with holy light.

"Retrieve the core flame-NOW!"

The Elder's command had barely left his lips when two guards vanished, bodies dissolving into streaks of radiant light.

In the next heartbeat, they reappeared beyond the protective barrier, racing up the golden stairway toward the floating orb that pulsed at the center of the hall.

The two princesses, Elize and Ling Yan, stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief as the truth hit them like a thunderclap.

"The… core flame," Ling Yan breathed, her voice trembling. "That's… the heart of an empire."

Her words rippled through the ranks like a shockwave. Soldiers and mages turned pale, their composure faltering as the enormity of what they were witnessing settled in.

Both princesses had seen such an orb before, hidden deep within their imperial sanctums, sealed behind layers of divine wards and ancient seals.

The core flame was no mere relic. It was the sacred essence that sustained an empire's soul, born from the collective faith, will, and hope of billions.

It is said, as long as the core flame burns bright, that empire shall never fall. But if it is dimmed or defiled that nation perishes with it.

To offer it up willingly… was pure madness.