CHAPTER 163: 163. OBLIVION (2)

The state of Unawareness—aka Oblivion.

I turned toward Isolde, narrowing my eyes at the sword in Lucian’s hand. "That’s not just a weapon, is it? That... that’s his element. Oblivion."

She gave a quiet nod, her gaze locked on the distant figure of her husband. "Yes. Just like your element is Lightning and mine is Illusion, Lucian’s is Oblivion."

I kept my eyes on the battlefield, watching the grotesque contrast between the dragon’s blinding beams and Lucian’s sword—a sword that shimmered like the distorted edge of a half-remembered dream, one that rejected attention, as if the very world struggled to render its form.

Each time I looked at it too long, my head ached like it was being cleaved apart from the inside.

The White Dragon of Grief roared, releasing yet another condensed beam of pure mana, obliterating everything it touched. Mountains were sliced into nothing, the air cracked and screamed, and the very sky rippled as if afraid to watch.

I let out a breath, more like a laugh. "They could actually destroy Mythria at this rate."

Isolde chuckled, far too casually for someone watching a continent-threatening battle unfold. "Yes. A lot of people will die today. But, well, that’s what our family specializes in. Mass destruction, a side effect of our talents."

I snorted. "I just hope Miss Celia has enough braincells to evacuate before this whole shitshow nukes the map."

I turned my head, just slightly—half in thought, half in guilt. ’Should I go check on her? If something happened to Mia because of me...’

Before I could decide, Isolde gently lifted her head off my lap and stared into my eyes, her gaze unusually soft. "I know you’re worried about Mia. That’s understandable. But trust me—Celia is no fool. And Mia is smarter than you think. If you try to go now, it won’t just be reckless. It’ll be suicide. Stay put. Sometimes, the only thing you can do is trust."

Her voice was final. Not commanding—but resolute. She had seen too much bloodshed to not know when to hold ground. Frankly me too.

I clenched my jaw, then nodded, exhaling. "Yeah... yeah, okay. You’re right."

Far ahead, Lucian had begun his assault in earnest. The initial blows were enough to put entire kingdoms to shame. He was striking with surgical precision, targeting the base of the dragon’s skull, attempting to sever it from the spine.

But the dragon was retaliating with equal ferocity. A shimmering barrier intercepted each blow, each swing of that eerie sword of his.

Their duel didn’t just shake the earth—it emptied it. Craters formed. Forests were vaporized. The land flattened and the very sky darkened, dimming as if the heavens themselves feared what was happening below.

It was too fast to follow with human eyes. One second they were locked in a clash near the cliffside, the next they were gone—hundreds of meters away, carving a trail of chaos as they tore through Region 65.

I chuckled, despite myself. "Can’t lie... that’s actually badass."

Zyon, standing beside me, was pale as a corpse. His mouth agape, his eyes wide and dry. Freya had both hands clamped over her lips like she might throw up.

Art, meanwhile, looked oddly... thoughtful. His eyes darted from crater to crater like he was imagining which one he’d be buried in. A humble day of reflection for the man who’d talked shit about Isolde right in front of Lucian.

Leon was barely holding on—his arms still around Amelia, but his face was drained of all color. Amelia had curled into his chest, sobbing quietly, unable to look in the direction her mother had disappeared into.

Isolde pushed herself off the ground, walking slowly to where Amelia sat. Her movements were calm, unhurried.

She knelt beside her and gently caressed the girl’s hair. "Some things in life..." she began softly, "...are simply beyond us. No matter how much power we have, no matter how much strength we gather. Even those born with Elements like Fate or Destiny... they too bow to inevitability. I know my words can’t fix your pain. But you will survive it. You will move forward. Don’t let this break you, Amelia. You have an entire life ahead of you. Don’t waste it grieving what you cannot change."

And just like that, she stood back up, returned to me, and sat down beside me again.

"You didn’t say anything to her," she whispered. "She was your fiancée. You should’ve said something."

I shrugged. "I’m not good at comforting people. If I opened my mouth, I’d probably just make things worse. I’d rather sit this one out."

She gave a small nod, her voice unreadable. "Fair enough."

Freya and Zyon approached Amelia soon after, trying their best to cheer her up. Their efforts were clumsy, but sincere. Amelia didn’t say much, but at least her sobs had quieted a bit.

Leon had lost consciousness entirely. That mana merger had taken too much out of him.

Art was still examining the impact craters like he’d never seen a battlefield in his life. His usual smugness was gone for once.

...

Opalcrest, Lord Heinau’s Chamber.

A thunderous knock shattered the silence of the marbled corridor, echoing like war drums through the walls of Heinau’s private quarters.

The Lord of Opalcrest, Heinau, groaned, rubbing his temples as he rose from his lavish bed, still dressed in his night robe. "What in the hell..." he muttered, dragging his feet toward the intricately carved obsidian doors.

He cracked them open with an annoyed flick of the wrist, only to be greeted by the pale, trembling face of one of his messengers. The young man looked like death itself had clawed at his soul.

Heinau’s brows creased. "You better have a damn good reason for waking me up from my nap, or your head’s going to be practicing flight."

The messenger stumbled forward, nearly collapsing at the threshold, breath ragged. "L-Lord Heinau... it’s a massacre..."

Heinau’s eyes narrowed instantly, all trace of irritation vanishing. "Explain. Fast."

"The Pale Monarch... he’s here. He’s fighting the White Dragon of Grief inside our borders. They’re—Lord Heinau—they’re tearing through Region 51 to Region 62 like paper! The shockwaves alone are killing every soldier below Rank ★★★ outright. Even those under Rank ★★★★★★ are in critical condition!"

Heinau didn’t hesitate. He didn’t scream or panic. Instead, he raised his left hand opening a spatial portal with a flash of light.

From the other side stepped a man with a smug expression, black hair disheveled from sleep, and eyes that gleamed with indifference. He wore a loose black coat, shirtless underneath, and walked with a strange, languid grace.

Rune.

Heinau crossed his arms and addressed him coldly. "Your time has come. You wanted to test yourself against Lucian, didn’t you? Now’s your chance. He’s within our borders. Go. Divert him. And if you’re going to destroy something, make sure it’s Everhart. Flatten that kingdom if you want."

Rune stretched with a yawn, scratching his bare abdomen. "You’re always so serious, old man. I literally just woke up. You’re already throwing me at monsters. Tch." He flicked his bangs back lazily. "Fine. Let’s see if the great Pale Monarch lives up to the hype."

Without further complaint, Rune strolled into the open portal as if heading to a spa instead of a war zone.

Heinau watched his back disappear into the swirling rift. "...I really hope he pulls his weight. Otherwise, I’ll have to ask Isolde for help. And I’d rather chew glass than owe that woman a favor."

...

Region 63 – Eastern Forest Range.

The portal flared open, spitting Rune out into a ravaged stretch of Opalcrest land. Forests were flattened, rivers boiled into vapor, and the air reeked of ozone and ash. Rune landed smoothly, glancing around with visible annoyance.

"What the hell kind of coordinates were those, Heinau? You couldn’t even drop me near the fight? For the love of—"

But he didn’t have to search for long.

Because they came to him.

The tremors came first, shaking the ground. Then he saw them—Lucian Lancaster, tall and silver-haired, carving through the sky with ghost-like movements.

Opposite him, the hulking body of the White Dragon of Grief, its wings like mountains, its roar enough to collapse nearby cliffs.

"Oh. There they are," Rune muttered, cracking his knuckles.

He launched forward with a grin. In a single breath, he was upon them—his fists cloaked in a transparent ripple of mana. "[Repulsion]," he whispered.

His fists swung toward both enemies—aiming to disrupt the clash between man and dragon.

And landed... on nothing.

Lucian and the dragon had already moved, shifting across the battlefield as if time bent for them.

"Tch. Fast bastards," Rune muttered.

The dragon roared at the new threat. Its jagged, glacial-blue spears spun around it like a crown of death before launching toward Rune with terrifying speed.

Rune’s eyes glinted. He snapped his fingers.

"[Repulsion: Reflection Field]."

A translucent barrier formed mid-air—pulsing with reverse force. The spears crashed into it, but none pierced through.

Instead, their power was absorbed, nullified, then blasted back toward the dragon. The spears shattered against its scales, forcing the beast to recoil, shrieking in frustration.

But Rune didn’t even smirk.

Because before he could process his next move—

Lucian moved.

Faster than perception.

His form flickered—and then Rune’s gut exploded with pain. Lucian’s fist slammed into his stomach like a hammer, and the impact launched Rune through the air like a broken doll.

He tore across the land like a cannonball, leveling trees, cracking boulders, and carving a trench hundreds of meters long. His flight ended only after he cratered deep into the mountain side.

Blood leaked from his mouth. His shield still shimmered faintly, but it had clearly failed to absorb the blow entirely.

Gasping, Rune groaned. "This... guy... is monstrous."

He stared up at the sky through the rubble, a manic grin forming across his lips.

"This is gonna be fun."