The sky darkened. And then— million shadows rose in synchronized silence, forming rows upon rows in impossible precision. From every inch of his shadow, a legion stood—helmed, armed, and unflinching.
Beru stepped forward first, his mandibles clicking with venomous pride. "WHO ARE WE?".
Igris followed, sword drawn and pointed downward, his voice cold and firm. "WHO. ARE. WE?"
And then— The Shadow Army roared in unison, voices echoing through the clouds and shaking the very stone beneath the fae:
"WE HAVE BEEN CHOSEN—"
"BY THE SHADOW MONARCH!"
The sky turned pitch-black.
The very stone beneath the fairy trembled. Magic barriers across Camelot shuddered. Every faerie—noble or peasant, soldier or knight—froze in place, breath caught in their throats. The booing stopped.
A deep, voice rumbled from the center of the shadow ranks. Tusk, the High Orc Shaman, cloaked in dark robes and runes of ancient death, stepped forward, raising his orb to the sky .
His voice cracked through the silence like a divine decree.
"AND HIS ARMY IS COMPOSED OF—"
The darkness twisted. The shadows above the arena began to take form—each declaration echoed by a chorus of voices so loud they pierced the clouds.
"TWO THOUSAND SHADOW KNIGHTS!"
A thousand shadow-clad warriors in shadowy plate rose into the sky, blades gleaming with cursed steel. They locked shields and blades in the air, forming phalanxes mid-flight, spears poised, unmoving.
"TWO THOUSAND MAGICIANS!"
Robed sorcerers surged behind the knights, arcane sigils blazing from their hands as they formed vast glyph circles in the sky. Flames, frost, lightning, spiraled in preparation—a silent show of raw, honed power.
"FIVE THOUSAND HIGH ORCS!"
From the shadows came monstrous brutes, towering high orcs roaring in unison. Their great axes slammed into the air, forming ranks of living siege weapons—flesh and fury bound by loyalty.
"ONE THOUSAND ANTS!"
Black ants crawled into formation, forming a single unbreakable column of razor-sharp coordination. Mandibles clicked in eerie unity, their armored forms reflecting void-light as they aligned beneath Beru's silent command.
"ONE HUNDRED GIANTS!"
The air cracked open. A hundred titanic silhouettes emerged behind them, each giant bearing a weapon as tall as towers, faces silent and grim. Their mere presence bent the clouds.
"ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND—ASHBORN'S PERSONAL ARMY OF RULERS!"
The arena darkened again.
A vast sea of regal soldiers cloaked in silver-black armor rose—each with crowns forged from death itself. Their eyes glowed in shadow, standing behind Igris, who stepped forward and pointed toward the fae.
This was no army. This was a pantheon of death.
"TWO MILLION DRAGONS!"
The sky was torn asunder.
Wings burst through the clouds—black, red, violet. Two million dragons roared across the heavens, blotting out the sun as they circled above, their shrieks shaking the earth itself.
The wind howled with dragonfire. Shadows fell like meteors.
"THE FINAL LEGION… TEN MILLION STRONG—"
"THE MONARCH'S ARMY!"
From every shadow, from every crevice of reality, the full might of the Shadow Monarch's Legion emerged.
Ten million soldiers. Perfect. Silent. Obedient.
Their armor was darkness. Their eyes, endless hunger.
They formed across the skies, a formation so vast it wrapped around Camelot's barrier like a second world pressing against existence. The final chant echoed like the call of death itself:
"WE ARE THE SHADOW."
"WE ARE ETERNAL."
"WE—SERVE—SHADOW MONARCH SUNG-JIN-WOO !"
And beneath that impossibly vast, god-splitting army, Jin-Woo stood at the center of the arena—silent, still, purple eyes glowing, a single smirk on his face.
He didn't have to speak. The world already had.
Then—Beru stepped forward again, his claws stretched upward toward the clouds, his voice like a battle cry rising from the grave. "For the glory of the—"
CLAP. A single sound. Sharp, deliberate.
Every gaze—Beru, Igris, Bellion, the dragons, the crowd, even the clouds—turned back to Jin-Woo as he raised one hand and clapped once more.
He sighed softly. "Thank you, thank you… but that's enough," he said, voice calm, casual. "If you want to watch—please. Quiet down."
Beru immediately straightened. "The Liege has spoken."
With a rustle of shadows, the entire millions–strong army obeyed.
Dragons coiled and folded their wings. Giants crossed their arms and sat on the floating rocks. Ants and knights aligned in ranks, sitting still on summoned clouds above the arena.
Silence returned. But it wasn't peace.
It was tension held at knife's edge.
—
Morgan, still standing tall beside Baobhan Sith, whispered to herself.
"I expected a thousand. Maybe a hundred thousand… but this? More than ten million..."
Her eyes drifted toward Jin-Woo, who stood alone with the ease of someone who didn't need a kingdom behind him.
"I probably already lost—not just in skill… but in army."
Beside her, Baobhan Sith gave a half-grin, nudging her gently. "Don't cry, Mother. We can probably negotiate. Probably."
Morgan didn't respond. At the edge of the royal platform,
Beryl Gut stood deathly still, hands clammy, his grin long gone. His pupils twitched as he stared up at the ocean of darkness in the sky.
"…I'm fucked," he muttered under his breath.
And in his mind, the last shred of arrogance crumbled into despair.
I hoped the fairies would humiliate this random guy… this Jin-Woo. But his army? They didn't fight… they made a damn chorus. I'm so, so fucked.
Baobhan Sith took a deep breath and turned toward the edge of the arena.
"Are you ready, Barghest?"
Barghest gave a short nod, eyes never leaving the massive armored figure across from her.
Then Baobhan Sith turned to the opposite side. Her eyes landed on Bellion—and for just a second, she gulped. His presence felt like standing beneath a fortress carved from shadow.
"A-Are you ready… Sir Bellion?"
Bellion didn't speak. He simply nodded once, slow and firm.
Then—
BOOOONG!
The arena ball sounded, echoing across the stadium like a gong forged for gods.
A magical voice followed overhead:
"Let the best effort win."
—
Barghest began to move—not a dash, not a charge—just a steady, confident walk, the tip of her blade trailing faint sparks across the arena floor. Her cloak rippled in the magic wind.
Bellion mirrored her, walking calmly… but in a circle, studying her with unblinking precision. The arena was his domain now, and his movements carved it into a battlefield.
Then Barghest broke the silence, her voice low and incredulous.
"How did your Sung Jin-Woo possess that many army members? Even my Queen can't do that."
Bellion's answer came, deep and measured like stone grinding against steel. "Your queen… busies herself with rule."
He stopped circling. "My liege… the Shadow Monarch… spent most of his life fighting. He did not inherit his army. He chose them. One by one."
Bellion's hand moved to the hilt of his blade. "And they chose him back."
Without warning, Barghest lunged forward—her speed explosive, her blade a streak of light meant to cleave through anything in its path.
But Bellion didn't flinch.
His armored hand snapped forward—catching the edge of her sword with his bare palm.
The impact cracked the air like thunder.
In the same motion, he shoved forward with overwhelming force, pushing Barghest back and slamming her face-first into the ground. Dust kicked up in a sharp burst as she slid across the arena floor.
Barghest growled, rising slowly.
"I've lost so much… that now I let someone catch my blade barehanded?"
Bellion's eyes didn't glow. They didn't need to. His presence answered for him.
"I sense… you're being restrained."
Barghest stood tall, brushing off the dirt, grin forming at the edge of her lips.
"I'm at my fullest," she replied, voice brimming with adrenaline. "In fact—this is exciting."
Bellion tilted his head slightly, eyes rising to the sky. Shadows still blanketed everything above them, cast by Jin-Woo's army that hovered like a second firmament.
"The sun didn't help you, huh?" he said calmly.
Barghest's eyes narrowed.
"How did you know the sun empowers me?"
Bellion replied without pause. "The information my liege transferred to my mind. That's all."
Then he raised his sword, pointing upward. "As Grand Marshal of the Shadow Army," he commanded, "I order you to make way—for the sun to shine."
From above, Beru responded instantly, voice echoing with sharp elegance. "Make way for the opponent to gain some footing."
The ten million-strong army shifted in perfect synchronization. Their shadows pulled back, and a hole opened in the dark sky, allowing a single, brilliant beam of sunlight to pierce through and shine directly on Barghest.
The light bathed her armor, and her presence surged.
She tightened her grip on Galatine, her aura flaring.
"You'll regret this," she said, voice seething with newfound strength. "For underestimating me."
Bellion stood motionless, blade resting by his side.
Suddenly, Barghest's body began to grow, her form warping with fae magic and raw power. Her armor cracked and fell away in glowing fragments, replaced by a primal, burning presence. Her size doubled—no, more than doubled—towering now twice Bellion's height, muscle and flame rippling beneath her enchanted skin.
From the stands, the crowd of fairies erupted.
"Barghest is serious now!"
"She's going to light our path through this darkness!"
"She's our true champion!"
Her eyes flared with fury and glory. She raised her molten blade, Galatine burning black at the edges with ancestral energy.
"Be grateful," she roared, voice echoing across the arena, "that you see me like this before I ascend into my Black Dog Galatine form!"
Bellion finally moved. He chuckled. A deep, low sound that echoed like a quiet storm under control.
"Legia, Monarch of Giants," he murmured, eyes narrowing slightly. "He'd be laughing his ass off at this."
Barghest's pupils twitched. Provoked.
With a roar that shook the walls, she lunged—blade swinging with brute speed and power, aiming to split Bellion in two with a crushing vertical strike.
Bellion didn't dodge. With one hand, he tilted his blade slightly—and deflected the entire force of Galatine, redirecting the blow like swatting away a child's tantrum.
Barghest snarled and followed up—slash, stab, spin, hammer strikes. Her movements were wild and brutal, like an angry bull, each step cratering the ground, sending up bursts of flame and wind.
Bellion stayed silent. Every swing, every explosion of magic—deflected. Redirected. Absorbed.
He didn't even counter. He simply watched. Controlled. Composed.
Barghest lunged again, roaring with all her fury—
And Bellion moved just slightly to the side, letting her pass, the tip of her burning blade dragging past his shoulder without a scratch.
"You call this your fullest?" he said quietly. "This is desperation, not power."
Barghest grit her teeth.
"Heh. Same as you… just using the momentum of my—"
She suddenly stopped mid-sentence. Her foot slid back. Not intentionally.
Her body moved before her mind could register it. A survival instinct. She stepped back.
Barghest's eyes narrowed. "What… just happened?"
From the royal platform, Morgan watched in silence, then spoke softly.
"Barghest… has never feared anyone. And yet… she stepped back."
Bellion's gaze locked on her. His voice was low, deliberate.
"Amazing, big girl. I didn't move. I didn't raise my sword. I just thought… about attacking."
He took one step forward. Not aggressive—just presence.
"And you… the supposed guard of Queen Morgan… stepped away."
Barghest's jaw tightened, a vein pulsing on her temple. Her grip on Galatine hardened.
"You're very… provocative."