Across the Re-Estize Kingdom and beyond, rumors had begun to spread—quietly at first, then with frantic momentum.
A pillar of crimson light had torn through the clouds two nights past, seen from miles away. Forests trembled. Birds fell from the skies. Magic-sensitive beasts fled entire regions. Adventurers who ventured near the source vanished or turned back screaming, their sanity frayed by whatever they'd glimpsed in the distance.
The land itself remembered.
At the epicenter, a desolate crater stretched outward—blackened soil cracked with seared veins of magic still pulsing faintly. No bodies. No blood. No signs of struggle.
Just scorched silence.
A nearby farming village—one that had never seen battle—now sat eerily abandoned. Tools left mid-use. Food still warm on plates. No signs of violence… yet no people.
The more knowledgeable began whispering the only word that fit:
Apocalypse.
At the Theocracy — Sunlight Scripture Outpost
"...You said where, exactly?"
The inquisitor's voice was low, sharp.
The scout trembled.
"North of E-Rantel, sir… Near the forest edge."
The robed figures gathered around the magic map exchanged glances. One tapped the location.
"That place… Wasn't that—?"
"Yes," a higher priest said darkly. "That's the same site where we engaged the vampire."
"the vampire…" someone murmured. "We lost half the elite unit there."
They stared at the map again. The terrain around the marker had changed. Forest thinned. Rock charred. Mana signatures fluctuated wildly even now, days later.
"…What kind of weapon leaves a burn like that?" asked one scribe.
They pulled up the magical reconnaissance logs. But the readings were… incoherent.
Mana distortion levels were off the charts. The terrain had been scorched not by fire or explosion, but by layered aetheric pressure—magic compression. Several operatives had attempted remote scrying—all had failed.
No visibility.
No echoes.
Not even time traces.
That was impossible.
"…This isn't normal," whispered one researcher. "Even when we detected World Items in play, we could still get some data back. This? It's like the laws of magic themselves were overwritten."
The lead analyst handed over a scroll. Her fingers were trembling.
"Residual mana concentration is… fluctuating beyond Tier 10 boundaries. There are signs of necromantic echoes—but they don't match any known structure. It's not Wild Magic either. It's… something else."
"Divine-class?"
"No. Not quite. It's below the absolute threshold… but it's not far off. And the way it was cast—it didn't expand like normal spells. It collapsed inward before releasing. Like it was bleeding into the world instead of being cast."
Silence.
Even the scribes at the edge of the room stopped writing.
"…Do we know who did it?"
"No visual confirmation. Only reports from a passing caravan that claim they saw a man standing amidst the aftermath. Just one."
"Description?"
"Too vague. Red glow. Black silhouette. One said he had long hair. Another claimed he wasn't walking—but floating. But all agreed. That is not human. it is beyond that"
The operative shook his head.
"No one could've survived that."
A long pause.
Then a voice at the end of the table whispered:
"…even godkin would lose."
****************
The Adventurer's Guild Hall in E-Rantel was closed to the public.
Doors bolted. Curtains drawn.
Inside, a small, tense meeting unfolded in the upper chamber. Ainzach stood at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. Several senior adventurers flanked him—veterans, not greenhorns. Each wore their gear, as if an attack might come any second.
"Twenty kilometers," Ainzach began quietly. "That's how far the shockwave was felt."
No one interrupted.
"No one's claiming it publicly, but rumors are spreading like wildfire. 'Apocalypse.' 'Aetherfall.' 'The Red Judgment.' Everyone has a name for it. But no one knows what it was."
He unrolled a parchment across the table—sketched by a reconnaissance mage who had approached the outskirts of the crater.
The image was simple.
A massive, scorched basin—perfectly circular.
And at its heart… nothing.
No remains. No ruins. Just a melted depression in the world itself.
"It wasn't natural," muttered one mage-type adventurer. "The mana concentration is still radiating from the center, and that was days ago. I've never seen a spell residue last that long."
"I asked the Magician's Guild," said another man, fingers tapping nervously on his sword hilt. "They didn't even try to deny it. Just said: 'That place is off-limits until we understand it.'"
"Understand it?" barked a dwarf warrior. "They won't ever understand it if they're too scared to go near it!"
Ainzach held up a hand.
"There's more."
He opened another scroll.
"This was taken from a caravan leader's journal. He claims that just before the light vanished, he saw a man… floating. Cloaked in black. Surrounded by red."
The room went silent.
"…Are we certain it was just one person?" asked a woman in heavy armor. "Not a monster? Not a dragon?"
"Only one silhouette. No aura beast signatures. No monstrous tracks. Not even damage consistent with a fight. Just… annihilation. As if the world folded inward."
Murmurs.
Doubt. Fear. Quiet awe.
"…If one man caused that," Ainzach said softly, "then we need to ask the question: Can we defend against that kind of power?"
Silence.
Then a man at the corner—a retired former Mithril-ranked adventurer—spoke.
"No," he said flatly. "Not with what we have. Not with anything this city has. Maybe… maybe if we rallied the kingdoms. Or had access to ancient artifacts. But as we are now?"
He looked at Ainzach.
"If he wanted to erase E-Rantel… he could."
A heavy weight settled over the room.
Ainzach's hand gripped the edge of the table.
Ainzach's hand gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white beneath his gloves.
He didn't speak.
He couldn't.
Because in that moment, the words felt too big for his mouth.
If he wanted to erase E-Rantel…
He stared at the map unfurled before him—the roads, the trade posts, the walls he'd helped reinforce. All the names of adventurers he'd sent out on missions. All the lives walking these streets every day, oblivious to what nearly befell them.
His stomach turned.
A single man did that…
He thought back to when he took this position. The Adventurer's Guild wasn't just a job. It was his post. His duty. His way of protecting this fragile corner of the world from monsters and men alike.
And now?
Now something had appeared that no contract, no political maneuver, no emergency protocol could handle.
He wanted to shout. To say, there must be something we can do.
But nothing came.
He was not a warrior. Not a hero. Just a man who managed people who were stronger than him.
Still, he couldn't give up.
As long as I wear this emblem… as long as I still have this work… I can't run.
Even if he had to bow. Even if he had to kneel. Even if he had to play dumb in front of that being in black—he would do it.
For E-Rantel.
"I'll handle it," he said finally, voice low but steady.
The others looked at him.
"If this being truly walks among us… then I'll make sure he stays our ally. Or at the very least, never becomes our enemy."
******************
The golden sun glinted off the Baharuth imperial crest above the throne room. Within, the mood was far from somber.
Emperor Jirniv Rune Farlord El Nix leaned casually on the arm of his throne, a faint smirk tugging at his lips as he read the latest intelligence report.
"A magical eruption northeast of E-Rantel," he mused aloud. "Frightened the Re-Estize border patrols half to death, disrupted mana flow across ten kilometers, and left the Slane Theocracy panicking like hens in a fox's den."
He chuckled.
"How delightful."
Standing nearby, Fluder Paradyne remained respectfully silent, though his eyes lingered on the magical residue charts spread before him. In one orb, the crater shimmered faintly, the epicenter still unreadable even to advanced divination.
Fluder bowed low. "Your Majesty, this incident is… not ordinary. Not by any current magical standard."
Jirniv raised an eyebrow. "Not even by yours?"
Fluder's gaze sharpened slightly. "Especially not by mine."
He looked down, and behind his weathered face, his thoughts stirred:
That magic... that compression field…
Even divine-tier artifacts couldn't fully explain that kind of energy behavior. This felt ancient. Or perhaps… transcendent. Maybe a 10th tier magic.
Whoever cast that—if it was cast—is no mere spellcaster. That was artistry… forged in absolute control. I must know more.
Aloud, Fluder said simply, "This was not a mistake or an accident. It was deliberate, calculated. That crater is the result of mastery—perhaps even evolution."
Jirniv gave a self-satisfied grin.
"Then Re-Estize is in even deeper trouble than they realize. And we? We stand to benefit."
He rose slowly from his throne, eyes gleaming with opportunity.
"If this power belongs to someone… I want to know his name."
Fluder bowed again, though his thoughts ran far deeper:
No. I don't want to know his name…
I want to meet him.
No matter the cost.
if i could learn from it, i can even sacrifice everything, including....