Lachlan was gone.

  Where the Major had stood, a cyclone now raged, its center a vortex of raw power. Wind shrieked through the air, the primal scream of an ancient beast tearing the breath from their lungs. The sky, moments ago welcoming the dawn, choked under a shroud of oppressive darkness.

  Boom! Boom! Boom!

  Bolts of lightning crashed down, feeding the vortex. A hazy figure materialized within the churning clouds. Eyes of crackling blue light snapped open. Hair whipped in the gale, and veins of pure electricity pulsed through its hands.

  It looked down.

  The weight of that gaze slammed into the battlefield, heavy as a mountain dropped upon the city.

  Nathan, who was retreating, stumbled to his knees, clutching Zeryn’s fading form. All around him, fleeing soldiers buckled under the same crushing pressure.

  Across the square, Arthur was now encased in an ancient-looking bronze sphere. Emrys stood behind him, channeling energy into the artifact that provided their protection.

  “This power…” Nathan murmured, his voice trembling.

  This was only a remnant—not a true avatar, projection, or incarnation—yet the pressure it exerted was immense. He couldn’t begin to imagine what facing the real entity would be like.

  The figure in the clouds, the master of thunder and sky, curled its lips into a smile. That simple act sent massive pillars of lightning crashing down.

  The hexagonal shields protecting Maelivar immediately began to rotate, activating the city’s defensive formation. Annoyance flickered across the supreme being’s face. Its brow furrowed, clouds shifting in response, and a massive hand reached down, poised to crush everything beneath it.

  A soft rebuke echoed from nowhere and everywhere. The clouds trembled, and the figure in the sky shuddered. Its bright blue eyes snapped toward the horizon, straight at the heart of the Ehyrian Empire.

  Nathan shivered, cold disbelief seizing him. The Emperor had acted from an unimaginable distance. For the first time, the enemy revealed a fraction of his true power, and it left the taste of ash in Nathan’s mouth.

  Whatever Lachlan had summoned began to disintegrate. It cast one last defiant glare toward the distant threat before fading, leaving behind only the destructive tempest of Lachlan’s sacrifice.

  The wind howled with renewed fury, but the crushing pressure was gone. The soldiers cried out.

  “Move! Follow the Major’s orders!”

  They didn’t look back, their grim faces a stark reminder of their duty. Nathan and the others nodded, slowly getting to their feet.

  While the others fled, one man flew against the tide. He wrapped himself in wind, revealing his face to the world for the first time—young, bold, and weathered. The swordsman who had shadowed Lachlan bathed in the tempest, recognizing a kindred power.

  “Major, let me give you a hand!” the swordsman shouted, laughing.

  He summoned swords around him, then clenched his fist, shattering them. Only now was the blades' unique composition revealed. They were forged not of steel, but of a hyper-compressed gas—an elemental substance so sharp its edge pricked the skin even from a distance.

  Without hesitation, the swordsman plunged directly into the storm. The wind intensified, the deafening roar sharpening into a long scream. Dust swirled, obscuring everything.

  At that intensity, Nathan knew they should have been caught in the aftermath. Yet, they felt no damage.

  From within the grinding roar, a whisper drifted out. Go.

  Sevro, the gravity cultivator, materialized above Nathan, hand extended. The air around them distorted, twisting unnaturally. Through the warp of the lens, Nathan caught the fleeting gaze of Arthur Merinor watching them retreat.

  Triggered [Mind of Tranquility]. One credit given.

  He hadn't given up. The thought twisted inside Nathan. The Entropy Aspect and its wretched Intent still gnawed at him. Zeryn fared even worse, groaning with every jar of his battered body.

  Behind him, the soldiers suffered the same fate. Yet they pressed on, their backs ramrod straight. Their faith, their will, seemed to take on a tangible form.

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  “My Gravitational Lenses won't hold much longer,” Sevro said, his voice thin. His face was pale, blood trickling from his nose. “They can deceive the eye, the spirit vision, but my mana…”

  Nathan nodded in understanding. He cast one final glance at the maelstrom of sharp winds, crackling lightning, and howling gales. A storm that carried with it determination, sacrifice, and belief. When its path collided with Arthur’s protective sphere, he turned away.

  The open ground that remained wasn’t enough to contain the destruction from Lachlan’s attack. Buildings in the distance shook violently, their weak mana shields torn to shreds.

  He wondered what Maelivar’s counter would be. A sudden tremor beneath his boots provided the answer.

  The city’s main mana dome spread from the outer walls, converging overhead. From the high towers, beams of energy shot upward, erecting smaller barriers to quarantine the residential districts. The city and its people were sealed in.

  “How are we supposed to get out now?” Nathan asked, his voice tight.

  He didn’t expect an answer, but a voice spoke from beside him. “The Major prepared for this. He is weakening the defensive formation. Our allies on the outside will force an opening.”

  Nathan looked at the man moving alongside him. His clothes were tattered, his face covered in black soot, and a large patch of his hair was burned away, leaving the skin beneath raw and red.

  “Captain Aotian,” Nathan asked, eyeing the man's injuries, “are you sure they’ll support us in time?”

  “They’ve done it for other operations. They should help us too,” Aotian replied, though a thread of doubt lingered. “The War Convention also requires the enemy to respect the retreat.”

  “Fuck the War Convention.” Nathan scowled. “The enemy knows our operation is different from Adrian’s. We’re getting results. You think they care about token rules?”

  Contrary to Nathan’s prediction, Aotian simply nodded.

  “But a mission is still a mission,” Aotian said. “We will do our best to escort you, the other disciples, and the prince to safety.”

  As soon as he finished speaking, Aotian broke away, moving to the rear of the formation, ready to face any challenge that came their way.

  Nathan glanced back, locking eyes with Prince Daniel Caelen. For a second, he found a terrifying calmness there. He had expected the spoiled prince to reveal his incompetence in the face of death. Instead, Daniel’s gaze was steady, as if he had already calculated every variable. From the beginning, this had been the predetermined outcome. Finally, Nathan understood why Lachlan had entrusted the Jade Records to the Prince.

  The group’s pace quickened. They gradually returned to the path they had taken into the city. The surrounding glass windows were now sealed shut with solid metal plates; no civilians could be seen. They were alone on this road.

  The roar of battle still echoed from behind as the clash of supreme powers raged on. A part of Nathan burned to stay and fight, but with Zeryn grievously wounded, he would be dead weight. He also yearned to analyze how Arthur resisted Lachlan’s transformation—crucial data for the future—but he had a greater responsibility. He narrowed his eyes as notifications flashed in his vision.

  Triggered [Tingling Sense]. One credit given.

  Triggered [Adrenaline Boost]. One credit given.

  Shadowy figures burst from the streets flanking their retreating column. They radiated an aura even more formidable than the soldiers in the square, most were clearly at the peak of Tier 2.

  With their flying boots, they descended upon the column. The soldiers stomped their feet and launched into the air, weapons in hand, bravely resisting. Guns and blades were deployed. In an instant, the night Lachlan had brought was lit up by fire and flashes of light.

  “Protect the cargo!” Aotian roared, launching himself skyward with twin swords drawn. A golden blur of metal flashed, severing the weapons in his enemies’ hands in a single stroke.

  Blood rained down, streaking Nathan’s face. He wiped the gore from his eyes and pressed forward.

  The enemy had sniffed out their weakness, just as he’d predicted. Through gaps in the architecture, figures moved in the distance—encircling them, cutting off their retreat.

  Mixed with the howling wind of the storm were cries of pain. Bodies fell around him, some enemies, some comrades.

  He was about to turn and fight, to open a path to survival, when a PsiLink message appeared.

  Celene: Mr. Reed, go to the rendezvous point. Now!

  “Go to the south gate!” he shouted, primarily for Aotian to hear.

  The captain swung his swords in a circle, creating two arcs that pushed back the enemy. His eyes shifted toward the Maelivar city support team that was slowly changing direction to intercept them.

  “We cannot!” Aotian shouted, parrying a blow. “We must maintain our course! The dragon riders have marked our position for the support army. Combined with the Major’s distraction, it’s our only way out!”

  Nathan glanced toward the corner of the city where over five hundred of them had scaled the wall. “You see how determined they are. This place isn’t short of Artificers analyzing Lachlan’s work right now. What do you think our chances really are?”

  “I—”

  “Either you follow my orders,” Nathan cut him off, “and rendezvous with the forces that have chosen to help us. Or I’ll break away, and you and the others can continue with the plan. You’re the highest in the chain of command now, right?”

  Aotian hesitated, his face contorted in the torment of the decision.

  It was a cruel position for the captain, but Nathan trusted Celene. More importantly, he trusted The Amber Path Coalition. They were backed by an organization spanning empires. Maelivar wouldn’t dare touch them—at most, they would contain, avoiding any irreversible harm.

  He stopped and said, “Verdant Spire Sect disciples, with me!”

  Heads snapped around, eyes full of suspicion. Frank didn’t question, immediately changing direction. Elen followed. From there, the six disciples under his command formed an arrowhead formation, just as Zeryn had once taught them.

  Aotian swung his sword to block an enemy, gritting his teeth as he forced the words out. “Follow them! Immediately.”

  The column reversed direction. The disciples and the prince’s group followed suit.

  Nathan nodded, his heart lightening slightly. He didn’t want the entire group to be wiped out. Moreover, they needed to stay together to provide as much support as possible.

  With him on point, the group surged down a narrow alley. The soldiers tightened their ranks as the walls closed in. From the rooftops, Maelivar forces rained down death, leveraging their high ground.

  The mana dome protecting the Verdant Spire Sect disciples shuddered to the point of near collapse, the red glow of fire heating the space. Six people were too few, not enough to spread out the defense.