The instant the young man’s figure cut through the chaos to stand beside the fairy knights, a thunderous roar of determination erupted from their ranks. Weary muscles tensed with new life, and they charged back into the fray, their blades gleaming against the ice-cold sky.Arga moved like a flash of winter lightning—each step silent, each strike precise. The sword in his hand sang a deadly hymn, its edge so sharp that the shifters could find no gap to dodge, no chance to twist away. With effortless grace, he thrust through scales and sinew, slashed through fur and bone, leaving a trail of fallen foes in his wake. When his Demon Sphere Technique crashed into the horde, the explosion sent shards of ice and dark magic scattering—and in the blink of an eye, Arga was there, cutting down every shifter frozen solid by the blast before they could draw another breath.Intan and Rukma raced across the frozen battlefield to reach a knight who lay broken and bloodied. His right leg was severed at

From within the swirling mists that clung to the cobblestone streets like ghostly fingers, a colossal foot emerged—heavy enough to crack the earth beneath its weight. Arga stood poised with blade drawn, his muscles coiled like steel springs as he fixed his gaze on the titanic figure taking shape before him. The beast was a giant ape, its fur matted with filth and ancient blood, its eyes burning with a savage intelligence that spoke of dark magic.“Far too large for any ordinary creature…” Lesmana murmured under his breath, watching from where he lay pressed against a crumbling wall. His arm hung limp at his side, black veins creeping up from his wrist—a clear sign of the venom coursing through his veins after a brush with one of the shape-shifters that plagued the city.As the ape roared and beat its chest, shaking dust from the surrounding buildings, a knight in polished silver armor pushed through the fog and hurried toward them. His cloak bore the sigil of the Golden Step—an order

The Blood Sword of Arga gleamed with lethal intent, poised to cleave through the skull of the colossal ape before him. Yet the beast—infamous across the realms as the Black Ape King—drew in a deep, rumbling breath and unleashed a gale-force exhale that sent Arga hurtling backward, his massive frame crashing against the cracked earth below.But the warrior’s reflexes were honed by decades of brutal training; with lightning speed, he planted both feet firm against the ground, bracing his body to absorb the impact and stave off a devastating fall.“Even a single breath holds such terrifying power—could this creature truly be nothing more than a monster?” Arga mused, his amber eyes narrowing as he assessed the titan before him.From a vantage point atop a jagged outcrop, Bhirawa tracked the Black Ape King’s movements with unwavering focus, his bow of celestial wood already nocked with an arrow forged from starlight and shadow. Around him, four elite celestial knights readied their arcane

Arga stepped out of the clothing store, already adjusting the familiar leather tunic and trousers he had chosen—simple, sturdy garments that felt like home against his skin. Gone were the elaborate silks and gleaming metal trimmings the fae realm had provided; in their place was the practical attire of a warrior who valued function over finery. Intan and Rukma exchanged glances, their expressions a mix of amusement and confusion, but said nothing as they fell into step beside him.The streets of the Central City bustled with life—fae merchants hawked their wares from stalls draped in colorful fabrics, their voices rising and falling in a melodic chorus as they praised the quality of their goods. Customers wandered from stall to stall, some haggling over prices while others simply browsed, their eyes wide with wonder at the treasures on display. The air was thick with the scents of spiced bread, blooming flowers, and polished metal—a vibrant tapestry of sensations that spoke of prosper

Dwarawati spun on her heel, her emerald eyes blazing with fury as she fixed her gaze on the Fae knight who had loosed the arrow against her. The projectile—forged from pure spiritual energy—still crackled with leftover power as it lay embedded in the stone at her feet, its golden light casting dancing shadows across the courtyard.“You… how dare you!” she gasped, her voice catching in her throat as recognition dawned across her face. The knight standing before her was no ordinary soldier—his broad shoulders, silver-streaked hair, and commanding presence marked him as someone of great standing.The Fae man nodded slowly, a warm, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. Dwarawati straightened her posture, though the fire in her eyes softened just slightly as she faced him. This was no rival to be challenged, no subordinate to be commanded.This was Lesmana—the very knight who had fought alongside Arga against the shape-shifting beasts that had threatened the borderlands weeks e