"All of you… will DIE!"
Menezi's distorted roar shook the earth itself. The emerald-green energy surrounding him pulsed with terrifying intensity as the colossal vine giant raised its hand, as if to grasp the sun itself. With a shattering crack that echoed through space, the massive limb came crashing down, a thunderous judgment upon the insignificant ants below.
For a brief moment, the world fell silent. When sound reaches its peak, it can no longer be heard—this was the meaning of true, overwhelming noise.
The enemy soldiers, certain of their impending victory, had no chance to react. The moment the emerald hand descended, they became like squirrels caught in a landslide—utterly powerless, unable to run, unable to fight, unable to even process their own doom.
Their so-called "secret arts" and proud warrior techniques were nothing more than a bad joke before this catastrophe. In the final instant, they could only stare in frozen terror, like newborns staring into the abyss.
A massacre. A complete and total massacre.
The impact alone sent dust billowing into the sky, forming a massive mushroom cloud. The sheer force of the wind that followed nearly tore Punk from the ground—he had to brace himself with his mage's hand just to stay in place. The two remaining warriors clung desperately to the princess, whose slender frame had been lifted into the air by the raging storm. Their swords, embedded in the earth, groaned under the pressure.
The emerald shockwave surged outward, stripping the land bare. Before the vine giant's hand had even touched them, the enemy had been reduced to unrecognizable meat by the sheer force of the impact.
This—this was the power of an official-ranked mage. A force beyond comprehension, beyond resistance. The massive crater, at least twenty meters deep, was proof of the absolute truth:
Nothing below the official rank could survive such an attack.
This was the true meaning of overwhelming power.
Punk, despite his usual composure, found his fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but from excitement. The ninth level was within reach, and beyond it… the realm of the official rank. Now, having witnessed such might with his own eyes, he couldn't help but feel his anticipation swell.
But then, his gaze shifted.
The flickering arcane glow in his pupils swirled, his lips curling into a sneer as he turned toward Menezi.
"This was your final roar… wasn't it?"
The towering vine giant, once a magnificent emerald beacon, withered almost instantly. Within seconds, it rotted away like an overripe fruit left in the sun, its once-sturdy bark peeling off in gray, crumbling flakes. In less than a minute, the mighty colossus had become nothing more than scattered debris.
Menezi's body, frail and skeletal, plummeted from its collapsing perch. He struck the ruined earth with a hollow thud, as lifeless as a discarded marionette.
"Uncle Menezi!"
Princess Nasya's voice was raw with panic. She paid no heed to her tattered, dirt-streaked armor as she sprinted toward him, her once-hopeful eyes now brimming with fear.
Punk and the two remaining warriors followed, arriving at the fallen mage's side.
Menezi was barely recognizable. His once-commanding presence had faded, leaving only a dried husk of a man. His emerald healing vines had long since disappeared, yet no blood flowed from his torn wounds. It was as if even death itself had abandoned him, leaving him to wither in silence.
Punk looked down at him, his gaze indifferent. The once-mighty mage of Konola, a figure revered by nobles and warriors alike, had been reduced to this—a dying relic, abandoned in a nameless battlefield, no different from a cornered beast in its final moments.
Menezi let out a rasping cough, his throat dry and brittle. Even speaking was a struggle, but with trembling fingers, he reached into his tattered robe and pulled out a crumbling parchment.
His hand, shaking uncontrollably, extended toward Punk.
"Take… this… the ring… is yours…"
Punk hesitated for a moment before accepting the parchment. He could feel it immediately—Menezi's ring was no ordinary artifact. A powerful restriction had been placed upon it, one that only Menezi himself could lift. Without his instructions, even an archmage would struggle to unlock its secrets.
Yet, Menezi didn't acknowledge Punk further. Instead, he turned his frail head with a sickening crack, his spine audibly straining against his body's rapid deterioration.
"Nasya…"
His feeble fingers twitched, reaching out toward the princess, as if longing to stroke her face one last time.
"…You have your mother's eyes… just as beautiful… as the day I last saw her…"
A single tear, murky and slow, rolled down Menezi's cracked cheek.
"The day she became Queen of Camos… was the last time I saw those eyes…"
His voice trembled, breaking apart with the weight of years unspoken.
"…She came to me… for the first time in so long… and begged me… to protect you…"
Menezi's breath hitched, his ruined body wracked with emotion.
"How could I refuse her? We grew up together… I swore… I'd give her anything she wanted… And for the first time… she asked me for something…"
He let out a dry, broken laugh—one that quickly turned into ragged sobs.
"…She married King Camos… for the survival of her family… and I… I could only watch… and bless her from afar… But you, Nasya… you were always… my daughter too…"
His hand, once so steady in battle, trembled as it reached for her cheek.
"So… you must live… live on, with both my love… and hers…"
Nasya's sobs came in shuddering waves, her tears falling onto Menezi's hollowed face. She tried desperately to wipe them away, but no matter how hard she scrubbed, more followed, soaking the fabric of her armor.
"No… Uncle Menezi, please… don't speak anymore… just rest… just—"
Menezi's body twitched once. His glassy eyes locked onto her face one final time. Then, with a slow, reluctant exhale, his lids drifted shut.
His withered frame crumbled apart like ancient wood, disintegrating into dust. The last remnants of his body scattered with the wind, vanishing into the night.
"…I have always loved Veolia…"
As the broken land fell into silence, only four figures remained beneath the fading light of dusk. The night came, as it always did.
But this time, Nasya's weeping did not cease. Her sorrow echoed through the darkness, a fragile sound swallowed by the endless void.