Freya landed on the ground with grace, her delicate bare feet touching the debris stained with the blood of the cultists who summoned this portal.
"You can continue your work, Madam Rune Master." Freya said with a smile.
It has been 400 years since the last Rune Master showed themselves to the world. As Justice mentioned before, the magicians were at constant conflict with Runic enchanters, craftsmen and sculptors. To them, a Rune Master being born means the profession of magician becomes obsolete, not due to being replaced by another class that utilizes mana, but due to the fact that humans wouldn't need magicians if Rune Masters can just build weapons and magic items powered by runes.
As a result of this petty conflict, rune users chose to live quietly, using their skills in the dark and never daring to challenge magicians again. While they had the expertise and skill to make powerful weapons and such, the real powerhouses were magicians.
But this conflict prevented them from benefitting from each other. In short, Freya believes that with the help of Runes, any human can cast magic past Third Rank.
Just recently, a young woman was able to create a rune that granted the miracle of magic so what she theorized doesn't sound so far-fetched. Since the rune was deciphered using a medallion of some sort, she can't exatly be considered the first Rune Master in centuries.
"…My name Is Sylphiala." The Elf woman's muffled voice came from inside the barrier.
Freya nodded, "Nice to meet you, Miss Sylphiala." She then took a glance at the portal then instantly understood why Sylphiala was here, "I'm afraid even I would not be able to close that portal so if you were not here, humanity would have been doomed. Thank you for doing this for us."
"Mm, you have our gratitude." Justice thanked her as well.
She averted her eyes and there was a troubled expression on her face, "…I'm not the one who thought of doing this so being thanked is a little weird…"
"Hm?" when Freya was about to ask what she meant, the sound of flapping wings interrupted their conversation.
Looking up, she spotted several types of flying monsters, different to the ones from before. Regardless of what unknown species these were, all of them need to die.
"That barrier must have holes somewhere up top if these things are dropping from the sky. Justice, can I trust you to deal with any stragglers? I'll go to the top of that barrier after dealing with the ones in this area."
"Haa… I guess it's important that I scout for any strays. There are many villages near this town so these things will take many lives." Justice ignored the flying monsters and left the cemetery.
Freya knocked on the barrier just as Sylphy went back to her work, "Focus only on your objective and leave the rest to me. I will leave a magic circle here to teleport back to you in case you're in any danger."
"Thank you."
'I should be thanking you, even more than you could ever know.' Freya thought to herself as she began to levitate and cast the same spell as before to capture the monsters one by one. the monsters were turned into flesh and blood just like the first group.
'Despite being the Archmage, I'm unable to do anything more than fight.'
To her, she's a failure but to the humans, she's their savior. Not only does she feel useless at this moment, she felt guilty. Because Rubeus and her are the only ones who know she's incapable of casting beyond Fifteenth-Rank. If she was capable of such god-like power, she would've been able to do so much more.
Freya was now above the clouds. Since the monsters were coming out of the cracks in small groups, it's possible not all of them knew about the holes. To avoid them finding out about it, she decided that it's best to not do anything flashy.
She wanted to help in the fight but she knows that protecting the Rune Master is the most important objective right now. If Sylphiala finished her work, this invasion ended. If she failed, no number of priests and inquisitors, and not even the Oracle herself, would matter. And making sure no flying creatures makes it outside is part of that objective.
A strange sensation came over her when she dropped through one of the holes in the dome. It was a familiar energy—the essence of Valhalla itself, the energy that keeps the Million Year Barrier secured.
But unlike when she opens a rift to Valhalla to use the essence of the dead, this new sensation was much more powerful and heavy, yet gentle and calm at the same time, as if the Goddess herself was blessing the lands with her power.
Since this barrier is basically the same as the wall separating the demon realm from this world, Freya could just patch the holes, like a handyman fixing a ceiling.
Something flew past Freya at that moment—she had forgotten that several individuals were battling the Kaiju monster so she hasn't been paying attention to the fight.
No, it wasn't "something", but "someone".
"—Freya? Took you long enough to come." Arnold, who managed to stop himself from being launched further, remarked.
"…How are you flying…?" she asked, bewildered that he was floating right next to her.
'Could it be the armor?'
"Save your questions for later. Are you going to help or not?" he wiped the sweat from his brow.
Right, a world-ending monster is right in front of them so it must be stopped.
"I was about to patch up the holes in the barrier first."
"Alright. Do that first then come join us." He put his helmet back on.
"Hold on a minute, how did any of this happen? A portal to the Layers of Hell doesn't just open randomly."
"If you spent more time investigating the demon cultists instead of chasing after candidates for your hero party, you would've been able to prevent this."
She went silent as his jab. It's true that she's never paid any attention to those cultist reports. She always assumed the Theocracy will take care of it.
They should all feel guilty about not listening to the eyewitnesses.
"Long story short, that's Valtraak, the former Demon King. Once Sylphy closes the portal, I'll use my new martial art to finish him—hopefully."
"…Who else is fighting right now?" she asked as she watched the Kaiju try to hit something as if swatting a fly.
"Acquaintances of mine."
"…You know people that strong?"
"Don't get any ideas. None of them will join your little Hero Party since all of them have their own purpose." He was about to charge at the Kaiju but her question made him stop.
"What about you? I can sense that you are beyond the level of any regular human I've encountered, perhaps on the level of or even beyond Justice."
"I'm no hero." After spitting that out like venom, he fell at breakneck speeds, hitting the Kaiju in the back, making him keel over with a roar.
The next moment, thousands of golden swords appeared in the sky then they converged at a single point, turning into a gargantuan golden sword that could stretch across the entire capital of Toril City.
A person floated right next to the golden greatsword's hilt—a woman with long red hair. She grabbed the sword with one arm, then with a whirr the sword was swung in her hand, cutting apart the clouds as it was swung in an arc.
The impact did not sound like steel striking flesh.
It sounded like the world breaking its breath.
The Kaiju's back split open in a line of incandescent light, divine energy bursting out like an erupted volcano.
The Kaiju roared.
His massive body staggered forward, each step crushing the land beneath him, mountains of molten stone bursting outward as he tried to regain balance. The ground screamed as much as he did, fault lines ripping open, magma surging upward like blood from a severed artery.
The red-haired woman did not pursue immediately. She hovered in the air, one hand still gripping the greatsword's hilt, its size diminishing as the thousands of swords unraveled back into their original forms, orbiting her like a broken halo.
Valtraak turned.
The wound on his back twitched—then knit itself together, layers of flesh reforming with obscene speed. Divine scars remained, glowing faintly, refusing to disappear no matter how violently his regeneration struggled against them.
Lancelot moved the moment Valtraak let down his guard to focus on Guinevere. His magic sword and Praise, flashed golden as if the sun itself was sealed within these blades.
He gained speed as he ran and his legs became blurry.
Lancelot vanished, not through teleportation but sheer speed. Only the Draconic Halo could catch him as he ran to Valtraak's foot that was buried in the ground after turning it to lava.
Then with the roar of a lion, he jumped, pulling both blades back as he dove into the molten rock.
Golden light detonated at the Valtraak's leg, then his shoulder, then his throat. Two blades moved in perfect opposition, crossing and uncrossing faster than thought, their paths carving glowing sigils into Valtraak's flesh. Each strike landed with surgical intent.
Arms. Chest. Neck. Jaw. Jets of golden energy moved like yarn blowing in the wind.
Valtraak swung blindly, claws tearing through empty air as his skin split again and again, golden lines stacking over one another until his entire upper body resembled shattered stained glass. His multiple chins—thick slabs of demonic muscle meant to shield his throat—were severed in clean, horizontal cuts, each layer sliding apart a heartbeat after the last.
With another flash, his Achilles heels were cut but due to the force behind those strikes, a powerful surge of energy exploded and his ankles resembled badly cut meat.
Valtraak collapsed backwards, his weight crushing a mountain and destroying hundreds of trees.
A shadow eclipsed the sky directly above him.
Tyrgavion descended, crashing on top of Valtraak. But before the dragon could chomp down, he grabbed him by the mouth and pushed his face to the side, expecting a direct breath to the face. But since he had no feet left, which took away his balance, he was at a disadvantage even with his superior physical strength. Couple that with his burning injuries—
His grip slipped on Tyr's face so the dragon pointed its open maw directly at him.
Tyrgavion's throat ignited, and dragonfire was unleashed directly down the demon's gullet. The breath weapon did not explode outward; it forced its way inward, flooding Valtraak's insides with burning pressure that turned his roar into a muffled, bubbling howl.
Light burst from between his teeth. From his eyes. From the seams Lancelot had carved across his body.
For a moment, the Kaiju demon convulsed—then went slack as the power continued to pour of every orifice in his body.
But he then punched Tyrgavion so hard that the dragon flew several hundred meters back. He got up with a grunt then circled the demon like a wolf hunting its prey.
Seeing that even a dragon's breath couldn't do that much damage, Guinevere and Arnold put their hands together.
The next moment, the humanoid avatar Guinevere summoned earlier in the fight put its own hands together. It then lifted its head, pointing its mouth towards the sky.
**
· Activation: Gods who blesses a person are able to perform bond skills with said person to create new and more powerful skills together.
· Cooldown: 72 hours
· Merged skills: Valhalla Soulkeeper + Storm of the Water Dragon
**
Several roars boomed from of its throat then blue energy shot out of its "mouth" just like the chains did earlier, transforming into hundreds of dragons.
With Guinevere's immeasurable divine pool, he's able to conjure hundred times the number of water dragons than on his own, using her summon as a catalyst.
Arnold and Guinevere screamed at the same time, letting their voices be heard by the people watching the fight from afar, thinking to themselves that this was a battle between gods.
Tyrgavion retreated backwards, leaving the motionless Valtraak on the ground.
As the regeneration kicked in, he was able to raise his body up. Though his jaw was hanging loosely and his eyes were gone, he could sense the incredible power above. Grabbing a cliffside as a support, he stood up and summoned his spear that was thicker than a large tree's bark.
Taking a few steps back from the cliff, he held up the spear with both hands—then he began to spin it around like a propellor. That action sent a low whirring sound throughout the valley and powerful winds pushed trees down and made stray huts fly away.
An instant later, the dragons struck Valtraak.
Not all at once but in waves.
The first impact drove his legs, up to his upper thigh, flat into the ground, carving a crater so deep that molten rock surged upward around him like a crown.
"Oahhhhh!" he cut apart the dragon's head with the tip of his spear, which exploded into golden energy that burned his skin in the same color.
The second wave coiled around his limbs and torso. Since he was standing in molten rock, he couldn't find a way to balance himself so he wobbled.
More manifested dragons speared down from above, plunging straight through his shoulders, his spine, his skull, pinning him to the earth as if nailing a god to the world.
Valtraak roared again, sending an energy pulse of black aura that detonated the first few dragon heads.
'Why the hell is he so strong? We barely got him down to half his HP!' Arnold gritted his teeth. Controlling that many aura dragons was draining him mentally. His clothes were drenched in sweat from continuous focus.
How are they still not able to kill this guy even with all of them working together? Sure, he's unkillable but not once have they actually managed to push his regeneration to revive him outright.
To think that Guinevere, the strongest demigod who even the Gods wouldn't be able to win against in a straight fight, couldn't tip the balance of this battle should speak volumes.
'I know I said we should restrain ourselves since the barrier might not be able to hold on. But I'll need to use the raw energy of the skill.'
With the amount of power poured into this bond skill, they should have enough power to rival or even surpass a nuke or magic bomb.
He looked at Guinevere, noticing she was staring at him as well as if she knew what he wanted to do.
Before he could say anything, Freya teleported in front of them:
"—I can tell what you two are about to do." she glanced back at them, "Although I would like to know who this woman is and how she's able to open the Gates of Valhalla, now is not the time. Leave strengthening the barrier up to me. I've already closed every hole that was of significant concern."
Arnold noticed her nose was bleeding and her eyes were a bit red in the corners.
"You are the Archmage, I assume? I cannot leave such a thing up to you." Guinevere protested, "What I am doing is taking the role of the Death God—handling the souls of billions of warriors. But instead of controlling the souls endlessly like he does, I merely direct them to make them become a source of power for something more. Though the burden is less, a mere human cannot—"
"A mere human, you say? Then my eyes are not deceiving me—you are Guinevere, the wife of Hero Promethius."
Her lips twitched at being identified.
"Nice to meet you, Miss Guinevere. I may be one of the few who have found out that you are a Demigod. Judging by how you can summon Einherjar, you must be a Valkyrie."
"…"
"Please leave the barrier up to me. I've been maintaining the world border for more than a hundred years on my own and have only collapsed a few times. But I'm used to being the Key that opens the Gate."
"Freya…" even Arnold knew that kind of power can kill her.
"The two of you are humanity's last hope," she looked away and lifted her arms, "I will gladly lay down my life if it means granting you the opportunity to stop this monster."
He could see her hands shaking but she didn't let it show, neither in her actions or voice, "Transfer the burden to me, Lady Guinevere."
"…I will assume control immediately if your life is in drastic danger."
"Yes."
'Ceru, use every healing spell and buff you know on Freya.'
'Yes, Papa!' Ceru, now in her original form, climbed out of his chest pocket (what was she doing there?) and quickly spoke to Freya in whispers. Though surprised by the little angel, Freya accepted the absurdity due to the kind of day it's been.
A golden torrent of energy rushed out of Guinevere, which the Archmage caught and immediately began choking and spitting blood. But she didn't keel over, instead she roared and sent a pulse of energy throughout the battlefield. As it was night, the barrier became noticeably brighter.
"Lancelot! Tyrgavion! Go outside the barrier!"
Both nodded and quickly went outside, along with the rest of the dragons.
"We have a lot of spectators." Guinevere said with a smile even in this situation, "Knowing that they're watching me makes me want to try my hardest to answer their expectations."
Arnold could also sense a lot of signatures outside the dome, not just Myrena.
She looked at him as if to ask if he was ready.
He nodded.
The two of them pulled back their arms at the same time then sent them out again, and following that was an invisible pulse that made the dragons restraining Valtraak, convulse and open their mouths.
What gathered in their throats was not an element of any sort but raw, compressed divine power and Aether. The light grew dense, painful to look at, bending the space around their mouths until even sound seemed to lag behind reality.
Then Arnold clenched his teeth and closed his fist.
The dragon heads detonated.
There was no explosion at first—only a white void, as if the world had forgotten how to exist. Then the shock arrived, a sphere of annihilation expanding outward, vaporizing everything inside the dome down to glowing fragments of matter and energy. The barrier screamed, sigils burning so bright they etched themselves into the eyes of anyone watching from afar, while Freya stood at its heart like a crucifixion of light, blood pouring freely as she forced the world to hold.
Inside the dome, the ground was erased. The air was erased. Even Valtraak's colossal form was torn apart faster than his regeneration could follow, his body disintegrating into incandescent debris again and again, caught in a cycle of destruction so absolute it denied him even the pleasure of pain.
When the light finally dimmed, the dome still stood—cracked, warped, but intact.
Chunks of scorched flesh rained down like debris from a collapsed star.
At the center of it all drifted what was left of Valtraak.
Half a torso, suspended upright by sheer will alone.
His lower body was gone. One arm had been reduced to a jagged stump, the other hung uselessly, flayed to the bone and fused with glowing scars that crawled across him like living brands. His chest was split open, ribs visible, organs partially regenerated and then burned again, locked in a grotesque stalemate. His face—once monstrous in its majesty—was warped beyond recognition, skin peeled back and reformed so many times it no longer remembered its original shape.
"…So this," he rasped, voice grinding like stone against stone, "…is how close you can bring me… to death…"