Varik's breathing was ragged, his body trembling as he struggled to stay upright. His dark magic flared wildly, unstable and erratic, as if his very essence was rejecting the fatal wound inflicted by Gáe Bolg.
No… I won't die here…
He clenched his fists, forcing himself to move, but every step felt heavier than the last. His body was betraying him. The cause had been set—the effect was absolute. His defeat was already decided the moment Aiden struck.
Aiden watched him without amusement or mockery. He summoned Chastiefol, now back in its pillow-like First Form, loose, as if he already knew Varik wouldn't last much longer.
"Tch… you…" Varik snarled, blood dripping from his lips. "You think this… this is enough to stop me?!"
Dark energy erupted around him, surging like a violent storm. His aura twisted and contorted, forming grotesque shapes—clawed hands, jagged spears, nightmarish figures writhing in the air. His eyes burned with fury, his desperation manifesting in a final attempt to change his fate.
Aiden narrowed his eyes. Even with a fatal wound, he's still trying to fight?
Varik let out a guttural roar, his body pulsating with unstable magic. His form began to distort—flesh merging with darkness, his limbs stretching unnaturally as his power took on a monstrous, unhinged state. His voice deepened, layered with something inhuman.
"I REFUSE TO LOSE TO SOME BRAT!"
The very air trembled as Varik launched forward, his monstrous form moving faster than before. The darkness around him coalesced into a massive, jagged scythe, larger than anything he had wielded before. He swung it down with all his might, aiming to cleave Aiden in half.
Aiden didn't hesitate.
His golden eyes gleamed, and in an instant—
"Chastiefol, Fifth Form: Increase."
The pillow burst apart, morphing into thousands of tiny golden daggers that shot forward like a storm of light. The scythe never made contact—the daggers tore through Varik's arm, shredding the dark weapon before it could touch Aiden.
Varik howled in pain, his monstrous form writhing as Chastiefol's blades pierced through him from every angle. The relentless golden storm didn't stop—it overwhelmed him, striking again and again, faster than he could react.
Then—
Aiden raised his hand, and the daggers converged in an instant, forming a single massive golden spear, hovering just above Varik's battered form.
"Chastiefol, 1st Form: Spirit Spear!"
With a mere gesture, the giant spear descended.
A single, deafening impact.
The golden weapon impaled Varik into the ground, the sheer force of the strike creating a massive crater beneath him. His unstable darkness flickered, then began to dissolve, as if his very existence was being erased.
His wide eyes stared at Aiden, shock and rage frozen on his face.
He tried to say something—tried to fight, to move, to change his fate—
But it was too late.
With one final breath, Varik collapsed.
Silence fell over the battlefield.
Aiden exhaled, dismissing Chastiefol with a flick of his wrist. The battlefield was littered with unconscious or groaning dark mages, their leader, Varik, lying motionless at the center. The once-majestic hall was in ruins—cracks ran along the marble floor, shattered pillars leaned dangerously, and scorch marks marred the walls.
Behind him, the battle between the Alliance and the remaining dark mages was still raging. Explosions of magic clashed in the background—Makarov, Jura, and the other guild masters holding their ground against the relentless waves of enemies.
Makarov, who had been keeping an eye on Aiden even while fighting, let out a deep breath.
"He won…"
Jura, standing beside him, nodded slowly. "Aiden… his strength is frightening."
Bob placed a hand on his hip, his usual playful demeanor absent. "It's not just his strength. The way he fights… it's almost inhuman."
Makarov didn't respond immediately. He watched as Aiden turned toward the battlefield, his golden armor gleaming in the dim light.
Even after that fight, he wasn't tired. He wasn't even breathing hard.
Just how strong are you, Aiden?
But there was no time to dwell on it. The battle wasn't over.
Makarov tightened his fists. "We still have work to do!"
Aiden smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Right. Let's clean this up."
With Varik defeated, the battlefield should have felt lighter, as if the weight of his oppressive magic had lifted. But the chaos hadn't ended.
All around them, the dark guild's remnants were still fighting tooth and nail, refusing to surrender. Even without their leaders, they were desperate, driven either by fear or blind loyalty. The air was thick with the scent of burnt ozone, shattered stone, and the raw energy of clashing spells.
Aiden cracked his neck, stretching his arms as he surveyed the battlefield. "They really don't know when to quit, huh?"
Makarov gritted his teeth, sending a colossal wave of magic outward, slamming into a group of dark mages and knocking them unconscious instantly. "They might not have a leader anymore, but cornered rats fight the hardest!"
Jura nodded beside him, his hands glowing with earth magic, ready to strike. "We should end this swiftly before more casualties occur."
"Agreed."
Aiden didn't waste time.
Chastiefol, Fourth Form: Sunflower.
With a single motion, Aiden's floating pillow transformed into a massive, golden sunflower, its petals glowing with an intense radiance. The flower tilted toward the largest cluster of enemies, its core pulsing ominously before—
BOOM!
A devastating beam of golden energy erupted from the center, sweeping across the battlefield like a flood of pure destruction.
Entire squads of dark mages were caught in the blast, their screams barely audible over the deafening roar. The ground beneath them was reduced to molten rubble, sending shockwaves throughout the war-torn ruins.
The battlefield fell silent for a brief moment.
Then, what remained of the enemy forces broke.
"Th-this is impossible!" one of the dark mages stammered, stumbling backward. "We can't win against monsters like this!"
"Varik is dead… our leaders are gone…" Another mage trembled, gripping his staff. "We… we need to retreat!"
And just like that—panic spread.
One by one, the remaining dark mages dropped their weapons. Some ran, some surrendered, and others simply collapsed in fear, unable to comprehend how utterly overwhelmed they had been.
Macao, panting heavily, wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Looks like they finally got the message…"
Jura stepped forward, his voice firm. "Any who surrender will be spared and handed over to the Magic Council. Those who resist…" He let the unfinished sentence linger, his presence alone enough to make the remaining fighters freeze in fear.
The battle was over.
Aiden dismissed Chastiefol, letting the weapon return to its harmless pillow form once more. He exhaled slowly, his expression unreadable as he watched the dark mages being subdued by the Alliance.
Even without the Magic Council present, the combined might of the guild masters and their strongest members had been more than enough. The Alliance had crushed the dark guild's forces so decisively that even their most loyal warriors had abandoned the fight.
Makarov sighed, rubbing his temples. "Finally… it's over."
Bob placed a hand on his hip, his usual dramatic flair returning. "Well, I must say, I don't think I've ever seen a battle end quite so… explosively."
Jura remained silent, his gaze shifting toward Aiden.
Even among the strongest mages present—Makarov, Bob, the guild masters—Aiden had stood out the most. He had fought and defeated one of the enemy's most dangerous leaders, alone, without taking so much as a scratch.
That was more than just talent.
It was terrifying.
"Still…" Jura finally spoke, glancing at Makarov. "We should ensure the battlefield is secured. There may still be stragglers hiding in the ruins."
Makarov nodded. "Agreed. We'll sweep the area. Let's move."
Aiden smirked. "Guess I'll help mop up the leftovers."
Makarov remained tense for a moment longer, surveying the battlefield. He saw the remaining dark mages scattering like rats, some dropping their weapons in surrender, others desperately trying to escape through the rubble. He clenched his fists. "No," he muttered. "Not yet."
The enemy still needed to be secured.
The Alliance mages moved swiftly, overwhelming the remaining dark mages before they could regroup. Within minutes, the battle was truly won.
Macao collapsed against a half-destroyed column, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "We actually did it…"
Aiden rolled his shoulders. "Yeah, it was fun."
Macao snapped his head toward him, eyes twitching. "Fun?! You call almost dying fun?!"
Aiden smirked. "You didn't die, though."
Macao groaned, rubbing his temples. "I swear, you and Gildarts are going to give me a damn heart attack one day."
Makarov, ignoring their banter, stepped forward, looking over the defeated dark guild. His expression remained firm. "They'll need to be transported to Era for judgment. The Council won't take this lightly."
Jura nodded. "Agreed. We'll have Rune Knights secure them."
Ooba scoffed. "They should consider themselves lucky they're even alive."
Bob, still smiling, patted his cheek. "Oh, let's not be too harsh, dear. We won, and that's what matters~."
Makarov sighed, placing his hands on his hips. "Still … this place is a mess."
The battle had nearly destroyed the hall. Even with victory secured, the damage was undeniable. With the battle over and the dark guild defeated, the Alliance stood victorious.
Aiden's POV
The battlefield was quiet now.
I stood amidst the wreckage, energy from my attacks still crackling in the air. I should've felt exhausted, drained from the fight—but I wasn't. My heartbeat was steady, my breathing calm.
I had won.
Not just against Varik, but against my own doubts. Since the war began, I had questioned myself—wondered if I could truly wield the Celestial Inventory the way it was meant to be used. Was I worthy of the power at my fingertips? Was I using it to its full potential, or was I just fumbling my way through battles, relying on raw strength and instinct?
I clenched my fist, power still humming at my fingertips. I wasn't just some outsider thrown into this world, struggling to keep up. I had grown. This is my power, mine alone.
Now? It felt right.
"Thinking too hard?"
I turned to see Jura approaching, arms crossed, a small smirk on his face.
"Not my fault if my brain works faster than yours," I shot back.
Jura chuckled. "Fair enough. You fought well."
I exhaled, glancing at the battlefield. "They weren't acting alone."
He nodded, his expression darkening. "The Fallen Guild."
Before either of us could say more, a dramatic voice rang out—far too loud for this moment.
"Ah! Aiden! Jura! My dear comrades-in-arms!"
I turned just in time to see a short, stocky figure dramatically pose atop a pile of rubble. His coat flared behind him—somehow—and his mustache twitched with exaggerated intensity.
Ichiya Kotobuki had arrived.
Jura blinked. "Ichiya?"
"Indeed! I sensed the energy of our conversation and knew I had to join!" He placed a hand on his chest, eyes practically sparkling. "Ah, the bonds of warriors forged in battle—so inspiring!"
I raised an eyebrow. "We met yesterday."
Ichiya waved a hand. "Irrelevant! Time is but an illusion when true friendship is involved!"
Jura sighed. "You never change, do you?"
Ichiya ignored him and turned his full attention to me. "And you, Aiden! Your strength, your speed, your—fragrance—truly, you are a warrior of unparalleled elegance!"
I stared at him. "I will throw you into the ruins."
Ichiya gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. "Such passion! Such fire! Ah, my heart cannot take it!"
Jura coughed, clearly holding back laughter.
Ichiya, regaining his composure, suddenly reached into his coat. "But wait! A battle such as this surely leaves a warrior weary! Fear not, for I have just the remedy!"
I tensed. "No."
He pulled out a small glass bottle, holding it up like it was some divine treasure.
"This! A custom blend of essential oils, crafted with the essence of masculinity itself! One whiff, and your fatigue shall vanish!"
Jura smirked. "You should try it, Aiden. It might help with stress."
I shot him a glare. "Whose side are you on?"
Before Ichiya could take a step closer, I turned and walked away. "Nope. Not dealing with this."
Ichiya called after me, still passionately preaching about the wonders of his 'divine fragrance,' while Jura chuckled to himself.