Step to paradise

In the sky filled with gray smoke and bone dust, Flauros stopped in midair. His hair fluttered in the poisoned wind, his blood-stained scarf stuck to his back like a ribbon from hell.

This time, he did not dive down. He did not swing his spear. He did not fire his spells like a storm.

He stood high up and chanted. His body was reaching its limit, so he switched to normal magic. He gave his body a little more rest to welcome the feeling of unease that he felt.

"Matriz de relámpagos que bloquea el alma…"

The whisper, like a broken bell, echoed throughout the sky. The spell transformed into invisible vibrations, spreading through the void like waves breaking the physical world.

Dark clouds gathered. A crimson lightning bolt exploded like a thunderbolt. The sky and earth shook. Trees fell. The Bone Dragon roared, taking a step back.

Each giant magic circle appeared.

No longer a simple circle like the common spell rings. Instead, it was asymmetrical polygons, twisted like ancient patterns that had never been deciphered. They intertwined, layer upon layer, like a maze of light.

Their purple color gradually faded and turned red. Not blood red.

But red like lava that had just flowed out of a volcano.

Brilliant. Terrifying. Burning.

Red lightning bolts shot out from the tops of the polygons, striking down to form magic pillars like giant thunder columns that sealed the Bone Dragon to the very ground that had once been its grave.

The dragon roared, but those red lightning bolts seemed to be cutting each thread connecting its body to the dark mana that had called it back. As if tearing each layer of its soul, burning it to ashes.

The sky was no longer simply black. But now it was a chaotic painting of purple light, red blood, and strange thunder—something the heavens and earth had never seen before.

He was once a legend of the sacred fire. A name that made scholars turn back dozens of books to learn. A name mentioned in forbidden records with blood-red seals. A name that once stood at the top, in the middle of the sea of fire he created.

Fire. Others used it to burn. He used it to carve his name.

The so-called "common fire magic" in Flauros' hands was no longer fire magic. It was the law. It was a natural reflex, like breathing.

That magic cage had imprisoned the bone dragon between heaven and earth. But Flauros did not stop there.

He added layer after layer. Each layer was a new polygon. Each corner was an ancient symbol. Each curve was a chain of mana transmission carrying fire.

The dragon roared. Its hollow eye sockets lit up, its mouth opened, each bone tooth clanging against each other like a bronze bell. The corner of its mouth, where the runes were plowed, gathered strength.

A black and green poisonous gas, a liquid like lava that evaporated like smoke, gathered into a deadly light.

It spat. A deadly poison stream shot out from its throat. The pressure was enough to distort space.

However, the cage still stood firm. The poisonous stream that was sprayed out shattered into fire particles in midair. Because the outermost layer of the cage was Flauros's Great Fire Return Skill, which had once sent the king of the heavens to hell.

The purple-red flames twisted around the edges of the polygons, sucking up the poison, burning the black gas, returning a curtain of red lightning, the cage was not damaged in the slightest.

Flauros raised his hand again. His voice was low and deep.

"Desgarra el cielo para que aparezca fuego después del rayo de luz."

As soon as Flauros's voice ended, the sky seemed to shatter.

Not an explosion, but a sound like a needle piercing through the silk curtain of the night, tearing apart the space between life and death.

The formation as big as a mountain, where the bone dragon was imprisoned, was no longer simply a structure of spells and runes.

But a celestial phenomenon. The pressure from it poured down, causing the mountain below to crack.

Each crevice of the rock opened, each layer of earth collapsed, as if the land itself could not bear the existence of the magic happening above it.

The first lightning bolt exploded, a pillar of light.

Thick. Deep. Sharp like a spear.

Each time it struck, a layer of heaven fell with it. Then the thing called "fire" also came. A pillar of fire with the color of ash red, shining with the golden color of a furious god.

Each tip. Each branch.

Like the radiant fingers of a god tightening the cage.

The cage that imprisoned the dragon's soul had now become a soul-burning cage.

The Bone Dragon screamed, its entire skeleton struggling. The bone dragon was heated until it was red like iron in a forge. Each bone emitted a groaning sound of a thousand-year memory.

The sound of hatred. Of death. Of a creature that did not want to be forgotten.

But the fire still burned. Each lightning strike still struck. Round after round.

The dragon roared. Flauros was silent.

The mountains melted. The sky burned.

In the midst of it all, Flauros just stared indifferently at the fiery cage, so bright that it reflected a pure white light.

Power - after all - is also a kind of bondage. A bond between rights and the price to be paid. Between life and what is dead and still refuses to disappear.

The Bone Dragon is now only a shadow of the era of creation.

The ancient, once blessed protection has now dissolved into nothingness.

It roars.

The final roar of an unwilling immortal creature, carrying the most cruel poison, filled the air.

Black as wet ash. Green as poison fermented for thousands of years.

One final blow. The poison spell that destroys the realm. If it succeeds, even if it turns to ashes, this entire capital will become a dead land.

But it fails.

Not because its power is not enough. But because Flauros's magic circle has blocked everything.

His magic circle not only restrains. Not only burns. But also cuts.

Severing the connection between it and the ground. Between the poison and the environment. Between the restless soul and the world of the living.

The red fire gradually burned away. Each mountain-sized bone collapsed, turning into a stream of lava and ash. Each strand of the spine that sparkled like a jewel now melted into a drop of light rolling down from the sky.

The dragon was no more.

Only ashes remained. Ashes of an era, ashes of an era. Ashes, returned to dust.

The magic dissipated. The red cage disappeared. The sky rained down fiery ash, then the wind stopped, then everything was silent.

Flauros knelt in mid-air, using one hand to support his spear, the other to hold his chest. His cloak was torn, and he was exhausted.

But he was still alive.

And the dragon was dead.

The battlefield was silent.

Each gust of wind carried the ash that had not yet dissipated. Each grain of gray dust fell silently on the silver armor, stuck to the hair, and covered the scorched earth with layers of historical ruins.

A minute ago, they were still screaming. A minute ago, the sky was still red with fire, and the earth was still boiling.

But now… the dragon had vanished.

Vanished as if it had never existed.

People raised their heads. No more roaring, no more poison gas, no more thunder. Only… the sky that had just been torn apart, now like a piece of frayed silk being sewn back together.

The first loud breath came from a young wizard. His voice broke, choked, as if he couldn't believe it. Then came the sound of crying.

Not sorrow. But sobbing, bursting out like a flood of broken dams.

"Alive…"

Someone muttered.

"Alive!!"

A knight shouted loudly, his helmet fell off his head, he threw back his head and laughed. Laughing so hard that the blood from the wound on his shoulder couldn't be stopped.

One person hugged the other. The first person collapsed and cried. The second person raised their weapons to the sky.

The cries of "We're alive!" rang out more than once. They echoed like waves crashing against each other, layer upon layer, echoing against the gradually blue sky.

Each healer knelt down on the ground and cried. Scholars threw away their scrolls, covering their faces in joy. Royal wizards' eyes were red, patting each other's backs without saying anything.

A child from the evacuation group stumbled into the middle of the ash-covered battlefield, looking up at the place where the dragon's corpse was, now just a faint streak of light in the air.

He said softly.

"So beautiful."

And indeed, for the first time in many years, this place - the capital of a gradually decaying empire - was filled with the sounds of living people.

Even though they had just experienced a great tragedy, even though everything had been destroyed beyond recognition.

The joy of escaping death was still boundless.

Amidst the cheers, the tears that soaked into the armor and the dust, a solemn silence suddenly spread as if time itself had bowed.

Velynrather Kaelthas, the last knight who retained the pure light of the past, had long since bowed to no one except the king and the coat of arms.

And yet now, amid the ashes of the battlefield, amid the sun that had just emerged from behind the dark clouds, he drew his sword from its scabbard, gripped the hilt,

and slowly stepped forward.

In midair, Flauros was still hovering, his tattered cloak fluttering like an ink stain in the sky. Dried blood clung to the corners of his mouth, his eyes had not yet rested, but that aura, that divine majesty, was like a god stepping out of an ancient magical book.

Velynrather stopped. Kneeling on one knee, bowing deeply. No need for words.

No need for ceremony. Just a bow, but it was like all of history bowing before magic.

Up high, the royal castle still shook slightly from the shock.

The old, frail, gray-haired emperor stood on the highest balcony of the ancient citadel. He did not run away. He did not panic. He just stood there like an old man waiting for death in silence.

But now, death did not come.

So he looked up, looking at the figure in the sky, small and dazzling.

His face was not clear. His name was not known. His faction was not known. His reason was not known. He only knew. He had saved them. And that was enough.

The last true emperor of the Ozone Empire slowly bowed his head.

Not as a king, but as a human being, sending his deepest gratitude to a stranger who had carried an entire era from destruction.

The wind blew the hem of his gray cloak.

Amidst the cheers and the sound of steel clashing in celebration of victory, the one who had broken the darkness silently disappeared from the stage like a ghost.

Flauros lightly glided through the air, his shoes landing on an abandoned roof. His body felt like it would break as soon as it touched the ground. His feet had not yet stabilized, and his whole body was already staggering.

His chest tightened. The veins in his entire body seemed to be screaming. Every vein under his skin stood out. At first, it was only pale purple. Then it gradually turned black.

It was as if a poisonous snake was crawling through every vein, gnawing at every inch of flesh and blood, burning every nerve. The terrible burning was like a black flame burning from the inside of his bones to the outside of his skin.

He fell to his knees. One hand supported him on the ground. The other hand was tightly gripping his collar. His body writhed with each beat, and finally, he vomited.

A dark liquid like dried ink, mixed with streaks of blood. His breathing was heavy and painful.

The throat felt like it was being burned and torn into hundreds of pieces.

Not everyone dared to play chess with the laws of nature, the side effects of the forbidden spell were even more devastating to the powerful owner. Flauros gasped. Leaning against the broken wall. Eyes half-closed. His hands were clutching his chest.

He quickly pulled out a green glass bottle from his space ring. The bottle was uncapped. He tilted his head back and swallowed.

The green liquid glowed softly in the cracked glass bottle. Like the last light in an endless night, but also like a cool drop of rain in the middle of a burning desert.

It slid down Flauros' throat, each drop melting and spreading through his veins. Every burning spot was screaming because the forbidden spell was drained. Every vein was about to explode from the pressure of mana. Every fingertip was trembling.

Everything seemed to be dipped into an invisible cool spring.

"...Ha..."

He breathed out, his lips still stained with black blood.

His back against the cracked brick wall, Flauros relaxed his body.

His eyes were still closed, but no longer clenched in pain. His breathing gradually became steady. His hands, which had been trembling because of the forbidden spell, were now as calm as the hands of a sleeping person.

The pain gradually faded. Like sea foam dissolving into nothingness. Only fatigue remained. But it was a gentle fatigue, no longer writhing.

He felt like his body was immersed in a cold summer spring. Small waves slid across his skin, soothing, washing away the dirt of war and magic.

He let out a slow sigh, as if to exhale the loneliness that had seeped into his bones.

He raised his head to look at the sky, which was now a silvery gray. No longer the red light of disaster.

The crystal ball dissipated like smoke, and Flauros's image disappeared.

His eyes paused for a moment. The slowly curling lips froze.

Clang. The sound of nails tapping on the armrest of the dry bone throne rang out.

Then…

Bang!

He crushed the cup carved from the skull of his lackey. The fragments fell, and the magical energy swirled and flew up, extinguishing in the air.

"In the end… this wizard is still not dead."

His voice was low, his tone was as soft as honey, but… the killing intent was so cold that it burned his spine.

The black wind in the great hall howled. His cloak fluttered, revealing a tall, elegant body with extremely beautiful features.

But looking at the whole picture, that beauty was not human.

He stood up, slowly walking down the steps of the throne. Each step was like silver bells ringing, but no one dared to look up at him.

"An ancient dragon… is gone."

"A unique experimental opportunity, turned to ashes."

"A forbidden spell… destroyed my joy."

He closed his eyes, smiling… A smile that cut straight to the heart of the beholder.

"Flauros…"

"You… dare."

Slap.

The henchman kneeling below just raised his head and was instantly blown to pieces by his gaze. He coldly looked at the remaining henchman in the room. That guy immediately understood.

His hands trembled, and he hurriedly bowed low to the ground, his face buried in the ashes of the person who had just been obliterated. He did not dare to speak, only tremblingly squeaking out small sounds like mosquitoes:

"Yes… yes… my lord…"

"I will immediately pass on the order. There is no need to wait for the general mobilization order. Siegfried and the entire army will be pushed to the front lines."

"Good."

A word as light as a feather fell on the cloak, but it almost made the lackey's neck tendons snap as he thought he would be torn apart by the next glance.

West of Ozone, where the barren red soil had been uninhabited for hundreds of years.

A strange wind swept across the ground. Not a single bird call. Not a single breath. But the wind carried the command.

It did not speak, did not call. It was only lightly touched and activated.

Siegfried paused.

His eyes were as black as an abyss, not blinking even a little. There was no reflected light. Just two bottomless pits of water.

His entire body trembled slightly. From his dry throat, a distorted sound without any tone emerged.

"Order received..."

He stood up, the armor on his body making a rusty cracking sound.

The dragon claw engraving on the armor began to glow faintly in a turquoise color, extending all the way to his shoulders.

His hair was long, silky, and soft, fluttering in the netherworld wind.

A gentle, heartbreaking turquoise. Beautiful. But a cursed beauty.

On the back of his neck, two curved dragon horns, hard and sharp as scythes, emerged more clearly, matching the color of his gently drooping wings.

Siegfried spread his wings. The pair of deep turquoise dragon wings spread out, almost tearing apart the already too quiet atmosphere.

And then the ground began to shake.

Crack. Rumble. Rumble. Rumble…

A skull wrapped in broken, muddy armor slowly emerged from the ground.

Then a second.

Then a third.

The skeleton army, the ancient army sealed away since the Separation Era, was now crawling up from the ground. They wore strange, rusted armor that looked like tree roots wrapped around rotten skeletons.

Each armor had a different shape. No two were alike. Like separate curses.

Their joints made a cracking sound as if every movement recalled thousands of years of resentment.

Siegfried looked up at the sky. He said nothing. He just silently raised his hand and pointed straight at Ozone.

Each skeleton behind him immediately stomped his feet, his eye sockets glowing amber and bloodshot. A mouthless roar rang out from the ranks.

Siegfried, like a soulless corpse, moved his lips and spoke only three words.

"Ozone… Destruction."

It had begun.

They did not need to eat. They did not need to sleep—just one command.

They could not die, they lived forever. They were broken and then put back together like eternal pieces of the body.