MIGHT AS WELL BE OP

"Let's raise the stakes… shall we?"

The Dragon and the Demon exchanged bewildered glances at Anthony's cryptic words, yet he offered no clarification. Instead, his lips parted, and his voice carried forth with an almost chilling authority.

"All human cultists, aid the military. Do not perish at the hands of your newfound foes; if you must fall, ensure they fall with you. Detonate yourselves, leave nothing behind."

At his command, every human cultist, regardless of age, mana rank, or gender, halted as if frozen in time, their focus shifting in an instant.

Anthony's words carried the weight and finality of divine decree. In that moment, he might as well have been a god among humans, for not a single cultist hesitated or resisted. They obeyed without question, as though they had been his loyal subordinates from the very beginning.

The battlefield shifted in an instant, a wave of confusion rippling through the ranks as Anthony's voice echoed across the chaos. His words had reached every ear, human, beast, demon, and dragon alike, leaving none uncertain about his intent.

Among all the races, none could rival humanity in sheer numbers. And within the Forsaken Cult, humans formed the overwhelming majority. With a single, decisive sentence, Anthony had turned the tide, inverting the balance of the battlefield as though he had flipped the very board upon which the war was fought.

The Demon moved without hesitation, his black flames and sword intent twisting together like twin storms of annihilation as his claymore carved a deadly arc toward Anthony's neck, intent on ending the fight in a single strike.

But Anthony had already foreseen the attack. Authority of Severance flared to life, the world suddenly laced with threads of unseen numbers. With a single thought, two of those threads were drawn taut and snapped, and in that instant, Anthony and the Dragon exchanged places.

A cold, suffocating dread gripped the Dragon as he found himself staring death in the face. The Demon's claymore descended with lethal precision, and for a heartbeat, the Dragon's fate seemed sealed, until the necklace at his neck erupted in blinding light. A pristine white shield materialized in an instant, meeting the claymore's destructive force head-on.

The collision shook the desert, shockwaves rippling outward as smoke and dust billowed into the sky. The Dragon's expression darkened; had it not been for the life-saving artifact, his head would have already rolled across the sand. This was the second time Anthony had caught him completely off guard.

The Dragon said nothing. With a flicker of movement, his barrier vanished, and he surged past his Demon partner in a blur, his dragon-claw gauntlet gleaming wickedly beneath the sun's glare.

Anthony, however, merely leaned back with almost lazy precision, the clawed swipe passing harmlessly before him. In the same breath, his hand flashed forward.

SLAP!

The back of his palm detonated against the Dragon's cheek, the sharp, humiliating slap echoing like a whip-crack inside the Dragon's skull.

The impact tore the Dragon sideways, hurling him into a towering stone pillar that shattered instantly under the force. His body ricocheted from one crumbling column to the next, each collapse thundering across the battlefield, until he finally came to a halt at the tenth.

Dragon teeth littered the sand, his lips were split and bleeding, and the scales he had once worn with pride now lay in shards, as fragile as brittle parchment. The Dragon lay dazed, his mind reeling from a single, devastating truth, his treasured scales had been obliterated by nothing more than a slap to the cheek.

Behind him, the Demon surged forward, his claymore wreathed in black flames, the blade streaking through the air with lethal intent, aimed to cleave Anthony cleanly in half.

Anthony did not so much as flinch. He stood motionless as the strike descended, the weapon biting into his shoulder with a flawless, deadly arc.

And yet — nothing.

No wet, sickening tear of flesh.

No spray of crimson staining the air.

No acrid stench of burning meat.

Nothing at all.

Anthony remained utterly unscathed.

The Demon's frown deepened as confusion gnawed at him. Standing across from Anthony felt like a mortal raising his blade against a god, every strike he had delivered until now had been useless, swallowed by an impossible defense he could neither see nor comprehend.

'Why? How?' The questions seared themselves into his mind, each unanswered second feeding a growing sense of dread.

Anthony was utterly immune to flame-based attacks; the Demon's black flames, lethal to almost any other being, were nothing more than harmless embers before him. Unless a strike came from a Supreme Monarch, Anthony could endure any assault without so much as a scratch.

From the very start, the Dragon and Demon had never stood a chance. They had not even forced Anthony to draw his katana, nor had he bothered to channel mana, intent, or any form of energy.

"Would you like to try again?" Anthony's voice was calm, almost conversational, yet it slid like a blade through the Demon's mind. He remained standing there, the claymore still resting uselessly against his shoulder.

The Demon's body blurred as he retreated, unwilling to remain within arm's reach. The moment he gained distance, a strange energy began to coil around his hand. He snapped his fingers.

Curse Of Madness.

A wave of malignant energy struck Anthony, but he did not so much as blink. He recognized it instantly for what it was and smiled faintly. With a lazy flick of his hand, he sent the curse spiraling back toward its caster.

The Demon froze, his own curse slamming into his mind like a sledgehammer. His breath grew ragged as madness clawed at his thoughts, until, with effort, it dissipated. Of course, it had been his own spell; lifting it was second nature.

Anthony's head turned slightly, his gaze falling upon the Dragon cultist, now fully transformed into his true, colossal form.

ROOOOAAARR!

The Dragon's roar split the air, a shockwave of chaotic energy bursting from his massive frame, saturating the battlefield with deadly pressure.

Then his enormous maw yawned open. Chaos energy churned violently in his throat, gathering in both staggering quantity and terrifying potency. The temperature around them plummeted, frost biting at the air as the Dragon's gaping maw began to glow an icy blue. Shards of frozen mist and crystalline particles spiraled around him like a storm.

The Demon, without hesitation, launched himself skyward, desperate to put distance between himself and what was coming.

Ice Breath

With a second thunderous roar, the Dragon unleashed a beam of pure, devastating frost. It screamed across the battlefield with impossible speed, freezing everything in its path. Stone shattered, trees crystallized and exploded, and the very air seemed to lock into solid ice as the torrent tore toward Anthony.

Yet Anthony did not move.

He watched the deadly breath approach, the ground trembling beneath its passing. Slowly, almost idly, he raised one hand, palm open and fingers spread. His muscles did not tense; he adopted no stance.

He stood there, calm, effortless, and utterly unmoved, as though this was no more than a futile strike from an ant against an elephant.