THE GENERAL'S DISGRACED HEIR

David stood at the heart of Number 4's realm, a vast expanse of unyielding desert stretching endlessly in all directions. The air hung heavy with the copper tang of chaos, and above, the crimson sky loomed like an ominous shroud.

Towering above the desolate sands, countless great swords floated in the heavens, their gleaming edges catching the blood-red light, their sheer number threatening to blot out the sky entirely. In the distance, Number 4 stood as a menacing silhouette, his hand raised high, his figure radiating an aura of unrelenting power.

Luna's voice broke through the suffocating stillness, sharp and urgent in David's mind.

"David, stop playing around! This isn't just some parlor trick. That skill—whatever it is— its dangerous. If he's working with the Demon, you need to take this seriously!"

Her words struck him, but his gaze lingered on the towering swords above, his mind gnawed by an unsettling sense of familiarity. The sheer scale of destruction poised to rain upon him echoed the Earl's Descent, a technique he had read.

Yet, it wasn't just the Earl that came to mind. The vivid descriptions in the novel flashed through his thoughts—Elara's Heavens of Fire, an apocalyptic manifestation she wielded with devastating precision. His instincts screamed that Number 4's technique was something equally catastrophic.

Before David could reply to Luna, Number 4's voice boomed across the desert plain.

"Good luck, Monarch!"

The words rang with mocking finality as Number 4 dropped his hand.

The sky fractured.

The swords began their descent, a rain of steel unleashed with devastating force. Each weapon descended like a meteor, hurtling toward David with terrifying speed, their sharp edges promising annihilation.

David's body reacted on instinct, his arms shooting upward. A dark energy rippled through him, coiling around his raised hands. Black tendrils extended from his wrists, snaking along his arms as runes glowed with an ominous light. Luna gasped within him as the darkness thickened and writhed, wrapping around his limbs like a second skin.

David's voice was calm yet laced with icy determination. "Don't hold me back."

The system's familiar chime cut through the chaos, and a screen flashed before his eyes:

[Voidshaper Sleeve has been unlocked.]

The air around David shifted. The oppressive weight of the realm trembled as the skill activated:

[Void Manipulation.]

Reality itself seemed to bend. The very air above David began to harden and solidify, invisible currents merging into a vast, impenetrable barrier. The formless energy condensed into a massive shield, shimmering faintly as it warped the light around it.

The first wave of swords struck.

The collision was cataclysmic. Sparks erupted like a cascade of fireworks, the sound of metal meeting the solidified void echoing like a symphony of destruction. The desert quaked under the force of the impact, sending tremors rippling outward. Great explosions of sand erupted, engulfing the area in choking clouds.

Sword after sword rained down, hammering against the wall of void-forged energy. Each impact sent shockwaves reverberating through the air, sparks flying as the unrelenting assault battered against David's defense. The ground around him was obliterated, carved into craters by the sheer power of the falling blades.

The storm of steel showed no signs of abating, but David stood firm, his Void Manipulation pulsing with raw strength. His sleeve of darkness flexed and surged as he poured his energy into the barrier, his eyes glowing with fierce determination.

In that moment, amidst the chaos, he was unyielding. Not just a survivor, but a force of nature, standing defiant against the wrath of a world bent on crushing him but his mana wasn't Infinite.

A choking cloud of dust swallowed the battlefield, its oppressive weight thickening the air as the endless cascade of swords continued to pour from the crimson sky. The clash of steel against the desert floor rang out like a war drum, creating a cacophony that reverberated across Number 4's realm. And then, with a casual flick of his wrist, the torrent ceased.

The swords froze midair, their gleaming edges glinting with residual power, a frozen sea of death hanging ominously above the wasteland. Number 4's crimson eyes pierced through the dense veil of dust as he stood unmoving, unshaken. A smile crept across his face beneath his jagged blue mask as his keen gaze confirmed what his instincts already told him—the Monarch had vanished.

For a moment, silence reigned.

Number 4's sharp, calculating eyes darted through the realm, his vision sweeping across the rippling sands and shattered plains. But then, something caught his attention.

Above.

The crimson sky twisted unnaturally. A distortion rippled like the surface of a disturbed pond, and within its center, something began to form.

The air around the scene distorted further as shadows around

David's Sovereign Armor

surged violently, drawn to him like a living tempest. They writhed and spiraled, gathering with malicious intent as David's armored figure hovered above, commanding the storm.

A massive vortex of pure darkness emerged from the sky, its size and power dwarfing anything Number 4 had summoned. The swirling mass writhed, growing larger and more defined with each passing moment. The shadows contorted, sharpening into a singular, monstrous tip—a colossal drill of spinning darkness. Its edges shimmered with malevolent energy, as though the shadows themselves had been honed to a razor's edge, screeching as they spun faster and faster, tearing through the air with an unnatural, ear-piercing whine.

From above, a voice cut through the chaos, calm yet laced with biting mockery.

"Good luck, macho swordsman." David's voice.

[SHADOW WRATH] x [SHADOW REVOLVER].

Number 4's crimson eyes flared as he locked onto the source of the sound, the twisting vortex of shadows now streaking down toward him like a cataclysmic spear. The sheer size of the attack darkened the horizon, blotting out the faint light of the crimson sky. The air around it roared with energy, splitting and cracking under the force of the descending monstrosity.

The ground beneath Number 4 trembled, resonating with the weight of the impending attack. Yet, the King of Steel stood unwavering, his smile unfaltering as he braced himself. His dark aura glowed faintly, his swords pulsing with chaotic energy as his hands moved into position.

"Finally, a challenge."

The colossal drill hurtled toward him, the sheer force of its descent leaving trails of shadowed destruction in its wake. The realm quaked as if the desert itself feared the collision that was to come. And yet, Number 4 remained composed, his crimson eyes radiating an aura of defiance, ready to meet the Monarch's wrath head-on.

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