Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory

Feylora held it up in front of Ethan, her voice still buzzing with excitement.

"There's defensive energy inside this rune. If you wear it, it can form a powerful spatial barrier. That way, the enemy won't be able to hurt us."

Ethan stared at the rune, heat rising in his chest. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

He truly hadn't expected a place like this to be hiding another layer of power. The abandoned runes on the surface had already been shocking enough—but underground, everything felt like it had been lifted up by an entire tier.

It wasn't just that there were more runes.

More importantly, these were clearly more complete, and their energy was far denser.

Right then, Ethan's gaze paused.

On one of the walls, he saw an extremely strange rune.

Its shape was odd, like a tadpole curled in on itself. It wasn't large, and the energy it gave off wasn't nearly as strong as the other runes around it. But after Ethan stared at it for a moment, his expression began to change, inch by inch.

Inside that rune was an extremely domineering spatial power.

It wasn't the kind of spread-out, stable power used for passages.

It was sharper. More condensed. More spatial in a lethal way.

On its own, sitting there, it didn't look like much. But the moment you fed other energy into it—

Ethan realized almost instantly: this thing could very likely produce might even stronger than a spatial sphere.

Just as the thought took shape, the walls around them suddenly started to shake.

A rolling boom pressed down from outside, driving into the underground like some colossal presence was ripping through the surface's energy layer by brute force.

Then an overwhelmingly powerful force punched straight in from the outside world, making the underground glow flicker between bright and dim.

Ethan's eyes widened.

The enemy was here.

He didn't stop for even a second. He raised a hand and signaled everyone to withdraw. Feylora and the Fairies reacted fast, snatching up the runes they'd just pried loose and rushing out with Ethan.

When they burst back onto the surface, everyone was hugging, cradling, or stuffing runes into their clothes.

And the sky outside had changed completely.

"Lord Varex—where are you?!"

That heart-ripping scream rolled across the sky in layered waves, pressing the air until it trembled. Ethan looked up.

A woman hung in midair, her figure impossibly alluring.

Slim. Dangerous.

And the Nethora Power pouring off her was terrifying.

It swirled around her like a dark tide. Every time it spread another ring outward, the nearby space gave a faint twist.

Ethan didn't hesitate. He threw his voice up at her.

"He's already dead!"

As the words fell, he rose into the air. Power detonated out of him, white lightning spreading rapidly around his body, pulling blinding arcs across the high sky—staking out the space ahead of the coming clash.

The woman froze for a beat.

For that instant, it was like she didn't understand what the sentence actually meant.

Then a more twisted emotion crawled up her face. She didn't explode into a furious scream. She didn't dive immediately.

Instead, as if something had pushed her past the edge, she suddenly laughed—wild and unhinged.

The laughter echoed across the sky, making scalps go tight.

In the next moment, she snapped her fist up and hammered her chest three times.

"Elysion—Central Warfront. Second Vanguard Commander… Gisladra!"

Hearing that, even Ethan paused.

He hadn't expected her to open with a formal duel salute.

He was already prepared to answer with his own name and rank and take this fight head-on—but before he could speak, someone was already there at his side.

Queen Elowen.

Her movement was faster than Ethan's thought. The moment she settled into position, she raised her fist as well and struck her chest in the answering ritual, her voice cold as snapped ice.

"Emerald Castle—Elowen!"

Ethan glanced sideways at her, and his heart jolted faintly.

He hadn't expected Queen Elowen to step out like this—taking the fight for him.

But before he could think any further, the air in the high sky had already changed completely.

Queen Elowen's power spread out around her without a sound. Then the temperature between heaven and earth began to sink.

Not a simple cold wind.

A heavier, more direct chill—like the entire sky was being frozen by something invisible.

The grit and stone fragments on the ground paled first, then frosted over in a blink. Even the last scraps of heat lingering in the air were forced down, crushed flat.

Across from her, Gisladra narrowed her eyes and took a slow step back.

Then the violent Nethora Power inside her fully erupted, rapidly condensing into a gigantic phantom bird in the high sky.

The bird's outline was long and narrow. The moment its wings spread, the air was sliced into a sharp, shrieking whistle. It didn't have the lightness of an ordinary flier—there was something almost wicked about its pressure, staring straight down at Queen Elowen like it was judging prey.

Elowen's eyes held nothing but contempt.

She didn't waste a word. She lifted a hand, and an ice-crystal spear formed in her palm at terrifying speed.

The process was brutally clear—cold gathered into her hand, compressed, stretched, hardened. A razor tip took shape, then a straight shaft, and finally the entire weapon lit with a cold, pale-white glow.

The next instant, she gripped it and charged.

The moment their forces collided in midair, a rolling thunder shook the world.

The ice spear slammed into the phantom bird. A clean shockwave burst out—then space itself failed under the impact, tearing open into widening rifts.

Cracks layered on top of cracks.

Violent energy rippled out in stacked surges.

In only a short span, they'd traded hundreds of blows in the high sky.

The phantom bird kept diving, raking, looping back around. Gisladra's figure flickered behind it, changing angles with frightening speed. But no matter how she shifted, Queen Elowen was never truly driven back.

Instead, the ice-crystal spear in Elowen's hands grew heavier, faster, more and more ruthless. Cold spread with every collision, forcing its way outward.

Bit by bit, Gisladra fell behind.

Her Nethora Power was eerie, her trajectories hard to read—but in raw might, she was still a step below Queen Elowen.

More and more freezing power accumulated in the sky.

Guided by the spear, that cold—so extreme it was nearly stagnant—spread onto Gisladra's body, forming a thin layer of frost across her skin.

It started at her shoulder and arm.

Then it crawled to her chest, her waist, her legs.

Gisladra's expression finally changed.

"That's impossible!" For the first time, obvious shock broke into her voice. "You're nothing but a crawler from a low-grade Plane World—how could you have ice power this extreme? Who the hell are you?"

Queen Elowen didn't answer.

The only answer was colder ice.

Elowen's power climbed again. Layer after layer of ultimate chill surged out of her and crushed forward.

This wasn't ordinary freezing anymore.

It was a kind of cold that could strip an entire region of motion—locking everything into stillness.

The Nethora Power that had still been able to spiral around Gisladra began to slow under the sustained suppression, stiffening inch by inch.

As time passed, Gisladra's body finally showed signs of collapse.

Across the surface of that alluring, dangerous frame, dense cracks began to spread. They appeared first on her arms and shoulders, then raced across her torso and legs—like porcelain frozen past its limit, ready to burst apart at any second.

If this continued, she would shatter on the spot.