The endless dragon armies stood against even larger forces clad in gold. Across the broken capital, weapons were raised, claws tightened, wings half-spread, and magic burned in the air as both sides locked themselves in a tense standstill. The ground between them was ruined beyond recognition, cracked by earlier battles and stained by the blood of warriors who had already fallen before either side could claim victory.

The tall warriors with pointed ears were gaining a slight advantage. Their golden ranks moved with cold discipline, each line stepping forward and retreating with terrifying control, cutting through the scattered dragon warriors whenever even the smallest opening appeared.

Countless bodies already covered the shattered ground, dragon blood running between broken stones while torn scales, snapped weapons, and burned banners marked how badly the battle had turned in Max’s absence.

"This land now belongs to the Elven Emperor. How dare you filthy dragons stand upon sacred soil?"

A handsome young man held his blade against Sigmund’s throat, the edge pressing just hard enough to draw a thin line of blood. Sigmund did not flinch. His chest rose and fell heavily, his claws digging into his palms as he stared daggers into the young elf’s violet eyes, his jaw clenched with fury as if he wanted nothing more than to bite through the blade himself.

"This land will never belong to you," Eberhard said, raising the spear he had picked up after Oswald vanished with Henry’s magic. "It belongs to King Maximus, the only true ruler of the dragon region."

Green winds spun around the weapon, twisting faster and faster until the air itself began to tremble around him. Eberhard’s old eyes burned with killing intent as he pointed the spear at the elven general, but even with all that rage, he could feel the weight pressing down on the army behind him. His people were tired. The four clans were shaken. Their king was missing, and the elves had arrived at the worst possible moment.

"I will give you one chance to step away from my brother," he roared, his voice carrying across the broken capital, "or I will kill you where you stand!"

The armies behind the elven general laughed softly, their amusement quiet and refined, as if they truly believed they stood above all creation as perfect predators looking down on cornered beasts. None of them seemed afraid. Their golden armor shone beneath the broken light, spotless on some, blood-splashed on others, but every single one of them carried that same calm arrogance that made the dragons’ hatred burn even hotter.

"I don’t think you understand the situation," the elven general said with a light laugh, his violet eyes narrowing with cruel delight. "We all saw your king die in that explosion. And we elves need the lands of this Wind Empire. With your puny army in this state, what exactly can you do to stop our emperor if he decides he wants to rule this place? Who among you will challenge his authority?"

His blade pressed harder into Sigmund’s throat, drawing a fresh line of blood that slowly ran down his neck.

The dragons hissed, their slit pupils trembling with rage and hatred, but none of them moved. Without Max, they were not sure what they should do.

Their king had been the one who held all four clans together by force, fear, power, and the promise of a greater future, but now that he was gone, even if only for a moment, the cracks between them began to show. There was no true second-in-command, no chosen heir to his authority, no one powerful enough to make the fire, ice, wind, and thunder dragons obey the same voice.

The balance had shifted, and now, for the first time since Voidstar’s rise, the four clans were no longer sure if they should stand together or scatter before the elves crushed them one by one.

Without the king, the kingdom itself felt as if it was already beginning to fall apart.

"I will challenge it!"

Suddenly, the air above the broken capital warped, twisting inward until a black hole opened in the sky. Something dark shot out from within it like a falling shadow, but the moment it crossed the light, its body glinted with a faint golden shine that did not belong to the old Max.

The dragon warriors felt it before they fully saw him.

A familiar bloodline suppression rolled over them, deep and heavy, pressing against their bones in a way that should have terrified them, but this time, it only made their eyes light up with joy and understanding.

"Our King!"

The roar erupted from the crowds like a thunderclap. Weapons struck the ground again and again with almost barbaric force, shaking the ruined capital beneath their feet as the dragons who had nearly fallen into despair found their hearts burning once more.

Even Sigmund, still trapped beneath the blade of the elven general, felt every trace of fear vanish from his body.

"After all, he’s invincible, no matter who he faces," he muttered, a wide, almost mad smile rising on his lips.

The elven general looked up, his violet eyes narrowing as a cold sense of danger crawled across his throat. Something was locked onto him. Not a gaze, not a spell, but something sharper, something that told his instincts that if he remained where he stood for even one more breath, his head would no longer stay attached to his body.

He stepped back immediately, golden magic twisting around his blade before shooting upward like thousands of thin threads, weaving together into a bright net before him.

A loud clang shook the air.

Sharp winds burst outward from the collision, pushing against the elven armies and forcing their refined expressions to finally twist into something ugly. Dust and golden sparks scattered through the battlefield, and only then did everyone see the wide black wings spread behind Sigmund, covering him like a wall that could not be crossed.

Max stood there, his broad back facing his people like a devil shielding them from the world.

His body looked slightly different now. His muscles were thicker, not bulky, but denser and more defined, while his shoulders and back had grown wider beneath the faint golden shine clinging to his skin.

He seemed slightly taller as well, his presence heavier, sharper, more complete, and his black hair now reached just above his shoulders, moving softly in the wind. Two black dragon horns rested at his temples, curved and sharp, threatening anyone foolish enough to stand before him.

His long void blade vibrated gently in his hand, responding to the rage he barely bothered to hide.

Max had just endured his reunion with Henry. He had watched his people die, seen corpses twisted into puppets, faced the bones of progenitor dragons, and now, after everything, he had returned only to find more of his warriors killed by these golden-clad invaders who looked like elves and carried themselves like gods.

His expression became colder.

Without saying another word, Max rose deliberately into the air, looking down on them from above as if there was no question about where he stood. The dragons followed one after another, their wings carrying them high into the sky, stopping just below him as grins spread across their faces. Their king had returned, and suddenly, the fear that had nearly broken them turned into a blind confidence.

"Who are you?" the elven general asked calmly, but Max’s simple gesture made his temples throb, veins pulsing beneath his skin as anger broke through his refined mask. "How dare you look down on the elves? Only we are allowed to—"

Blood spilled.

The mouth that had been speaking only a moment ago split cleanly down the middle, and silence fell as the tall elven body separated into two halves before dropping to the ground.

Max remained in the air above them, his void blade lowered slightly, his eyes cold enough to make even the golden armies hesitate.

"You talk too much."

The elves stared in shock at the terrifying speed and power Max had just shown. None of them had even seen when his blade moved, or if he had used the blade at all. One moment, their general had been speaking with arrogance, and the next, his body was split apart before his words could finish leaving his mouth. Fury slowly painted their pale, perfect faces, cracking through that calm superiority they had carried only moments ago.

"Kill him! Take revenge!"

The other generals standing before their squadrons roared at once, their voices cutting through the stunned silence. Their fingers pulled at the air, and suddenly, golden strings appeared where they had dragged their hands, shining threads stretching from nothing as if they had plucked them straight from the light itself.

One after another, bows of spectral golden radiance manifested in the hands of every elven warrior, elegant and bright, yet carrying a killing intent so sharp that the air trembled beneath the thousands of arrows forming upon them.

The magical arrows aimed at Max and the dragon army behind him.

"You will now see what becomes of those who dare to offend the elves!" one of the generals shouted, stepping forward with his face twisted in anger. "Even those disgusting dwarves would not dare to challenge us, so how dare you, a mere lowly dragon, stand above us?"

Max remained silent in the air, his black wings spread wide, his void blade resting in his hand as if the golden army below him was nothing more than noise. That silence only made the elves angrier.

"Fire!"

The sky lit up in a wave of gold.

Hundreds of thousands of arrows shot forward at the same time, flooding the horizon like a burning storm of sunlight. The golden rain swallowed the air between the two armies, each arrow carrying enough power to tear through scales, pierce armor, and turn the broken capital into a graveyard once more.

Wherever that light landed, destruction would follow, and for a single breath, it looked as if the heavens themselves had turned against the dragons.