While Ethan adjusted his cufflinks in the back of his limousine, surrounded by velvet boxes containing treasures that could buy small nations, the world’s true "Old Guard" had finally emerged from the shadows.

On a private island hidden by distortion matrices so dense that even the most advanced satellites saw only empty ocean, a spatial rift tore open. Two figures descended from the sky. They did not suppress their presence; instead, they let their auras flare like dying stars. Every guard, servant, and high-ranking official on the island was instantly slammed into the marble floor by an invisible weight. They didn’t just fall; they collapsed, their lungs struggling to draw air in the presence of Ancient predators.

Lord Truth Seeker landed silently, his robes fluttering in a wind that wasn’t there. Beside him was the Leader of the Union.

For centuries, the Leader had maintained an image of a grandfatherly figure—kind, approachable, and diplomatic. But today, that mask was gone. His eyes were voids of cold fury. With a flick of his wrist, he activated a high-grade spatial ring.

THUD. THUD. THUD.

Dozens, then hundreds of severed heads rolled across the floor, leaving trails of gore on the pristine white stone. The officials looked on in paralyzed horror. These weren’t just anyone. These were the heads of the 200 Ancestors who had recently accepted Ethan’s miracle potions.

Two days ago, the Leader had issued a mandatory summons: every faction head, affiliated or not, was to report to the island for an emergency summit. Those who had tasted Ethan’s pot´s, feeling renewed and invincible, had dared to ignore the call. They thought they had found a new master in Royal.

They were wrong.

In a single 24-hour window, the Leader of the Union had moved across the globe like a silent plague. He had been fast, lethal, and utterly implacable. Two hundred factions had been wiped from the map, their foundations turned to ash and their revived Ancestors decapitated before they could even draw their weapons. Rivers of blood had flowed across three continents in less than a day.

The survivors on the island remembered now. They remembered the history that had been softened by centuries of "peace." The Union was not a democratic alliance of hundreds of forces; it was a monument to absolute submission.

The Leader was an Outsider who had arrived in an age of chaos and paved his path to the throne with the skulls of the powerful. His true name had been lost to time, buried under the weight of his own legend. Those who dared speak of him in the oldest records referred to him by a single title: One. He called himself The Only One.

Only Truth Seeker had ever stood as his equal. The legends said they had fought once, a battle that nearly cracked the tectonic plates, resulting in the formation of the Union as a duarchy.

The faction leaders present—those who had been smart enough to obey the summons—shuddered. They looked at the pile of heads and felt a sickening wave of gratitude for their own cowardice. They realized that while Ethan was a rising storm, these two were the eternal abyss.

"The balance has been disturbed by a child playing with alchemy," One spoke, his voice vibrating through the very marrow of their bones. "He thinks he can buy the world with drops of health. He has forgotten that the world belongs to those who can take it back."

Truth Seeker stepped forward, his eyes scanning the trembling crowd. "The boy in the East has grown too loud. It is time to remind this planet why we are the ones who write the laws."

The Leader’s gaze drifted across the faces of the terrified elite, each official looking like a condemned prisoner. His voice, when he finally spoke, was a low, melodic rasp that carried a jagged edge.

"Where is the Deacon?"

The room went cold. Every elder and general present trembled, their eyes darting to the floor. Finally, the Third Elder crawled forward, his forehead touching the marble. He held a shimmering obsidian talisman aloft with shaking hands.

"Lord One," the Third Elder stammered. "He... he did not respond to the summons. I personally activated the transmission talisman in his name to recall him, but there was only silence."

One reached out. He didn’t touch the talisman; he simply exerted a thread of spiritual pressure, and the object floated into his hand. He closed his eyes for a moment, sensing the dead frequency of the device.

"Mmm... I see," One murmured, a dark, amused smile playing on his lips. "It seems this throne no longer commands the respect it once did. Do some of you believe I am no longer fit to lead the Union?"

As he spoke, the air around him began to warp. Faint, spider-web cracks appeared in the very fabric of space, a physical manifestation of his unchecked power. The spiritual pressure doubled, then tripled, until the sound of ribs cracking under the weight filled the hall.

"No! Lord One is the Only One!" a general shrieked from the floor.

"We are but dust before your shadow!" another cried.

"The Deacon is a traitor! We are your loyal hounds!"

The pathetic displays of fealty did nothing to soothe the Leader’s cold fury. Beside him, Truth Seeker remained a silent statue, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He knew that while One enjoyed the submission, the reality was far grimmer.

They were preparing for a total war against Ethan, but even these two monsters were not reckless. Wiping out two hundred minor factions was a display of speed and ruthlessness, but none of those factions held an "Obsidian Rank". That rank wasn’t a mere title; it represented the power of the Veto. Every Obsidian faction possessed a "Trump Card"—an ancient relic or a forbidden technique—capable of threatening even the leaders of the Union.

Celestial had held two such cards. Their Patriarch had died without being able to flee, a fact that weighed heavily on One’s mind. It showed that Ethan wasn’t just strong; he was efficient. He had forced the Celestial Ancestor into a corner where he was too terrified to use his final card, fearing that even if he survived, his entire lineage would be vaporized. He had chosen to hoard his secret weapon while his empire burned, hoping for a survival that never came.

"We will not make the same mistake of underestimating this boy’s reach," One said, crushing the Deacon’s talisman into fine dust. "He thinks he can use numbers and bounties to hunt our generals? We will show him the true meaning of a landslide."

One turned to Truth Seeker. "Activate the Obsidian Protocols. We will gather every remaining rank and every hidden asset. We will not duel him. We will bury Royal HQ under the collective weight of the world’s sins."

"And the Deacon?" Truth Seeker asked.

"If he is hiding from me, he is already dead," One replied. "Focus on the King in the East. I want to see if his ’pot´s’ can heal a shattered soul."