Chapter 114: Take Back the Wastes, Reclaim Our Land!

Crack.

With one last faint snap of bone, the palm sized mutant pangolin that had been pretending to be a rock collapsed into pulp inside Joren’s hand.

[Ding! Rank One Voidbeast Ironclad Rat killed. Bloodstars obtained: 1.]

One point.

Pitiful.

Yet to Joren, that crisp system notification sounded almost heavenly.

Because this was the last one.

He opened his hand and let the mangled remains slide from his fingers, tumbling into the bottomless ruins below.

Joren stood at the very top of the abandoned television tower, four hundred meters above the ground.

A rusted lightning rod beneath his boots.

Clear blue sky overhead.

Wind tore across the height, snapping his black coat behind him like a battle flag planted at the summit.

Joren slowly exhaled.

For some reason, that breath felt as though it had been held for a hundred years.

He raised his head.

The violet lightning and cyan wind that had lingered in his dark eyes gradually faded.

Only stillness remained.

Deep and quiet as an abyss.

[Worldheart Awareness].

For the next moment, Joren became an eye looking down on everything.

Three thousand meters in every direction.

Every ruin.

Every crack.

Every shadow beneath collapsed concrete.

Antares Command soldiers were still combing through the area, thrusting blades into crevices and overturning broken slabs.

Stone.

Weeds.

Dust.

Nothing alive.

No Voidbeasts.

Joren still wanted to make absolutely certain.

Behind him, cyan wind gathered violently.

[Garuda Skyfall Wings] unfolded beneath the sunlight.

The enormous wings now stretched more than thirty meters across, each feather compressed from solid wind and gleaming with flowing light.

Joren lowered his body slightly.

Boom!

A sonic cloud exploded from the tower peak.

The old steel frame groaned beneath the recoil.

Then Joren was gone.

Only a streak of cyan and gold remained.

He circled the newly cleared territory one last time, following its boundary through the sky.

On the ground, Dax stopped dragging a Voidbeast corpse and looked up.

That sound alone was enough.

No one else flew like that.

Alar shouted excitedly somewhere nearby.

Dax wiped black blood from his face.

His hand trembled.

Not from fear.

He simply could not keep it steady.

This was the sort of scene he would never have dared imagine even in a dream.

A forbidden region of humanity.

A nest of Voidbeasts.

And now someone was flying over it without restraint.

No beast dared roar.

No flying monster came to intercept him.

Jazz planted his greatsword into the ground and stared upward, mouth hanging open.

All around him, the soldiers stopped what they were doing.

Three thousand people.

The same motion.

Heads tilted toward the sky.

That streak of light crossed overhead, cutting through a sky that had belonged to blood and gray mist for a century.

This was reclamation.

For the first time since the catastrophe began a hundred years ago, humanity had truly pushed the battle line back into territory once ruled by Voidbeasts.

And this was no temporary foothold.

They had killed everything.

A few moments later, the streak of light descended.

Joren did not land.

He stopped in midair beside the most visible steel support of the ruined television tower.

His wrist turned.

The S Class heavy blade [Heaven’s Sin] appeared in his hand.

A weapon that had drunk the blood of beast kings now gleamed coldly in the sun.

Clang!

The blade came free.

Joren adjusted the edge and poured protective force into it.

Cold light spread along the steel.

Then, with one hand, he began carving into a massive rusted plate that had endured a century of wind and rain.

Sparks burst everywhere.

Metal fragments scattered.

Every stroke came with the harsh scream of steel being torn apart.

Below, no one spoke.

They simply watched.

One minute later, Joren stopped.

[Heaven’s Sin] returned to its sheath.

He turned toward the three thousand soldiers below.

His coat whipped wildly in the wind.

"All units, listen."

His voice was not loud.

With Mental Force behind it, every soldier heard him as clearly as if he were standing beside them.

Three thousand bodies snapped upright at once.

Boot heels struck the ground together.

"From this tower onward."

"The three hundred miles behind us belong to the Aurelian Dominion."

His gaze swept across them.

"Tell the people of Norcrest."

"Tell every soldier who died here before us."

Joren lifted one hand and pointed toward the words he had just carved into the steel, the grooves still glowing with heat.

"We took it back!"

Boom!

Something seemed to explode through the formation.

Blood rushed hot through every body below.

Across the enormous steel plate, the freshly carved words shone beneath the sunlight, every stroke fierce and heavy, saturated with Blade Intent.

[Take Back the Wastes, Reclaim Our Land!]

Beneath them was the signature.

[Aurelian Dominion, Joren.]

Dax’s lips trembled.

Then the tears came.

He could not stop them.

Jazz did not fare any better.

"Ahhh!"

He slammed one fist into the ground.

Concrete shattered beneath it.

Kaia covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking as she stared up at the black figure above them.

Seventeen years old.

That was all.

Yet in that moment, the figure seemed taller than the television tower behind him.

Taller than the sky itself.

"We took it back!"

"We really took it back!"

"Long live the Frontier Marshal!"

"Long live humanity!"

A roar swept through the camp.

"Long live the Frontier Marshal!"

"We won!"

"We actually won!"

For once, even three thousand hardened soldiers could not hold themselves together.

Everything they had buried for years came spilling out at once.

Some dropped to their knees and grabbed handfuls of dirt, pressing it to their faces, even tasting it.

Their land.

Some threw their caps into the air and pulled nearby comrades into crushing embraces.

Others drew their blades and hammered them against shields until the ruins shook with the noise.

This was an honor every Awakened Warrior dreamed of and never expected to see.

Today, a seventeen year old had led them here.

And made it real.

Joren remained above them, standing at the highest point of the ruins where the sunlight struck brightest.

No grand speech was necessary.

That silhouette alone was enough.

The sharpest blade of this era.

A name destined to enter the history of the Aurelian Dominion.

Alar stared at the carved words through blurred eyes.

His hands shook as he lifted his phone and took a photograph.

Then he posted it.

The caption contained only one word.

[Miracle.]

For everyone there, the rest of the world seemed to disappear.

All that remained was the young man above them and the battle flag snapping in the wind.