Every weapon had its own strengths and weaknesses. That was common sense—something even an untrained fighter would know. A spear’s length and sharpness allowed it to strike from afar, while a hammer’s weight made it deadly even through armor.

At fifty paces, a bow outmatched any sword that could cut through steel, but at thirty centimeters, a dagger easily overpowered a spear. The so-called “King of All Weapons” was nothing more than a myth, because a weapon’s supremacy always depended on circumstance.

There were times when the sword bested the spear, when the spear defeated the bow, and just as often, the reverse was true. Discussing the “strongest weapon” was ultimately meaningless.

And yet, with a deafening crash, the Devourer was hurled backward by a thunderous impact, coughing up black blood.

“How many weapons are you hiding, wretch?!” it shouted.

“Who knows?” Irexana answered coolly.

The war hammer he’d been wielding a moment earlier had already changed into a three-meter spear. It was a well-known combat technique—switching weapons instantly using a subspace bracelet.

Karen used the same method to replace throwing knives or draw weapons barehanded, but Irexana’s mastery was on a different level entirely.

With a crack, a streak of lightning split the air. With both feet planted firmly like pillars, he twisted his waist and shoulders, driving his thrust with sheer centrifugal force.

The Devourer blocked the thrust, the most fundamental yet destructive technique of the spear, with its pincers, but staggered back two steps. Even after taking the blow with its hardest armor, the sheer force nearly pierced through. Had it struck his torso, it would’ve left a gaping hole.

“Your attacks do nothing to me!”

A spear’s strength lay in its speed, power, and the ability to strike repeatedly without pause. The Devourer knew that well. With countless battles behind it, it understood perfectly how to counter it.

It raised both pincers to prepare for the next attack, then swung its tail toward Irexana’s lower body, which was the foundation of his stance and movement. However, just as it was about to grin from a successful attack, a hole tore open in the center of the Devourer’s abdomen.

At first, it was no larger than a coin. But a heartbeat later, the shockwave bursting from within ripped the wound wide open.

“Grghk! H-how ...?!”

“After forcing you back with the spear, I switch to the bow. It works best on experienced opponents. They always react the same way.”

With calm precision, Irexana lowered the longbow in his left hand, already swapping weapons again. A sword and shield now gleamed in his grasp, both of them anything but ordinary.

“Let’s continue.”

With that quiet declaration, Irexana charged. Because he’d been striking and retreating throughout the fight, the Devourer’s response came a split second too late, exactly as Irexana had planned.

He darted into range, his shield intercepting a reflexive strike from the monster’s pincers. The deflection was flawless. It was a parry so refined it could only be achieved after decades of training.

His flaming sword carved across the Devourer’s shell, the wound glowing red-hot as the carapace melted. The weapon—a Jugend Steel number 196 “Magma Blade”—was infamous for igniting whatever it cut.

The Devourer roared in agony, but Irexana was already retreating, his form steady. The sword and shield vanished from his hands. In their place, three boomerangs and a curved scimitar.

“GRAAAHH! You damn insect!”

Driven past the limit of its patience, the Devourer let out a monstrous scream and charged, ready to endure injuries if it meant crushing him outright.

It had to. Otherwise, it was going to be whittled down to the point of demise.

Irexana’s unending weapon changes made every exchange unpredictable. Thousands of possible patterns branched and overlapped. No matter how the Devourer reacted, Irexana always had a counter prepared. It wasn’t even a contest of reflexes anymore.

And yet, the Devourer’s effort was seemingly nullified once again.

“I thought you’d do that.”

The three boomerangs left Irexana’s hands, spinning through the air before embedding themselves in the ground.

The moment they, Jugend Steel number 133, Triplet Frost Stars, struck, the area within their triangular formation froze solid.

Thanks to its immense magic resistance, the Devourer broke free after only a few seconds. To Irexana, however, those few seconds were all he needed.

Another strike. A leg severed cleanly, followed by another graceful retreat. Perfect distance, perfect timing. Even as the Devourer regained movement and lunged in fury, Irexana’s thrown harpoon intercepted him mid-charge.

Swords, spears, hammers, axes, bows, daggers, whips—a storm of weapons, many so rare that even veteran knights wouldn’t recognize them, rained upon the creature.

“GRAAAAAAH!”

No matter how many times it rushed him, the result was the same. Irexana’s Aura and physical strength were formidable.

The Devourer was stronger, yes—but not overwhelmingly so. Charging recklessly would only end with fatal wounds.

That was why it had summoned the Zombie Dragon earlier. It wished to kill Irexana one-on-one while conserving its own strength. But Irexana had far exceeded its expectations, proving that power alone wasn’t everything.

He was showing what true mastery of martial arts, the mastery of a hundred weapons, really meant. Perhaps it would’ve been better to fight two-on-two after all.

“How irritating. To think I’d be pushed this far by a lowborn from the lesser planes.”

The Devourer’s expression chilled, perhaps thanks to losing some blood, and his anger hardened into focus. The real fight was about to begin.

Sensing it, Irexana summoned two axes—one gold, one silver—the Eyes of the Goddess he’d once used to defeat Cordia, the Bishop of Despair. Even a Weaponmaster had weapons he favored most.

“I’ll kill you. I’ll savor every second as I crush you to death,” the Devourer declared.

With that emotionless vow, it began to change. Its massive four-meter frame shrank, condensing into a more compact, agile form. Its six legs merged into two, its chitinous pincers molding into a full-body carapace that resembled plate armor. Only its tail remained, stretching out like a sleek, deadly spear—or a whip.

The sheer presence radiating from that new form made Irexana’s muscles tense instinctively.

This is... dangerous.

Up until now, the Devourer had been focused on hunting them, but in truth, all of that had been nothing more than a game to it.

The Devourer was not only a transcendent being, but it was a ruler of an entire world, the Hungry Realm. There was no way such a creature would treat a handful of lower-dimensional warriors with any respect. Now that it had chosen to fight in earnest, its threat had risen to an entirely different level.

Even so, Irexana smiled faintly. It was still manageable.

The enemy was a little stronger than expected, but not unbeatable. He couldn’t afford to hold anything back, which meant he’d have to leave the rest of the battle to others.

If it’s the Hero and his companions, they’ll be fine without me.

Unknowingly, Irexana glanced toward one side of Calelum—the direction Adela had flown off with the Zombie Dragon. From there, he could feel a surge of powerful holy energy, stronger by severalfold than any cardinal’s. There was only one person who could emit such a light.

“I see. There’s nothing left for me to worry about.”

There was no longer any need to look back. The moment that realization hit him, a storm-like energy erupted around his body. The spirits of earth and fire resonated with his will, heating the ground beneath him until it bubbled like magma.

His natural Aura harmonized with the dozens of weapons he’d forged, amplifying their potential, while his Holy Power and Stigma of the Guide synchronized, recognizing the enemy that had to be annihilated. He was finally pushed beyond his limits.

“Wretch...! Were you holding back this whole time? Against me?!”

“Well,” Irexana replied calmly, aiming his twin axes. “This is all I have.”

“I am Irexana, Third Cardinal of the Holy Church,” he declared, his voice steady and clear. “And with your head, I shall bring my part in this Holy War to an end.”

“Insolent worm! Don’t you dare act like you’ve already won!”

The world shook with a deafening blast.

***

When Leon’s group reached the area around the palace ruins, following in Adela’s wake, they all froze in shock.

According to Adela, only two had fought here: the Devourer, a transcendent from another dimension summoned by Morse, and Irexana.

So what could have caused this utter devastation, which looked like a scene that looked as though an earthquake had swallowed everything whole?

Thankfully, the Zombie Dragon’s summon had consumed every remaining corpse, leaving behind only shattered buildings and rubble, not a sea of flesh and blood.

“Look!”

Karen’s sharp eyes caught something glimmering amidst the debris. She ran toward it, and the others followed, their expressions tightening as they recognized it.

“That’s His Eminence’s axe, isn’t it...?” Leon murmured, his voice trembling.

“Yeah. Eyes of the Goddess. The twin battle axes,” Adela said, crouching down to examine the golden fragment in her hand.

It was one of Irexana’s signature creations and a part of the Jugend Steel number 200, a weapon forged from orichalcum. The fact that such a weapon had been found in pieces like this could only mean one thing.

Just as people’s minds were wandering to a dark possibility, Adela tossed the fragment aside with a shrug.

“Relax, kids,” she said. “This wasn’t destroyed. He broke it himself.”

“Pardon? You mean he shattered his own weapon?”

“It’s one of Irexana’s secret techniques. He doesn’t use it often since it puts a brutal strain on both his body and his weapons, but I guess the situation called for it.”

Though Irexana was a Master, his domain wasn’t the sword, the spear, or even the axe. He was, first and foremost, a blacksmith. Forging and refining weapons was his true craft, and even his Aura Blades reflected that philosophy.

“He can draw out a weapon’s latent power far beyond its limits,” Adela continued. “Even give it an ego—a will of its own. That was Irexana’s awakened ability as a Master.”

However, weapons that surpassed their own limits through Irexana’s Aura Blade could not escape the price. Even well-crafted Jugend Steel arms would shatter after being used only a few times, while lesser ones disintegrated into dust after a single swing. For Irexana—a blacksmith who took pride and affection in his own creations—such a price was cruel beyond measure.

“Still,” Adela added, “a weapon’s meant to be used and spent. He’s never once hesitated when the time called for it. And when he invokes his Aura Blade, he’s strong enough to match even the Evil Order’s second bishop.”

With that, she started walking ahead.

“So quit worrying and follow me. Standing around fretting won’t help anyone.”

Reassured by her tone, Leon and the others followed her through what remained of the fallen palace.

Once a lavish and majestic structure, it now stood as nothing more than a hollow ruin. Minutes passed as they traced the path of the battle, its scars still etched deeply into the earth.

“This way,” Adela said, seemingly reading faint vibrations, as her instincts led her without hesitation.

The traces spoke of an extraordinary clash so intense that experienced warriors like them could imagine what had taken place simply from what remained. A duel of life and death between a monster beyond classification and a warrior standing at the threshold of Grandmaster.

So many impossible trajectories... could those be from Cardinal Irexana’s Aura Blade?

—Most likely.

El-Cid murmured. —A form of blade control—the stronger the weapon’s intrinsic quality, the more devastating the technique.

As Leon and El-Cid exchanged thoughts regarding Irexana’s Aura Blade, they finally found him.

Leaning against a shattered pillar, his body battered and broken, Irexana slowly lifted his half-closed eyes. Despite his condition, a faint, familiar smile lingered on his lips.

“Ah. You’re here.”

In his right hand, the last remaining Eye of the Goddess—the silver axe—gleamed softly in the ruined light.