Aboard the alchemical airship, Grantham—tall, striking, and visibly tense—struggled to remain composed as he faced the manifestation of the greatest hero in recorded history.
"As expected of the Hero King of ancient Babylon," he muttered. "Even a mere apparition of him stands at the threshold of the Seventh Level. The airship's not enough... I'll have to use Grantham."
Until now, he had never personally engaged in combat. His strength had always come from his massive alchemical warship—a marvel of modern magic-engineering. Ten thousand Slime engines pumped furiously, each driving bellows that converted kinetic force into electricity, which in turn became latent spiritual energy through an intricate array of magical circuits. The result was a formidable mana flow capable of casting high-level spells, enough to rival even the Empress of Death who reigned over this world.
It sounded absurd—ten thousand gelatinous creatures powering a vessel to challenge the ruler of an entire era.
But that was the power of alchemical innovation.
That was the promise of the Slime engine.
"The time has come to act."
Grantham leapt from the airship.
"Haha! Behold, natives of this world!" he bellowed, arms wide as he descended in shimmering magical armor. "This is airborne artillery! This is the pinnacle of magic fused with modern technology! I can't livestream this, but I can take screenshots! Ninety years of effort, and now I'm unstoppable! Let them try to follow—I've already conquered this map solo. All they'll see is the trail I leave behind. Well... except maybe Akina's Speedster."
As his laughter echoed across the battlefield, black crests spiraled across the shield in his left hand. Light gathered at the tip of the staff in his right.
"There's no such thing as an unkillable being," he said coldly. "Even the dead can be killed."
On the ground, the spectators paled. They recognized the spell.
Circe's most feared magic. The cruelest, most devastating spell ever recorded.
"The Goal of All Life is Death!!!"
He roared the incantation.
Behind him, a massive pool of slime bubbled into existence. A grotesque demon's mask surfaced from its depths.
Boom!
The mask twisted and churned, releasing a cloud of blood-red mist—dense, oily, and seething like molten lava. It surged forward, crashing into Gilgamesh's descending blade.
The air convulsed.
A vortex erupted from the collision, consuming everything nearby.
Then—silence.
The sky cleared.
Clouds had been swept away by the sheer force of the blast, revealing a tranquil, endless blue.
The crowd looked upward, awestruck.
"A-Are we sure… he's still human?" someone whispered.
That question echoed in everyone's mind.
The legendary Hero King—the man who once defied gods—had been erased in an instant.
"That was everything I had..." Medusa whispered, her body trembling. She stared blankly at the empty sky, her voice choked with disbelief. "Even if it was just a fraction of the Hero King's true strength... it wasn't something I could hope to withstand. And yet—he beat it. He beat it with Circe's spell..."
"How can I possibly defeat someone like that!?"
Tears streaked down her face, snot running as her composure shattered.
She had always seen herself as superior—beautiful, powerful, untouchable. The world bowed before her. But in that moment, her pride crumbled.
She was paralyzed by a single, overwhelming truth:
Fear.
True, unfiltered fear. The kind only death could inspire.
"So... this is fear? A human's fear of death?" she murmured, hovering weakly in the sky.
Then her eyes narrowed.
"But I am Medusa—the Empress of Death!"
"MOVE!" she screamed. "I command you—MOVE!!!"
Her anguished cry tore through the air.
Boom!
A hidden power surged, finally breaking free.
The heavens churned.
Grantham watched, brows furrowed.
Below, the Rose Witches and citizens of Babylon stared skyward in shock.
"No..."
"Stop her! Hurry!"
"You're too late," Medusa whispered.
She rose higher, arms outstretched in triumph. Behind her, a crimson rose bloomed—petals unfurling one by one, each revealing an exponential surge of energy.
Her aura multiplied—twofold, threefold, tenfold—growing endlessly.
Boom!
Her breakthrough was complete.
She had ascended to the Seventh Level—the domain only reached by the Hero King himself.
Three centuries of effort, and she had finally crossed the threshold.
Silence followed.
Medusa stood motionless, overwhelmed by emotion. Then, slowly, she smiled.
"Thank you," she said, looking at Grantham. "Even though I command death, I never understood what it meant to fear it. But you showed me. That's why... I broke through."
"In return, I'll spare your life."
She approached him, smiling tenderly. "Be my consort. Rule this world at my side."
She took his hand, her voice soft and sweet. "Rule Babylon with me, Grantham. I'll even let you continue your little hobby—just provide us with men now and then."
Grantham blinked. "Wait, what did you just say?"
Medusa tilted her head, then chuckled. "Still want to fight me? Even though I'm now seventeen times stronger than before?"
"Only seventeen?" Grantham's expression fell flat. "That's it?"
Medusa froze.
Boom!
She leapt back instinctively.
"The Flower of Death!!!"
A devastating wave of dark energy tore through the sky toward Grantham.
But he simply raised his staff.
"The Guardian of Spring."
A soft chime rang out.
The rose shattered.
Medusa was blasted backwards by an incomprehensible force.
Grantham sighed. "I've been overly cautious. I thought you were hiding your Level Seven status this whole time. But you just broke through now—on the verge of death."
He shook his head.
"All this time... I wasn't even fighting you. It was just my fortress."
Gasps erupted.
The entire world watched, dumbfounded.
Could it be true? That Grantham himself had only now joined the battle—and still crushed the freshly ascended Empress of Death?
"What is this power...?"
Medusa's voice trembled. "No... Your aura—it's only at the Sixth Level. But how can you fight like a Level Seven!?"
Grantham smiled. "Alchemy."
"The great Creator once said: the ability to use tools is the mark of intelligence."
He paused, then chuckled.
Bending down, he gently helped the stunned Medusa to her feet.
"Want to learn?" he asked. "I can teach you."
Medusa stared at him, horrified. "Are you insane?!"
And so, a new entry was inscribed into the Spear of Witchcraft, the ancient tome that chronicled the magical history of this world:
Year 398, Kingdom of Babylon: Grantham, the Great Emperor of Alchemy and Keeper of the Gates of Truth, emerges. In a single move, he defeats Empress Medusa, shaking the world to its core.
In a quiet orchard far away...
Xu Zhi lounged in his usual chair, crunching an apple while watching the sandbox simulation.
"Took him long enough," he muttered. "Ninety years—just to solve one problem. But did he really have to leech off every woman he met?"
He rolled his eyes.
"First the Seven Little Witches, then Lilith... now he shows off like he's always been the protagonist?"
Truly shameless.
"He could've crushed any Level Six Mage once he hit Level Five. But no—he had to reach Level Six first, and even then, kept holding back in case Medusa was bluffing."
Xu Zhi sighed, biting into his apple again.
"What a coward."