The Stella quietly walked to the other side. She saw Hysilens watching over Cerydra with a worried expression, while Hyacine carefully used rainbow light imbued with healing power to treat the wound on Cerydra’s chest—one she had inflicted upon herself to activate the authority of law.

A faint scent of blood hung in the air.

"Cerydra... your injury..." Hysilens’s voice was filled with concern.

Though Cerydra’s face was slightly pale from blood loss, her posture remained upright and composed, befitting a monarch.

She even nodded slightly to the approaching Stella in greeting, a faint smile curling at the corner of her mouth—one carrying a hint of helplessness yet underlying resilience.

"Dux Gladiorum, I am quite all right. Dux Lucens’s medical skills are more than sufficient. However..."

She took a light breath, as if feeling the sting of the wound, and murmured with self-deprecation, "Compared to wielding authority through this kind of chest-tightening ’heartache’... I still prefer a gentler way of experiencing ’heartache’..."

Seeing this, the stelle’s heart churned with mixed emotions.

Just as she was about to look away, the corner of her eye suddenly caught something on the ground not far away, something reflecting a faint yet unusually persistent light.

Amid the chaotic battlefield ruins and the diffused energy dust, it stood out remarkably.

...

Four-Star Item: 『Scalding Crystal Tear』

★★★★☆

「An amber crystal that seals within it the flames of Destruction and the ice crystals of Remembrance. It possesses no earth-shattering special power, seemingly serving only as a testament to someone’s unquestionable resolve to protect those they hold dear.」

...

"Now, it’s time for you to do what you’ve always wanted to do, isn’t it?"

A voice suddenly rang out from nowhere, yet it neither caused vibrations in the surrounding air nor drew the attention of others far away.

This voice echoed clearly only within Phainon’s perception.

Hearing this, a complex smile tugged at Phainon’s lips—part light chuckle, part relieved acceptance.

His gaze turned to his side—where, unnoticed, a figure in a black robe now stood silently, its appearance identical to that of the former "Flame Reaver."

This figure had coalesced into form in his perception only after he had fully accepted and integrated Khaslana’s memories, bearing the weight of thirty million recurrences.

"Yes..." Phainon’s voice was low and certain. "What I’ve always wanted to do, to proclaim true ’Destruction’ to the Aeon of Destruction itself."

The black-robed "Flame Reaver" crossed his arms, radiating an aura of ultimate sharpness and annihilation.

He continued, his voice like metal scraping: "After Khaslana witnessed the destruction of thirty million beautiful Amphoreuses, that hatred for Destruction itself, hatred that all the stars in the sea could not wash away condensed into me. I am the spear that longs to pierce through all Destruction."

He paused, and behind the holes of his mask, an icy gaze seemed to fix upon Phainon:

"But I must warn you, truly wielding me will not be possible without paying a price."

"Of course I understand." Phainon’s answer held no hesitation. His gaze pierced through time and space, as if returning to the moment he first agreed to bear all this. "Back then, when I decided to carry all of this, I promised—’I am willing to transform into the blazing sun, to bring dawn for the world tomorrow.’"

The resolve for sacrifice spread outward like a tangible force.

The illusory black-robed Flame Reaver remained silent, the surrounding atmosphere nearly frozen by this silent solemnity, as if about to slide into an irretrievable abyss of sorrow.

Yet at that moment, Phainon suddenly spoke, his tone shifting abruptly to something light, even carrying a hint of playfulness, instantly sweeping away the heavy sacrifice atmosphere:

"But that guy Phaethon has already proven to me, through his own experience, exactly what kind of ending would await if I chose that kind of reckless self-sacrifice..."

He imagined the scene, his tone carrying a helpless smile:

"—I don’t want to be pinned down and beaten by a bunch of my former partners after getting things done."

This sudden turn eased the solemn atmosphere.

"So...?" The black-robed Flame Reaver lifted his head. Behind that icy mask, an extremely subtle yet genuinely existing glimmer of interest seemed to flash.

"So," Phainon said in the calmest tone, uttering a madness powerful enough to shake the entire galaxy.

"It seems the ’price’ required to wield you will have to be borne by Nanook himself, that arrogant one who presumes to decree the fate of destruction for Amphoreus and countless worlds, right?"

"If I can make Him bleed... I wonder if that would qualify me to wield this weapon sworn to kill Destruction?"

"To return the price of destruction to the Aeon of Destruction himself? I like this plan." The black-robed Flame Reaver’s tone lifted slightly, the excitement of finding an ultimate goal, the pleasure of about to shake the supreme existence.

The will of the spear and the will of its wielder achieved perfect resonance at this moment.

"Persuading Phaethon to turn back, seeking the Prime Mover of Life and such," Phainon’s gaze once again turned toward Phaethon’s direction, as if he could penetrate space and see Cyrene fighting fiercely in that sea of consciousness.

"Having Cyrene, having the partners I trust—that’s enough. I believe... that Cyrene’s love for Phaethon, a love surpassing the boundary of life and death, and the miracle forged by countless Chrysos Heirs through their lives and struggles across thirty million recurrences, they will surely cause Phaethon’s cold answer of ’Preservation’ to extend into... a new ending filled with infinite possibilities!"

"As for me... after that arrogant fool pays the price, I will personally use my hatred to send Irontomb to its end!"

His conviction was unwavering.

Having spoken, Phainon resolutely turned around, no longer harboring the slightest reluctance. He took a step and firmly walked toward the direction outside Amphoreus, toward that magnificent yet resilient "firewall." His target was the very source of destruction.

His voice faded as his figure receded into the distance, yet it remained clearly etched in the void, carrying an unyielding resolve and declaration:

"Khaslana will continue to fulfill his mission, to pierce the hearts of all enemies standing in the way of Amphoreus’s path!"

...

On the other side, the battlefield between Cyrene and Phaethon.

Cyrene’s figure transformed into a streak of light. As her foot pushed off, the ground shattered, and in that instant she had already sidestepped to close range before Phaethon.

Due sword and staff—one blazing, one icy cold—interwove Destruction and Remembrance, intent on pressing forward.

Yet before her attack could fully unfold, the amber greatsword in Asterion’s hand, condensed from pure Preservation will, heavy as a mountain had already descended with irresistible force, carrying the precision of foresight!

It was not a strike launched afterward, but one already waiting on her inevitable path.

Clang—!!!

An ear-splitting roar exploded within the sea of consciousness, as if two stars had collided.

Beyond mere technical prediction, the gap in pure strength between them was also laid bare.

What the amber greatsword conveyed was the weight of bearing over thirty million recurrences, the obsession of protecting those he loved.