And that wasn’t even the worst of it.
When the legion generals and army corps toppled like broken dolls smashed by a celestial hammer, the battlefield tipped into full-blown apocalypse territory.
The leaders of the Radiant Conclave wanted to scream at them, curse their weakness, demand answers—but they couldn’t.
Because the truth was even more terrifying:
They were next.
Jake had focused a portion of that same aura on them—but several orders of magnitude more intense. Crippling. Torturous.
Lady Faye didn’t even try to resist. She passed out cold, knowing full well what was coming.
Lady Lyria held on as long as she could, blood pouring from her clenched jaw. Her pristine white robes turned crimson in seconds, her perfect skin becoming a gruesome canvas.
"Such... spiritual power... How... is this... possible?!"
Those were the last words she managed before blacking out.
One might’ve expected Master Eldrion—the oldest and supposedly strongest among them—to last longer.
He didn’t.
The sacred white staff gifted by Anthace, which let him manipulate its roots and summon mysterious warriors at will, flared once... then extinguished like a candle snuffed by the wind.
A heartbeat later, Eldrion’s body met the same fate as everyone else’s.
Crushed bones. Torn muscles. Detached tendons. Blank, white eyes.
Right before he lost consciousness, his face twisted in a mix of shock and bitter regret.
Sweet oblivion claimed him at last.
Meanwhile, the Dusken Throne army—who had witnessed the slaughter in stunned silence—had already lost their voices.
Their jaws hit the dirt.
Their eyes bulged with equal parts fear and awe. Some staggered backward without realizing it. Others clutched their weapons tighter, not out of readiness, but to keep their hands from shaking. Veterans who’d survived half a dozen battles whispered prayers to gods they hadn’t believed in for years.
You could hear gulps echoing in the silence, along with the chattering of teeth and knees. A few soldiers dropped to one knee—not out of loyalty, but instinct. Submission.
Thank the gods... this monster’s on our side...
That exact thought was written all over their faces.
Whether Jake really was the new Soulmancer King or just a very convincing fake no longer mattered.
If he said he was, then he was.
But just when they thought the entire Radiant Conclave had been wiped out...
They saw him.
One man still standing.
Lord Calyx.
His expression wasn’t triumphant. It was broken. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Not rage—at least not entirely. It was disbelief. Betrayal. Horror. He looked around, and for the first time in decades, he seemed lost—like a general waking up to find his entire war had been a dream... or a lie.
His body stood, but his will? Already fractured.
And above all else... he was mad. Mad that he’d underestimated him. Mad that they all had. Mad that a single man had crushed everything they’d built... without lifting a finger.