As the enemy's reinforcements appeared, those who had previously hung back stepped forward, taking their places beside Nafız. They had the numerical advantage, and the Master being critically wounded only strengthened their hand.
"Eighth Apostle, we're leaving!"
The middle-aged man, missing half of both his arms, called out to his apostle who had come to his side; the Master had no intention of sticking around.
"You're not going anywhere! Blood Dome!"
Nafız roared, her bloodshot eyes blown wide open. A breath later, the Master and his lackeys were trapped inside a blood-red dome.
Receiving his order from the Master, the apostle turned his head and looked at Nafız. Clad in pitch-black bandages, only his eyes were visible.
"As you command, Master!"
Accompanying his deep, resonant voice, a thick black smoke began to flood the inside of the dome, dropping visibility to absolute zero.
"They're gone!"
Nafız's fists were clenched tight, her teeth grinding together so hard they chattered. The words barely escaped her mouth. The Master and his Apostles had managed to bypass her Blood Dome technique, and it pissed her off to no end.
"Orc warrior, don't blame yourself!"
Those focused on the potential battle ahead turned around at the sound of an elderly woman's voice, only to see the First Sheikh. The man, who had begun rapidly aging after his attack, had withered into something resembling a mummified corpse, but his wife could still speak.
Dropping their frustration over the escaped enemy, they rushed to the duo's side. The old woman wasn't looking too good either.
"Stop, don't speak! I'm going to heal you!"
"Save your breath, orc warrior. It's impossible!"
"No, the elixirs of your sect have to work!"
The old woman stopped Nafız, taking the hand offering the potion bottle between her own two hands. Her eyes held the tender, loving gaze of a grandmother looking at her grandchild.
"This is the end of the line for both of us, and we have zero regrets. My husband, the First Sheikh of the Holy Blood Sect, has been resisting death ever since he was critically wounded by that piece of shit called the Master. He clung to life in the Other Realm by a mere thread just to get his revenge, right up until you arrived.
You became the beacon of hope for him and for me. All we needed to do was stall the Master for a while. By pouring the life force we had hoarded for years into a single strike, we managed to give him the answer he damn well deserved.
Jashua, come here! The Sheikh wants you to inherit his legacy entirely. Make sure his power continues to flow through your veins before his blood dries and the might within him fades away."
The old woman's color faded a little more with every breath. Hearing the approaching footsteps of death, she kept speaking.
"The Master won't be able to show his face for a while, but watch out for the Apostles. Each one of them possesses abilities that do not belong to this world, and they are fanatical enough to throw their own lives away for their master's cause.
Becoming his enemy was etched into your fate, and by the end of this war, one side will inevitably be wiped out. If things go south, flee to the Other Realm. There will always be someone keeping the path open for you."
The woman's gaze shifted to the Sheikh who, a hundred years ago in this very garden, had cleaved a Power Animal in half. The death-reeking man was clearly the gatekeeper of the Other Realm.
"When Abarran built the Hell Palace, he designed a hidden domain that no one knew about, a secret known only to us. Activate the formation! Merge the Hell Realm with the shield enveloping the lands of the Orc-Druid alliance. Don't let the Master's dogs set foot on our lands; let our suffering people see brighter days again.
Do not slaughter the people of the enemy sects. They were nothing but pawns in the Master's sick game. Unite. There is only one enemy, and that is the Master!"
Speaking in Lareina's arms, the frail old woman breathed her last in those very same arms. Her eyes were fixed on her husband, whose blood flowed from his severed jugular directly into Jashua's mouth. Holding hands, the two lovers walked into death together; an era was coming to an end in the Hell Realm.
The grand conspiracy spanning centuries and the war that felt like it would never end were finally over. Even if they had been enemies, all who died were people who shared the same soil. Jashua, gathering the remaining forces, visited the four sects that had just lost their Sheikhs.
He recounted everything that had happened without altering a single word, and allowed them to collect the bodies that were still in one piece. The pain belonged to the entire Hell Realm. A Forty-Day Silence was declared.
For forty days, only one sound was permitted: the sound of weeping. The continent surrendered to sorrow, mourning, and the hollow void left by the loss of loved ones.
When the mourning ended, the change began. Jashua, who had become the King of Hell by the testament and will of the First Sheikh, disbanded all the sects except for the Holy Blood. The Holy Blood would remain in its own territory, while the other powers would be gathered under a single roof.
The Holy Hell Sect was established—a brand new sect with the Hell Palace as its epicenter. Regardless of Earth, Bone, Eye, Ice, or Fire affiliations, everyone would be trained here. The innovations weren't limited to just this; the sect was open to absolutely everyone. It didn't matter if you were an Orc or a Druid wanting to join, the Holy Hell Sect didn't hesitate to accept those with enough power.
Coupled with the hidden formation within the Hell Palace, the continent would merge with the protective shield enclosing the Orc Steppes and the Savage Swamp. In a declaration signed jointly by Jashua, Han, and Ainle, it was announced to the whole world that the three continents were now allies. The southwest of the World of the Six Civilizations was now a single, formidable union, possessing the power to challenge the remaining three civilizations.
As the days passed, wounds were tended to, steps were taken to erase the grudges of the past, and just like that, an entire year went by. Was everything over? Of course not, but the time to part ways had finally arrived for some.
"Master, will you go to the Other Realm first?"
Jashua spoke as he walked toward his throne in the hall on the top floor of the newly rebuilt, colossal royal tower of the Hell Palace.
"Yes, I want to enter the final dungeon of the Hell Realm!"
"Chief Alyon, are you leaving as well?"
When Jashua sat on his throne, a breathtakingly beautiful woman caught the eye right by his side. Lareina, adorning her shoulder-length hair with a crown encrusted with brilliant red stones, called out to Alyon, who was packing for the journey.
"Where she goes, I go. Before we move on to our next stop, I need to clear the dungeons in the Hell Realm as well!"
Over the course of a year, Alyon had had the chance to run the dungeons across the Hell Realm, and now it was time for the final one.
"My Master Nafız, and Alyon, the Lord of the lands I was born in; the Hell Realm will always be your home. We will embrace life and death together, and march upon our enemies side by side!"
Jashua, the King of Hell, expressed his eternal support for the duo with these words. Following the Savage Swamp continent, the Hell Realm now also stood with the orcs.
"Your magnanimity brings tears to our eyes, Your Majesty. Our next stop is the lands of the Mercenaries, and a massive struggle awaits us.
While we carve our path with blood, make sure you keep growing stronger. Don't you dare die before we meet again!"
After stepping out of the dark cave and warning Jashua—whom she had helped become the King of Hell—with half-mocking, half-stern words, Nafız turned to the death-reeking old man.
"Will you open the gate to the Other Realm?"
Not needing to be told twice, the old man swung his right hand, tearing through the air and ripping open a blood-red portal. Once Nafız, Alyon, and the few people behind them stepped inside, the portal snapped shut.