"This approach is beneath us. The Academic Committee rejected it." Professor Leon's voice held no inflection.
The burly man blinked. "Who gives a damn about dignity in war?"
These mages were idiots. The other two Tarnished stayed silent, lips curled in identical smirks.
They knew Raya Lucaria Academy stood divided. Without the Tarnished propping them up, traitors would've slit their throats by now.
"It doesn't matter." Oritis clenched his jaw. "Our barrier holds. A catapult would take a month to breach it. Reinforcements will arrive long before then."
He needed to salvage this—him and the other hardliners were losing control of the waverers.
The burly man shook his head. Naive allies meant watching his own back twice as hard. One misstep, and they'd sell him out without blinking.
Mages lined the outer walls, silent as the Carian Army assembled just beyond spell range. Nervous fingers tapped staves, but panic hadn't set in. The barrier let them strike outward. Let the invaders choke on their own corpses.
For centuries, Raya Lucaria had weathered storms by barring its gates. Safety lay in stone and sorcery. This was no different—just a new enemy. No cause for alarm.
"Leave the front. Focus inward. Leon, are the preparations complete?"
"Yes. Any breach point, we're ready."
"Good. Heh. Even Carian knights aren't that stupid."
As the two mages spoke, the Tarnished exchanged glances. Confidence lingered. Raya Lucaria's labyrinthine tiers made defense laughably easy.
With the barrier active, skeleton crews could hold the front. Real forces waited in reserve.
"Move out. Double patrols—no rats slip through."
Oritis turned to leave, then froze mid-step.
That presence—
He and Leon spun like struck matchheads.
The Tarnished frowned—then the clouds tore open.
Moonlight, silver-grey and searing, speared the lake's glass surface. The air thickened with pressure, a mountain's weight crushing lungs even at this distance.
From stiff-necked professors to cocky sellswords, every breath hitched. Weapons leapt to hands as the voice rolled down from the heavens:
"I stand before you. Why do you bar my way?"
The moon hung vast. The lake lay still. The army halted beyond the walls. Raya Lucaria's defenses stood unbroken—yet every face paled.
That voice. It shouldn't exist. Not here. Not now.
Oritis's pupils shrank to pinpricks. His plans unraveled like rotten thread.
"She wouldn't come. She wouldn't..."
Every stratagem relied on one truth: the Lunar Princess, hunted demigod, would never lead an assault herself. Otherwise, all their schemes were sandcastles before the tide.
"This makes no sense." For so many years, she has never appeared. Why would she strike precisely at this time?
Hoarah surged forward, his hand clamping around the professor's collar like a vise.
"You lying bastard! The agreement said nothing about a demigod stepping in!"
His rage was justified. Since Radagon and Marika vanished, the demigods had risen as the uncontested rulers of The Lands Between. They commanded legions, bent kingdoms to their will.
Even Godrick, the weakest of them, wasn't to be trifled with—and Ranni, the Lunar Princess, was leagues above him.
"Easy, Hoarah. Sir Gideon Ofnir didn't foresee this either."
Vilhelm stepped in, pulling the burly man back. Hoarah's grip slackened, his chest heaving as he glared.
He remembered Gideon's words: Ranni was hunted, confined to the capital. A bluff? Psychological warfare? He couldn't decide.
Meanwhile, Oritis, still recovering from the rough treatment, straightened his robes.
"It's a Carian trick. She wouldn't dare show herself outside the Academy gates."
His voice boomed, rallying the others, but it rang hollow, like a man trying to convince himself.
Before the words could settle, her voice cut through the air, cold and sharp as ice.
"By the decree of Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon and Head of Raya Lucaria, the Academy shall establish a sixth classroom. The candidate for director stands before you. Will you refuse her entry?"
Ranni's tone was calm, almost casual, as if this were a routine administrative matter. No threats, no bloodshed—yet it cut deeper than any violence could.
The mages on the walls exchanged uneasy glances.
They'd all seen the force field. Her power was undeniable, her claim plausible. The extra attendants? A minor detail. Fear breeds excuses, and under the shadow of a demigod, even the most absurd explanation seemed plausible.
Bullshit. If this were legitimate, she'd call off the army.
Oritis clenched his fists, veins bulging, but he held his tongue. The Academy prided itself on procedure. To deny her, they'd need a formal vote, a gathering of professors. But who would dare open the gates?
"Lunar Princess Ranni, you have no authority to speak for Queen Rennala."
"Is that so?" Her voice dripped with icy disdain. "I hold her handwritten letter. Shall I grant you the honor of verifying it?"
The professor's cheek twitched. Stepping outside would be suicide.
The mages began muttering among themselves. They remembered the last holdout, politely escorted away. Could this farce be true? Rennala was mad—how could she have written anything?
Oritis stayed silent, his gaze flicking to his companions.
Sorceress Sellen had just arrived, her expression unreadable. The professors traded uneasy looks. What could they say? One wrong word, and morale would crumble. Alone, they stood no chance against the Carian Army. Even their Crucible Knight wasn't invincible.
Stall. Delay.
Their eyes met, a silent agreement passing between them.
Oritis cleared his throat and said loudly, "Your Highness, please allow us to deliberate."
It was their only play. Ranni had enemies, powerful ones. Someone would seize this opportunity.
His words drifted into the wind, unanswered. The silence stretched, heavy and unbroken.
The professors stood frozen, panic etched across their faces. Their mouths opened and closed, unsure whether to repeat themselves or stay silent.
Then came the sound—a long, drawn-out sigh that seemed to echo through the very air.
"I am deeply disappointed," the voice said, cold and sharp. "And I am furious. You have rejected the goodwill of a demigod. You have blasphemed against my majesty."
A demigod. The word hung in the air like a blade. A being whose bloodline transcended humanity, whose power defied mortal comprehension. To reject her gift wasn't just foolish—it was an insult, one that left no room for argument.
This was not the Ranni who had been humiliated before the Throne. This was the Lunar Princess, her voice so cold and clear it could make even the most seasoned mage tremble.
Before Oritis and the others could react, the space around them twisted violently. Above the distant town, a second moon appeared—cold, clear, and luminous, mirroring the full moon in the night sky.
Twin moons now hung overhead, casting an eerie light that illuminated faces twisted with terror. This was no illusion, no trick of the mind. The Lunar Princess had arrived.
"Then I shall visit punishment upon you all," Ranni declared.
The Dark Moon began to expand, its diameter swelling to dozens of meters in moments. Cold moonlight cascaded down, carrying with it an aura of pure destruction.
The magic professors stood paralyzed, their breaths caught in their throats. The Tarnished gaped, their mouths hanging open in disbelief.
As the Dark Moon surged toward them, panic erupted. People scrambled to flee, forgetting even the formidable barrier that surrounded them.
BOOM.
The explosion of moonlight was blinding. Ice crystals formed a perfect ring, radiating outward. The earth shook violently, the barrier trembled, and a deafening roar filled the air.
Alberich collapsed to the ground, his eyes wide as he saw the barrier now coated in a thick layer of ice. His pride in his own ice magic evaporated, replaced by a bitter realization of how laughable it truly was.
Oritis ducked behind a low wall, the icy storm tearing away his wide-brimmed hat and exposing his balding scalp. The ground continued to tremble for what felt like an eternity—ten seconds, perhaps—before finally falling still.
Cautiously, they lifted their heads, their pupils contracting as they took in the scene before them.
Ice hung suspended in the air, glittering like shards of glass. The barrier, once impenetrable, now bore a gaping hole ten meters wide. The aftermath of the attack swept through the area, freezing over a dozen mages in place. They stood like statues—some mid-flight, others caught in expressions of fear and shock.
"Is... is this the full power of a demigod?" Vilhelm whispered, swallowing hard.
But Ranni wasn't just a demigod. She was a witch, her wide-area attacks surpassing even the Valkyrie's might.
"Terrifying," Hoarah muttered, his fists clenched tightly.
The hole in the barrier was too small for an army to breach, but who said the Dark Moon could only descend once? The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the sound of waves lapping against the lake. The mages couldn't help but imagine—if another Dark Moon were to strike, how many more would be turned to ice?
"I grant you nine hours to consider," Ranni's voice echoed across the battlefield. "Tomorrow morning, I shall return. And at that time—"
"Those who resist shall all be killed."
"Kill! Kill! Kill!"
Thousands of Carian soldiers roared in unison, their voices shaking the heavens. Their morale soared. For years, they had heard only legends of the Princess, never once laying eyes on her. Even now, she remained unseen, but the Dark Moon—that world-destroying force—was seared into their minds. Her power was undeniable, her presence absolute.
"No, she can't cast it again—if she could, she wouldn't have given us time!"
Leon's body jerked like he'd been struck by revelation. A tap landed on his shoulder. Oritis stood calm, chin tilting toward the front.
"Pointless. Her objective's already complete."
The mages snapped out of their daze. Whispers swarmed like flies. Some were already slipping away. The rank-and-file didn't know the higher-ups' plans—only that a demigod had come, and the Academy wouldn't hold. No surrender. No retreat. No discussion needed.
"Mobilize our loyalists. Force these cowards to fight. Now that Ranni's shown herself, the big players won't let her walk away."
......
'Is this a demigod's worth?' Throne lowered the telescope. His perch gave a perfect view of the battlefield—every detail crisp. No triumph touched his face.
Ranni had come. Even as a projection, wielding the Dark Moon would drain her. Since when did she take risks?
"Huh. This Princess isn't the one you knew." Melina shrugged. The regal Ranni of moments ago felt alien.
"Did you think humiliation was all she could handle?" Throne shot her a look, voice dropping. "Among all demigods, she's the finest siegebreaker."
Malenia slaughtered individuals. Radahn crushed armies. Ranni shattered fortifications.
Melina studied his grim expression. "She's here. Yet you're not celebrating?"
"Sometimes I can't tell if you're oblivious or razor-sharp." Throne's smile turned bitter, shadows deepening across his face. "She moved beyond my predictions. Took extra risks. It's touching. And terrifying."
"Terrifying?"
"Yes. This kind of trust... weighs heavy." He offered no further explanation.
That Dark Moon wasn't just for Raya Lucaria. It was for him.
As Melina puzzled it out, chaos erupted below. Mages argued. Others fled. Puppet soldiers surged forth, dragging resisters back to the gates. The choice was simple: die now or fight to the last.
The professors acted exactly as Throne expected. Amid the disorder, he drew the Calling Mask.
"Your Highness. I'll be there shortly."
The words dissolved into wind. After a long pause, the reply came.
"Good. I'll wait."
Brief. Efficient.
Melina opened her mouth to question their plan—but Throne was already on the low wall, sword in hand, smiling at the grand hall below.
"Come, Melina. We—" He paused. "—start the slaughter."
......
Early summer, yet the wind carried winter's bite. Ice crystals still clung to the gates. The mages had shattered like glass. Factions split the Academy.
Oritis and his allies spent years purging the pro-Carian Lazuli faction—but not all survivors hated the Full Moon.
Focusing on knowledge was their creed. Adhering to procedural justice, they'd followed the Academic Committee's orders to resist. But with Carian steel at their throats, procedure meant less than survival.
The impregnable barrier had been their psychological shield. Ranni's strike shattered it—and them.
The realization hit them like a backhanded slap—they were scholars, not knights sworn to some fool's errand of loyalty. Why wade into these murky waters? The Carian faction was just following protocol, after all. Their campaign had the stench of legitimacy.
Justice alone was worthless. But pair it with steel, and it became the boot heel crushing them all.
Oritis wasn't a fool—he shed his disguise in an instant, blades glinting as he herded them with threats. Too late. The chaos had already metastasized. No one gave a damn about the war now.
The mages atop the Academy stood frozen, mouths agape.
In the corridors, in the classrooms, mages were running around like headless chickens. They'd already seethed at being tossed onto the roof to "catch the wind."
Now? They were free-falling.