RUMBLE!

The trembling underfoot suddenly intensified. It was no longer the aftershock of battle, but a lament from deep within the earth—the groaning of the entire city’s foundation.

Roland snapped his head up, his pupils contracting.

The scene before him instantly told him what was happening: the magnificent High Tower beneath his feet—the one that had borne witness to their final duel and stood like the very spine of the Magic City Jiles—was now letting out a teeth-grinding groan.

It wasn’t damage from the battle. The entire foundation was...

Sinking!

His vision tilted violently.

Roland staggered, forcing himself to steady his body by grabbing onto a scorching rock at the molten edge.

A searing pain shot through his palm, but it was nothing compared to the shock of the sight before him.

He saw it.

The entire Magic City Jiles, this miraculous city briefly awakened from its ancient slumber, seemed to be letting out a final, desperate sigh.

The magnificent clusters of buildings, long reduced to ruins, were being dragged by their ankles by some unseen giant hand, sinking slowly and inexorably into the ground.

Enormous cracks, like greedy black maws, spread and expanded madly across the streets and plazas, devouring what little remained of the shattered walls and ruins.

Dust and smoke, mixed with the last dissipating glimmers of Magic Power, billowed up from the fissures like the city’s dying breaths.

And the spire he stood on was collapsing toward the city center at a visible rate.

The entire tower groaned with the dull sound of snapping, like the bones of a dying behemoth crumbling inch by inch.

The ancient, arcane Runes on the tower’s outer walls rapidly dimmed and went out, like candles in the wind.

Further away, the vast silhouettes of what were once palaces, temples, and libraries were tilting and collapsing one after another, swallowed by churning earth and rock.

Massive stones tumbled from above, crashing onto the structures below and triggering a chain reaction of collapses that kicked up even greater tidal waves of dust.

The city’s entire skyline was descending in an irreversible plunge.

The air itself whined, emitting a low, constant drone.

It was the sound of the city’s structure twisting, of rock grinding against rock, of space itself buckling under immense pressure.

The sky seemed to darken with it—not because of clouds, but because the city that had briefly illuminated history was now retracting its final light, returning once more to eternal Darkness and oblivion.

’The Magic Core...’

Roland understood instantly.

In the battle against the Witch Demon just now, he had drained the last dregs of the magical foundation that sustained the Magic City Jiles’s brief existence.

That nearly endless torrent of power had not only almost burst him apart, but it had also exhausted the city’s lifeblood.

The spire’s tilt grew steeper, and the molten edge crumbled beneath his feet.

The searing air currents turned into a howling gale, pulling at his body with dust and debris.

’I have to get out of here!’

The instinct for survival overrode his body’s exhaustion and the emptiness of his depleted Magic Power.

Roland struggled to his feet, searching for any possible escape route.

Just then, he caught a glimpse of a slender figure in the corner of his eye.

Vanessa.

The Purple-haired Witch wasn’t panicking.

She stood on a relatively intact section of the spire’s edge not far away, the fierce wind whipping at her wide robes and outlining her elegant silhouette.

Her deep purple eyes weren’t looking at the collapsing city. Instead, they rested on Roland, a hint of an inscrutable smile playing on her lips.

"Mr. Roland..."

Her voice cut clearly through the city’s wail and the howling wind, carrying its usual calm and mysterious quality.

"You are... unexpectedly interesting."

Her gaze seemed to pierce through Roland’s exhausted body, seeing something deeper within.

"Then... I hope you are still this interesting when we meet again."

As her words faded, her figure didn’t dart away. Instead, like a puff of purple smoke scattered by the wind, her silhouette began to blur and turn transparent.

Under Roland’s watch, the Witch’s form slowly and silently dissipated as if she had never truly been there, leaving behind only a faint, phantom-like, and strangely fragrant scent that was instantly swallowed by the dust of the collapsing city.

Seeing this, Roland’s heart skipped a beat, but he had no time to ponder her destination or the meaning behind her words.

The remains of the spire beneath him let out an even more piercing CRACK.

His foothold was about to completely disintegrate.

Just as he was about to force a leap toward a larger piece of rubble nearby, a faint yet strange glint of light on the edge of a fissure in the molten rock caught his attention.

It was a small, multi-faceted object, about the size of a knuckle, lying quietly among the charred rubble and slag.

It was a deep, dark color all over, like Obsidian, yet an extremely subtle, abyssal light seemed to flow within it.

Its eight facets were polished exceptionally smooth, exuding a cold and precise quality even in the chaotic surroundings.

’Is this... a die?’

Roland realized in an instant.

’It seems to be something the Witch Demon dropped...’

Without the slightest hesitation, he shot out his hand and snatched it with pinpoint precision.

An icy sensation instantly spread from it, carrying a faint, sinister chill.

But he didn’t examine it closely. He stuffed the spoil of war deep into the leather pouch at his waist and prepared to withdraw.

However, the moment the die entered the pouch...

CRASH!

Accompanied by a deafening roar, the section of the spire he was on completely fractured and disintegrated.

A sense of weightlessness seized him, and his body plummeted straight down along with countless massive chunks of rock and molten material.

"Roland!"

"Mr. Roland!"

At that critical moment, two urgent calls came from the edge of the crumbling platform.

Two fair hands reached out together, grabbing ahold of the falling Roland with all their might.

Using their life-saving pull, Roland flexed his core muscles and, a moment later, made a perilous leap onto the platform above that had not yet fully collapsed.

Looking at the two young women before him, their faces smudged with a bit of dust, Roland suppressed his wildly beating heart, quickly got to his feet, and gestured for them to hurry.

"Quick—"

Before he could finish, a melodious song suddenly drifted into his ears.

Following the sound, he saw Galvis standing on the edge of the violently shaking platform, completely ignoring the collapsing city beneath him. He was gazing at the apocalyptic scene, fingers stroking his Harp strings, his eyes filled with rapturous delight.

The melodious song paused, and the Minstrel suddenly turned around.

His eyes, which usually held a hint of jest, were now astonishingly bright, as if filled with the last dying light of the sinking Demon City.

He faced Roland and the two young women, one hand on his chest and the other raised high as if saluting this epic finale. His voice rose and fell with the characteristic rhythm and passion of a Minstrel.

"Behold! The body of a mortal ignites the fires of divine punishment, incinerating the undying obsession of the skeletal king!"

"Hark! The mournful dirge of an ancient city, playing a final, sinking Chapter for the hero’s great deed!"

"A Legend is written here! An epic concludes here!"

"Giles will return to its eternal slumber, and your name, Mr. Roland, shall surely echo through the nations along with this magnificent final scene!"

His words were like a clear, bright note cast into a chaotic Storm, filled with admiration for both magnificence and Destruction. They sounded exceptionally clear and infectious against the backdrop of the world falling apart.

However, it was clear that no one had time to appreciate his performance at this moment...

SMACK!

Roland, at the end of his rope, smacked the Minstrel hard on the back of the head.

If the situation weren’t so dire, he really would have snapped that damned Harp in two on the spot.

’And I’m the one who made it!’

"Freddy!"

Roland’s gaze swept over to the strong Beastman standing nearby, his body tense but with no obvious injuries. He roared sharply.

"Haul this idiot! Run down!"

"Avril! Teresa! Keep up!"

Before his voice had even faded, the group of five shot off like arrows from a bow, dashing for their lives down the spiraling staircase that had yet to completely crumble.

Ahead, he saw a gap in the edge of a platform that was relatively close to the ground below.

Roland timed it perfectly, took a deep breath, and charged forward with a burst of power, shouting.

"Everyone! Jump!"

Without any hesitation!

The other four dodged the debris falling from above and followed Roland’s lead, leaping from the gap!

THUD! THUD! THUD! THUD!

With a few dull impacts, the group landed and rolled, looking a bit disheveled but otherwise unharmed.

Roland quickly raised his head, desperately searching for an escape route through the swirling dust and collapsing scenery.

Just then, a hoarse, muffled voice, as if squeezed from a crack in the rock, pierced through the Chaos and clearly reached his ears.

"Kid! This way!"