Before Alex clashed with the Nightcrawler Knights—
Phantos was sitting quietly in the center of the ruins he himself had created.
With his head lowered, he looked as if he were merely resting his body before battle, taking a short nap to preserve his strength.
The surroundings remained ⊛ Nоvеlιght ⊛ (Read the full story) eerily still.
At that moment, Phantos suddenly lifted his anchor and swung it powerfully behind him.
Kwaang!
The immense anchor tore through the air with such force that the resulting pressure and impact shattered the ground.
Debris rippled outward from Phantos’s feet like concentric waves.
That was how powerful the blow had been.
Yet his expression was far from pleased.
‘The sensation in my hand feels shallow.’
The opponent had launched a silent surprise attack.
He had intended to end it in one stroke, since leaving such an opponent alive would only become troublesome later—but the feeling transmitted through the anchor was strange.
It felt as if he had struck a steel ball wrapped in feathers.
Phantos turned his gaze toward the source of the ambush.
The opponent, who had blocked the attack, was thrown back but landed lightly on the ground as if descending like a feather.
He looked like a young boy.
Half-lidded eyes, unkempt hair, and in his hand—a sword.
Slightly longer than a dagger, but shorter than a longsword.
The way he crouched, knees bent and body low, made him look like a snow leopard poised to pounce upon its prey in the frozen mountains.
‘I remember that face.’
Phantos was not one to take particular interest in others, but this man had left an impression.
And with good reason—the man was worthy of it.
Leonhardt Kimbell.
One of the Empire’s master-class knights and commander of the Coldsteel Knights, guardians of the frigid northern border.
Phantos’s lips curved upward uncontrollably, white fangs glinting between them.
Leonhardt, seeing that smile, let out a tired sigh through his half-open eyes.
“Ah. This is why I hate being the one to lead the charge. What the hell is that thing? Who would’ve thought there’d be another monster like Lutus Wardot walking around this world?”
And now that monster was licking its lips while looking at him.
Leonhardt, sensitive to trouble more than anyone else, could tell immediately.
The enemy before him—aside from Lutus Wardot—was stronger than any opponent he had ever faced.
“Still, I’ve come this far. I can’t exactly run away now.”
Leonhardt flipped his sword into a reverse grip.
Since this was technically a holy war, he had even brought his Gladius Arts weapon.
Leonhardt’s figure vanished as if the ground beneath him had swallowed him whole.
A movement that deceived the opponent’s sight for an instant—one of his special techniques, made possible by his small frame and nimble speed.
Even when he closed the distance to Phantos, there was not a sound.
That was the Coldsteel Commander.
The frozen North—
a land where blizzards and deadly cold raged for more than two hundred days a year.
To catch insurgents crossing the border without proper infrastructure, the knights had to rely solely on their own two legs.
Leonhardt’s movement had been perfected in that very environment.
He could sprint across snow without leaving a single footprint, gliding silently as if carried by the wind—
swifter than a hawk striking from the clouds, stealthier than an arctic fox.
The Gladius Arts in his hand aimed straight for Phantos’s throat.
A strike launched in silence, hidden from all five senses—
a blow the enemy wouldn’t perceive until the very moment the blade cut him.
That was how it should have gone.
Whiik!
Phantos’s head turned, eyes locking precisely onto Leonhardt’s position.
The instant their gazes met, Leonhardt felt his heart lurch for the first time in years.
‘He knew I was coming?’
More shocking still—
he had calculated exactly where and when Leonhardt would strike.
Leonhardt halted and leapt back instinctively, retreating at full speed.
If he hadn’t, he was certain it would be his upper body disappearing instead.
Phantos simply watched him withdraw, making no attempt to pursue.
He only smacked his lips as if regretful.
‘Damn it. This doesn’t make any sense.’
Leonhardt didn’t even think to wipe the cold sweat running down his forehead.
A moment ago, he had almost died.
Had he been a heartbeat slower, that anchor would have erased his torso before his sword reached Phantos’s neck.
‘It’s not his senses that caught me. That thing has monstrous intuition. He knew exactly how and where I’d attack.’
Leonhardt prided himself on his own talent.
Though lazy by nature and not one for hard work, he had still become the youngest of the Empire’s three knight-commanders, a master-class knight.
Because he was a genius.
He had never once been stopped by the wall of talent.
But now—
For the first time, he felt the presence of an insurmountable wall before him.
Lutus Wardot had been a wall as well, but not one he felt compelled to overcome.
They were fellow citizens, comrades of the Empire; that kind of rivalry hadn’t taken root.
Phantos, however, was different.
He was an enemy that must be slain.
A beast that genuinely desired to kill him.
Facing such a monster, Leonhardt could no longer avert his eyes from reality.
For the first time, he regretted his own laziness and complacency.
“......Damn it. Guess there’s no choice.”
Leonhardt’s half-closed eyes snapped wide open.
Seeing the change in his aura, Phantos’s grin deepened.
He could feel it—
the man now intended to fight seriously.
The tingling killing intent pricked at his skin.
Phantos relished that feeling.
Perhaps this battle might push him to death itself—
but that only made him more exhilarated.
If he succeeded in this hunt, he would take another great step forward.
Charr-rr-rr-rnk.
Letting his long chain hang loosely, Phantos gestured for Leonhardt to attack first—
a taunt, daring him to show just how strong his “serious” really was.
Leonhardt accepted the challenge.
Pwoooosh!
Aura erupted around him in a dense mist,
swirling like fog—or perhaps like a raging snowstorm.
The cold gale of his aura surged toward Phantos like a crashing wave.
Leonhardt’s figure vanished within it;
only the glittering blizzard of razor-sharp crystals could be seen.
That entire storm was aura.
‘His aura control is on a completely different level.’
Phantos had heard of knights whose aura carried elemental attributes by nature,
but what Leonhardt displayed was something else entirely—
pure aura refined until it appeared like a snowstorm.
Touching it would not freeze flesh but shred it into fragments by countless tiny crystal blades.
‘And the danger lies in the fact that the blizzard isn’t the body itself.’
The real Leonhardt hid within that storm,
ready to bare his fangs the moment his prey let down its guard.
That was possible in part thanks to his Gladius Arts weapon—
the Solo Numbering series.
[ Avalanche ]
A blade designed to disperse aura in crystalline form and scatter it widely around the battlefield.
It was made specifically for Leonhardt.
“Good.”
Phantos’s pupils narrowed vertically like those of a beast.
Whuum—whuum—
The chain in his right hand began to spin,
the anchor at its end rotating like a windmill until its shape blurred.
Soon a whirlwind formed around him,
sucking in the crystalized aura like a vortex.
The snowstorm was swallowed, and Leonhardt’s true figure was exposed for all to see.
He looked utterly dumbfounded,
unable to believe Phantos had broken his technique in such a brute-force way.
“You really are a monster.”
Phantos responded with a fierce swing of his spinning anchor.
Charr-rr-rnk!
The long chain lashed out, the anchor at its end flying like a meteor hammer.
A direct hit would tear bone from flesh, obliterating even a knight’s reinforced body without trace.
Leonhardt leapt high to dodge, but Phantos had no intention of letting him escape this time.
Charr-rr-rnk!
The anchor slammed into the ground at an angle,
and the massive chain slithered like a living anaconda,
encircling Leonhardt from every direction.
With all paths blocked, Leonhardt sprang upward.
Only then did he realize his mistake.
‘Damn it. He left that opening on purpose—to drive me into the air.’
He should have slipped through the gaps between the chains,
but it was already too late.
Phantos was already there, harpoon in hand, waiting within arm’s reach.
The black iron spear thrust toward Leonhardt’s heart—
Ssshhhhh.
A sound like crashing waves echoed in Phantos’s ears.
“Waves?”
He wasn’t hearing things.
It was definitely the sound of the sea.
Like surf pounding against coastal cliffs,
a surge of blue aura rose from beneath Phantos’s feet.
Phantos withdrew his harpoon and spun sharply on the spot—
a movement far too agile for his massive frame.
The vertical slash of the harpoon cleaved the rising wave clean in two like a split log.
The parted waters scattered to either side,
and thanks to that, Leonhardt managed to regain distance unharmed.
“Fuhaha! Leonhardt! Did you see that? It was I who saved your life!”
The newcomer laughed thunderously.
Leonhardt replied in a flat tone, clearly unamused.
“We were supposed to attack together. What took you so long?”
“The main character always enters last!”
“...Yeah, sure.”
Leonhardt drooped his shoulders, too drained to argue.
Phantos’s eyes gleamed as he turned to face the newcomer.
‘One of the other three knight commanders.’
He remembered that man too—
Commander of the Stella Siren Knights,
Johan Oceanus.
He looked like a vain narcissist obsessed with his reflection,
but the wave-shaped aura he’d just unleashed was something entirely unfamiliar to Phantos.
Another master-class knight had joined the fray.
Phantos’s killing intent flared even stronger.
Joy.
He could hardly contain it.
Such delicious prey coming to him of their own accord—how could he not be thrilled?
Feeling that murderous aura, Johan wiped a bead of cold sweat and asked Leonhardt,
“Hmm. Am I popular with beastkin giants or something? That one looks delighted to see me.”
“That thing isn’t just crazy—it’s enjoying the fight itself.”
No—Phantos didn’t even consider this a fight.
To him, it was simply a hunt to satisfy his craving.
To think he viewed master-class knights as prey.
Normally, that would be an unbearable insult—
but neither of them grew angry.
A strong one had that right.
They could only acknowledge it.
Phantos was stronger than they were.
In a one-on-one battle, they stood no chance.
“Where’s Terrina?”
“Looks like she went to handle another front.”
“Hm. Maybe I should’ve gone there too. I’d rather not trade sweat and muscle with that brute—
especially when my partner here is another man.”
“You think he’ll let you go?”
“Doesn’t look like it. Haa... the curse of a popular man—
the whole world refuses to let me go.”
“...He’s coming.”
Leonhardt didn’t even bother responding to Johan’s nonsense.
Phantos was already charging, anchor in hand, straight at him.
Johan burst into laughter at the sight.
“Ha! Using an anchor as a weapon before the man of the sea?!”
At the same moment, the ground beneath his feet turned blue.
Ssshhh—
Water spread outward, and Phantos instinctively stopped moving.
‘Water?’
Each step splashed. It was undeniably water.
He also felt his body grow sluggish—
as if wading through the ocean itself.
‘He turned his aura into water and spread it across the field.’
Phantos’s gaze dropped to the sword in Johan Oceanus’s hand.
A wavy blade, shaped like flowing water, was driven into the ground,
blue aura rippling out from it to flood the area.
Solo Numbering Gladius Arts—
[ Torrent ]
“Beastkin are weak against water, aren’t they?”
Johan was certain the advantage of affinity lay with him.
The water had already risen past their ankles, climbing toward their calves.
The calm surface began to stir, forming waves.
Given time, it would surely swell into a tidal wave large enough to swallow ships whole.
Johan expected Phantos to show fear.
Every beastkin he had fought before had reacted the same way.
“Huh?”
But when he saw Phantos’s face—
he could only gape blankly.
Because the beast was smiling—
with an expression of pure, ecstatic delight.
“The best.”
