Hate Me, Witch!

“What… is that?”

Someone murmured within the plaza of the Inner District.

And just like that, the noise and excitement of the crowd awaiting the coronation ceremony began to fade—

Then disappeared completely.

Everyone simply looked up in silence, eyes fixed on the distant sky, on the figure in the black cloak adorned with crimson clouds slowly rising higher.

In all of Aisgania, there was no one who didn’t know what that robe symbolized.

It was a totem.

A symbol that had already become mythologized.

“Lord Kayin…?”

But they were quickly rebuked by a nearby soldier clad in silver armor:

“Ridiculous. Lord Kayin died in the Battle of the Valley of the End!”

“His death was confirmed by Her Majesty herself and several Legendary-tier Knights of the Round Table! How could that possibly be wrong?”

“That guy is just some imposter copying Lord Kayin’s outfit, barging in uninvited.”

“However—”

That same soldier looked up too, his gaze settling on the figure suspended in midair.

As a soldier who had once followed the Knight King through countless battles and personally fought Abyssal Beasts on the front lines, his rank might not be high, but as a Second-Ring warrior, his mental perception far surpassed that of ordinary civilians.

And what he sensed—

Was a vast, overwhelming presence pouring from the figure above.

A pressure so intense it seized the heart.

Even the Titled-tier commander of his own legion couldn’t compare.

Only a few of the Legendary-tier Knights of the Round Table, whom he’d once glimpsed from afar, had ever exuded this level of threat.

“Could this impersonator… actually be a Legend too?”

“A remnant of Vutigon the Vile King who escaped the purge? Or perhaps a powerhouse sent from another nation on the continent, seeking to seize a piece of Aisgania?”

“And why now, of all times—right before the Founding Ceremony? What’s this guy planning to do?”

Thoughts like these raced through the soldier’s mind, leaving him unsettled.

But he quickly forced himself to calm down.

After all, the Empire now was nothing like it was in the beginning—

Not some ragtag force barely able to field a single Legend, scraping by between the Church of Dawn and Vutigon’s army.

It had become a true power, forged through countless bloody battles.

Now, the Empire was the rightful master of this land, unafraid of any enemy or threat.

And almost as if answering the expectations of the citizens and soldiers—

In the next moment, several powerful auras radiated out from the Inner District.

Beams of light burst from the royal palace and shot into the sky.

“The Knights of the Round Table…”

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s Sir Gareth, Sir Tristan, and Sir Agravain. All three have reached Legendary-tier.”

“I knew it!”

“There’s no way something this major would go down without the Knights stepping in!”

High above—

Three streaks of light came to a halt, revealing armored figures within.

One rode a fierce, imposing griffon.

Another was carried by an elemental sprite summoned using wind-type abilities, riding the air with grace.

Three Knights of the Round Table who had made names for themselves across the continent now hovered in a triangular formation, surrounding the black-and-red cloaked figure.

As Legends, they each possessed flight or levitation—no longer bound to the earth like lesser warriors.

“Honored guest, welcome to the Founding Ceremony of the Empire.”

“But… might we ask why you’ve chosen to appear in this fashion?”

The leader, Tristan, summoned his weapon as he spoke.

A flick of the reins, and the dragon beneath him—its wings vast and membrane thin, its blood unmistakably high-purity draconic—flapped once, creating a powerful storm that pressed inward toward the center.

Tristan didn’t yet know the figure’s intent.

But the resemblance to Kayin was uncanny—and the presence he felt was no weaker than his own.

Since the stranger had not yet shown hostility, Tristan opted for diplomacy over force—for now.

After all, what if this was some envoy from another country who simply didn’t understand local customs?

But before Tristan could continue—

The cloaked figure moved.

He turned slightly within their triangle.

Being surrounded like this by three fully equipped Legendary-tier Knights of the Round Table—fighters who had worked together in countless battles and perfected their formation—would normally spell doom for anyone not already at the Throne-tier. A single misstep could lead to death.

A triangular encirclement left no room for escape.

And yet—

The figure dressed like Kayin never showed the slightest trace of panic.

He simply stood there, calmly waiting for the formation to complete.

Then, through the swirling mask, his cool gaze swept over the three of them.

“Gareth. Tristan. Agravain.”

A voice, quiet and emotionless, came from beneath the mask.

“A major incident like this… right in the middle of the Empire’s most important ceremony.”

“If that big gorilla knight was still alive, he’d have been the first to charge in.”

“But now, only the three of you Legends have shown up…”

“That means… Gawain and the others are gone, aren’t they?”

“And you three… are traitors.”

“You’ve betrayed the oaths you swore when you became knights—

Betrayed your own code.”

“You chose to embrace the Crimson Moon…”

“And slaughtered your own comrades with your own hands.”

His tone was steady. Calm.

But to the three Knights of the Round Table high in the sky, those words struck like thunder.

Tristan’s eyes snapped open wide.

He stared at Xia Ya in disbelief.

The rebellion of the Round Table had happened only recently.

The bodies of Merlin and Gawain hadn’t even been buried yet.

And yet this stranger had pieced everything together—flawlessly—just from a few subtle signs.

After a long silence, Tristan finally spoke, voice tinged with uncertainty:

“…Kayin?”

Unlike the commoners who had never seen Kayin except through statues, paintings, or bard songs, Tristan and the others had fought beside the Knight King from the very beginning.

They had truly known Kayin.

Which meant—

Their familiarity with him far surpassed that of any civilian…

No matter if it was the subtle details of his figure, or that uniquely familiar presence—

All of it stirred something in the hearts of the Knights of the Round Table.

And now, with his words ringing in the air, their suspicions only grew stronger.

“You didn’t die in that final battle back then? Then why haven’t you shown yourself all these years?”

“Do you have any idea what Her Majesty has done for you all this time?”

Tristan’s voice carried a trace of agitation.

“If you really are Kayin—then prove it to us!”

But in the face of Tristan’s pressing demand—

The one who appeared to be Kayin merely shook his head lightly.

“Kayin is just a name. Why should I need to prove anything?”

“Whether I am or not… what difference does it make?”

“Stop playing riddles!”

Tristan roared in anger.

“If it doesn’t matter, then why return now, of all times—

During the Founding Ceremony? What the h*ll are you here for?”

“To correct the mistake I made.”

The voice rang out slowly—flat and emotionless, yet carrying immense weight.

It wasn’t just heard in the sky.

It echoed across the entire Inner District, across the whole of Holy City Camelot.

“I once believed that if I sacrificed myself, it would be enough to bring dawn…

To bring light…

To this land of disaster.”

“But now I see—I was wrong.”

Kayin spread his arms, sleeves billowing in the wind.

His figure in the distance looked so thin, so small—

And yet, to every pair of eyes watching below, he appeared immense.

As if he alone could challenge the entire world.

“This… is not the ideal nation I dreamed of.

It’s just an endless loop—an illusion of the past, stripped of any future.”

“So—”

His gaze fell upon the holy city below.

“Sir Tristan, earlier you asked who I am?”

“In this moment, I am not Kayin.

Nor the Unbeaten Black Knight.”

“I am the God of Rectified Order.”

“A nation submerged in false peace and illusion has no meaning.”

“If you chose violence and stepped onto the wrong path—then the only way to fix it…”

“Is with greater, overwhelming force.”

“So—”

From within the swirling mask,

Xia Ya slowly closed his eyes.

And when he opened them again—

All emotion had vanished from his pitch-black gaze, drowned in blinding light.

“There is only one thing I must do.”

“To the White Chalk City, this ideal nation she and I once built together—

The place we poured so many dreams into, only for it to veer off course…”

“I will bury it. With my own hands.”

The voice boomed across heaven and earth—

Like a thunderous heavenly army playing its battle hymn.

“Accept pain.”

“Know pain.”

“Contemplate pain.”

“Understand pain.”

“And then—”

“From this moment on, let this false imaginary world…”

“Feel pain.”

“Kayin! You’re going to betray Her Majesty?!”

High above, riding his dragon, Tristan let out a furious roar.

But at that moment—

An inexplicable dread crept into his heart.

At first, it was a faint, formless unease.

But within just a few breaths, it grew—

A seed of terror blossoming into full bloom, consuming his every thought.

Even back when he was a mere Six-Ring warrior, facing Vutigon the Vile King on the battlefield—

He had never felt such fear.

He didn’t know Kayin’s goal, nor the source of this dread—

But as a Legend-tier, he trusted his mental intuition, forged through countless brushes with death, born from communion with the Spirit Realm and Starrealm.

And now, this masked figure’s intent was all too clear.

He was going to destroy Camelot.

To obliterate the nation Her Majesty had poured her entire life into building.

“No. You’re not Kayin.”

“The Kayin I knew…

He always put the Queen above all else.”

“He was loyal to the end—a Black Knight who would never, ever betray her.

You are not him.”

“You’ve desecrated his body—

Used some foul necromancer’s spell or Bone Fiend curse to steal Kayin’s memories.

You’re nothing but a wretched impostor!”

Tristan’s gaze turned ice cold.

Unlike Gawain—who upheld the Eight Virtues of Knighthood above all else, serving the Queen only because it aligned with his beliefs—

Tristan placed his loyalty to the Queen above everything.

That was why, when loyalty and knighthood clashed, he chose betrayal.

Why he raised his blade against former comrades.

So now, to Tristan—

It didn’t matter who the man before him was.

Whether he truly was Kayin, or not.

The moment he turned against Her Majesty, he became an enemy.

Just like Gawain before him.

CLANG—

A seven-stringed harp echoed, its sound waves transforming into thousands of invisible blades that sealed the air around Kayin, slicing through space itself.

Behind Tristan, two more massive surges of mana flared to life.

Gareth and Agravain, who had stood beside him in the Round Table rebellion, now moved in unison once more.

But—

In the next breath.

All three Legend-tier attacks—

Hit nothing but air.

Kayin’s cloaked form, black with crimson clouds, shimmered like a ripple on water—

Then reformed in the same place.

They looked up, stunned.

And what they saw, from within the swirling mask—

Were three silver moons,

Slowly turning.

“So… at what point did you all start hallucinating that I didn’t activate Tsukuyomi?”

As if he’d completely lost interest in them, Xia Ya didn’t even bother to look at the three Knights of the Round Table.

Under normal circumstances, three Legend-tier powerhouses would’ve been formidable opponents. Against them, Xia Ya could’ve only barely held his own using his Black Knight mecha form, and even if he’d used every trump card, it would’ve still been a narrow victory.

But—

After being corrupted by the divinity of the Crimson Moon, although that godhood gave them a power boost against others…

To Xia Ya—who had access to the Crimson Moon’s Authority via the Equal Contract shared with Augustina—this godhood was nothing but a straight-up debuff.

The mental defenses of the Crimson Moon’s followers were basically wide open to him. All it took was a light activation of Tsukuyomi to trap them in an eternal illusion with no hope of escape.

And truthfully, Xia Ya had no real interest in these outdated remnants of the past.

His movement paused slightly.

In the next instant, the Tsukuyomi illusion in his pitch-black eyes melted away, transforming into Yui’s computation sigils.

Information lock: released.

Countless data streams surged through the Soul Pact shared between Yui and Xia Ya, flooding into his mental sea.

…

In the Starrealm—

The Magitech Cruise Device named Scabbard of Divine Judgment slowly adjusted its aim.

Its new target: the majestic city below.

An endless stream of data converted into code, encrypted and calculated by Yui, forming countless potential trajectories.

Most were rejected.

Only one single path remained—the true and correct firing arc.

Once again, it would be Heaven’s Judgment descending from the sky—

But this time, Xia Ya’s chosen payload wasn’t the Holy Spear.

The Holy Spear had been significantly drained after its last full release. Even if it hadn’t, its current state—still bound by Little Ai’s Soul Pact—was far from its true form, the Storm Anchor: Tower at the End of the World.

Even if Xia Ya attempted another spear-based judgment, it would be meaningless against the Crimson Moon, which had regained much of its divine power alongside the birth of the Imaginary Belt.

So this time—

Xia Ya took another path.

He didn’t rely on Little Ai’s spear.

He didn’t rely on divinity.

He didn’t rely on Transcendents.

He relied purely on his own intellect.

On a creation born from his own genius—something that had never existed in this world before, never even been imagined.

If, a thousand years later, the Gustav Cannon, created by the allied forces of the Golden Plains, was hailed as the pinnacle of Fourth-Era magitech—

A weapon capable of harming Legend-tier beings, a national secret, a trump card capable of suppressing entire armies…

Then—

At the end of the Third Era, and the dawn of the Fourth—

A weapon far greater, far more monumental had already been brought into reality.

“Firing trajectory—calculation complete.”

“Secondary verification: confirmed.”

“First-tier safety lock—released.”

“Second-tier safety lock—released.”

And then—

“Ignition.”

…

At the highest point of Camelot, within the Throne Hall.

Even though the remaining Knights of the Round Table had all departed—

That solitary figure still stood within the hall.

In the Queen’s hand, the Holy Sword blazed with radiant gold light—

Burning with divine fire.

Its brilliance lit up the oppressive black shadows around her,

Piercing the veil of what felt like eternal night.

“Augustina.”

“Do you really think you alone… are a match for me?”

The voice rang with cold authority within the throne chamber.

“Probably not, against Little Isa, that is.”

The sound of bells in silver echoed from the veil of night.

“With a fully unlocked Holy Sword and the Crimson Moon’s Blessing, you’re already beyond what a simple Throne-tier can define.”

“But—

I promised him I’d keep you busy.

To buy him that one-on-one chance against the Crimson Moon.”

“I don’t know what he’s banking on to actually beat the Moon…

But since I gave him my word, I’ll follow through.”

“He takes promises and contracts very seriously.

If he didn’t, he wouldn’t spoil that little girl with the spear so much.”

“I don’t want him hating me for breaking my word.”

Hearing the Black Princess's words from within the darkness, Isadella furrowed her brows.

The golden sword-light slashed out—

Cutting through the dark curtain of night.

But the attack was swallowed whole, leaving not even a ripple.

Isadella’s brow tightened further.

She could tell that her attacks, even with her current strength, would’ve been devastating for Augustina to receive.

But that woman—wielding the Authority of Eternal Night and Secrets—

If she was dead set on buying time, even at the cost of her life…

Then even she, as she was now, couldn’t break through that defense in time.

And certainly couldn’t go to the plaza to confront the figure whose mere presence sent chills through her chest.

But just then, Augustina’s lilting laughter rang out again.

“Huh? He already finished?”

“Well then, job’s done. I’m out—before you can turn your wrath on me, Little Isa~”

Her teasing giggle faded like a dream—

And at the same time, the shadows and veil of night dissipated like a retreating tide.

As if they had never existed.

Isadella frowned, still trying to grasp Augustina’s true intent.

But as the Eternal Night receded, information from the outside world once again reached the throne room.

BOOM—

Her pupils shrank.

From the plaza, louder than any cry before, came the stunned gasps of countless citizens.

She looked up—

And saw it.

Far in the distance, arcing through the sky—

A silver-white meteor,

Streaking across the heavens.

From the Starrealm above—

It descended.

Not toward the ground.

But toward the Crimson Moon,

Suspended above Camelot in the Starrealm View.

Several breaths later—

That silver-white, streamlined payload collided with the crimson Crimson Moon.

Impact.

Then—

Explosion.

“Since even the Holy Spear, in its incomplete state, couldn’t destroy a true, primordial Moon...”

“Then—”

“What about… in the face of the Sun’s radiance?”

Xia Ya’s quiet murmur drifted through the skies, unheard by any.

This was it.

His final trump card—created at the cost of all his wealth, resources, and research.

Unlike the Gustav Cannon, which was designed to take down Legend-tier or Titled-tier Summoned Beasts—

From the very start, Xia Ya’s target wasn’t mere legends.

His hypothetical enemy was always:

Mythical Beings.

Gods.

This was the first weapon in all of Western Continent’s magitech and Mechanist history created as an anti-myth class weapon.

Xia Ya had thought of many names for it.

“Boneburst.”

“Void Safeguard Zero.”

“Fantasy Collapse.”

“Lepton Fusion.”

But if he had to condense it all—

If there was only one term to encapsulate the most destructive, forbidden magitech weapon ever forged in the world’s history—

Then that word would be:

“Nuclear Strike.”