Fafnir carved his way through the void.
He was not moving at an ordinary speed.
He was traversing the void itself.
A single step was enough to tear through thousands of kilometers, as though the very concept of distance no longer applied to a being who had reached his level of power.
He crossed continents in mere moments.
Towering mountains.
Endless deserts.
Vast oceans.
Cities and entire continents appeared behind him and vanished from sight before anyone could even comprehend that he had passed.
For an ordinary person, crossing such distances would take days or even weeks.
But for Fafnir...
distance had long since lost its meaning.
By walking through the void, he could cross thousands of kilometers in a single second.
And as he continued on his way, his mind was anything but still.
He was recalling memories from long ago.
Memories from five thousand years in the past.
Memories of one woman in particular.
Griselda.
The Iron Maiden.
The fourth queen of the Elven Race.
The warrior who had once stood against him during the Primordial War.
Fafnir knew that she had never been an ordinary opponent.
That was why he was not going to meet her unprepared.
He was recalling her fighting style in his mind.
Her movements.
Her methods of attack.
Her abilities.
Her strengths.
Even the subtle habits she had displayed during battle.
Her techniques hadn't changed much back then...
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then he smiled.
But after five thousand years...
He returned to his thoughts.
She must have developed something new.
There was no fear in his voice.
There was something else.
Interest.
A faint excitement.
It had been a very long time since he had encountered an opponent worth remembering in such detail.
He continued onward.
Two minutes passed.
Then, suddenly...
his steps came to a halt.
He raised his eyes.
A moderately sized island appeared before him in the middle of the Great Ocean.
The island was covered in lush forests and dense vegetation.
Yet at its center stood a colossal mountain.
It was completely different from the rest of the island.
Barren.
Almost entirely devoid of vegetation.
Silent.
Majestic.
The moment Fafnir saw the mountain...
his eyes gleamed.
An old memory surfaced in his mind.
He knew this place.
There was no way he could ever forget it.
This mountain...
was one of the places where he had fought one of his fiercest battles against Griselda.
Fafnir spoke calmly.
"So you still choose the same place."
Then he took a step.
He vanished.
A second later...
he appeared at the summit.
Fafnir stood there.
The mountaintop was almost completely barren.
The wind swept across the desolate rocks.
The sky was clear.
Fafnir looked around.
He sensed no disturbance.
No hostile aura.
No surging energy.
No spiritual pressure.
Then...
he spotted someone.
A woman was sitting on the ground near the edge of the summit.
She was holding a cup and drinking from it calmly, as though she were not waiting for a legendary enemy who had returned after five thousand years.
Fafnir approached.
One step.
Then another.
Until he was close enough for her features to become clear.
She was an extraordinarily beautiful woman, standing around 180 centimeters tall.
Her glossy black hair flowed freely around her, while her violet eyes shimmered with an enigmatic light.
Her skin was dark, and her body possessed a lightly muscular build with a powerful, well-proportioned figure.
She had a full bust, broad hips, firm buttocks, and long legs with a subtle but unmistakable muscular definition.
She wore black armor that covered and protected her chest while leaving her abdomen exposed.
Below the waist, she wore a short skirt designed for ease of movement, covering her rear while leaving her muscular thighs exposed.
These were not the clothes of a warrior concerned with appearances.
They were the clothes of someone accustomed to battle.
Someone prepared to move at a moment's notice.
Someone...
who had lived long enough to understand that a true battle never gives an opponent the luxury of preparation.
It was Griselda.
The Iron Maiden.
One of the greatest warriors of the Primordial War.
The woman raised her head.
Her eyes met Fafnir's.
For a moment...
neither of them spoke.
Their gazes carried five thousand years of memories.
Then Griselda's eyes widened slightly.
She studied Fafnir's face.
Then she said with a faint smile:
"You are still extraordinarily handsome, just as you were back then."
Fafnir's expression did not change.
He took one step forward.
Then another.
Until only about a meter separated him from Griselda.
Then...
he simply sat down on the ground in front of her.
As though he had not come here to fight a battle that could shake the world.
His eyes fell upon the cup in her hand.
He reached out.
And took it from her without asking.
Griselda raised an eyebrow.
"Still as rude as ever."
Fafnir did not answer.
He raised the cup to his lips.
And drank the rest of its contents.
Then he handed the cup back to her.
"Good wine."
Griselda stared at him.
"That's the first thing you say after five thousand years?"
Fafnir replied:
"I could have said something else."
"Such as?"
He looked at her.
Then calmly said:
"And you are still as beautiful as you were."
Griselda paused.
Fafnir continued:
"And that seductive body of yours hasn't changed either."
Griselda's expression changed instantly.
She shot him a sharp, displeased look.
"Even after five thousand years..."
She placed the cup aside.
"...you still have no idea how to speak to a woman."
Fafnir smiled.
"I never needed to learn."
"Of course."
Griselda raised her chin slightly.
"Because you believed the entire world should learn how to speak to you."
"Exactly."
Griselda let out a short laugh.
"You haven't changed."
Fafnir replied:
"I told you that."
A brief silence followed.
The wind swept between them.
Neither paid it any attention.
They were watching one another.
Griselda was trying to read Fafnir.
Fafnir, meanwhile...
was studying her as though he were recalling an old image from the depths of his memory.
Griselda spoke:
"You're a little different."
"So are you."
"Has your strength changed?"
"Do you want to find out?"
Griselda smiled.
"That's why I called you here."
Fafnir paused for a moment.
Then said:
"You're the one who asked me to come."
"That's right."
Griselda slowly rose to her feet.
She picked up the weapon resting beside her.
Then stood before him.
Her violet eyes had changed.
The previous indifference had vanished.
In its place was something else.
The sharpness of a warrior.
The sharpness of a woman who had lived for thousands of years and fought battles most beings could not even begin to imagine.
She said:
"Shall we begin the fight now..."
She raised her weapon slightly.
"...or wait a little longer?"
Fafnir rose.
He stood before her.
The difference in their heights was obvious, but Griselda paid it no attention.
She stared directly into his black eyes.
Fafnir...
smiled.
"I was wondering when you would finally say it."
Griselda tightened her grip.
"Five thousand years."
She paused.
"Five thousand years I've been waiting for this moment."
Fafnir replied:
"Then don't keep this great one waiting."
Griselda's eyes blazed.
"You truly never learned any manners."
Fafnir smiled.
"And you never learned how to be afraid."
Silence.
Then...
the wind suddenly swept violently across the mountaintop.
Two immense auras erupted simultaneously.
The entire island trembled.
The clouds recoiled across the sky.
The Great Ocean churned around the island.
And in an instant...
the summit was no longer merely a place of reunion.
It had become a battlefield.
A place destined to witness the return of two of the greatest legends in the history of Gandalia.
Fafnir.
The Supreme Human Emperor.
And Griselda.
The Iron Maiden.
Five thousand years of waiting...
Five thousand years of unfinished grievances...
And in this moment...
both of them were about to discover one undeniable truth:
Who had grown stronger throughout these five thousand years...
and who would still be standing when the battle was over?
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