The black dust of Langris still swirled in the air, like freshly snuffed ashes. The battlefield reeked of burnt iron, blood, and smoke. Luiz gasped; crimson steam rose from his body like forge smoke, each breath a living blaze. His eyes still glowed in the shape of hearts — pulsing, alive, incandescent. The Lumpa Arlec spun around him, vibrating like a spinning top of laughter.

  — MY KING! WHAT A SHOW, WHAT A SPECTACLE! HE TURNED TO DUST, MY KING! DUST! Hahaha!

  Luiz leaned on his spear, staggering, but that bloodstained smile was still there. His body trembled — yet he didn’t fall. Then he raised the spear to the sky and roared — a cry that pierced walls, trenches, and hearts:

  — THE WEAK SPOT IS THE HEART! THE WEAK SPOT OF THESE DAMNED ONES WITH NUMBERS IN THEIR EYES IS THE HEART!

  The echo swept across the entire field. Warriors froze. Defense mages glanced at each other in disbelief. The walls shook.

  The moment the words left Luiz’s mouth, something else happened: the Dominae surrounding him — once only a sensation — now took tangible form. The crimson aura expanded in waves, a tide of heat and pressure that made the ground vibrate. Nearby monsters were thrown back like dolls; some exploded into gray dust just by touching that living flame. Others, closer still, collapsed under the sheer weight of his presence — it wasn’t just power, it was command; a will that crushed forms.

  Allied soldiers who witnessed it howled between awe and fear. Some stepped back, eyes wide; others raised weapons as if the mere sight of the King of Cups compelled obedience. Some applauded, some cried, and some, for a moment, felt their legs give way. The battlefield turned into a chorus of reactions.

  High above, Kyros José Fernandes opened his eyes in surprise, the Sword of Thunder still smoking in his hands.

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  — …The heart… — he murmured, and a faint smile broke his hardened face. — He figured it out.

  Helena Summer, wreathed in golden fire, laughed with a mix of pride and disbelief:

  — Hahaha… Typical of a Fernandes. Not even death silences that blood.

  Kotan Aspen crossed his arms, icy sarcasm on his lips:

  — I thought he only knew how to punch. Looks like he can think, after all.

  Flora Anapelum tilted her head, petals floating around her:

  — A pure heart finds the enemy’s heart. Beautiful.

  Aurelius Rowan smiled beneath his mantle of scorched leaves:

  — The King of Cups… now the name makes sense.

  The voices spread through the trenches. The Cups soldiers, covered in dust and blood, began pounding their spears and shields on the ground — a rhythm that echoed like thunder:

  — That’s our leader!

  — That’s Kyros’s seventh son!

  — The King of Cups! The King of Close Combat!

  — HURA! HURA! HURA!

  The chant multiplied, spreading through walls, streets, even the shattered gates. Every shout made Sorriso’s heart beat faster.

  Down below, Kátia of the Cups ran to Luiz, breathless, tears mixed with soot on her face:

  — Luiz! For the gods’ sake, are you going to die standing?!

  He laughed, spitting blood, and wiped his bloody hand across her face, smearing it with crimson.

  — I told you — the Cups don’t fall, remember?

  She held him, desperate:

  — You need a priest, right now!

  — A priest? — Luiz arched an eyebrow and laughed. — The King of Cups doesn’t need repairs — only an audience.

  Arlec burst into hysterical laughter, spinning midair:

  — YES! MY KING, THE CROWD’S GONE MAD! THE HEART BURNS AND THE CURTAIN FALLS!

  Luiz lifted his spear one last time, his body trembling, his face painted in blood and laughter. The sun rose behind the walls.

  The Cups didn’t fall.

  The Cups won.

  And now, the heart of Sorriso beat in unison with his — and with the eyes of all who watched, the battlefield itself had shifted its axis.

  End of Chapter 37