Summoner of Divine Powers in Another World

High above the Magic Continent, the Sword Saint Robis hovered, sword in hand, his sharply chiseled features radiating righteousness. At his side were two others—one clad in imposing armor wielding a massive greatsword, the other robed in resplendent mage’s garb, holding an intricately crafted staff.

These three stood at the very pinnacle of the continent’s hierarchy: Robis, the Wind Sword Saint; Angerfall, the Fire Sword Saint; and Zeig, the dual-element Divine Descendant.

Now, these supreme figures had appeared together for the sake of a youth barely in his twenties—the youngest Divine Descendant in the continent’s history: Weir.

“How rare! The continent’s three greatest powers descend, only to play the part of common thieves,” Weir remarked, a trace of mockery curling his lips as he fixed his gaze on the trio. He faced three alone, yet showed not a hint of fear.

“Enough talk, Weir. Words are meaningless. Surrender the three Divine Artifacts, and today’s events can be forgotten,” Robis snapped coldly.

Weir laughed. “Hand over the artifacts? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Those artifacts are mine by right—why should I relinquish them? Ridiculous! Robis, if you still possess an ounce of a true warrior’s honor, don’t insult yourself with lies that not even a child of three would believe. If you have the strength, come and take them by force. There’s no need for such pointless posturing!”

Angerfall, the Fire Sword Saint, was the most hot-blooded of the three. Unable to contain himself at Weir’s words, he stepped forward and be