The Aging Untouchable's body gradually fell apart, like the last flicker of a candle in the wind, on the verge of going out.
The Lord of Frenzied Flame swung his spear-like golden Greatsword, the blade carving a dazzling arc through the air.
The instant the Greatsword tore through the air, it gave off a deep, rumbling hum like thunder.
Turbulence screamed around the blade at incredible speed, forming a powerful current of air.
A matching wave of sword wind crashed into it. The two violent currents collided, instantly raising a storm that swept across the earth.
Gales howled, all things burned away, and heaven and earth sank into chaos.
Yet at the center of the storm, there was an unnatural calm.
Huge points of fire fell like meteors, smashing into pools of blood and sending up crimson sprays.
Those sprays spread ripples across the yellow lake, like some strange and ghastly painting.
Upon this storm-wracked stage, Nolan and Midra moved like ghosts, slowly circling an invisible ring.
Their movements were light, yet carried an eerie grace, as if they were performing a silent dance, or acting out a wordless play.
Midra's head blazed like the sun. The flames withdrew at a visible speed, and in an instant, restlessness and madness were restrained. Chaos had actually given way to order.
One could tell from the outside that an unbelievable change was taking place within his body, as if he had gone from a frail, decayed old man to a tall, powerful warrior in the blink of an eye.
Like everyone in the Lands Between, he had once longed for strength, yet no matter how he trained, all he ever had was a weak body.
Now, the corpses of his subjects lay piled at his feet, pushing him toward becoming a true Lord in the crudest, simplest way.
Countless flickering flames mercilessly devoured his body.
Every wisp of flame seemed alive, tearing madly at his skin, burning his bones, destroying his body completely.
Yet within that dark yellow inferno, his body was being rebuilt at an unbelievable speed.
His body was deathly pale, as if every trace of blood had been drained away. His frame was so thin it seemed a breeze could knock him over.
But his spirit was astonishingly full, like a king ready at any moment to don his armor and ride to war.
"You?" The Lord of Frenzied Flame's great head suddenly brightened, as if a huge spark had been lit in Nolan's eyes.
"I'm right here," Nolan said calmly.
"You who defy the truth!" Midra roared, charging forward like an enraged lion.
When he called Nolan a defier, there was a trace of anger in his voice. For that instant, those watching almost thought he had broken free from that chaotic, dazed state.
Nolan did not answer.
"Return to the embrace of the Great Deity!" Midra raised his head and looked at Nolan.
In the time it took his eye to close and open again, the anger in his voice was gone, as if his emotions had been stripped away in an instant.
He was fire. He was nothingness. He was chaos, and chaos should not feel anger.
Nolan still did not answer.
In truth, Nolan had once thought about how he should face the flame that ran opposite to him.
Should he welcome it gladly with a smile? Or should he fly into a rage and denounce it?
In the end, he answered Midra, or rather, Three Fingers, with silence.
There was nothing to say, because at this moment, nothing remained to be said.
They could not coexist.
He had absorbed the Frenzied Flame, but that did not mean he possessed it. He had only turned those flames into the same thing as himself.
The golden Greatsword danced in Midra's hands. In the next instant, he vanished before everyone's eyes, and only Nolan could see the phantom stepping through the fire toward him.
Midra's speed surpassed the dragons' imagination. Florissax had thought this weak Lord would not be much stronger than herself.
But now, that speed could only be called terrifying.
The instant Midra thrust forward, the edge of the Greatsword was already before Nolan's eyes.
The Lord of Frenzied Flame had no time to draw back his Greatsword. Nolan's Dark Moon Greatsword crashed into it, blocking his slash.
Nolan stopped the Lord of Frenzied Flame's attack, but the Lord of Frenzied Flame clearly could not stop Nolan's blade.
Midra could not read Nolan's counterattack at all. It was endless hell closing around him. When Nolan's Greatsword struck, it was telling him to die.
There was no need to resist. He could only die.
Yet the Lord of Frenzied Flame never lowered the sword in his hand, because he was chaos, and chaos did not die.
Under Midra's gaze, that flawless Lord suddenly shattered a broad stretch of earth beneath his feet just as he was about to retreat for a brief instant.
Then that figure disappeared, reappearing behind Midra at a terrifying speed...
With his speed, there was no time to turn around. All he could do was make the flames into armor as best he could to protect his body.
But in the next moment, terrible pain still surged from his back. He let out a roar, and scalding blood sprayed out behind him.
"A Warrior like Godfrey?"
Far away in the dark underground, Three Fingers clenched its fist.
The sight of that terrifying Warrior galloping across the battlefield was still fresh in its memory, but one look at its own body, made of three fingers and one palm, was enough to know it could never learn that kind of combat.
The sharp pain had barely faded when that figure swung his sword again. It also controlled its chosen Lord and moved the hand that held the sword.
A sun-like halo flared and shattered, again and again, while flames rolled like a tide toward the end of the dim sky.
Far from the battlefield of Lords, Florissax led the Flying Dragons back again and again. After being baptized by the collision of the Lords' fire, they were already little more than defeated remnants.
Every dragon's Scale Armor showed an unnatural bright red, and even from far away, they felt as if they were about to melt.
Even so, not a single dragon in the flock deserted, because the rock-like Ancient Dragon ahead of them could turn at any moment into a five-fingered mountain pressing down on their backs.
A war between Lords did not belong to everyone. In ancient epics, people heard of heroes charging at Lords, yet forgot that countless bones had long been piled beneath the throne.
Only a few could ever truly stand before a Lord. Most existed only to follow behind them.
Now, the two Lords had personally taken the field. They carried Greatswords and danced with fire, leaving each other not even the slightest space to breathe.
Another collision of flames tore open under the impact. It meant the swords in the hands of the two Lords had clashed once more, and this burst of flame was more terrifying than any before.
Within the boiling flames, chaotic roars could faintly be heard. It was impossible to tell whether it was the howl of hot wind, or whether the searing waves of fire had truly been given life by the Lords.
The shockwave of the explosion swept outward, tearing up another layer of earth from the Abyssal Woods.
Fortunately, Florissax, who had been watching the Tarnished Lord's heroic form from above, had already led the Flying Dragon flock several thousand meters away.
Otherwise, with that eruption, the Flying Dragon legion they had finally managed to assemble could have been declared wiped out.
The waves of flame danced in the air, then gradually scattered.
Countless sparks, like a swarm of gathered fireflies, flickered faintly in the sky as they drifted down.
Midra's blazing flame-eye was like a burning sun, radiating fearsome heat.
He roared, his gaze piercing through the drifting smoke and locking onto Nolan, who stood upon the cracked earth.
As expected, Nolan had once again left a wound on him with the Greatsword in his hand, and then the wound healed under the scorching flames.
The eyes of the Lord of Frenzied Flame and the Lord of Cinder met. Both burned with searing heat, yet beneath that heat, each held a dangerous calm.