The phoenix circled once more above the battlefield, its wings cutting wide arcs through the sky. Each beat of those burning wings scattered sparks and glowing embers that drifted downward.
At first, the sight was strangely beautiful—tiny lights floating through the air like fireflies in the afternoon sun.
Then Richard realized where they were falling.
Directly onto the soldiers.
"Oh shoot—" he blurted. "Is it trying to burn us too?!"
His body reacted faster than his mind. One foot slid back. His shoulders tensed. Every bit of training drilled into him as a soldier screamed the same order.
Fire from the sky.
This is bad.
Run.
He was ready to bolt.
But no one else moved.
The warriors standing around him—orc, dwarf, elf, goblin, and human—remained exactly where they were. Shields raised, weapons ready for their adversaries. Some even tilted their heads upward slightly, calmly watching the falling embers like farmers waiting for rain.
Richard blinked, "…What?"
He glanced at the orc standing near him.
The massive creature hadn't moved an inch. Its axe rested casually on one shoulder while it stared straight ahead toward the approaching enemy.
Waiting for the beasts, or the fire.
Richard couldn't tell.
His instincts screamed again.
Run, idiot.
But strangely… his legs refused.
He looked down at them.
Is my body telling me to stay? But, why?
Is this body eager to die, too?
Hell no!
He tried to knock his legs.
Move, you knucklehead. I just been drowned, now I'm getting burned?
But no matter he tried his body didn't listen.
Across the battlefield, on the far left flank, the first embers finally landed among the soldiers.
Richard braced himself.
He expected screaming and panic. People rolling on the ground trying to put themselves out.
Instead—
Flames burst around several warriors as the embers touched them. Their armor glowed faintly red. Sparks crawled across their shoulders and helmets.
But no one screamed.
An orc slammed his shield with his axe and laughed loudly. A dwarf raised both fists and shouted something in his rough language. Even the elves straightened their backs as if someone had poured energy into their veins.
They looked… stronger.
Richard blinked hard.
"That can't be right," he muttered.
The phoenix flew past their area, and embers drifted closer.
One glowing spark floated lazily toward him, spinning gently in the air.
Richard watched it the way a man watches a grenade rolling across the floor.
The ember landed on his shoulder.
For a split second—
Flames exploded across his body.
"AH—!"
He jerked, expecting pain.
But it never came.
Instead, warmth spread through him like sunlight soaking into cold skin. The fire wrapped around his arms, his chest, his legs—but it didn't burn.
It felt… good.
The freezing river chill vanished instantly. The soreness in his muscles disappeared. His lungs filled easily again.
Energy rushed through his veins.
Richard blinked twice.
"…Huh."
He rolled his shoulders slowly.
Everything felt lighter. Stronger. Sharper.
The kind of good you feel after eight hours of sleep, three cups of coffee, and someone telling you you've been promoted.
He looked down at the faint flames dancing harmlessly along his arms.
"…Okay," he admitted.
Then he glanced toward the approaching monsters again.
"…this is unsettlingly warm and good."
Soon, the chaos reached its climax.
Across the battlefield, the enemy horde finally slammed into the front line.
Roars exploded from the defenders as orcs and dwarves lifted their shields and braced themselves. The ground shook under the stampede of the horned wolf-beasts charging forward.
Beside Richard, the orc who had dragged him out of the river suddenly moved.
The giant bent down and grabbed a shield from a fallen dwarf nearby. The dwarf's severed arm was still gripping the handle.
The orc frowned at it.
He swung the shield twice like he was shaking out a rug until the dwarf's hand finally flew off and landed somewhere behind them.
"Better," the orc muttered.
The shield looked comically small in his grip—like a grown man holding a child's toy.
The first wolf-beast lunged at him.
The orc raised the shield just in time. The creature crashed into it with a loud clang, claws scraping sparks from the metal.
With a roar, the orc swung his axe.
The blade was buried deep into the beast's shoulder.
The wolf howled and snapped forward, trying to sink its fangs into the orc's neck while its claws raked across his armor.
The orc roared back.
He let go of the axe still lodged in the creature and grabbed the beast's jaws with both hands.
Muscles bulged.
With a brutal yank—
CRACK.
He tore the wolf's mouth open like ripping wet cloth.
The creature twitched violently, then collapsed.
The orc pulled his axe free from the corpse, lifted it high, and roared before charging forward into the battle.
The front line buckled under the stampede but didn't break.
Elves leapt lightly onto the shoulders of orcs and dwarves, using them like living platforms before diving into the enemy ranks with flashing blades.
Tiny goblins squeezed through the gaps between larger warriors, darting in and out like rats. Their small knives moved with terrifying speed, slashing at legs and bellies before vanishing again.
Richard stood there for half a second, daggers in hand, flames still dancing faintly around him.
"…Maybe," he muttered to himself, breath fogging slightly in the warm air around his face, "this is the life I'm supposed to live from now on."
For a moment, he simply stared at the chaos—metal clashing, beasts snarling, soldiers shouting in languages he didn't remember yet understood.
Blood started to flow into the water, crimson and blue.
Then his jaw tightened.
"…Yeah. No."
His grip on the daggers hardened.
"I can't accept that," he said under his breath. "I will not end the same way as before."
The memory of cold river water flashed in his mind. The livestream. The comments.
Pathetic loser.
Jump already.
His lips curled slightly.
"Not this time."
He stepped forward into the mud.