Bang! The deafening crash shattered Throne's moment of triumph. He spun around to see the Magma Wyrm slammed against the wall, its left forelimb severed, blood pooling beneath it. The Nights Cavalry charged forward, greatsword gleaming, relentless. "These two are monsters—can't even the Magma Wyrm stop them?" Throne tightened his grip on Star-Frost.
Both katanas in hand, he crouched low and surged toward the cavalry from the side. "Guess I'll lend a hand!" "Careful!" A remained frozen in a forward lean, his muscles screaming, his fist slow to retract. The Magma Wyrm's hide had cracked the bone in his forearm. The warning came just in time.
Monk, poised to deliver the killing blow, froze as a crescent Glintstone Arc sliced past him, carving a deep scar into the rock wall. "You pick now to show up?" He snapped his head around, spotting the dual-wielding swordsman leaping into action. Frost shimmered in his right hand, a deep blue magic blade in his left.
He landed in front of the knight, unleashing everything he had. "Storm Dance!" Wild winds, biting frost, and crackling magic wove a deadly tricolor blade light, dazzling and lethal. Clang, clang, clang… The storm amplified his strikes, the frost numbed his limbs, and the magic blade tore through iron armor like paper.
The Nights Cavalry staggered back, his shoulder armor sheared away, his helm knocked loose, pain and cold spreading through his body. A flying kick came from the side—the hunter wasn't out of the fight yet. Throne used Bloodhound's Step to create distance, then watched as a storm of fists erupted before him.
He retreated, glancing sidelong at the cavalryman trying to pursue, and smirked. Monk lunged, ready to hack the sneaky bastard to pieces, but a scorching torrent of magma surged from the side, growing larger in his vision. "Damn it!" The Magma Wyrm's furious spray split the hollow in two.
What had been a one-against-two became a two-against-two, easing the Magma Wyrm's burden. "You're here to die?" the hunter growled, slamming consecutive punches into Throne's blade, forcing him back. "In the past, I wouldn't have stood a chance."
Throne tapped his toes, leaping back several meters, twisting to dodge a flying kick, and slashed horizontally with both swords. "But not anymore!" He wasn't lying.
The two had chased him for a day and a night without rest, then battled the Magma Wyrm to the brink of exhaustion. Meanwhile, Throne had been recovering, sipping water, chewing dried meat.
The hunter licked his dry lips, leaned back to avoid the blade sweeping toward his waist, planted his hands on the ground, and kicked Throne away with a flurry of strikes. He flipped backward, landing steady. "Then bring it." Five meters separated them now, a magic crest and a golden incantation flaring to life simultaneously.
"Crystal Burst." "Gurranq's Beast Claw." Bang, bang, bang… Crystals and stones collided, exploding in a chaotic dance of dust and magic. The air shimmered with particles, torn apart by the rush of bodies. "Moonveil! Star-Frost!" "Beast Claw!" Two sword lights clashed with the shockwave ripping across the ground.
The powerful thrust made Throne lean backward, and he saw the hunter leap high, his fist smashing toward his head. He hurriedly dodged in an instant. "Bloodhounds Step." Bang! The ground was smashed into a shallow pit. The hunter also rolled to the side without pause, as the shallow pit he had smashed was already expanded several times over by Glintstone Stars.
Both possessed battle-hardened martial arts and extremely agile skills. The hunter danced among the magic projectiles, while the swordsman retreated in the storm of fists and kicks. 'Is he trying to stall me?' Throne tilted his head slightly and saw that the Magma Wyrm's other forelimb had been severed by the greatsword.
The cavalryman leaped high, intending to drive the spear on his forehead into the Magma Wyrm's brain. "You'd better put some effort into it!" Even though he knew the Nights Cavalry was at the end of his tether, the remaining combat power was still troublesome, so he couldn't help but stop suddenly. Bang! A whip kick slammed into his elbow. Throne slid out several meters.
The hunter stood steadily in front, whispering, "You want to drain my stamina?" "So what if I do? Your punch speed has already slowed down. As for that cavalryman—" Throne grinned, revealing a grim, wild laugh, and bit down on Moonveil. "Do you think he can survive to come and support you?"
The so-called Ashina Style, the so-called killing art, is about utilizing all conditions to eliminate the enemy. Instinct would prepare backup plans for every contingency. "So what if you have the strength to slay a dragon!" Feeling that something was wrong, the hunter could no longer afford to use trash talk to recover his stamina and lunged straight at him.
But this time, Throne used his last bit of magic to trigger Starlight movement. "Where is he?" The wind from his punch swept through the ethereal Starlight movement. The hunter anxiously looked around. If the latter wanted to run now, he would have no strength to pursue. But the next instant, he finally caught sight of the swordsman. Throne appeared several meters behind Monk.
He didn't lunge, but for an expert, the sensing of killing intent at close range already made him vigilant. "Damn bastard, always causing trouble at the crucial moment." The Nights Cavalry no longer had the energy to be angry; instead, he felt a deep sense of helplessness. Feeling a hidden weapon approaching, he turned and swept his blade. Bang!
It shattered upon contact, but there was no fire, nor thunder, only pale purple smoke enveloping the knight. "What is this?" Truth be told, whether it was fire, thunder, or poison gas, these despicable hidden weapons couldn't kill him. But in an instant, he felt his eyelids grow heavy. The sleepiness accumulated from the journey and the bitter battle suddenly rushed into his mind.
In normal times, a sleep pot could only make him blink, but at this moment, he briefly lost control of his body. Only his iron-like willpower allowed him to resist the sleepiness, and then—
He bit off his tongue. The excruciating pain made him instantly sober. As his brain was regaining control of his body, he saw Throne being entangled by the hunter and breathed a sigh of relief.
But a moment later, the scorching heat beneath his feet made his eyes widen. The dying Magma Wyrm raised its head, opened its mouth, and sprayed a stream of magma. "No!!" The flames illuminated the hollow and filled the hunter's pupils. He saw the powerful Nights Cavalry being ignited, twisting and struggling in the flames.
He saw the longsword slashed by the swordsman, and saw the dying Magma Wyrm open its mouth toward them again, with infinite hatred, brewing another surprise attack. "I will... hunt death!" He didn't know where he summoned the burst of strength from, but he lunged forward violently.
The sword light swept over his head, tearing off a layer of scalp, but he held onto Throne firmly, charging toward the Magma Wyrm's mouth like a madman. "Go to hell!!" He entangled Throne's hands, as inescapable as an iron hoop, while his legs erupted with powerful force, moving forward unceasingly. This sudden burst was somewhat unexpected for Throne, but he soon understood.
This person was already exhausted; dragging it out would mean being tortured to death by himself, so it was better to make a valiant strike. Thump, thump, thump. Consecutive knee strikes slammed into the hunter's abdomen and chest. Blood sprayed onto Throne's face, but the force did not diminish by even a fraction. Iron willpower! The determination to win! This was undoubtedly a warrior.
At this moment, his spirit had transcended the exhaustion and pain of his flesh. Feeling the scorching heat on his back, Throne also became ruthless. "Sorry, I cannot die here!" "Dragon Heart!" His heart beat heavily, and his exhausted body once again activated the power of the dragon. His face was flushed red, and then his hands shook violently. "Open!!"
With the sound of tearing muscles, the hunter's hands were actually forced apart. He looked at that face filled with blood and distortion, feeling pain in his wrists. star-frost had been kicked away, but he released his mouth and grasped the falling longsword. "Moonveil—"
His arm swung, and the azure sword light lingered in the air, piercing through the hunter's neck.
Then, as a wave of heat struck, he stomped his right foot. "Bloodhounds Step." Boom... The magma illuminated the entire hollow brightly. The Magma Wyrm unleashed its strongest attack with its final vitality, and the liquid magma almost filled more than half of the hollow.
It swung its neck back and forth until the last bit of strength was exhausted, only then closing its eyes and dropping its head, with the last few bits of magma flowing from the corners of its mouth. After the clamor of the death battle, everything returned to silence, with only a few charred corpses and the fly ash of solidified magma silently recounting everything. "Is... is it over?"
The demi-human Boc poked his head out from outside the cave. Except for the heat that made people sweat profusely, he could see nothing. His heart was pounding wildly. Finally, gritting his teeth, he stepped into the scorching stone cave with some reluctance. "Mr. Roland, Mr. Roland." He called out over and over again, but the silent stone cave had no response.
The demi-human's expression gradually dimmed. Just as he was about to turn back, a hand suddenly reached out from the black ash and grabbed his ankle. "Ah—"
The demi-human let out a shrill scream, almost scared to death on the spot. At this moment, he saw a shield shining with magic brilliance on the surface of the stone crevice at his feet, and then, a person suddenly crawled out.
"What are you screaming about?" Throne was covered in dried blood stains, his face pitch black, only his blue eyes remained bright. "You, you didn't die?" "Nonsense, even if I were to die, it shouldn't be here." Throne bent down to pick up the Moonveil on the ground and looked at the three corpses in the hollow.
The Magma Wyrm, the Nights Cavalry, and the Death Hunter were all buried here, and he was the sole survivor. There was no need for sentimentality, no lingering fear, and no wild joy, just as it had been in hundreds of bloody battles—
The enemy is dead, and I am alive; that is completely enough.
The swordsman patted the demi-human's shoulder, as if very happy that the other party had the heart to come back to look for him, and waved his hand freely. "Let's go." "Where, where to?" "To Caelid, of course." Throne lifted his leg and walked away, his back straight, as if propping up his body with the excitement of the aftermath of battle.
The wooden ladder groaned under his weight as he climbed out of the pit. Sunset bled across the Caelid plateau, painting him in crimson light. The swordsman halted. His sword bore his weight as he turned toward Limgrave. Eyes narrowed against the dying light.
"Mr. Roland?"
A pause. Then, low and measured: "Hmm. Let's go."
Throne blinked once. Twice. The fertile expanse of Caelid stretched before him. He raised a hand—not in farewell, but dismissal. Limgrave's grievances meant nothing now.
Blood-soaked clothes. A stallion's restless snort. A blade hungry for the next throat. Ten thousand soldiers? Just more bodies for the pile.
Gael Tunnel reeked of iron and silence. Corpses littered the ground. Abandoned. Forgotten. For now. Secrets never stayed buried. Even if Alexander had gorged himself on the dead, evidence remained. Hasty escapes left trails. The truth would spread—a wildfire across The Lands Between.
Two deities would take notice.
Morgott, the Golden Order's zealot, just lost an entire unit of Nights Cavalry. A blow that would sting. The messenger from Stormveil hadn't reached Leyndell yet, but time ticked like a blade on stone.
Then there was Maliketh. The Black Blade. Death incarnate. Hunters died all the time—but this? A full team slaughtered. And why would Morgott's forces and Maliketh's hunters converge on two targets? Why would such power fail?
Questions bred suspicion. Suspicion led to scrutiny. And scrutiny would uncover the impossible: something had risen. Something that feasted on death itself. Morgott might not grasp the truth yet, but Maliketh? The shadow-bound beast tolerated no rivals.
Monk and A had been clever. They'd left breadcrumbs—messages at every stage. Follow the trail, and the cracks showed. Stormveil to Malenia. The Valkyrie's whispers. Raya Lucaria's archives.
Throne poked the campfire. Embers spat. "But is it my fault?" A shrug. He knew secrets, yes. But foresight? That wasn't his gift.
Who the hell knew he'd run into people from Morgott and Maliketh? And in that moment, choice was an illusion. Survival was the only law.