"M-my lord, perhaps we should find Lady Tanith? She'll know the answer."
"Covering one lie with another? Admiration is the farthest thing from understanding. Truth isn't handed to you—it's seized."
Throne's voice cut sharp. His glance at Melina was a silent command: Protect Rya.
The wooden woman didn't protest this time. She'd grown fond of the gentle little serpent herself.
"Isn't this... cruel?"
"She's the one who wants the truth. Do you think Volcano Manor will remain standing after this?"
His words hung heavy, undeniable. Mercy wasn't in his nature. The manor would bleed before it yielded.
Better for Rya to uncover the truth now than to charge blindly into a fight she couldn't win, only to be cut down without a second thought. Let her learn, let her grieve, let her step aside. Melina pressed her lips shut. Was this kindness? She couldn't tell.
The passage deepened, the air thickening with heat. The gurgle of boiling water echoed faintly. Melina's grip tightened on her dagger. Rya's breath quickened, her nerves fraying. Only Throne remained steady, his brow furrowed, his eyes scanning every shadow.
No enemies. Strange. Were they unprepared? Throne strode into the core area like he owned the place.
A hidden wall would've gone unnoticed by most. Others, spotting Rya's unease, would've sought Tanith for answers. But Tanith still slept, oblivious, while Throne forged ahead.
Candlelight flickered on the walls, casting dim, eerie light. Iron cages and shackles came into view—this wasn't a manor; it was a dungeon.
Rykard, the Praetor, had turned Volcano Manor into a prison. Nothing surprising there. Yet, aside from layers of dust, there wasn't a single snail in sight.
"My lord, perhaps we should turn back," Rya pleaded, her voice trembling. Her unease gnawed at her.
No sane person would linger in such a place. But Throne's expression didn't flicker.
"If you want to leave, that's your choice. What does it matter to me?"
Rya glanced at the dark passage behind her, swallowed hard, and followed.
At the dungeon's center, another staircase descended into blackness. Faint breathing echoed from below—someone stood guard.
So, a backup plan after all. But Throne had already seen through it.
"Wait here," he ordered, stepping down the stairs. A flicker of starlight illuminated the shadows.
The staircase plunged deep underground. Before long, the glow of armor caught his eye. Two knights sat in the cold, desolate hall. Their helmets arched high like hounds' snouts. They rose slowly, their movements deliberate.
Bloodhound Knights. Throne recognized them instantly. Loyal to the bone, they'd never betray their master.
"My lord, you shouldn't be here," they said, their voices cold, leaving no room for argument.
Placing a Bloodhound Knight here to guard the door was quite clever. Most would've turned back, their curiosity satisfied. Without evidence, Throne had no reason to press further.
But Throne caught a flicker of surprise through the gaps in their helmets. They hadn't expected him so soon. Tanith hadn't even set the stage.
"I'm here anyway—why leave just to come back?"
Throne's fingers tightened around the ornate straight sword at his waist. Steel whispered against leather as he drew the blade inch by inch. The Bloodhound Knights shifted, restless, curved swords sliding from their backs in unison.
"Do you mean to wage war against Volcano Manor?"
"Wrong."
Throne bent at the knees. Two silver flashes erupted in the dark as he stepped back—then lunged.
"This is called 'smoke out the snakes.'"
Starlight exploded.
The Bloodhound Knights surged forward as Throne retreated. Light detonated above his head, a flashbang in the pitch-black chamber. Their vision burned white. But these were no ordinary warriors—muscles coiled, reflexes firing. They twisted mid-air, boots scraping stone as they kicked backward. Bloodhound's Step: a ghost's retreat.
Throne had learned this Ash first upon arriving in the Lands Between. His version cut faster. Covered more ground.
A whisper of steel—
The knights froze. One breath he was meters away. The next, his blade kissed their throats. Eyes squeezed shut, they reacted on instinct—one leapt high, sword arcing for his skull. The other dropped low, steel flashing toward his ankles.
Clang. The head strike deflected off his guard. The low slash grazed air as Throne's boot lifted. He'd predicted this.
"Piss off."
His kick connected with the standing knight's breastplate. The man catapulted backward, a ragdoll in armor.
Crash.
Stone shattered. The wall vomited dust and debris. A metallic crunch screamed from beneath Throne's boots—the knight embedded in the rubble spat blood through his visor.
His eyes flared open just in time to see his companion crushed into the floorboards. Then an iron grip yanked him forward.
Thunk.
The straight sword punched through his chest. His own wild slash barely scratched Throne's breastplate. A dying man's gamble. A fool's errand.
Throne watched the light gutter out behind the helmet's slits. Wrenched his blade free. Let the corpse drop.
No hesitation. He charged up the stairs, blood-slick steel in hand. The church doors loomed.
The lectern toppled with a crash. He blew through the nave, boots skidding at the threshold. Momentum carried him into a spin—
Boom.
The door exploded into kindling. Heat roared against his face like a dragon's breath.
He straightened. Took in the sight.
Volcano Manor wasn't a castle—it was a damn fortress. The outer walls were theater curtains, hiding the real stage. Lava rivers pulsed below. Houses clung to cliffsides. A palace of black stone jutted from the flames. And the workers—
Some serpentine like Rya, round shields strapped to their arms. Others robed, wielding weapons that hurt to look at. Misbegotten hauled carts. Prisoners muscled ballistae into place. Watchtowers bristled with archers.
A war machine under construction.
This was in preparation for the upcoming welcoming committee. Even without the door's dramatic exit, the watchtowers had eyes everywhere.
Every head turned. Every tool stilled. They stared at the iron-silhouetted knight filling the ruined doorway.
Throne stared back. Said nothing.
The two sides just stared at each other in silence, until footsteps rang out. Melina and Rya ran over. Upon reaching the entrance, they were stunned on the spot, not expecting such a desperate scene behind the door. Rya covered her mouth; she saw hundreds of snake-men who resembled her. All that talk about being born blessed was a lie.
Even if Tanith turned into a sow, it would be impossible for her to birth so many offspring... Deathly silence, save for the sound of bubbles rising from the lava. Throne took a light breath and turned his head to look behind him.
"This is reality. You are merely a tool for some great figure. They take up swords, while you have a different task. Do you want to return to your own kind?"
Rya looked somewhat dejected. She saw the hostile gazes of those snake-men, and her instincts were telling her the answer. She was not accepted by humans, nor by snakes. How she was born no longer held much meaning. Look at this tense, sword-drawn scene; she was merely a component in a massive conspiracy.
"I... I don't know."
Rya realized she couldn't bring herself to hate Tanith, nor did she know what to do now. The fighting spirit before them was gradually surging. The enemies were not disconnected, after all, and were slowly regaining their senses. At a time like this, Throne couldn't be bothered to ask more.
"Just tell me, do you want to live or die?!"
Perhaps because the tone was too harsh, Rya blurted out: "I... I want to see Mother one more time!"
"Fine. Melina, send her back!"
Throne gripped his sword and drew it inch by inch.
"Are you really going to be alright?"
Melina dragged Rya away, backing up slowly.
"After 'beating the grass to startle the snake,' it is time to 'lure the snake out of its hole.' Go!"
As soon as he finished speaking, the sound of bowstrings rattled.
Various ballistae and armor-piercing arrows came rushing toward them. Throne rolled to the side, seeing the church wall already bristling with arrows. This was indeed a good place for defense. Before them was a river of lava, and the long bridge across it had already been retracted. If he had waited for them to be prepared before coming, Throne could already envision what would happen.
It would be a volley of ten thousand arrows, his retreat cut off by strong foes, and he would become like a mouse in a bellows, caught between two ends. But he had come too quickly; not only were the fortifications not built, but there were no strong warriors holding the line. This was the advantage of striking first.
"So you cannot stop me!"
He took out a Redmane Greatshield from his ring and charged forward with it held in front of him. A ceaseless 'ding-ding-dang-dang' sound rang out, and countless sparks exploded on the surface of the shield. Yet Throne kept moving forward, unstoppably forward. The ballistae slowed him down slightly, and arrows shot from the side slammed into his armor and bounced off.
This armor, which Ranni had spent so much effort on, was not made of paper, and it was the source of Throne's confidence to go on a rampage. He felt a bit of scorching heat; he didn't need to look to know that the lava was close. But reality had no mercy from Miyazaki, and Throne was not exempt from the laws of physics, so he stepped back slightly.
"Quick, shoot him to death! He can't get across!"
Various strange, weird roars came from all directions. In the air, besides arrows, there were even incantations from Fire Monks. But Throne did not retreat again; instead, he sprinted forward frantically. Ding, ding, ding... Sparks burst forth, and behind him was nothing but arrow fletching. Throne rushed to the edge of the cliff and leaped out. Beneath his feet was crimson lava.
In the air, he was undoubtedly an excellent target, but just as the second wave of the frenzy began, the knight in the air had vanished.
"Where did he go?"
A group of monsters scanned their surroundings, only to see a figure materialize on this side of the cliff. Boom! The door-sized greatshield was thrown out, and the watchtower was shattered like building blocks.
With his guard wide open, Throne saw the dense swarm of arrows and swept his sword horizontally. Flame Dance! The Sword of Night and Flame carved out a wall of fire, and the arrows turned to charcoal before they could even make contact. Throne swept his gaze across the people charging at him with swords or spears, raised his right foot, and gripped the greatsword on his back. Sucking!
Dozens of people instantly lost their balance and were pulled over. Before they could counterattack, they heard a roar and felt as if a small mountain were pressing down on their shoulders. Greyoll's Roar! Like the wrath of a dragon, the slightly stronger snake-men could still resist, while the weak prisoners fell directly to their knees. However, whether they could resist or not was meaningless.
Clang—
The Dark Moon Greatsword was drawn, leaving a cerulean lunar ring in the air. The crowds, packed three layers deep, all froze, until the knight in the center rose from the ground. The windstorm he kicked up sliced them in two at the waist, and the erupting blood bloomed like bewitching flowers. Rumble!!
Throne leaped and fell, landing precisely in the center of the town-like building complex. It was as if a bomb had exploded in the middle; wooden planks from houses, stones, and ballista parts flew everywhere. Dust mixed with wood shavings rose. Just as Throne straightened his body, he saw several red figures rush in.
They wore breastplates with alien faces and held burning-like long swords, looking quite ferocious. They reached out their hands, and a burning fire-serpent erupted from their palms. Fire Monks? Throne didn't know why these people appeared inside Mt. Gelmir, nor did he need to know. He tapped his toes, and Bloodhounds Step allowed him to leap out of the center of the burning.
The four fire-serpents collided head-on, and scorching flames flew everywhere.
"Where is he?"
As humans, the monks were clearly a bit smarter. After being caught off guard and falling into chaos, they needed to stall this man until the strong ones came to deal with him.
"You... above!"
The monk wearing a linen hood looked up.
The knight was right above, swinging his greatsword down, followed by a tooth-aching sound of metal tearing. Throne slashed down the fire-sword that came to block him, then cut both the man and his armor in two. Glancing with his peripheral vision, he saw other monks throwing fireballs or wrapping themselves in flames. The orange-red fire was truly dazzling and eye-catching.
"But that is not how you fight."
Another Bloodhounds Step. The corpse that had been cut in two was already ignited. He instantly appeared more than ten meters away, right in front of that monk. It is speed. Bowing his head to dodge the thrusting long sword, he leaped up. The straight sword pierced through the opponent's chest, and he charged forward while pushing the body.
Flames exploded behind the corpse, but in the blink of an eye, it was enough for him to rush right up to them. It is strength! The greatsword slashed horizontally, turning the person behind into two halves along with the corpse. Immediately following that, he leaped up, seeing a long snake pass under his feet.
The latter stretched its body like a noodle; seeing his sword miss, it hurriedly raised its small round shield to block. Boom—
Throne did not use his sword, but simply landed hard, purely crushing it into a puddle of meat. Scanning with his eyes, he saw figures constantly rushing in from the ruins, worthy of being called fearless of death.
The Misbegotten hurled their axes through the air, each blade spinning with lethal precision. The Kindred of Rot chanted their incantations, dark words twisting the air with corruption. Snake-men coiled and struck, their sinuous forms stretching unnaturally toward the fray. Towering Abductor Virgins loomed, their grotesque silhouettes casting long shadows across the battlefield.
The Sword of Night and Flame roared to life, its blade erupting with a torrent of searing light. Magic surged through it, raw and unrelenting. Nearby, the Dark Moon Greatsword flashed, its wielder pivoting sharply at the waist. A blinding arc of sword light tore through the chaos, cutting a path of devastation.