He vanished again, then appeared in mid-air, clenching his left fist, and all the scattered weapons flew up into the sky. Swords, spears, sabers, and halberds, as well as farm forks and hoes—hundreds of weapons floated around Throne, and then he waved his hand gently.
"Gravity Sword Array."
Swish, swish, swish... It was like a torrential downpour.
While controlling Gravity Magic in such a scattered way might not pierce heavy armor, it was more than enough to deal with these Frenzied Flame followers, most of whom wore only cloth. A vast spray of blood bloomed beneath Throne, and bodies fell row by row like harvested wheat. Throne landed on the ground, stood up, and raised his sword. Clang!!
A great hammer slammed hard into the middle of the blade, but the man holding the sword did not budge. He lifted his head slightly, and upon seeing the chainmail and greathelm, he paused for a moment.
"We meet again so soon, Henricus..."
He stopped mid-sentence as he saw the eyes within the greathelm, bloodshot and resembling rotten grapes.
"No, it has been a long time, Shabriri."
Clang—
The hammer and sword collided, the resulting shockwave knocking several people to the ground. The area was already a Rivers of Blood, and Shabriri, holding the great hammer, roared like a beast:
"Why must you disturb our quest!?"
"What a joke. You lunatics came looking for death yourselves."
Throne gripped his sword with both hands, watching the sparks fly from the friction against the blade, thinking to himself that Shabriri was truly bizarre, swapping bodies back and forth.
"That was a holy invitation extended to you!"
He raised his foot and kicked heavily. Throne sidestepped, grabbed his ankle, lifted him directly, and swung him around to slam him into the ground.
Boom—
"Invitation my ass!"
He had heard enough of the Three Fingers' twisted logic. Why were there no strong individuals among the Frenzied Flame followers? It was because the strong would never believe in some salvation; they only cared about their own power! Throne lifted him up again, slammed him down hard once more, and then threw him away just as the great hammer came swinging.
There was also the purest destructive power! Thump, thump, thump... The flying Shabriri knocked down dozens of people, while Throne ignored the bursts of Frenzied Flame around him and plunged the blasphemous blade into the ground beneath his feet. Wrath of Mt. Gelmir! Crimson magma boiled up. This had limited effect on the strong, but for ordinary people, it was undoubtedly a lethal weapon.
Wherever it passed, flesh dissolved, burning people into charcoal and clearing a large area. Of course, these Frenzied Flame followers were not just sitting ducks. Some Frenzied Flame struck Throne, setting his outer robe ablaze, yet he did not fall into the agony of madness.
"You... are not a Tarnished?"
Shabriri scrambled up, dodging backward away from the spreading lava.
Throne still did not speak. He simply crouched down, his golden pupils locking onto his opponent, a gaze that made a chill run down Shabriri's spine. Just how strong was this person? Could even a thousand followers not stop him? As the thought flashed through his mind, those Frenzied Flame followers actually stepped into the lava to continue forward.
Their legs dissolved, sinking into the magma, and then their whole bodies began to emit white smoke. Throne did not even look, just pushed off with his toes. Bang—
With unparalleled speed, an afterimage still lingering in Shabriri's eyes, the light dimmed in an instant. Then, the armored body was dragged into the air.
Throne gripped his helmet, the immense strength distorting and deforming the greathelm, and then dragged him sliding across the ground. Any bodies blocking his path were sent flying, carving a deep trench behind them.
"Who on earth are you?"
The roar came from beneath the twisted helmet, followed by a scream of extreme agony. Shabriri's scream! Bang!
Throne hurled him out. He hit the ground and exploded into a mushroom cloud, then shook his head, slightly dazed. Huh. The guy's scream actually worked. Was it because he was closer to the source of the Three Fingers? Throne never expected his majestic Chaos Flame to have no effect. If it had, the Three Fingers would've been embarrassed.
This only confirmed his earlier hypothesis: while the ordinary followers were numerous, their quality was abysmal. Shabriri crawled out of the shallow pit, his armor shattered beyond recognition. But for someone used to swapping bodies, this was nothing. He tore off his breastplate. It had been effective, but why?
He was confused. After a long moment of thought, he arrived at an answer: This monster was outrageously strong.
"Where did this demigod come from? And he's not just any demigod!"
Just as the thought crossed his mind, Throne raised his blade, the sharp tip pointing directly at Shabriri's face from a distance.
"The next strike will cut you down."
The words were calm, but Shabriri felt every muscle in this body tense. He thought of the years he'd spent opening up this situation, only to be hunted by the Erdtree regardless of victory or defeat. Despair and pain spread through his heart like wildfire.
"Why? In the vast Lands Between, there's no place of peace for us. Why must you always seek to exterminate us all!?"
He dropped the great hammer and covered his face, bloody tears streaming between his fingers. At the same time, the remaining nearly thousand followers all covered their faces, burning tears appearing on their cheeks. Hatred, pain, and despair saturated the air, blending together into ultimate madness.
"Perish, world!"
Nearly a thousand voices shouted this in a weeping tone. Instantly, an immense pressure emerged—invisible, intangible, yet it made Throne's pupils shrink sharply. Everyone around him began to self-combust, human torches filling his vision. Unlike the village before, these flames intertwined to form a—
Giant Three Fingers. What the hell? They could do that?
The bizarre scene widened Throne's eyes. Despair and madness surfaced in his mind, his sanity fighting desperately against them. As long as despair existed, it was immortal, indestructible. His body burned hot, as if it were about to combust with them.
In his eyes, the burning Three Fingers loomed. In his ears, an indescribable wailing echoed—millions crying out together, accusing fate of injustice. His body remained stiff, immobile. He poured all his energy into maintaining his sanity. One slip, and he'd go mad on the spot.
"As expected, every faction in the Lands Between has a trump card. I underestimated you all, but meeting like this is better than facing you directly."
Throne felt as if he'd returned to his fight with Greyoll. That, too, had been mental suppression, but the two were incomparable. Greyoll was just a dragon, using aura to crush people. This was a god of absolute chaos, infecting the heart with madness. It was bizarre, but Throne hadn't left after discovering Shabriri's presence. He'd been waiting for this moment.
"But you've already been sealed, and I've just swallowed something."
Tap. He took a step forward. Shabriri's rotting eyes filled with disbelief.
"This is impossible! No one can resist the will of the Three Fingers idol!"
So this was called the Three Fingers idol. Throne took a second step, holding his blade steady, and slowly crouched down.
"Tell me, what is above sanity?"
Shabriri opened his mouth, but before he could answer, a storm brushed past his face. He hurriedly controlled the Three Fingers idol to grasp downward. The flame didn't scorch—it swallowed. It crushed Redmane fire, Gelmir lava, anything that dared call itself heat. This was power to burn the world itself. But he was slow. Too slow. Just as he finally seized control, pain exploded in his chest. He looked down, stunned. A blade had carved through his chainmail, running from his left shoulder to his right rib. The body died instantly. Eternal darkness swallowed him. The answer reached his ears as the void claimed him.
"Instinct!"
The Three Fingers clawed at the ground, catching nothing. There was no malice, no terror—not even the faintest hint of killing intent. The Frenzied Flame didn't hate. It didn't care. It turned everything to chaos, emotionless, indifferent to consent. In Melina's eyes, the idol of flame shattered. It disintegrated, vanishing in a way that defied all reason. The field was empty, save for Henricus. No corpses. No trace. She blinked, confusion etching her face. Had it all been a hallucination? No Three Fingers. No Frenzied Flame. Just a moment of zoning out. Then she saw the blood dripping from the swordsman's blade. Reality snapped back. It was real. She scanned the ground, confirming the flame was truly gone, then sprinted toward Throne, stopping beside him slightly breathless.
"Are you okay?"
Throne turned his head slowly. Pale yellow flames burned in his eyes. Without warning, he lunged at her. Melina sidestepped, pivoted, and bolted like a startled hare. She stopped a hundred meters away, turning back to see him standing there, laughing heartily. Melina froze, then flushed crimson. Her black blade hissed as she drew it.
"Throne—I'll kill you!"
"Sorry, just a joke."
"Are you serious?"
"Don't push me. Push me again, and I'll snap."
He dodged frantically as she chased him. Finally, he stopped ten meters away, both of them bent double, gasping for air.
"It's not like I've never teased you before. Why's this so serious?"
"You don't joke about that. I'll really lose it."
"Alright, alright. No more jokes." Throne smiled, apologizing quickly. Inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. This wasn't just teasing—it was a test. A probe into the origin of Melina's soul. If the Frenzied Flame could shift her judgment from humanity to divinity, that would be a disaster.
"Better."
Melina softened at his sincerity, then bowed slightly herself.
"This is my natural enemy. You won't blame me?"
She'd watched the whole battle, rarely stepping in to help.
"Your natural enemy? Right. That flame must wreck spirits. But these Frenzied Flame followers are handy—saves us disposing of bodies." Throne answered his own question. He'd faced the Three Fingers directly. The feeling was indescribable. Unlike demigods like Rykard or Morgott, it was formless, chaotic. Had the body Shabriri snatched not been so weak, it would not have been so easy to resolve. The thought made him frown. Shabriri was a unique kind of enemy.
"He escaped being devoured. He'll return, possessing someone else. Aside from clones, this is the first time I haven't killed the target."
Throne didn't worry about the trouble this man could cause—he'd just kill him every time he showed up. But that possession ability? Now that was something worth coveting. Melina circled back to a question she'd forgotten.
"Wait. Why could you still move earlier? I was affected from a distance."
"Instinct drove me."
"Instinct?"
"The instinct of greed. That massive Three Fingers made me restless. The urge to devour it outweighed the madness. The mental erosion couldn't touch me."
Throne kept it simple, but Melina still froze for a second. Her pupils shrank.
"That serpent?!"
"Exactly. Its hunger runs deep."
Throne licked his lips, eyes alight with feverish excitement.
"But don't worry—a little greed is healthy. I can control it."
Melina's stare was pure skepticism. This man had swallowed every cursed thing in his path, even the Frenzied Flame. He made Rykard look tame. Cutting people apart with a blade wasn't any cleaner than swallowing them whole. An image flashed in her mind: a colossal serpent with Throne's face, its body wreathed in Frenzied Flame, scales studded with the writhing arms of demigods.
"Focus. We're going to the Shaded Castle." Throne swung onto the spirit steed and offered his hand. Melina smacked it away, disgusted. She locked eyes with him, deadly serious.
"One rule. Even if you turn into another Rykard, no Frenzied Flame. I'd rather you became that serpent monster!"
Throne blinked. It took him a full three seconds to process her words. A vein pulsed in his temple. Who the hell wants to turn into that kind of monster? And what do you mean by "you can accept it"!?