Throne thrust his sword into the battlement and continued to observe the hazy battlefield.
"I can be willful at times."
Throne felt neither regret nor resentment, and he didn't even cast a glance at the noble, headless corpse beside him. He had no interest in knowing the other party's ideals, and as for any talk of enduring humiliation or psychological struggle, that was none of his business. Regardless of how many thousands of reasons you might have, if I want to kill you, that is enough.
He didn't dwell on such a small matter; he simply gazed out at the battlefield. With his keen eyesight, the thick fog was no obstacle. Looking down from above, he finally saw the full picture of the battlefield. Outside the city walls, Millicent was actually fighting side-by-side with the Nights Cavalry. Though they were fewer in number, they were still able to firmly suppress the hunters.
The battle over there was insignificant, and Throne didn't care much about it; the key was here, inside the city... Through the thick fog of fire and smoke, he clearly saw a dark red "carpet" covering the roads, houses, and gardens. Tentacles sprouted from it, extending towards the north of the city. The terrain could not contain this monster.
They covered the half-collapsed main castle, reaching inside through windows and cracks, and occasionally, one could see Golden Order Incantations bursting out through the walls.
"Even though he was countered, Margit fought with all his might. If not for the battle at Volcano Manor, he would have had no trouble escaping. In the end, it was I who set him up."
Throne felt no shame. At that time, they were enemies, and they were only temporarily allied now. After a fierce battle, Throne had gained a deep understanding of this avatar of the crucible. It lacked human intelligence and, logically, should have been a rigid, inanimate object. But because of the Dung Eater, it was full of aggression.
Of course, from its perspective, this was a supreme blessing, regardless of whether the other party could accept it. Its destructive power was superb, and its attacks were insidious. In any case, Throne wouldn't dare take off his armor and let it touch him. More importantly, it was constantly learning, and that alone was enough to leave any Erdtree Avatar in the dust.
"Morgott won't last long."
Ranni appeared beside him. She had been watching the battle and had some thoughts: "How about we retreat first, gather the sorcerers, and then come back?"
"We can't retreat. This thing shares characteristics with the Great Serpent—whether it's merging or devouring, once it's full, things won't be that simple. And without Morgott as bait, having more people would actually be a disadvantage."
Those swaying limbs already possessed the features of Misbegotten, humans, and demi-humans. If it were to swallow a few Ancient Dragons, or kill a few Tree Sentinels, that would be disastrous! He glanced at the headless corpse beside him and said calmly: "This thing wouldn't appear for no reason. Since the Erdtree was born from the crucible of life, it must also have the weaknesses that an Avatar of the Erdtree has."
"That Dung Eater?"
"Yes, when I first entered the underground cavern, I noticed his chest had been cut open, and something seemed to be stuffed inside."
Ranni recalled it; there really was something, but they hadn't had the time to observe it carefully at the time. Yet, this thing that had long since vanished into the dust of history would never just pop out for no reason.
"Don't forget, there is also a Crucible Knight of the same origin."
"I know, but as for what exactly they want to do, I can't worry about that much anymore."
Throne jumped onto the battlement and shouldered his greatsword.
The dark red carpet stretched before him, a grotesque tapestry of writhing eyeballs, tangled hair, and twitching limbs. It had swallowed the garden whole, transforming it into a nightmarish lawn straight out of a Lovecraftian nightmare. The chaos was absolute—no single part distinguishable from the rest. Everywhere he looked, it was the same revolting sight.
Golden Order Incantations still tore through the walls, their power waning with each passing moment. No matter how many pierced through, more would burrow inside, relentless and insatiable.
"Morgott can't hold on much longer. Should I take over?"
Ranni's voice cut through the chaos. The Dark Moon's power could freeze most of The Shaded Castle, and if that failed, saturation bombing was always an option. But Throne remained silent.
He seemed oblivious to the futile incantations, his focus elsewhere. Then, his heart stirred. If his eyes couldn't find it, he'd rely on instinct—that primal, greedy instinct. He had just devoured a Great Serpent, and its essence granted him an acute awareness of high-energy objects.
He narrowed his eyes, lowered his mental guard, and listened to the roar deep within. Eat it, eat it... The Great Serpent's hunger was insatiable, indifferent to the fact that the crucible of life stood above it in the hierarchy. Throne's gaze swept the area, and suddenly, his eyes widened.
"Found it."
It was just outside the castle's main hall. Outwardly, it looked no different, but Throne remembered the hidden world beneath. The distance was too great for Starlight Leap, and there was no safe landing spot within the city. He doubted he could trample over it without provoking a reaction. Then, a roar of grief and fury echoed through the air, and he hesitated no longer.
"Ranni, help me. And if I don't come back, pull me back."
Ranni blinked, confusion flickering across her face, but before she could respond, Throne was gone. He leaped into the air, gliding nearly twenty meters before gravity began to pull him down. Below him, the dark red carpet of tentacles and eyeballs awaited like a cesspit.
Even with Gravity Magic lightening his body, the moment he touched the grotesque mass, it reacted instantly. The avatar of the crucible didn't need to focus—it simply responded to those who embraced its "blessing."
Like a flower bud closing, everything surged inward, crushing toward the center.
Throne's toes tapped the ground, and he immediately felt the curse fire's suppression on his spirit. He gritted his teeth. ROAR!!! Greyoll's roar countered spiritual suppression with spiritual suppression. The yellow-black flames were extinguished in an instant. Throne bent his knees, compressing his body, and vanished before his heels could touch the ground.
Dragon Heart. Blood Burn! BOOM—A violent pale ring erupted outward. Before the "flower bud" could fully close, he surged through, but layers upon layers awaited him. Fortunately, the path-blocking "flower bud" had already frozen solid. Clatter... Ice shards scattered in all directions. Throne charged forward, his gaze locked ahead.
"Almost there, just a little bit more!"
Before his words faded, an ice sphere encased him, rolling forward across the ground. But it was like rolling through quicksand—it didn't get far before countless tentacles wrapped it into a red ball of yarn. Ranni, standing atop the tower, didn't hesitate. She clenched her fists.
"Explode."
This wasn't the Dark Moon, but as the strongest Snow Witch, her shattering ice sphere froze everything in its vicinity. Throne tumbled out of the broken sphere, his silver armor coated in a thin layer of ice despite Thops's Barrier. He stepped onto the bare ground, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips.
You are not some unknowable force. You still obey the laws of physics—energy conservation remains absolute. No matter your transformations, your mass stays constant. A portion chased Morgott, leaving only a thin layer behind. Ranni's twin frost spells were enough to cripple it.
"Now," Throne said, his voice low, "my turn."
The ground beneath him buckled as his right foot drove into the earth. Cracks spiderwebbed outward, carrying explosive force. BOOM!!! The dull impact shook the already fractured city wall, and it collapsed with a thunderous roar. Even Ranni, observing from above, could only describe it with one word: fast. Shockingly fast. Three pale rings unfolded in rapid succession. The distant castle crumbled under sheer force, leaving a gaping hole.
Throne surged inside, spotting the strange armor below. It resembled a drowning man, head down, back exposed above the ground. Hundreds of eyes shifted in unison, locking onto Throne above. They stared at each other for a split second before cursed fire erupted, blazing fiercely.
The flames didn't ignite anything. They didn't even touch Throne's body. Yet their light and brilliance froze him in place, just as it had Margit.
Then, the Dung Eater—who had been facing away—twisted his head. His neck rotated a full one hundred eighty degrees, and he spoke his first words: "You... want the curse? Then I shall grant you death."
Cursed Fire Scorching Sun.
Throne's mind locked. His body heated from within, as if he were about to combust. He began to understand why the Dung Eater wore a sun symbol on his chest. Sunlight gives life—could this crucible be the sun obscured by the Erdtree? Throne felt he'd glimpsed a fundamental truth of The Lands Between.
No wonder it ignored sneak attacks, decapitations. This wasn't on the same level as Greyoll's roar. It far exceeded what human will could withstand. He'd known the cursed fire was dangerous, but this was beyond expectation.
"Is this your trump card? Worthy of being the origin of everything in The Lands Between. But do you think I don't have a few of my own?"
As the crucible within him ignited his organs with searing pain, Throne abandoned the Great Serpent. He forgot Blood Burn, forgot Dragon Heart. He simply stared at the Dung Eater, who watched him in silence. Pale yellow flames ignited in Throne's eyes.
The fire spread, engulfing the outside of his helmet, turning his head into a blazing fireball. No roar, no taunts. He became a comet of flame, piercing through the cursed fire. BANG!! He slammed into the Dung Eater's back, the ground exploding beneath them.
The Dung Eater's body plummeted downward. Mid-air, his twisted head emitted a soft sound of surprise. In The Lands Between, few things rivaled the cursed fire. Even Mt. Gelmir's magma fell short. But a select few flames burned hotter—among them—
BOOM—CRASH!
A heavy punch caved in his round helmet. His body flew backward, slamming into the distant rock wall. It exploded on impact, his form spreading like clay to dissipate the force. Red tendrils shot from the wall, spiraling into dense horns. CLANG CLANG CLANG CLANG... Bright sparks erupted in front.
The attacker needed no sword skill; he simply swung his greatsword so densely that not even a drop of water could pass through. He carved a path forward, ignoring the tentacles contracting toward him, and drove his sword through the rock wall, burying it to the hilt.
"This," he said, "is power."
The Dung Eater watched as Throne tore through the tentacles wrapped around him, shredding them apart.
Throne's hands shot out, clamping down on the Dung Eater's shoulders. His knee drove forward like a battering ram, slamming into the man's abdomen with enough force to send him crashing into the rock wall. And then—
RUMBLE!!! The wall shattered in a hundred-meter radius, collapsing into a jagged ring of debris centered on the impact. From the chaos, a voice roared, guttural and unhinged, like a demon unleashed.
"Come on, let's go mad!"
The sound reverberated through the underground cavern. Pinned against the fractured rock, the Dung Eater felt physical pain for the first time. His body screamed in protest as he realized what Throne was burning.
"The Frenzied Flame!"
If the crucible of life created, turning one into many, the Frenzied Flame consumed, reducing all to one. The two opposing forces crackled and hissed, their energies clashing in a storm of destruction.
On the surface, they seemed evenly matched. But the Dung Eater, even at full strength, might not have stood a chance against the frenzied Throne. This was chaos against chaos, madness against madness.
Throne wasn't a follower of the Frenzied Flame, nor was he Tarnished. He was simply unleashing the power he'd devoured—power harvested from the thousands of Frenzied Flame followers he'd slaughtered along the way. The throne remained empty; this wasn't the Lord of Frenzied Flame.
The Lands Between might not have understood what Throne had become, but the effects were undeniable. Two flames clashed, reason replaced by raw fury. When madness ruled, there was no room for ethereal suppression. Throne's combat style had always been brutal, but now it was something else entirely.
He drove his knee into the Dung Eater again, forcing him deeper into the crumbling rock. With one hand, he grabbed the hilt of a sword embedded nearby, using it as an anchor to pull himself forward. His fist rose, then fell. BANG! The blow hammered into the Dung Eater's skull like a blacksmith's mallet.
A tail lashed out, slamming into Throne's back. Spiraling horns stabbed into his flesh, pale and jagged. But the pain only fueled him. THUD! THUD! THUD! His fists, elbows, and knees became a relentless storm, smashing the rock wall further, pinning the Dung Eater so tightly he couldn't break free.
Throne didn't care if this was an enhancement or a degradation. All he felt was the return of the Asura, the world reduced to blood and fire. Kill it. Tear it apart. Rip it out. One punch after another, the armor mimicking an Omen shattered, red flesh splattering across the cavern.
Time blurred. A minute? A year? The Dung Eater's form was no longer recognizable. Throne's fists paused, allowing a moment to breathe. The Dung Eater's body was a mass of flesh now, eyes opening across its surface, a spiraling horn growing from its core.
A sane person would have retreated. But the Dung Eater hadn't learned how to deal with madness yet. BANG!!! Throne stomped down, harder than before. The force crushed the Dung Eater into a pulpy mass, but the spiraling horn pierced through Throne's foot, up his leg, and out his thigh.
Pain. Unbearable, searing pain. And pain brought madness. Throne roared, slamming his burning forehead into the Dung Eater's twisted form. With his left hand, he wrenched the Dark Moon Greatsword free, gripped the Dung Eater's throat, and hurled him backward. WHOOSH—THUD! The air whistled as the body crashed into the ground, the sound sharp and final.
The scattered flesh began to gather, desperate to reform. But Throne was faster.
The dust hadn't settled when the second mushroom cloud erupted. Throne drove his knee into the Dung Eater's gut. The thing's lower half was already pulp—boot-smashed viscera and splintered bone. He stayed planted there, sword raised high.
SPLAT.