Chapter 831

Chapter 831

Just before the internal warnings could scream, Enkrid adjusted Dawn Tempering to his right, mirroring the stance he held at the first light of day. It happened faster than Temares could even process; Enkrid’s physical reaction had outpaced his own voice.

A sensory tapestry of noise, scent, and sensation wove itself into a frantic alarm. In his vision, he watched sparks ignite within his pupils, coalescing into a dense weight. He witnessed every frame of the transformation with unnatural clarity.

From the expansive canopy of fire stretching across the heavens, a singular trail of heat descended toward the central inferno. This mass hugged the earth as it accelerated, moving with the momentum of a charging carriage.

KWA-DRRRRRRR!

The combustion erupted with a sonic boom that distorted the very air. The sheer intensity of the thermal energy birthed shimmering mirages. It was, for all intents and purposes, a localized apocalypse. It seemed impossible for a mere human frame to withstand a disaster falling directly from the firmament.

Under normal circumstances, that would be true. But there was nothing ordinary about the people gathered here. Nor was it necessary for the entire group to intervene.

‘Dawn Tempering.’

Enkrid placed his absolute conviction in the blade. That certainty permeated the steel, and the Will etched into the metal began to radiate. The luminescence of Dawn Tempering intensified, shifting into a more profound hue.

He stepped forward to intercept the conflagration. He combined the enlightenment he’d gained from bisecting the Walking Fire with the specific intuition required to sever a high-level fireball for the first time.

‘Spell-Slaying.’

That was the name Esther gave to her technique. Enkrid executed a fluid draw. His blade carved through the atmosphere, creating a pocket of pressure that parted the stagnant, heavy heat.

As the steel bit through, the shift in air pressure forced the warmth backward, and the Will-infused edge sliced through the blaze without a hint of resistance. To be exact, he struck the very core of the fire.

POP!

The sound of collapsing air followed the strike.

Whoosh.

The sensation was identical to the moment he split the Walking Fire—it didn’t matter if the source was a formal incantation or something else.

‘The origin is identical. The logic remains the same.’

Therefore, one simply cuts. If it possesses form, it can be unmade.

‘That thought was arrogant enough to belong to Ragna.’

It was the kind of circular logic that asked “how” and answered “just because.” Yet, he didn’t find the comparison distasteful. To think like an obnoxious Ragna meant adopting the mindset of a genius who could afford such simplicity.

“Refreshing.”

Enkrid spoke the word after his follow-through. The tips of his hair had been singed by the blistering atmosphere, and flecks of soot drifted down like dark snow. Soon, the black haze was pulverized by the surrounding heat and dissolved into nothing.

In a climate where the air itself threatened to sear the lungs, calling it “refreshing” was the mark of a madman.

There had been a pair of fireballs; Audin dealt with the second.

“Lord.”

Enveloped from crown to heel in a sacred glow, Audin suppressed the inferno with his pure divinity. A cascade of white light flowed over him, draping the flames like a heavy shroud until the fire was crushed flat.

Even when discussing feats that transcended human limits, he performed this impossible task as if it were a mundane chore. Perhaps that was the requisite power needed to defy a heavenly catastrophe. These were individuals whose physical presence constituted a disaster in its own right. They stood tall, unyielding beneath the burning clouds.

‘Suppression.’

Enkrid watched Audin pinning the fire and contemplated. This fire-cloud was a different entity than a Balrog, and its combat patterns were erratic. How does one truly neutralize it?

‘What is the most effective approach?’

The internal debate was brief. Thanks to the influence of Uske, Enkrid’s logic arrived at a singular conclusion.

“A war of exhaustion.”

Wear it down until its breath becomes a ragged wheeze. At the very least, it was time to engage directly and gauge its limits.

Thus, the focus shifted to endurance and attrition. The flame-cloud had solidified into a shape: a four-legged beast crouching low to the dirt. It resembled a canine or perhaps a reptilian predator. A thought struck him as he observed it.

Was that searing line that had carved the earth earlier actually its tongue? The image of it panting without one was almost absurd.

Suddenly, several spheres of fire dropped from the sky, impacting the ground with heavy thuds before shifting into recognizable forms. Limbs sprouted, and swords materialized in their flaming grips. These were knights forged of fire.

Though their bodies were composed of pure heat, they handled their weapons and maintained their formations with human precision.

POOM!

The lead fire-aberration stood tall, ready for the slaughter. It dropped into a lunge, but before it could propel itself forward, its skull detonated. A projectile had whistled through the air, punched a hole through the flames, and exited the other side.

Driven perhaps by a lingering command, the fire flickered and stumbled forward a few paces before collapsing entirely.

Cr-r-rumble.

Nothing remained but a pile of dark ash cooling on the stone.

Wheee—

At the back of the group, Rem gave his sling a final, casual rotation and shrugged.

“If the plan is just to hold it down and drain its energy, that’s simple enough, isn’t it?”

Rem’s tactical mind remained as sharp as ever.

“Precisely,” Enkrid confirmed.

Temares felt a jolt of shock at the sheer willpower radiating from each of them. In the long lifespan of a dragonkin, true surprise rarely happens more than a handful of times—and he was already on his second instance today, thanks to Enkrid.

The people gathered here possessed a purity of Will that defied the natural order. To dragonkin eyes, their movements were accompanied by visible trails of high-density light and spirit.

‘Yet, that man remains the outlier.’

Dark hair, eyes the color of the deep sky. The radiance emanating from him was far too intense to measure.

—

Seiki wasn’t a formal member of the military, but she had absorbed combat skills in bits and pieces—a bit from Enkrid, a bit from Audin. Enkrid was well aware of her latent potential, but he also knew her spirit lacked the necessary drive.

For a girl whose ultimate ambition was to lounge on a mountainside and count stars, the martial arts were merely a hobby for survival. Regardless, Seiki had her own methods. She had mastered the fundamentals of manipulating divinity.

As a Highlander who lived among the peaks, she knew the mountains weren’t filled with friendly creatures; self-defense was a necessity. The grandfather who raised her had taught her the ways of the hunt and the trap.

“What in the world!”

The trouble started with a flaming wolf leaping at her while she was resting. A whole pack of these fire-sculpted beasts descended with a roar. Seiki utilized every maneuver in her repertoire to fight and evade. Despite her lazy nature, her training kept her breathing. She sprinted toward the urban center, knowing she couldn’t face these numbers alone.

“Engage!”

“Only enchanted blades will bite!”

“Stay back unless your steel is consecrated!”

In the direction of her retreat, the regular army was already locked in combat with the fire constructs. Seiki dove into the fray.

‘There are just too many of them.’

The soldiers held their ground admirably. Not a single line broke. Those with magical equipment were even making headway against the fire-beasts. However, occasionally, a variant would emerge that far outclassed the average soldier.

‘The bipeds.’

Creatures that moved on two legs. They possessed superior speed and overwhelming force.

BANG!

A heavy fist slammed into a shield, forcing the defender to skid backward.

“What is this thing?” the soldier hissed, his teeth clenched against the impact. The sheer power was staggering. Could he hold?

That single strike made his specially treated shield groan in protest. The metallic reinforcements wailed under the stress. Had that blow landed directly, he would have been a dead man. Fear gripped him, but he stood firm.

If the enemy had elite units, so did they.

“Your form is lacking.”

Whether a monster of fire could comprehend the concept of “training” was irrelevant; Pell gave his critique regardless. A single vertical stroke followed. The flame split in two and dissipated. This was the strength of the Idol Slayer. His blade was perfected for the destruction of formless entities.

To the stunned shield-bearer, it looked like a single line of force had simply erased the monster. The swordsman flicked his blade in the air, sending the remaining embers fluttering away.

The soldier swallowed hard, the adrenaline finally cooling as he looked at his savior. It was a master of the blade—a member of the Mad Order of Knights.

“Well? Am I not a step above Rophod? Both in looks and talent?” the knight asked.

The soldier didn’t dare disagree. After all, the man had just saved his life.

In another sector, Rophod was a blur of calculated motion. A mental map had formed in his consciousness, highlighting the most efficient paths. His Hawk’s Eye ability had reached its peak. Heightened perception, panoramic vision, and the tactical wisdom of Lua Gharne combined into a singular flow. He sprinted through the chaos.

‘Ignore the fodder.’

He targeted only the threats that the common infantry couldn’t neutralize. Following the invisible lines of his intuition, he swung his weapon. It was a dwarf-crafted sword, empowered by the sorcery of Esther.

CLANG!

Each time Rophod’s steel intersected with a flame construct, a cloud of blue essence filled the air. With a firm pivot and a spinning slash, his technique was so refined it would have earned a nod from Enkrid himself.

“That’s our Captain Rophod!”

Having led the training for the new recruits, he had earned deep admiration from the ranks. He was the antithesis of Pell, who viewed training as a brutal regime of sparring and physical dominance.

While Pell’s harsh philosophy resonated with a specific few, the majority of the men were inspired by Rophod’s leadership. It came down to personal temperament, but Rophod was clearly the fan favorite, even if the ten elite swordsmen under Ragna felt a closer kinship to Pell’s aggression despite being officially under Rophod’s command.

“Rophod!”

“Keep moving, Running Rophod!”

The constant shouts of encouragement had even birthed a nickname for his tireless pacing.

The combat zone was vast. While those two held one flank, the half-blood giants, beastmen, and the Frokk were busy elsewhere. Dunbakel charged forward, a standard spear in one hand and a sword in the other. Her sense of smell surpassed even that of pure-blooded beastmen; her nose could pinpoint whatever was agitating the air.

“This will do.”

Wherever her weapons passed, the air filled with the sound of shattering glass—pakang! And the fire giant would crumble into white dust. This was the result of Teresa’s benedictions. Divinity was the natural predator of these flames.

“Ooh, it’s the pungent Dunbakel!” a soldier cheered.

“Rank-Smelling Dunbakel!”

“Can you please be quiet?” she snapped back. It certainly wasn’t the title she wanted.

In the heart of the formation, Teresa provided the melody. She sang hymns and chants saturated with divine power. The words themselves took on a holy weight, flowing into the weapons of every soldier nearby.

“O Lord, where Your grace descends—”

As she hit a soaring high note, a halo of white light settled onto the army’s steel. This was a level of liturgical power that even Audin wasn’t designed for. The troops, filled with renewed courage, hoisted their weapons high.

“Saintess Teresa!”

Technically, Seiki held that title, but within the ranks of the army, the name belonged to Teresa. It was an odd fit for a half-blood giant, but it suited the eccentric spirit of the Mad Order of Knights. Perhaps the soldiers’ penchant for weird nicknames was a coping mechanism for the brutal training they endured.

Between the “Stinking One” and the “Saintess”—

“Peerless Beauty Lua!”

A frog-like Frokk puffed out her cheeks as the laughter rippled through the nearby unit.

“You’re all losing your minds,” she muttered, even as she began to rotate her Loop Sword.

She had developed this technique after studying the physics of Rem’s sling. Thick leather bindings were wrapped around her knuckles, protected by heavy beast-hide gloves.

Wheeeeeee!

With the weapon secured, the Loop Sword became a high-velocity blur as she swung it.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The fire monsters caught in the centrifugal force were pulverized instantly. Since all her gear was magical by nature, she required no additional blessings.

For the standing army and their allies, holding the line against the fire masses was manageable. The true concern was the duration. At the command post, Garett and Lua Gharne looked on with grim expressions. They were prepared for a seventy-two-hour siege. Salamanders were notorious for their stamina, and these summoned entities usually didn’t stop for at least three days.

They expected a long night. But then, the unexpected occurred.

“Wait.”

“Is it stopping?”

The questions rippled through the ranks. The fire-beasts, the aberrations, and even the massive flame golems began to thin out. Their numbers plummeted until the assault ceased entirely.

‘Enki.’

Lua Gharne knew instinctively that Enkrid had accomplished something in the mountains. There was no other explanation for the sudden loss of the Salamander’s influence. She was right.