Chapter 80

A lion wrought entirely from flame roared, exhaled fire, and then leapt into the air as if taking flight.

As Montaine Shula unveiled the divine power she possessed, applause and awed exclamations erupted from the crowd.

Zab, who had been watching her display with deep apprehension, clenched and unclenched his fist as his turn approached.

His strength had grown noticeably weaker, but just for today, he wanted—no, needed—to squeeze out every last drop of power he had and present a spectacle greater than Shula’s.

Exhaling silently, he thrust his hand forward.

It was something he had done more times than he could ever count since childhood—drawing the power that coursed through his body, concentrating it in his hand, and releasing it.

By now, it should have been easier than breathing.

He attempted to draw up his power—

But… why couldn’t he feel it?

A cold shiver crawled down Zab’s spine.

His body felt hollow, like the bed of a river that had long since dried up.

He forced himself to appear calm, unwilling to show even a flicker of panic before others, and tried again.

The result was the same.

His body’s power—

The divine beast’s power—

—was gone.

Everyone who witnessed Zab that day later gave the same testimony:

His eyes had been filled with unmistakable terror.

I could have returned to the lakeside entrance well within the time Tyroc had promised, but I was forced to stop before reaching the clearing.

The sounds reached me first—well before the sight of the entrance came into view.

Clang!

“Ugh!”

“Get behind him—attack from the rear!”

Swords collided.

Men screamed.

Even from afar, it was clear that more than a dozen soldiers had surrounded Tyroc. Counting the bodies already at his feet, he had felled more than twenty.

Damn it. He said there weren’t many.

But instead of anger, guilt swallowed me.

I didn’t know why, but it felt like he had lied on purpose—so I could focus entirely on finding the key.

Even without the full strength of a Sword Master, Tyroc’s movements were astonishing.

With nothing but muscle memory and refined technique, he tore through soldiers like a wolf loosed into a pen of sheep.

But I couldn’t stand around admiring him.

“Archers—shoot!”

I snapped my head upward.

Two soldiers had climbed the watchtower.

Ah. That was cheating—

Even if they were only facing one man.

…Although that one man was currently dismantling an entire company.

Mo—identify nearby cover.

I issued the command and immediately broke into a run, keeping low.

“Club.”

The instant I called its name, the strongest weapon in the world materialized in my hand.

I also scooped up several stones along the ground and shoved them into my pocket.

By then, Mo had already pinpointed the optimal cover.

A boulder rose to about the height of my waist, not far from the watchtower.

But before I could act, the archer’s arrow flew first.

Whoosh—

The sharp sound tore through the air. I spun instinctively.

Ah. Good. It missed.

The archers had likely shot hastily, afraid of hitting their own men.

The soldiers engaging Tyroc realized the situation immediately and began retreating.

Tyroc pursued them, but the archers had the faster opportunity.

Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!

Arrows flew in rapid succession.

Tyroc swung his blade, parrying each one.

Meanwhile, the number of archers atop the tower had grown to three.

I ducked behind the boulder, tossed a stone lightly into the air, and then called:

Mo.

[Trajectory calculated.]

A dotted parabolic line extended toward the watchtower.

All I needed to do was swing the club along the exact path Mo displayed.

The same technique I had used countless times against beasts.

Crack!

The stone flew like a launched baseball and slammed directly into one archer’s skull.

He collapsed with a strangled cry.

I sent two more stones flying. One soldier ducked away just in time, but another was struck squarely in the nose and reeled back, bleeding.

“Who’s there?!”

“Over there!”

Soldiers who had been clashing with Tyroc now turned and sprinted toward me.

But someone else reached me first.

Thud!

Tyroc came hurtling through the air, landing hard enough to shake the ground as he positioned himself between me and the approaching soldiers.

…Did he just jump like that?!

[It is not an impressive level of flight or leap.]

Why did Mo always chime in only to be smug?

Before I could complain, Tyroc moved.

He swung his massive sword horizontally—missing every soldier entirely.

At least it looked that way.

From the arc of his blade, dozens of lightning threads exploded outward, branching in all directions and striking the soldiers one by one with unerring precision.

“Gah—run—!”

“Ku—!”

“Th-the Sword Mast—urk!”

Their screams overlapped—then silence.

But another sound replaced them.

Not loud, but painfully clear.

Hah… hah…

Tyroc’s broad back heaved with each breath.

He leaned heavily against his sword, his hand trembling faintly.

Ah. His strength hasn’t returned.

I swallowed the question I wanted to ask as Mo’s warning sounded.

[One archer remains in the tower.]

Without hesitation, I swung.

Crack!

The stone arced upward and struck the peering soldier square in the jaw.

He toppled backward like a cartoon character.

Nice one, Team Leader Kim.

But then I noticed Tyroc staring at me—quietly, intently—while still panting.

Did… did I show too much?

He slowly lowered his gaze.

“That club. Where do I acquire such a thing?”

His eyes glittered with raw desire—as though coveting a legendary weapon.

“You can get it by granting a favor to a spirit who can’t speak properly.”

I revealed the truth, then asked cautiously:

“Are you all right?”

His complexion was pale. His sweat had soaked his fringe.

That display just now had cost him more than he let on.

His knee buckled.

I almost reached out to catch him—but stopped myself.

He supported himself with one knee on the ground, leaning heavily on his sword, and finally answered:

“No problem.”

Rebellious phrasing again, but I understood.

I had hidden my own weakness from comrades before.

So rather than offering consolation, I offered a gift.

“I found the key.”

Light ignited in his exhausted eyes.

“You did?”

I nodded and pulled a small object from my pocket—a shard of blue crystal, shaped exactly like the form my fist had held underwater.

A key molded perfectly for me.

No one else would be able to use it.

But I remembered the divine beast’s warning:

“If you take the key, my contract with Borhumi ends. You must find a new contractor.”

“Don’t you need the power of the Borhumi divine beast?”

If he gained that power, perhaps he could wield the divine beast’s strength in full.

His answer came instantly.

“No.”

He drew in a deep breath through clenched teeth.

“I don’t need that damned serpent’s power anymore.”

He discarded, without hesitation, the one thing every person in Tuvine desperately longed for.

Solongo’s words came to mind—how she despised him but respected his abilities.

I understood her now.

I felt something similar.

But this wasn’t the time to admire him.

“Zab must have realized by now that his power is gone. He’ll be terrified. So naturally, he’ll come to check the divine beast first.”

To do that, he would summon Dorgo to release the shield imprisoning the divine beast.

Exactly what Tyroc and I wanted.

But to catch that moment, we had to return to the underground of House Borhumi immediately.

Running wouldn’t be fast enough—and in his current state, Tyroc could barely stand.

But my worries never left my mouth.

Tyroc’s lips curved faintly.

“We can arrive before them.”

How?

The question formed—

And at that exact moment, the air twisted violently.

A vortex stirred.

A black portal tore open.

From within, someone stumbled out—a mage holding a wand.

He gasped when he saw Tyroc.

“D-Duke!”