Chapter 1234: The Furnace Wakes
Ring after ring of deep-blue ripples detonated along the arena’s outer rim—countless silent, iron-fisted tides that ground the black fog inward, layer by layer. The corruption that had been breeding like it was alive finally lost its source.
Corrupted Miasma stopped being produced.
The fog that had been boiling outside the shield began to collapse. It tried to gather itself again, only for the deep-blue ripples to catch up and swallow it bit by bit. The black smoke was forced lower, thinned out, and finally tore into ragged strands that faded into the air.
Only when the last fruit shattered did the pressure that had been building for so long finally let go.
RUMBLE—!
A savage shockwave slammed into the shield, making the golden barrier creak like it was about to give. The layered protections Andona had left behind all flared at once. The outermost golden patterns caved inward under the force, and everyone inside staggered as the ground under their feet lurched.
With nowhere to vent, the shockwave rebounded between the surrounding mountains, ricocheting back and forth.
Two deep-blue airblasts collided in the center of the arena and detonated not far from them. The ground bucked, chunks of rock blasted outward—only to be stopped by the shield. Dense ripples raced across the golden screen, so tight and frantic it looked ready to shatter at any second.
The sky-splitting roar tore through the clouds.
The black fog overhead was gone completely, leaving behind a blue so clean it was almost painful to look at.
Then the ground sank again.
A pitch-black crater yawned open in front of them. From inside, intertwined cold and heat surged upward without stopping—white frost mist smashing into red waves of heat at the lip of the pit, each collision kicking out a low, throbbing boom.
After a short, unnatural silence, a voice—furious to the point of madness—erupted from below.
"I—Orun—have returned!"
"Get over here and die!"
Orun hauled himself up from the crater’s edge.
This time, he was fully armored.
Thick plates of pitch-black metal sheathed his massive body, and between the seams, a dark red glow flowed like blood in a vein. The armor looked like it had just come out of a furnace—still radiating brutal heat. In his hand was a colossal, deep-black warhammer, its head carved with rough, heavy grooves. Every line carried the weight of mountains and the breath of magma, as if the land itself had been beaten into the metal.
The hammer slammed into the earth.
The mountains split. Rivers broke and vanished. Molten rock surged up from deep cracks like something waking up angry. The entire arena shook from that single blow, and the sky that had just cleared was stained dark red by the heat roaring up from below.
Orun’s gaze swept over the vanished black fog.
The rage on his face nearly broke loose completely. His chest heaved, and the heat blasting from his nostrils warped the air in front of him.
"You destroyed my Blackroot?"
His voice pressed down so hard the mountain walls started shedding stones.
"Those little goats? Whatever. But you dared destroy it?"
Blackroot—those corrupted fruits and the miasma—had been its core.
Orun didn’t waste another word.
He tightened his grip on the deep-black hammer, dropped his weight forward, and then swung—smashing down in every direction. When the hammer fell, the air popped with a heavy, compressed boom. The ground hadn’t even been hit yet, and the surrounding mountains were already trembling.
The first strike landed, and an impact like a collapsing mountain erupted from the earth.
Magma surged through the jagged cracks. Broken rock blasted skyward. Even the severed riverwater was ripped up by the force—water, molten rock, and shattered stone all crashing into the shield Andona was holding up. The golden barrier rippled instantly. Holy patterns were crushed inward, and the ground under everyone’s feet shook hard enough to rattle their bones.
The second strike. The third. The fourth—one after another.
Each blow drew a deep, heavy echo from the ring of mountains. Magma surged like fire-red surf. Rocks came like a dense rain of arrows. Water whipped along the edge of the shield, scouring it, searching for any crack it could worm through.
Andona stood at the front of the barrier, her golden wings fully spread, her expression even darker than before.
She had no choice but to pour in more Divine Power just to keep that trembling layer of protection from buckling.
Ataneya stayed beside Feylora.
She’d just pushed all twenty-four tails hard—then forcibly dismantled the warhammer’s power earlier. The cost wasn’t small. Green energy kept spilling from Feylora’s palm, gently wrapping around Ataneya and repairing what had been drained out of her. The healing force was steady and soft, but endless—like a living stream that simply refused to run dry.
Honestly, The Fey Sovereign really did feel like an inexhaustible battery.
A walking treasure.
Seraphina had been ready to explode for a while now.
She watched Orun swinging that hammer like a madman, anger packed tight in her dragon eyes. Then her massive body launched into the air, wings opening wide. Crimson scales cut sharp flashes through the sunlight. With one powerful beat, she broke through her own speed limit and dove straight at Orun as he reset his footing.
Dragon God Descent!
The colossal body of a Dragon God crushed down from above with a shriek that tore the airflow apart. Her claws locked onto Orun’s armor. Dragonfire rolled deep in her throat. Rings of pressure burst outward from her body, and the whole sky seemed to sag under the weight of her power.
Andona’s face tightened. She reinforced the shield again.
Orun’s ground-smashes kept coming in waves, hammering the barrier. Magma scorched the golden defense with an ear-splitting hiss. Water skated along the shield’s surface, hunting for any weakness.
Namyanna clenched her trident.
With a sharp sweep of her arm, the water Orun had thrown up changed direction in an instant—whipping back at him. Mid-flight it froze fast, cold spreading along every stream like nerves firing, and in the blink of an eye it became sword after sword of razor ice.
They stabbed in from all sides.
Seraphina’s Dragon God Descent hit at the same moment.
Claws, breath, and ice swords slammed into Orun’s armor together. Crimson dragonflame erupted across the plates. Ice-blue blades hammered into joints and the gaps near his chest. Seraphina’s enormous claws pressed straight into his shoulder, trying to tear the armor open by force.
But there was no scream.
No crunch of metal breaking.
Only a clean, bright series of clink-clink-clink.
The ice swords shattered into powder. The dragon breath was blocked by the black-and-red glow rippling across the armor’s surface. Seraphina’s claws only scraped off a shower of sparks so bright they stung the eyes.
Orun didn’t even noticeably step back.
Seraphina and Namyanna froze at the same time.
Eyes wide, they stared at that thick armor plating.
"How is that possible?"
"What is that stuff?"
Orun threw his head back and laughed.
He bounced the deep-black hammer in his hand like it weighed nothing, the head of it making the air hum with a low vibration. His face was pure, smug satisfaction. That black-and-red armor covered him from head to toe, like it had just been forged in the deepest part of a furnace. Every plate carried a heavy sheen—mountains and metal fused into one.
"Give up now, and maybe I’ll leave you a complete corpse!"
His laughter was so wild it shook loose stones from the surrounding cliffs.