Chương 84: Green vs. Red

A green leaf slowly settled onto the Elf's face. Lorian opened his eyes and slowly began pulling himself to his feet, every movement sending a dull, aching pain through his entire body. Before him lay fallen trees and a pile of broken branches, scattered dozens of meters in every direction — a trail left by his own crash landing, a deep furrow gouged into the earth stretching back to the point where he'd hit the ground. Holding his head, he let out a quiet groan, feeling his temples throb with a dull, heavy pain.

— Almost blacked out... Suddenly he snapped to attention, remembering what had happened and what had sent him flying so far from the clearing, and along with that memory came a fresh wave of anxiety.

"Damn it, I need to get back to them as fast as possible." Pressing himself against the ground, he was already bracing to lunge forward, but then he suddenly felt an oncoming wave of heat, so intense that the skin on his face began to burn instantly, as though he were standing too close to a blazing furnace. A wall of fire was rushing straight at him, splitting the trees apart as it came, incinerating everything in its path with a terrifying, roaring hum, like the breath of some colossal beast.

Bark on the trunks ignited instantly, trees turning into blazing torches one after another, the ground beneath the advancing wave scorching black and cracking apart. Lorian dropped into a stance and slowly began drawing his sword from its sheath, the blade growing brighter with every inch of exposed steel, casting flickering emerald light across his face. Powerful gusts of wind radiated from his body, his hair whipping upward as though charged with static, scattering into long green strands.

Then the wall of fire was right in front of him — he drew the sword fully free and struck, the blow accompanied by a bright green flash that blinded everything around him for an instant. Holding the blade before him, he cleaved straight through the wave, which nearly knocked him off his feet, blasting him with an unbearable, searing heat that singed the tips of his long hair and instantly reddened the exposed skin on his body.

The blade split the wave of fire cleanly in two, and it spread out further across the surrounding area, barely grazing Lorian at all, only scorching the edge of his white robes, leaving a thin streak of char across the fabric. Behind him, the crackle of burning trees and the hiss of moisture evaporating off the leaves continued for a long while after.

Breathing hard, he slid the blade back into its sheath, feeling his heart pound from the strain he'd just endured, the hot, smoke-thick air scorching his lungs with every breath.

"What kind of lethal power is this?" Then his eyebrows shot up — a couple of meters away, he spotted a silhouette, vaguely resembling a knight, standing motionless amid the smoldering, charred tree trunks. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

As the silhouette emerged from the clouds of steam formed by the collision of fire and his own attack — steam that hissed and billowed, rising in a thick, pale veil — Lorian was finally able to make it out completely, and it seemed he'd found the answer to one of the questions that had been gnawing at him for the past three days. Before him stood a tall, powerfully built knight with a predatory, inhuman grace, every movement radiating lethal menace even in complete stillness.

His body was encased in armor of sharp, spiked black steel, through whose countless cracks and joints pulsed a blinding red glow of living magma, as though real volcanic blood flowed beneath the plating, burning brighter with every beat of some unseen heart. The warrior's helmet was crowned with thin, backward-curving demonic horns, from beneath which long fiery hair burst forth in a roaring torrent, writhing like living flame in the wind.

Behind him, a torn red cloak billowed majestically, flowing seamlessly into a thick trail of pure fire and smoke, resembling the blazing wings of some infernal bird. In place of a face was a solid black mask with two thin slits, through which eyes blazed — not eyes at all, really, but two clusters of pure, blinding fire, with no trace of a pupil to be found.

In his hand, the knight held a long one-handed sword, its blade formed entirely of crystallized, white-hot fire, illuminating the gloom between the trees with a bright glow, casting flickering crimson light across the trunks that danced among the shadows like some demonic procession. From beneath his helmet came a muffled, metallic breathing, mixing with the low hum of superheated iron, as though an entire forge were working ceaselessly somewhere inside that armor.

His fiery hair and cloak crackled and hissed without pause, like a raging bonfire in a strong wind, spitting dry crackles of sparks into the air that scattered as tiny embers, settling onto the ground and instantly scorching the grass. Every movement the knight made was accompanied by a heavy, grinding sound of white-hot armor plates grinding against each other, as though massive gears churned somewhere deep within that armor.

The blade of his sword emitted a faint, vibrating hum of pure plasma that made ears ring even from a distance, the very air around the blade rippling and warping, like a mirage over scorching asphalt in summer heat. Whenever his armored foot came down on the ground, the grass beneath it burned away instantly with a loud hiss and crackle, tree roots snapping and popping, leaving behind nothing but a thin streak of ash trailing behind him, like the scorched wake of a comet.

Lorian smirked coldly, feeling that familiar, eager thrill run through him at the prospect of a serious fight, and pointed a finger back toward the clearing where the charred, mutilated bodies of the Players had lain not long ago. — Was it you who tore those poor bastards apart like that?

The Knight said nothing in response — he simply dropped into a stance, ready to strike, the sword in his hand rising slightly, the cloak of flame flaring out behind him as though in anticipation, tongues of fire stretching upward toward the sky in writhing ribbons. Lorian did the same, mirroring his opponent's stance exactly, his legs bending slightly, his body coiling, ready to launch at any fraction of a second.

His entire body began to glow with a green aura, thin threads winding around his arms and shoulders, pulsing in time with his breathing, while ever more powerful gusts of wind rose around him, flattening the grass and scattering the smoke from the burning trees in every direction.

For several long, tense seconds, both opponents stood motionless, studying one another — the green flame of magic against real, searing fire — and in the ringing silence stretched between them, it was clear that the next exchange of blows would be the one that decided everything. A second later, they clashed.