Chương 22: Calamity

His boots were filthy. Mud clung to them, streaked with dried blood. He wasn't sure how that had happened—he had stayed far from the fight. The wounded. That made sense. And he hadn't washed them after. He clicked his tongue. He would have to take care of that.

"Dareth," Revel said. He wasn't sure if it was the second or third time she had called his name. Ugh. His neck kept itching, so he scratched it. Again. He would probably need to say something. He didn't want to. It was getting uncomfortable. Fifteen people, all staring at him. Waiting didn't seem to help. Maybe he didn't need to say much. It was just a tier five spell. Well… it had cost as much mana as a tier nine. And he had barely managed three seconds. The nightmare had messed with his judgment.

He cleared his throat and looked toward them. The ground had been easier to look at. This… wasn't. His skin prickled all over. His mana was almost gone. That tended to happen whenever he got in a mood like that. Not ideal.

"What's up?" he asked, stretching.

"H-How did you do that?"

"With a spell?" he said, tilting his head. She shook her head.

"That was at least a High Mage-level spell."

"Tier five," Adolin said. Her expression didn't change like the others. She was the one who had analyzed his spell. He didn't really care, but it was good to know who could analyze spells. It had looked like a basic one, not something high-tier.

"Tier five?" Edrin said.

"How can that spell be tier five?" Adolin just shrugged. How was he supposed to answer that? His mentor had taught him that spell when he was still a regular mage. He hadn't used it in years. But it worked well on lesser monsters. It had been useless on the demon continent. There were no lesser beasts there. Only monsters that could massacre a village in a single night. Well… there were lesser creatures. But they did their best to avoid his party.

"Dungeon skill book?" Clay said. They mentioned the dungeon again. He still had no idea what that was. It was getting harder to live without a library in his pocket. Well, now that he thought about it… he should get himself a few bookshelves once he had access to the blessing's storage.

"I don't know." Too many questioning looks. Ugh.

"My master taught me."

"Your master?" Revel asked. He nodded. His mind swirled, trying to find a way out of the conversation. He could just walk away and hope they didn't follow him. It felt wrong. It also felt right. As long as they didn't follow him. He still nodded at the question. The stares were getting even more uncomfortable. He wasn't sure how that was even possible. Some were whispering. Some even seemed to realize they were making him uncomfortable and avoided his gaze.

Edrin made a small gesture with his hand, and everyone looked away.

"Good job," he said, stepping forward and hitting his shoulder. Adolin blinked. His men followed.

"Great job, kid," one said, hitting him even harder on the shoulder. Then another followed. Then another. They lined up, each one offering praise and a hit. The ones in the back started laughing. It got worse. Somehow. He was perplexed. Revel tried to hide a soft laugh while Clay hid behind her. He sat on the ground, his back against a tree. His shoulders finally relaxed once he sat down. The smell of iron calmed him. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve.

Read this novel on the original website. That was stressful. He had barely made it out. He was sure more questions would follow. At least it was over for now. It was already too late to regret volunteering. He could still go back to the village. He scratched that. He had to see this through. However uncomfortable. In front of him, the soldiers were collecting monster parts and making them disappear. Too many people were making things appear and vanish. It had to be tied to the blessing. At least, he hoped so.

He glanced at his shoulder. The bag felt heavier than it should. No one else was carrying one. Only him. He clicked his tongue. Why didn't the blessing come with a manual? It would make everything so much easier. It was time to check his status. He had used a few new spells. And a few he had already used before. That was a mistake, but he hadn't really been thinking when he slipped into that state.

"Status." [New Skill Detected: Ice Wall.] [Skill Tier: 4] [Level Increased.] [Attribute Points Available: 1] [New Skill Detected: Ice Lance.] [Skill Tier: 4] [New Skill Detected: Ice Shower] [Skill Tier: 5] [Level Increased.] [Attribute Points Available: 2] Well, it could have been worse. He could've used Ice Spear instead of Ice Lance. Two new levels. Two more points to dump into Intelligence.

[Status:] Name: Dareth Wood Race: Human Mana: 26/310 Level: 19 Class: / [Attributes:] Strength: 20 Agility: 21 Endurance: 22 Intelligence: 31 Constitution: 20 Attribute Points Available: 2 Six more levels until he could choose his class. He couldn't wait. Maybe he could get what everyone else had. A storage spell. Or whatever it was. It would be useful. He put all his attribute points into Intelligence. Mana: 26/330 Intelligence: 33 He closed the status screen and looked around.

Revel and Clay were talking a few meters away. The soldiers were still harvesting monster parts. He watched them closely. One of them cut off a goblin's ear, and it disappeared from his hand. He snorted and stood up. His mana had recovered a bit, but he had still pushed himself dry. That wasn't going to happen again. He didn't like it when he slipped into that frenzy. It had happened before. In his previous world. After his family was murdered. In the Holy District of Kehr. Where the church stood.

His lips curled upward. It was one of the better memories. He stood before the church. It towered over everything around it, one of the tallest structures in his world. Dark stone formed its walls, veins of gold running through it. Tall spires pierced the sky, their tips crowned in gold that caught what little light remained. Statues of the Pantheon lined the entrance. The air reeked of smoke and blood. All around him, fires burned. The whole Holy District was ablaze. Just like his village had been.

His master stood beside him. He knew he wouldn't approve—but he didn't stop him either. Still, he helped. Helped him get his revenge. The church was protected by a powerful magical shield. It took time to analyze it, but he had done it. He raised his staff and cast the destabilizing spell, adjusting the mana until the structure gave. A beam of light shot forward and struck the barrier. It flickered. Then it shattered like glass. Screams erupted from within the church, but he ignored them.

The priests poured out, charging toward them. His master stepped forward.

"Leave," he said, his voice cold. A man in dark and gold stepped forward.

"Stop this madness," the archbishop said.

"I can't," his master replied. Adolin ignored them. He was already preparing the strongest spell he had ever made. Calamity.

"It's not too late," the archbishop said, his voice tightening.

"I will personally see everyone involved executed. You can still be forgiven for what you've done." When it became clear he wouldn't be reasoned with, the archbishop raised his scepter. A burst of golden light shot toward them. Adolin didn't even blink. He continued shaping the spell. A shield appeared before him and stopped the attack. His master's. His master answered with a beam of darkness that tore through the ground around the archbishop. Stone shattered, the earth splitting apart.

Golden light flared around the archbishop, shielding him from the blast.

"Judgment," he shouted. A massive set of scales formed in the sky above them. Made of pure golden light. Perfectly balanced. Then the scales tilted. The air thickened, pressing down on everything beneath them. And just as suddenly— It was gone. His master stepped—and vanished. He reappeared before the archbishop, his staff already in motion. The strike slammed into the golden barrier and was thrown back. The ground beneath them was eviscerated, leaving only the patch beneath the archbishop intact.

The fight between them continued while Adolin was forming the spell. A few of the priests tried to attack him, but they were gone before they could act. His master had his back. He had made the spell for this occasion. After witnessing the destruction of his village, in the madness and grief that followed. It had taken him time, but he had created it. And now he was finally going to use it. For the same reason he had created it. He glanced at the fight. They were both in the sky.

The archbishop was bleeding from multiple wounds, while his master remained untouched. It was ready.

"No!" the priest's voice cracked, panic bleeding through the word. The sky darkened. The wind rushed. Mana burst from him, wild and uncontrolled. He had gotten the idea back in the village when he saw the corpses of his family. The way mana reacted to his emotions. Wild. Uncontrollable. But also lethal. And… beautiful. The way destruction swallowed everything. Purple fire ignited across the sky. The ground shook, and the wind tore through the air. The fire hadn't answered him then.

It had taken his family, and something in him had extinguished it. But now, for this… he felt he needed it. So he wove fire-natured mana into the spell. It felt right. He left the water element out. There was no need to extinguish what he was about to create. The archbishop did everything he could to get closer to him. To stop him. But his master didn't let him. They were both powerful. Evenly matched. But the archbishop's mind wasn't on the fight. It was on stopping him.

"Calamity," he said calmly. The sky collapsed. The screams echoed around him. Purple flames fell from the sky and swallowed the church. The ground trembled violently, and the air slammed into it from all sides. The air fed the flames, driving them hotter. His lips curled upward, and a laugh escaped him. The longer the flames burned, the harder the ground quaked and the sharper the air cut. The louder his laughter became. He could have poured more mana into it. Ended it faster. But he didn't.

He watched as the flames burned the church. Just as his village had burned. And his family with it. The archbishop fell to his knees, watching it all happen. His gaze distraught. Then his master burned him. He burned with his church, but he didn't let out a scream. Not until he succumbed to death. That was the day they gave him a name. Calamity.