Clang!
Grondal barely managed to hoist his massive halberd in time to absorb the brunt of the collision. He recoiled instantly, his expression one of pure shock as he struggled to pull air into his lungs.
Astion, who had previously fled alongside the Saintess, had returned to this spot entirely alone. It required little imagination to realize that the Saintess had been captured. However, the man standing before him was not the Astion he knew. Grondal had never felt such a tempestuous, overwhelming pressure radiating from the mage.
"No, this isn't right…"
He cast his mind back to the era when Vallscrum fell under the shadow of the Apostle invasion. In those dark days, Astion had exuded this exact aura. Grondal remembered how his own blood had surged then; how many times had he yearned to test his mettle against such a man in true warrior fashion?
Yet, that version of Astion had seemingly evaporated over time. He had transformed into a calculated sorcerer and a cold-blooded tactician for the war against the Demonic Realm. Grondal had mourned the loss of that incinerating intensity, believing it had been extinguished by the passing years. While his new persona wasn't a failure, Grondal often found himself longing for that raw power that seemed capable of reducing the world to ash.
Now, that inferno was raging once more.
As Grondal retreated a few steps, Ghislain directed his attention toward Lionel.
"Lionel, move fast and assist Julien. You have to hold the line until I can close the gap. Our situation is deteriorating rapidly."
Ghislain shifted his gaze toward Julien's position. In the distance, flashes of light and the thunder of magical detonations collided repeatedly. It was a sign that Julien was still holding his own, but the heavens above that battlefield were being choked by a gathering gloom.
The very atmosphere began to hum with an unnatural, heavy vibration, and a creeping sense of disaster began to take root. No matter how one interpreted the signs, they were catastrophic.
With a wavering tone, Lionel whispered, "Is it… is it really you?"
"It's me," Ghislain confirmed.
A brilliant, relieved grin broke across Lionel's face at those words. He had truly feared that Ghislain was lost to them forever. Seeing him standing there caused his spirit to soar higher than it ever had before. Now that Ghislain had returned, there was no room for doubt or hesitation. They simply had to follow his lead as they always had. If Ghislain was involved, even a hopeless cause could be transformed into a winning chance.
Lionel gave a firm, resolute nod.
"Understood. Don't worry. I'll find a way to buy Julien more time."
Without another word, Lionel pivoted and sprinted toward the distant fight. The dwarven soldiers in the rear surged forward in a panic, brandishing their steel, but Grondal's roar halted them.
"Let him go! Our only concern is the monster standing right in front of us!"
Grondal knew the broader battle had slipped from his control. Whether a spent warrior like Lionel joined the fray or not wouldn't tip the scales. If anything, heading toward a dragon in that state was a suicide mission. But Astion—he was the priority. He possessed a hidden, volatile strength that defied logic. If that man managed to walk away from this encounter, the entire dwarven race would be imperiled. He had no intention of allowing an escape; he was fully prepared to lead his men in a collective slaughter if that's what it took.
Because of Grondal's order, Lionel was able to depart without interference.
Grondal tightened his white-knuckled grip on his halberd and spoke.
"I don't know the catalyst for this change, but you're finally showing your true self. I see you've unsheathed Gramdir once again."
Boom!
Ghislain offered no verbal retort. He simply brought his blade down in a savage arc, his entire existence focused on Grondal's demise. Grondal ground his teeth and launched a counteroffensive. This was the duel he had craved for a lifetime. He hadn't wanted it to happen under these specific circumstances, but there was no better time to fight with one's soul on the line than in a moment of absolute desperation.
Crash! Crash! Boom!
Metal shrieked against metal as they lunged for each other's throats. If one were to ask who possessed more raw power between a dragon and Grondal, the answer was obviously the dragon. But if the question was who was the superior combatant, the answer became nuanced. Dragons relied on their titanic physical forms and endless mana to steamroll foes. Grondal, however, was a master of a thousand forms, his skills forged in the white heat of real war. That was how he had attained the status required to duel a dragon single-handedly.
As the preeminent hero of the Great War and the greatest of the dwarves, Grondal parried and redirected Ghislain's strikes with legendary precision. Then, a dark, murderous light ignited in Ghislain's eyes.
Clang!
His internal cores began to rotate with a violent velocity. With every revolution, his physical pressure intensified.
Boom!
Ghislain's sword moved in patterns that seemed to dictate the end of all things. Each swing cleaved the air itself, sending out gales of kinetic force. Grondal used every instinct he possessed to track the blade, his movements remaining flawless and his defense tight.
However, the issue was the sheer velocity. Ghislain's speed was beginning to transcend the capabilities of a mortal frame.
K-boom!
Before long, Grondal found himself being driven back. The earth beneath his boots shattered, and his footsteps were carved deep into the soil.
"It can't be… he's actually growing more powerful as the fight progresses… How is this possible?"
He was in total disbelief. This was far beyond the projections he had made. A weight that felt more crushing than a dragon's presence was bearing down on him.
"He has… evolved into something else entirely," Grondal snarled through clenched teeth.
He knew he couldn't afford to let fear take hold. A single moment of doubt would cost him his head. He swung his halberd with such ferocity that the veins across his arms and neck threatened to burst. But Ghislain's sword had already vanished from his sight.
Slash!
Grondal twisted his torso by sheer reflex. His chest was laid open, and a spray of crimson hit the dirt.
"Ugh…"
The blade returned for another strike. Grondal didn't try to move this time; he put every ounce of his strength into a block.
Boom!
The collision felt like a concentrated explosion. Grondal's body finally gave way under the sheer kinetic shock. He was sent flying backward, hurtling through a cluster of boulders and rolling across the uneven terrain.
"Gasp…"
Grondal fought for breath and forced himself to stand. Simply enduring the impact was becoming an impossible task. He held his weapon tight, spat a mouthful of blood, and let out a dry laugh.
"Truly… magnificent… You bear no resemblance to your former self. You've become a total freak of nature."
He couldn't fathom why such strength had been kept under wraps until this moment, but it was irrelevant now. The only thing that mattered was halting the tide of fury and lethal intent pouring off his adversary.
Silent and grim, Ghislain resumed his advance toward the dwarf.
Thump!
Each step he took caused a tremor in the ground. It wasn't just movement; it was a rhythmic march toward total destruction. Grondal slowed his breathing and dropped into a low, stable stance. The fire of a warrior still flickered in his eyes.
"I may have chosen the path of a monarch… but I haven't abandoned the honor of a soldier."
Deep down, he suspected that even a coordinated effort wouldn't secure a victory. But retreat was not an option. He was already a traitor who had traded the Saintess's life for a perceived greater good. Therefore, he would ignite his very soul to extinguish this "threat."
Crack!
Grondal's hair began to bleach into a stark, snowy white. By incinerating his own life force as fuel, his musculature expanded to the point of tearing, and his power spiked to a terrifying level.
"Witness the final strike of a true warrior!"
Boom!
Grondal hoisted his halberd and lunged at Ghislain. Their weapons met with the force of falling mountains.
Crash! Crash! Boom!
The impacts happened in a blur of hyper-speed. Their forms became impossible to follow with the naked eye; only lines of light and the resulting shockwaves signaled their positions. The sky seemed to tear, and the earth gave way beneath them. With every clash, massive plumes of dust were kicked into the air.
Grondal absorbed shocks that threatened to turn his bones to powder. His limbs went numb, his skin split, and blood seeped from his pores, but he refused to yield.
"This… is my final stand!"
With a primal scream, Grondal channeled his entire being into a single, definitive blow.
Rip!
The halberd caught Ghislain's shoulder. Seeing the blood spray, a momentary spark of hope flared in Grondal's mind.
Vroom!
His muscles strained as he pivoted to follow Ghislain, who had blurred to the flank. If this next hit connected, he would take the man's head. But something moved even faster than his desperation.
Ghislain's sword darted toward Grondal's midsection.
Thrust!
The world seemed to freeze for a heartbeat. Ghislain's blade had passed completely through Grondal's torso. Simultaneously, the mana vibrating through the steel decimated Grondal's internal organs.
"Gah…"
Grondal's eyes bulged as he tried to force his halberd downward, but the strength required to move his arms had evaporated.
Clatter!
The legendary weapon fell uselessly to the ground. Grondal looked at Ghislain and forced his lips to move.
"I… do not… regret my path."
"..."
"For the sake of the world… for my people… I did what a king must do…"
"..."
"My only… sorrow… is for the Saintess…"
Ghislain slowly withdrew the blade. Grondal's eyes were no longer focused on his killer. His fading vision was fixed on the distant altar. Observing the terrifying darkness swirling in the firmament, Grondal whispered his final thought.
"Did we actually… protect this world…"
With those words, the king's body hit the dirt.
Thud!
A heavy silence followed as dust settled around the fallen dwarf. Ghislain stood over the body, staring down at it. A moment later, he turned a cold, detached gaze toward the paralyzed dwarven soldiers.
"You're next."
The moment the words left his lips, Ghislain moved like a crimson bolt.
"Monster! Our king is dead!"
"Avenge the King!"
"Kill him!"
The dwarves, consumed by fury, brandished their steel and surged forward. They had wanted to help earlier, but the duel between those two titans had been so violent that they couldn't find a single opening. They had been forced to be spectators, and now they were left with nothing but grief and rage.
They charged Ghislain with everything they had. They had once respected Astion as a comrade, and they had felt the weight of their betrayal regarding the Saintess. But with Grondal's death, all those feelings were burned away by a desire for vengeance.
Boom!
Ghislain tore through their ranks like a bolt of lightning. The head of a dwarven captain—a man who had attained superhuman status—spun through the air.
Clang! Clang!
A dozens blades struck Ghislain simultaneously, but his skin, reinforced by a shroud of scarlet energy, didn't even bruise. One captain's face paled with terror.
"What… how?"
How could a man be so resilient that even a superhuman's strike left no mark?
Thrust!
The question remained unanswered as a sword pierced through his heart.
Crash! Boom! Crash!
The metallic tang of blood saturated the air. Ghislain slaughtered the dwarves with surgical precision, showing no mercy and no hesitation. Though these dwarves were veterans of the Great War, they were helpless against Ghislain, who was currently channeling the total power of the 9th Circle.
Had their numbers been greater, they might have stood a chance by wearing him down. Ghislain had indeed expended a massive amount of energy fighting both Darbaska and Grondal. But there were only three superhumans and twenty elite warriors left. It wasn't enough to halt his momentum.
Every time Ghislain blurred forward, a red streak followed. And every time that streak vanished, another body hit the ground.
Boom!
The final dwarf fell, his torso nearly severed. Immediately after the kill, Ghislain doubled over and coughed up a spray of blood.
"Ugh!"
He was soaked in gore, his breath coming in jagged, desperate gasps. He desperately needed to rest; pushing his body this hard was causing it to unravel at the seams. Astion's physical form was reaching its limit. But if he stopped now, everyone he cared about would perish.
In that moment of pause, Astion's trembling voice echoed in his mind.
— I don't care if I die.
"Astion…"
— I'm serious. Just focus on rescuing the others. If it's impossible to save everyone… at least save Deneb. That way, our allies on the outside will have someone to lead them when they come for revenge.
"…Fine."
— So don't hold back. Use this body however you need to.
Ghislain let out a dark, short chuckle.
"Don't say things that could be taken the wrong way. Especially not while you're crying."
Ghislain shut his eyes briefly to center himself. Astion's resolve was set, and Ghislain was in agreement. At the very least, Deneb had to survive. If a total rescue was off the table, they would ensure the foundation for a second Great War to settle the debt.
Ghislain forced his breathing into a steady rhythm. It was agony, but he had to reach the next objective. But as he tried to take a step—
"Argh!"
Ghislain grabbed his head in a vice grip. A sudden, blinding pain tore through his skull as if his brain were being split open. Blood began to pour from his nose.
"What is happening?"
Unable to stay upright, Ghislain collapsed onto one knee. He ground his teeth, clutching his temples. His first thought was that Astion's body had finally given out, but he quickly realized the source of the pain was different.
It felt… as though something was reaching into his very mind.