Chapter 46: Flames of Revelation

Fire mana?

The claim of being the “landlord,” wielding fire mana, and a knight’s title.

Combining these, the intruder’s identity became clear.

The Archduke!

The Archduke of the Ardan Ducal House.

It had to be him.

The Ducal House’s direct line was known to wield black flames from fire mana.

Trouble.

His childhood brilliance.

His actions since awakening.

All pointed to the kind of man the Archduke was.

Once he caught a lead, he’d never let the Order go.

The head priest, Berstan, furrowed his brow.

The printing press being discovered wasn’t part of the plan.

His prowess isn’t low either.

A tiresome situation.

But another thought struck.

A chance to kill the Archduke.

A golden opportunity.

The Narakthos Order served the Dragonkin, natural enemies of the Ardan Ducal House.

They opposed their master’s plans.

Many Order members operated across the Ducal Territory. If they could kill the Archduke here, unnoticed—

Could I obtain a high-grade Dragon God Scripture?

Berstan swallowed hard.

A mid-grade Dragon God Scripture granted near-sixth-circle power.

A high-grade one?

It could elevate him to the Council of Bishops, all at least seventh-circle.

Greed gleamed in his eyes.

Meanwhile—

The Archduke, having neutralized the crossbow barrage, charged the mercenaries.

Their eyes widened.

They’d infused their bolts with mana. To nullify them with a single sword strike!

A true knight!

At least 5-star. The mercenaries drew their swords, mana blazing.

As Ethan clashed with them—

“Argh!”

Limbs—arms, legs, torsos—flew. Each swing of his dark greatsword felled at least three.

Berstan, observing, circulated his mana.

[O Whip of Flame!]

Flaming whips, demonic in form, appeared in his hands.

Impressive.

Ethan’s eyes gleamed.

A mage.

Mages needed to chant “promised” phrases to cast spells.

Commonly called casting or incantations. But some used simple phrases.

The Word Worshippers, one of the six Dragonkin races.

They manifested miracles with words.

Humans called it Dragon Speech Magic.

More a supernatural ability than true magic.

Beyond Narakthos the Shapeshifter, Word Worshippers were involved.

[Let the Shackles of Flame Bind the Enemy!]

His words became magic.

A massive flaming shackle formed at Ethan’s feet.

Its speed, power, and heat were like true magic.

Interesting.

Dragon Speech Magic wasn’t flawless.

Using the same mana, it was weaker than proper incantations.

It also required deep understanding of the Word Worshippers’ system.

Mastery demanded time.

A technique with pros and cons.

One thing was clear.

This mage outclassed the previous black mage.

Unlike those who merely spewed power, he wielded refined skill.

But unfortunately—

Terrible matchup.

For Ethan, he was a toy.

Vibrating the Essence of Fire—

The trembling shackle was absorbed into his body instantly.

“What…!”

Berstan screamed in shock.

That Dragon Speech Magic?

Even a 6-star knight would be restrained. To break it so easily?

He should’ve been burned!

Impossible.

Berstan vibrated his Word Ring in his head.

[O Power of the Hellhound!]

Hellhound.

A ferocious monster that never released its prey.

Mana from the Word Ring stirred his heart.

The whip gained a tracking attribute.

[With the Weight of the Cloud Giant!]

Cloud Giant.

A mythical being said to touch the clouds. The whip gained “weight.”

“Urgh!”

Berstan spat blood.

Forcing attributes beyond his capacity strained him.

But he had no choice. A mere flaming whip couldn’t stop the Archduke.

Only partial weight was imbued.

Still enough.

“Die!”

He lashed out.

Ethan dodged.

The flaming whip, as if sentient, pursued him.

It stretched endlessly.

Trouble if it hits.

His affinity for fire was unmatched, but the whip held immense physical force alongside its flames.

Nearly 7-star power. Unlike the shackle, he couldn’t just take it.

A skilled foe. Ethan opened two Rings without hesitation.

His body lightened; torrents of fire mana surged.

Now.

He could unleash the second stage of the Crimson Flame Form.

Flames rose on his sword.

[Crimson Flame Form, Chapter 2]

[Blaze Slash]

Massive mana poured from nearly thirty Essences of Fire.

Heat radiated from the dark greatsword, as if the air turned to a scorching desert.

The approaching whip met swelling flames.

Ethan swung without pause. Mana from his blade surged toward the whip.

Berstan gaped.

The heat and power in the Archduke’s technique dwarfed his whip.

He’d studied flames for over forty years.

Yet he couldn’t produce such pure fire.

And yet!

At such a young age!

Berstan knew.

When his whip met that mana, it was over.

Unfair.

Time slowed.

The weighted whip clashed with the fiery mana.

The whip’s heat was absorbed into the purer flames.

Its giant-like weight lightened.

A massive inferno engulfed Berstan. Heat even he, a lifelong flame scholar, couldn’t withstand.

“Argh!”

He rolled frantically, flames consuming him.

His tenacious vitality struggled to heal.

Step.

Step.

Soft footsteps approached.

The flames on Berstan vanished, absorbed into Ethan’s body.

“Head priest, was it?”

“Urgh… kill… me…”

Ethan smirked.

He’d planned to anyway.

But first.

Something to check. His mana scoured Berstan’s body.

Intense heat raged within. Agonizing.

“Urgh!”

Berstan’s eyes rolled back.

The scan continued.

One in the head.

And one in the heart.

Where his power converged.

Focusing power in the head was the Word Worshippers’ method.

Unique.

Adapting it for humans.

But Ethan was more interested in—

The hybrid breathing technique.

He examined how energy gathered in the heart.

Far more refined than the mercenaries’ or black mage’s. At least three principles embedded.

Enough to build a foundation.

Concentrating the Rings in the heart to gather mana quickly, without harming his lifespan.

He’d gained a hint from the head priest.

“What group are you with?”

Berstan tilted his head.

He should know it’s the Order.

Then he grinned.

He had a guess.

“Ah… that place… I see… Helmut… he… blabbed?”

As they spoke—

Berstan subtly vibrated his Word Ring. His body was burned beyond repair.

He refused to die alone.

He needed a companion.

“There’s a group… treating the Ducal Territory like home… mages…”

He sprinkled just enough “public” information to intrigue, gathering Dragon Speech power.

As it peaked—

[Explode!]

He shouted, envisioning a massive blast. Nothing happened.

“Thought I wouldn’t prepare?”

“…”

“Speak.”

“Heh… sadly… no one… will hear… that answer… because… we… swore to the Archbishop…”

As he recalled the information—

Berstan’s head exploded.

As expected.

A restriction.

Ethan scanned him first for this reason. Such restrictions, even he couldn’t counter.

At least a ninth-circle being’s work.

The restriction was precise and powerful. Ethan had no way to neutralize it now.

The Archbishop.

The Narakthos Order’s Archbishop. A formidable figure.

Releasing the head priest, Ethan surveyed the empty cavern. The mercenaries were long dead, the overseer gone.

There might be more to find. Approaching a machine—

This…

A intricate printing press, filled with clockwork, evoked a race.

Dwarves.

Human smithing couldn’t craft this. Were Dwarves tied to the Order?

Uncertain.

Examining the press, he spotted an emblem.

Dwarven style.

Dwarves often left such marks.

He couldn’t identify the specific crafter.

But one name came to mind.

Poporens.

He might know the emblem’s maker.

Time to contact him.