Rising Wildfire
Roake was waking up, both metaphorically and literally. If before it had been a dying husk of a mining town, now it was a cauldron boiling over. Zachary and Adreana's authorization had been the spark, years of oppression and hunger were the fuel, and the silent rage was now a roaring fire.
Under Adeline and Brenda, the resistance groups transformed the West District into a fortress of defiance. In the South District, miners armed with pickaxes and hammers emerged from their shanties to join the cause. The North District, usually quiet and isolated, saw veteran prospectors dusting off old hunting crossbows and setting traps for Eclipse patrols.
And in the East District, the hammer was about to fall.
______
Three spectral blades floated around him. In his hand, a rather unremarkable sword pointed at a former mercenary-turned-cultist Enforcer holding a halberd.
"This is the end of the line, boy! Turn back or I'll feed you to the Thralls!" the mercenary shouted, though he looked quite winded after fighting for three hours.
In front of him, "Matthew"—or rather, Ludwig von Wittelsberg—parried a strike from the cultist's heavy halberd. The Enforcer was strong, as expected from a former mercenary captain.
He gritted his teeth. It was never easy to fight humans when you were already accustomed to monster behavior. A human could think; they could assess a situation and adapt. A monster was nothing but a bundle of instincts.
The Enforcer swung his halberd horizontally, forcing Matthew's calves to strain as he launched himself backward with a flick of his finger.
"[Eisenregen]: Dritte Strophe," Matthew chanted.
The blades shot forward, aiming at the cultist's face and vital organs. The Enforcer managed to block the first blade and dodge the second, but the third grazed his shoulder.
"Khh! Bastard!" the Enforcer groaned, but that brief opening was enough for Matthew to launch forward, closing the distance within a second.
"Zweite Strophe: Stahlstoß! " The blade in his hand glowed with a white light as he thrust his sword into the Enforcer's chest, penetrating the steel cuirass like paper.
"Gahk!" The cultist coughed up blood, dropping his halberd. Matthew didn't wait; he immediately twisted the blade and pulled it out, letting the man collapse onto the ground. He exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow.
"Raaghh!"
The roar of Alexei fighting against a swarm of fanatics caused him to immediately turn around.
Alexei, the hulking nephew of the Silver Wolf Commander, was a force of nature. He didn't use finesse or magic; he used two axes to carve into the skulls of the fanatics that swarmed him. Before the cultists could even land a hit, his axes would meet their necks.
And if his axes didn't work immediately...
"Brutebear Anger! RAGHHH!" Alexei shouted, briefly transforming into a massive polar bear. He slammed his paws down, creating a massive crater of ice that effectively cleared out the fanatics around him.
"Hah... Hah... Haah..." His breathing was ragged, as he was still unable to maintain his transformation for more than three seconds.
Unlike Erik and the other pureblooded Nords from Samifjords, who could transform into their Primal Forms whenever they needed to, Varyags were people of mixed lineage. Most of them, like Vsevolod and his crew, were unable to transform and outright abandoned the practice. However, a few, like Alexei himself and Hilda, still retained the "Primal Blood" within them, although they needed practice to unlock it through a technique known as "Totem Awakening."
That was why Hilda had sent him to help the Coalition; one of the main reasons was to push him to unlock his Primal Blood.
"Nice one, Alexei!" Matthew shouted, giving a thumbs-up.
"It's not that impressive. I'm exhausted already," the young warrior said, having reverted back to his human form. Although he was only nineteen years old, his body size was comparable to Stark or Vsevolod's.
"Hey, we cleared this sector. We should move forward to rendezvous with the Captain's group."
"Wait. Hah..." Alexei breathed in, and then breathed out deeply. He then looked in the other direction. "Alright, let's go."
___
They walked over the rubble and bodies—the fallen of both the Coalition forces and the cultist fanatics, as well as the Enforcers.
"Hey, Matt," Alexei started. "What do you think will happen after this?"
"After what? The war?" Matthew asked, stepping over a fallen cultist banner.
"Yeah. My aunt said war changes people. But I don't feel different. Just... tired."
Matthew sheathed his sword and adjusted his gloves. "Maybe that's a good thing. If you felt good about killing, you'd be like them." He gestured vaguely at the dead cultists. "Besides, war isn't about changing who you are. It's about finding out who you really were all along."
Alexei frowned, processing the philosophical nugget. "You talk like a poet sometimes. Are you sure you're just a mercenary?"
"I'm hardly a mercenary, you know." Matthew's eyes scanned the horizon. "Just a man trying to find his own story."
"Hah! More poetry!" Alexei slapped Matthew's back, nearly sending the smaller man sprawling. "You're weird, Matt, but you fight well. That's enough for me."
Ahead of them, the main thoroughfare of the East District opened up. It was a chaotic scene. Makeshift barricades burned, casting long, dancing shadows. But amidst the wreckage, they saw the blue banners of Castalia pushing forward, led by the unmistakable silhouette of Zachary Valente.
"Look," Matthew pointed. "The Commander."
"Finally!" Alexei grinned, hefting his axes. "Let's go join the big fight!"
"Sure!"
*Finding my own story, huh?* Matthew thought.
To be honest, that was just an excuse. What was he going to do with his status anyway? Become a 'villain' lord like in a cheap novel? No, thank you. Even if he tried to act like some of the Isekai protagonists he knew, in reality, it wasn't that easy.
For example, he had tried to flirt with a noble daughter who was also his childhood friend, only to get slapped and avoided the very next day, even though his face could be considered 'ikemen' by Earth's standards.
Not to mention the female attention he had gotten from his adventures so far. None. Zero. Aside from some drunk tavern wenches who looked at him like a piece of prey.
Maybe I should stop acting like an Isekai protagonist and start acting like a real human being. He sighed, looking at Zachary, who was giving orders to the Nords. *That guy over there... He's a real 'protagonist', I think. Even if he's not from Earth, his life is full of events that only happen to main characters.*
"For now, finding my own story is just fine, I guess," Matthew muttered to himself as he joined the frontline with Alexei. "Who knows? Maybe I can find a cute Renjiran girl in the middle of the battlefield."
"What did you say?" Alexei asked.
"Nothing! Just saying I can't wait to fight!"
"Haha! That's the spirit!"
_____
The stalemate at the East District had ground down into a bloody, exhausting rhythm. For hours, the Coalition forces had thrown themselves against the Cult's defensive line, and for hours, the fanatics had held firm, fueled by desperation and dark sorcery. The streets were choked with rubble and bodies, the air filled with the din of steel clashing against steel and the screams of the dying.
Neither side could break the other. It was a meat grinder, pure and simple.
"Leader! We're unable to push forward! They're reinforcing the barricades with their own corpses!" Karl shouted over the din, slamming his spear into a cultist's gut. "Our medics are incapacitated; some were killed earlier!"
Zachary gritted his teeth, his longsword dripping with blood. They had been stuck in this sector for hours, and if they prolonged the battle, his men's supplies and stamina would run dry.
We need a medical team. If we don't retreat to secure our supply line, we're going to be overwhelmed!
Then, a deep, resonant tremor shook the ground, rattling the stones and sending debris tumbling from ruined facades. The fighting paused for a heartbeat as cultists and mercenaries alike looked toward the smoking crater that had once been the district's main square.
From the swirling cloud of dust, a figure emerged. It was massive. Bigger than the usual Thralls, though warped and twisted with an unnaturally hulking muscularity. This wasn't just another crystal-studded Thrall. This one was encased in thick, jagged armor of pure obsidian, dark as a moonless night and inscribed with glowing blood-red runes.
In its massive, gauntleted hands, it dragged a warhammer that looked more like a slab of mountain than a weapon. The head bristled with cruel iron spikes, its trailing chains rattling like a death knell against the stone.
"What in the hells..." Erik breathed, his axes hanging loose for a moment as he stared up at the monstrosity.
The Elite Thrall roared—a sound less like a human scream and more like grinding stone. It swung the massive hammer with terrifying speed, releasing a deafening boom.
Three mercenaries were sent flying, their shields shattered like cheap pottery. A section of the barricade exploded into splinters.
"Hold the line!" Zachary yelled, rallying his men.
Erik roared in challenge, transforming into his ursine form—a towering, roaring were-bear—and charged. He slammed into the Obsidian Thrall, claws raking against the dark armor.
But the Thrall didn't even flinch. It took the blow, then backhanded Erik with the flat of its hammer. The impact sent the massive bear tumbling backward, crashing through a wooden cart and reverting to his human form, gasping for air.
"Erik!" Sylvanne shouted, preparing to dash forward, but a wall of fire erupted from the cultist Fire Priest ranks, forcing her back.
Zachary stared at the monster in horror. It was exactly as Asep's intel had described. Subject: Golgotha. The Walking Siege. The ultimate weapon of the Eclipse. The greatest creation of Castillo.
"Fall back! Regroup to the secondary line! Let it choke on the alleys!" Zachary ordered.
Just then, a massive war axe descended from the heavens. It slammed into the ground between the Thrall and the retreating mercenaries, embedding itself deep into the cobblestones with a force that sent cracks spiderwebbing outward. The impact was so violent that the Thrall paused, its head tilting slightly in confusion.
"Hooo... Interesting!" a voice called out. "I thought this place was just full of weaklings and cowards, but it seems there's someone actually worth fighting!"
All eyes turned in the direction of the voice. Standing there was a mountain of a man with fiery red hair and a cloak fluttering in the wind.
It was Cal.
Behind him, a team of medics wearing the Coalition's insignia rushed past, dragging Erik and the other fallen soldiers back to safety.
"Cal! What are you doing here?! You're supposed to be holding the west flank!" Zachary shouted, wiping sweat and blood from his brow.
"Relax, Leader! Judge Renalla and Lady Orwella are holding the west just fine! They're doing their best!" Cal laughed, pulling his axe from the ground with a grunt that betrayed his immense, hidden strength. "Besides, I heard you were having trouble with a big boy."
He gestured with his chin toward the Obsidian Thrall, which was now turning its attention fully onto the newcomer. The monster's eyes glowed with a malevolent red light from beneath its helm.
"You should focus on the small fry, Leader," Cal said with a grin, his eyes gleaming with dangerous excitement. "Leave this one to me. I've been itching for a real fight since Anthill!"
One of the younger mercenaries gaped at him. "Are you mad?! That thing just tossed Erik like a ragdoll!"
"Erik relies too much on his size." Cal just shrugged, cracking his neck with a sound like snapping branches. "Size isn't everything, lad. It's about how you use it."
Zachary hesitated for a split second, his mind assessing the situation. If they all dogpiled the Thrall, they'd be slaughtered by the sheer area effect of its hammer and magic support. But if Cal could engage it alone... it would free up the rest of the Coalition to push the cultist infantry back and relieve the pressure.
"Fine! But be careful! This Thrall is unbelievably strong!"
Then, with a roar that challenged the very heavens, Cal charged. He didn't transform into a bear like Erik, nor did he power himself with Arcane Arts. He just ran straight at the monster, axe raised high.
The Obsidian Thrall swung its hammer in a wide, sweeping arc, aiming to crush Cal into paste. The sheer force of the swing created a shockwave that rattled teeth fifty paces away.
Cal brought down his axe, meeting the attack with his own.
The moment their weapons clashed, a deafening shockwave erupted.
BOOM!
The shockwave was so strong that cultists and Coalition forces alike were blown away like leaves in a windstorm.
Zachary planted his feet and braced himself, shielding his eyes with his arm. The air pressure was insane.
Just who the hell is this man?! This isn't normal! Zachary marveled, his eyes fixed on the epicenter. He isn't using Arcane spells to strengthen his body... This... This is pure physical might!
"Haha! That's more like it!" Cal laughed. "You're strong, big guy! Show me more of your power!"
"GROOOWL!"
The monster screamed, red runes glowing on its armor as it channeled its corrupted Lumite. Energy crackled between its fists, and it lunged forward, not just with brute force, but with blinding speed.
"Too slow!" Cal taunted, stepping into the Thrall's range. He parried the monster's punch with the flat of his axe, twisted, and then slammed his boot into its knee joint with bone-jarring force.
The monster stumbled, its balance compromised.
"Now, Leader!" Cal shouted, grabbing the Thrall's massive arm and twisting it as if he were arm-wrestling a child. "I've got him! Clear the small fry!"
Zachary snapped out of his awe. This was their opening. If Cal could occupy the monster, the rest of the Coalition could overwhelm the infantry support and break the defensive line.
"All units! Charge! Support Cal! Don't let the cultists regroup!"
With a battle cry that shook the district, Zachary led the charge. The mercenaries surged forward, emboldened by the sight of their mountain of a man holding a monster at bay. Erik, recovering and furious, roared his battle cry and threw himself back into the fray.
"Charge!! For the future of Roake!!" Sylvanne yelled, joining the fray and sending wind blades toward the stunned cultists.
The stalemate was broken. The tide had turned.
The duel that followed wasn't a battle; it was a natural disaster contained within a city block.
Golgotha, the Obsidian Thrall, roared, its massive hammer descending with enough force to liquidate a platoon. But Cal tanked it just fine and hit back with equal ferocity. Their clashes were so loud they could puncture the eardrums of anyone standing nearby.
"Hah! Interesting! Very interesting! More! Show me more!" Cal roared with gleeful laughter. Blood dripped from a cut on his forehead, and his shredded tunic revealed a torso scarred by a thousand battles. He didn't flinch. He reveled in it.
He ducked a backhand that shattered a wooden house, then lunged forward, his own great axe glowing with pure, unadulterated primal fury.
The impact sent a shockwave that flattened every standing structure within fifty meters. The Obsidian Thrall, a mountain of corrupted crystal and hate, staggered back. Its massive legs, thick as temple columns, dug furrows into the ground as it tried to hold its ground.
But Cal wasn't letting up.
"Come! Again! Don't disappoint me!" Cal bellowed, his voice drowning out the very thunder of battle. "Show me your full power!"
"GOOOOOTH!!!" The Thrall roared back, red energy pouring from the Blood Lumite core embedded in its chest. The runes flared violently; the ground beneath it cracked and split, lava-like corruption bubbling up from the fissures. It was burning its core. It was overcharging itself, trading its longevity for explosive, temporary power.
The hammer glowed with a sinister crimson light as Golgotha swung it in a spinning arc, creating a cyclone of raw, destructive force.
Cal met it head-on. His axe collided with the hammer mid-arc.
BOOOOM!
The shockwave obliterated the remains of the East District's central square. Walls toppled. Stone cracked. The very air seemed to tear.
Zachary shielded his face from the flying debris, squinting against the dust cloud. "What in the Light's name is he?!"
Sylvanne, who was busy skewering cultist fanatics, spared a glance toward the chaos. Her eyes widened. "He's matching it blow for blow! That's not normal! Even Erik couldn't do that!"
"But he's doing it!" Karl shouted. "Oy, Leader! Let's not waste his efforts! Let's finish the rest of them!"
"Karl's right, Leader!" Stark nodded his head. "The Thrall's occupied! Push forward!"
Zachary gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stop staring at the monster-vs-man spectacle. "Right! All units! Break their defensive line! Matthew and Alexei, flank from the left! Erik, take your Nords and barrel through the center! Sylvanne, clear the ramparts!"
The mercenaries, galvanized by Cal's madness, surged forward with renewed vigor. The cultist defenses, already reeling from the shockwave, began to crumble.
___
Meanwhile, the duel had entered a new, horrifying phase.
Golgotha's chest core pulsed like a dying star, cracks spidering across the Blood Lumite's surface. It was burning through its fuel too fast. But it had enough left for one final, apocalyptic strike.
The Thrall raised its hammer high, the weapon now glowing so brightly it was painful to look at. Every rune on its body flared simultaneously. It was charging an attack so devastating that the air itself began to warp.
"ABYSS... ECHO..." The Thrall's guttural growl somehow formed words, its voice layered with dozens of tortured souls.
The hammer descended like the wrath of a god.
Cal's grin widened, his pupils dilating with undiluted battle-lust. "Finally! A finisher!"
He planted his feet firmly, channeling every ounce of his monstrous strength into his legs. His muscles bulged, veins popping beneath his skin. He raised his axe, both hands gripping the haft, and roared back with primal defiance.
"[Throne of Ashes]!"
The two titanic forces met.
For a split second, there was absolute silence. The world held its breath.
Then, it exploded with a deafening BOOM!
The shockwave was cataclysmic. Buildings within a hundred-meter radius simply ceased to exist, reduced to powder. Mercenaries and cultists alike were thrown off their feet. Even Zachary, a seasoned warrior with impeccable balance, was forced to one knee by the sheer pressure.
When the dust finally settled, the East District's square looked like a crater on the surface of the moon.
At the center, Cal stood, breathing hard but upright. His axe was planted into the ground beside him, supporting his weight. Blood dripped from his nose, his knuckles, his ribs. His body was battered, but he was grinning like a madman.
In front of him, Golgotha knelt.
The Thrall's massive form swayed, its hammer slipping from its gauntleted fingers. The Blood Lumite core in its chest flickered weakly, cracks spreading like a spiderweb.
"...El...sa... forgive... me..." a faint, broken whisper escaped the Thrall's helm.
Cal's grin faltered slightly. For a brief moment, his eyes softened.
Before he could ask, the core shattered.
The explosion was smaller this time, but final. The Obsidian Thrall's body crumbled, the armor turning to ash, the corrupted crystal dissolving into harmless dust. All that remained was a withered, desiccated corpse of what had once been a man.
"Elsa, hm? Probably his child," Cal murmured, closing his eyes. He walked over and gently closed the corpse's eyelids. "Don't worry, friend. If there's an afterlife, you'll probably meet her there."
With Golgotha defeated and the main force broken, the remaining cultists lost their will to fight. Some fought to the death, their minds too broken by fanaticism to understand defeat. But others...
"Mercy! Don't kill us!" cried a man who used to be a miner, pressing his forehead to the bloody ground. "We didn't know! They promised us food! They said they were saving us!"
"Get up, you scum!" a veteran mercenary shouted, raising his sword, ready to strike. "Now you beg? After killing our friends?!"
"Wait!" Zachary's voice cut through the bloodlust.
*Many of them are desperate civilians who were manipulated into joining the Eclipse...*
He strode into the clearing, the tip of his sword lowered. His eyes swept over the kneeling figures. There were dozens of them—men and women, their faces etched with the terror of waking up from a long, manipulated nightmare. The shattering of the Thrall's connection seemed to have broken some kind of mental hold on them.
"Leader!" the veteran mercenary protested. "These are Eclipse dogs! They slaughtered the townsfolk!"
"And now they are surrendering," Zachary said, his voice hard. "We are not executioners. We're not the Eclipse! We are liberators!"
He looked down at the weeping man. The man flinched, expecting the blade.
"If you truly seek redemption," Zachary said, "then you will stand trial. Judge Renalla will examine your souls and actions. If you were forced, if you were manipulated... you will be spared. If you killed willingly... you will face justice."
The man looked up, hope and fear warring in his tear-filled eyes. "I... I swear! I never wanted to fight! I just wanted to eat!"
Zachary nodded slowly, sheathing his sword. "Bind them. Take them to the holding area. Renalla will sort them out."
Across the square, Cal watched the scene unfold. He wiped the blood from his brow with the back of his hand. For a moment, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face.
Hmmm, his eyes seemed to say. Mercy to the enemy is poison to the victor.
But then, he saw the relief on the faces of the surrendered cultists. He saw Zachary helping a wounded cultist to his feet. He saw the sheer, impossible weight of the burden Zachary was choosing to shoulder—the burden of rebuilding not just a city, but a people.
Cal huffed, hefting his axe back onto his shoulder. The disappointment faded, replaced by a wry l smile.
"Heh. Soft-hearted noble. Just like the stories." He chuckled, turning away from the scene. "But I suppose... someone has to be the shield. This little Kingdom is interesting indeed."