Chapter 300
The heart of the Central Park thrummed, a battleground shielded by Allen’s roar and the incandescent presence of the few veterans left alive.
Here, amidst the city’s core, Ottar’s gaze locked onto the conqueror, Zald.
A bellow tore from Ottar’s throat, his strongest attack unleashed – a sword slash meant to cleave through the deepest of floor monsters.
Yet, like a maestro conducting an indifferent orchestra, Zald parried the devastating blow with effortless grace.
He was like a demon, a being forged solely for combat, a predator who had absorbed countless lives, their essence now fueling his insatiable hunger for Ottar.
Zald’s fiendish fangs felt as though it could tear out his throat in an instant.
Ottar had poured his very soul into his attacks, transcending every perceived limit, but it was still not enough.
A war cry quickly answered his own.
Ottar had managed to draw blood, a crimson streak marking Zald’s lips, but the momentary advantage vanished as Zald retaliated with terrifying speed.
Greedy eyes, burning with an insatiable desire to devour, fixed on Ottar, and sheer terror threatened to paralyze his battered form.
A guttural growl escaped Ottar, a desperate surge of strength forcing him to meet Zald’s crushing sword with his own.
The clash of metal on metal was punctuated by the sickening crack of Ottar’s blade and the splintering of bone in his wrist.
Every technique, every move, had proven futile so far.
The hope of outmaneuvering Zald had long since withered; Zald was demonstrably superior in every crucial aspect of their brutal confrontation.
Defeat loomed, a suffocating shadow over Ottar.
Only one weapon now remained in his arsenal: his willpower.
The sting of his repeated failures, the gnawing humiliation, and the inferno of rage that burned within him, all demanding he bring glory to his goddess.
Ottar channeled these raw emotions, transforming them into a potent force that surged into his blade.
"Graaaaaaaaahhh!!"
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'I was always alone,' the thought drifted through Ottar’s increasingly delirious mind.
'I fought for my goddess alone. I sought strength for her alone. I never sought to learn from others, to cooperate. My battles were always fought with only my blade by my side.'
He reminisced, his combat instincts now guiding his movements almost independently.
He felt no pride in this solitary path, nor shame.
It was simply what was necessary.
The peak he envisioned, forever just beyond his grasp, was a summit he believed could only be scaled alone.
But now…
"You listening to me, Ottar?! You better beat that asshole!!"
For the first time in countless solitary battles, the hallowed arena of his isolation resonated with the voice of another.
'Nothing but trouble, every last one, yet I wouldn’t change a thing about them!!'
The immense weight of their sacrifices, a burden heavier than any he had carried before, touched him deeply.
A new desire ignited within him, not for his goddess, nor for himself, but for the countless souls who now stood with him.
The power of the one had, suddenly, become the power of the many.
All around him, the cacophony of clashing steel echoed.
The heroic cries of men and women risking their lives filled the air.
He heard the unique song sung only in this city of heroes, a symphony of courage.
He swore he could discern the voices of everyone within the city, and perhaps, even those dwelling in realms above.
"Become a hero," they chanted.
'Perhaps, I am going crazy,' Ottar mused, yet every fiber of his being yearned to answer their call.
As long as those voices echoed, he felt a nascent belief that his bones would never shatter.
The mantle of "hero" meant nothing to him; he had never craved fame or glory.
'But then, what is this flame that burns my heart? What is this fire that runs through my veins? Why do your voices stir my very soul? I do not know. But I do not need to know. All I need is for this feeling to empower me—to strike down he who stands before me!!'
"Ottar!!" Mia’s voice, a beacon against the tempest of sound engulfing Central Park, reached him.
"Warlord!!" Asfi cried, his voice a determined rasp.
"We’re counting on you!" Falgar added, the duo carving a path through relentless hordes of monsters.
"You can do it!!" Raul screamed, his face still damp from witnessing the unfolding, almost unbelievable, events.
Hearing the relentless din of battle, Ganesha inhaled deeply and bellowed.
"Never give up!!"
"May you reach what you seek," Hermes prayed, his voice a soft murmur.
Loki watched, a cryptic smile playing on her lips.
"Do it for us."
Across the sprawling metropolis, many gods and mortals alike turned their faces towards the epicenter of the conflict, their fervent prayers carried on the wind.
And finally, Ottar himself.
As he watched a fresh trickle of blood stain Zald’s chin, he turned his thoughts inward, a silent prayer ascending to the sole object of his loyalty.
'My lady, please forgive my foolish ways. Today, I must fight not just for you... but for them!!'
He began to chant, his voice rising above the din.
"Silver moon’s mercy and the golden plains. I offer this body to the lord of battle!"
He sang the sacred song, the only one permitted to him.
"Charge bearing my goddess’s will!"
He prepared the most destructive blow in his repertoire.
"Hildis Vini!"
A golden luminescence enveloped his body, then his sword, transforming his final weapon into a blade of radiant light.
The spell served no purpose other than to amplify his weapon’s power.
Simple, yet devastating, this fusion of raw strength and potent magic created a force few could withstand.
Across the ravaged battlefield, Zald roared, his eyes blazing with pure battle lust, and he responded to Ottar.
He commenced his own incantation.
"O Father, forgive me, for I thieve from the plate of the gods! Let my flaming tongue devour! Let my burning fangs consume! Rea Ambrosia!!"
The flames conjured by this technique were undeniably otherworldly, a conflagration of utter destruction.
Zald’s weapon ignited with the fires of calamity, and with a single, flex of his sword, those infernal flames spread, consuming every accessible inch of the arena.
But none of it mattered to Ottar.
Every fiber of his being was now focused on a singular purpose: to obliterate the demon standing before him.
The ice walls, previously a strong defense, began to groan and crack under the onslaught of roaring flames.
Yet, strangely, they did not collapse.
Vasiliki, fueled by a steady stream of magic potions, tirelessly reinforced the ice with her own potent magic.
Trapped within by the overwhelming monster horde that surrounded the Central Park, she and the remaining mages had no other recourse but to shore up their fragile sanctuary.
As if sensing the climactic conclusion drawing near, Finn perched on the balustrade of the Guild rooftop, one foot planted firmly.
He shouted a message of encouragement, his voice carrying on the wind.
"Don't stop now, Ottar! Keep going! Surpass him and leave us all behind!!"
From her vantage point far above, Freya watched the epic clash of heroic fire and golden light. She raised her voice, her decree a powerful boon delivered to the fray below.
"Go forth, Ottar. Bring me victory!!"
This fight would be decided in a single, blinding instant.
It would come down to the sharpest of edges, a singular moment where destiny would be forged. Both men, channeling their fabled strength, lifted their weapons – blades of pure light and searing fire.
Each prepared their ultimate technique, aimed squarely at each other.
"Roooaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!"
He was the untamed beast against the conqueror.
Blades of gold and fire met in a cataclysmic explosion, marking the dawn of a new legend.
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And a shockwave was born.
The entire city of Orario convulsed with a force unlike any it had ever known.
Adventurers, evilus, citizens, even the creatures that roamed its streets – all had to brace themselves against the concussive winds threatening to tear them from their footing.
From the arena at the city’s heart, gouts of incandescent flame and shimmering raindrops of golden light cascaded outwards.
The very ice wall that protected the center, trembled visibly, cracks spider webbing across its surface.
“The ice wall! It’s… it’s coming down!”
Asfi watched, transfixed, as a colossal slab of ice sheared away, crashing to the ground and erupting in a cloud of glittering, crystalline dust.
Even as the debris settled, Eleni, her eyes squeezed shut against the stinging particles, strained to listen.
“I… I don’t hear fighting anymore,” she murmured, her voice barely audible above the lingering rumble.
A nearby mage, eager for the ordeal to end, piped up, “Really, can we leave this place now?”
“Not yet,” Vasiliki whispered, her gaze fixed on the epicenter of the blast.
“Let us wait a bit.”
A deep silence fell over Orario, a stark contrast to the preceding cataclysm.
Atop the Guild Headquarters, Royman sprinted onto the rooftop, his momentum carrying him to the balustrade where he pressed his stomach against the railing, his eyes straining to pierce the smoky haze.
“Who won…?” he panted, the question escaping him like a desperate plea.
“Who won?!”
Valletta, a cruel cackle bubbling from her throat, reveled in the city’s stunned silence.
“Zald did, obviously!!” she shrieked, her glee palpable.
“Finally settled your score with this city, huh? Took you long enough! Come out and let’s see you already!”
She narrowed her eyes, a diabolical grin stretching across her face as she directed her gaze toward the inferno engulfing Central Park.
“Let Orario know the truth, and despair! Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!!”
Her laughter echoed, a chilling sound that quickly began to falter.
A puzzled frown creased her brow.
“…Huh?” she said, her laughter dying in her throat.
Something was… different.
Deep within the fading sparks and dying embers, amid the billowing smoke, a faint twinkle caught her eye.
The twinkling of a pair of eyes.
“The dust is clearing…” Falgar announced, his voice filled with a hesitant awe.
“Someone’s stepping out!” Raul exclaimed, his voice rising with dawning wonder.
All eyes in Orario, from the highest spire to the lowest alley, converged upon the spectacle unfolding in Central Park.
And then…
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Boom!
The sound, a raw, primal roar, ripped through Orario’s suddenly hushed streets.
And then, from the bruised sky above the southern main street, a new eruption.
A man, a dark silhouette against the lingering glow, plummeted earthward, his trajectory a brutal punctuation mark on the city’s stunned silence.
He struck the waiting horde of monsters with a sickening crunch, a cacophony that momentarily drowned out the groans of the bewildered beasts.
Their senses, still reeling from the cataclysmic shockwave that had just rolled through the city, were further assaulted by this unexpected, airborne projectile.
Confusion rippled through their ranks, a wave of guttural roars breaking the uneasy quiet.
The commotion, a jarring counterpoint to the lingering echoes of the epic battle, drew the attention of every adventurer in the vicinity, and indeed, far beyond.
Even those who had been locked in desperate combat found their focus shifting, pulled by the sheer, unbelievable spectacle.
Before anyone could voice a question, a boom of a different sort ripped through the air.
“You piece of shit!” Mors’s enraged voice, amplified and distorted by sheer fury, boomed across Orario, silencing any nascent murmurs.
The sound was a physical blow, a declaration that yanked every ear, every eye, away from the lingering echoes of the warlord and conqueror’s monumental struggle.
Mors, his body radiating a palpable fury, flexed his fingers.
With a sickening crack, the skull of a particularly emboldened monster, one that had mistaken his momentary distraction for an opening, disintegrated under his grip.
The creature, reduced to a puff of ash, left behind only a shimmering magic stone on the cobblestones.
High above, a being with shimmering green scales and regal wings, Draco, observed the scene with an unnerving detachment.
“Wow, you flew really far,” his voice, laced with mild curiosity and infuriating amusement, drifted down.
“Get down here… now,” Mors demanded, his voice a low growl of impatience.
Draco, however, remained airborne, a silent spectator as the monster horde, sensing an opportunity in Mors’s apparent predicament, surged forward.
‘What a silly guy,’ Draco mused, a phantom smile playing on his lips.
‘Why would I waste my strength when I can just wait for these monsters to drain your strength before swooping in? My body is still severely damaged from our last fight, so I can’t maintain this form for long without risking severe backlash.’
“Fine, if you won’t come down. I will make you?” Mors’s voice was a challenge, a promise of violence.
His hand, impossibly strong, clamped onto the jaw of a hulking bloodsaurus.
His fingers dug into the thick, leathery flesh, his grip tightening on the bone beneath.
With a guttural roar, Mors spun, leveraging the monster’s own massive weight against it.
In a breathtaking display of raw power, he wrenched the creature from the ground, launching it skyward in an arc towards Draco.
Whoosh!
The confused bloodsaurus sailed through the air, a monstrous projectile hurtling towards the aerial dragon-kin.
Draco, however, didn't flinch.
Even if he had the reaction and speed to dodge, he chose not to.
The verdant aura surrounding him intensified, his scales and wings glowing with an inner light.
Shred!
A vortex of emerald wind erupted around Draco’s form.
As the bloodsaurus made contact, the wind barrier tore through its flesh with savage efficiency. The monster’s body was reduced to a bloody mist, then dust, its screams cut short as it was eviscerated by the sudden, violent storm.
“Now that’s not very nice,” Draco taunted, his wings giving a languid flap as he dissipated the chaotic wind.
“Didn’t your parents teach you not to throw things at people?”
The insult, raw and potent, simmered within Mors.
He, a Level 7, reduced to a plaything by this arrogant, whelp.
The earlier cataclysm, the clash of gold and fire that had silenced Orario, now seemed a distant memory, overshadowed by the immediate, burning indignation that consumed him.
His gaze, usually sharp and focused, was now clouded with a primal fury.
He could feel the lingering damage to his body, the ache in his bones, the raw scrapes on his skin from the fall.
But that was secondary.
Draco's taunt, Draco’s superior aerial perch, Draco’s infuriating amusement – these were the true wounds.
“Parents?” Mors snarled, his voice a low growl that vibrated through the very cobblestones of the southern main street.
“My parents are long dead, but I did learn to crush those who defy me.”
He didn't wait for a response.
The horde of monsters, confused but ever-present, still milled around him, a tide of snapping jaws and clawed limbs.
Mors didn't waste his energy on them.
His focus was singular, his target set.
He let out a roar, a sound that seemed to tear through the very fabric of the sky.
It wasn't a plea for Draco to descend, but a declaration of intent.
With a burst of strength, amplified by his sheer rage, Mors launched himself upwards, chanting as he ascended.
His flight wasn't as graceful as Draco's, but it possessed a raw, untamed power.
He ignored the monsters that tried to impede his ascent, swatting them aside like bothersome insects.
His eyes, burning with a cold fire, were locked onto the figure hovering indifferently above.
Draco, in turn, watched Mors’s ascent with a subtle curl of his lip.
He admired the sheer ferocity, the bull-headed determination.
It seemed like a primitive, almost beautiful display.
But admiration did not equate to concern.
Mors was strong, undeniably so, but he was grounded.
Draco in his current form, was the master of the wind.
“Still having trouble keeping your feet on the ground, Mors?” Draco’s voice dripped with sarcasm.
“Perhaps you should stick to bashing skulls down here. It seems to be your forte.”
Mors’s ascent was fueled by pure, anger.
He was gaining on Draco, the distance between them shrinking with terrifying speed.
The wind whipped around him, accentuating his sheer momentum.
“You’ll learn to respect gravity, lizard,” Mors grunted, his voice strained with effort.
He was close now, close enough to feel the faint shimmer of Draco’s wind magic, to see the glint in his reptilian eyes.
Draco chuckled, a low, rumbling sound.
“Gravity is merely a suggestion for those who can defy it, Mors. And you, my enemy, are demonstrably not one of them.”
As Mors closed the final gap, he unleashed a devastating uppercut.
His fist, crackling with electrifying power, was aimed squarely at Draco’s head.
It was a strike designed to shatter bone, to end the taunting, to bring the winged lizard crashing down to earth.
But Draco, with a flick of his scaled wrist, sent a concentrated gust of wind directly into Mors’s path.
It wasn't a broad sweep, but a precise, razor-sharp concussive blast.
WHUMP!
The force of the wind slammed into Mors’s fist, not deflecting it, but redirecting its trajectory. Instead of connecting with Draco’s skull, Mors’s momentum carried him past Draco, his attack narrowly missing its intended target.
The sheer force of the redirected blow, amplified by the wind, sent Mors spinning out of control.
He tumbled through the air, his vision blurring for a moment.
The monsters below, sensing the shift in momentum, let out a fresh wave of roars, a symphony of anticipation.
Draco, unfazed, hovered in place, his body feeling relaxed.
“A rather wild swing, wouldn’t you say? Almost… desperate.”
‘This is kind of fun’
‘But, doesn’t he seem a bit weaker than before. I could almost guarantee that he was way stronger in our last encounter, and smarter too. Did he perhaps not fully recover too’ Draco pondered.
Mors cursed under his breath, fighting to regain control.
His body screamed in protest, the jostling aggravating his injuries.
But he wouldn’t yield.
He wouldn’t be beaten by a smug lizard playing with him from above.
“Desperate?” Mors snarled, finally stabilizing himself, though the strain was evident on his face.
Gravity immediately took effect, pulling him back down.
“This is just the prelude.”
His voice echoed as his body disappeared into the monster horde below.
A/N: Feel like I am just waffling at this point ?, I will try to conclude all the surface fights in the next few chapters, then move on to conclude the one in the dungeon, then Bahamut's fight too………So much to do.
On another note, yay we reached 300 chapters.
A shout out to all you patrons/free readers for your immense support, and hopefully you all continue on the journey to 400 ?….
Feel free to read ahead on pat3on, donate and read 1 extra chapter as a free member.