WHOOOOM— A pillar of fire punched into the sky, devouring air like a starving beast. Ash swarmed around the Magic Breaker Circle, and every tree within eight meters crumbled to dust.

A flock of unlucky birds rose as the flames burst, swept in mid-flight and burned until not even ash remained.

The wind howled. Saplings tore free, roots dangling, and whirled upward like distressed kites.

Leaves spiraled down from the canopy and spun into a man-high Cyclone. Green and gold tangled, dancing like a fevered ritual.

Grass shriveled underfoot. Snakes, mice, bugs in their burrows dried to husks in a heartbeat.

The earth couldn’t bear it. It cracked and gaped, thirst opening a hundred mouths.

Heat raced along the iron bridge like wildfire chasing oil.

Moments later, gugu... gugu... the bridge behind them moaned with the horror of melting steel.

KAA—ooo— The fire-column thickened into blood-red smoke and plunged into Knir’s body like a serpent returning to its lair.

At the same time—

KRANG—kakakak— Chains shrieked as they fused and snapped. The bridge sagged, became a lake of iron, and poured scalding, choking molten metal into the abyss.

...

“You all okay?” Herbert hit the ground in time, shoved aside by O’Neil. He rolled up, heart pounding, and counted the twenty elite guild members—every one still breathing.

Ssshh—zzzz— When the Magic Breaker faded, a blazing greatsword sat in Knir’s hand. Fire wrapped its blade. Orange-red light breathed death like a kiln’s exhale.

Knir swung once. SHROOOM— The fireblade crushed the air, squeezing out a sound that choked the lungs.

He eyed the twenty Cyclone-level members and snorted. “Hah... These are the ‘members’ you brag about?”

“Only second-tier Cyclone, not even high-tier. All mid-tier fodder. Whatever.” Light flashed in his eyes, and he rushed Herbert like a hunting cat.

From the brush, dozens of fully armed soldiers of the Southern Kingdom burst out. They raised serrated greatswords, diamond-grooved along the edge, and charged the Kuso Guild members who moved to intercept Knir.

They had no Lawbreaking Ability, yet each strike hit harder than the Kuso Guild’s B-rank elites. Their blades not only met post-breaker weapons, but pressed them back, inch by inch.

...

“Herbert, run! You’re their target! I’ll hold him!” O’Neil saw Knir sprinting with that flaming blade and shouted, “Regido—”

The whole mountain convulsed. The ground wailed. Cracks veined outward like frost, the land itself on the verge of shattering.

“O’Neil...” Herbert bit down hard. He stripped his mount of packs and rations, went light, and drove the horse at full speed toward the far ridge.

“Run?” Knir dragged his greatsword across the air. One cleave met O’Neil’s blade with a ringing clash. O’Neil’s weapon flashed with a gilded glow, rich as a palace treasure.

Steel met steel. Neither yielded an inch.

Knir smiled with contempt and pressed hard, his attacks fast and ruthless. This was a fighter steeped in battlefields, not some city-roaming rake who lived off swagger.

Still, O’Neil had earned a third-tier [Earthquake] rating. He’d taken over the long-vacant Lion-Tiger Squad. A few months in—he couldn’t be dying here.

“Ha—” O’Neil knocked aside the next blow. Knir’s eyes narrowed, surprised at the counter.

But after a handful of exchanges, O’Neil felt wrong. His stamina poured away like water from a cracked jar. Faster than ever before.

Yes, the opponent was strong. Not like this, though. After mere seconds of trading blows, breath clawed at his throat.

“Oh? You noticed, didn’t you?” Knir smiled, sure of himself, and launched another barrage. He kept targeting O’Neil’s chest, the most guarded point—also the easiest place to drown breath.

Every strike cut from the flank and the front. With each swing, O’Neil felt blistering heat and a suffocating squeeze, like the air itself was wrung out.

TWANNG— Their weapons collided again. Both slid back. Knir steadied, calm and immovable.

O’Neil dripped sweat. His breathing rasped, heavy and raw.

“Your... your sword... there’s something off... You’re draining my stamina!” His eyes widened. That blade wasn’t burning flesh; it was compressing air in a burst, carving pockets of vacuum and stealing breath for a heartbeat.

That’s why the attacks came from the side and face-on—maximum area, maximum squeeze. He wasn’t pulling in fresh air at all. At first, he hadn’t noticed.

Ten, twenty seconds, and he couldn’t take it. Stamina nosedived. Chest tight. Head swimming.

“Mmm... Late, but you figured it out. Means you’re not a complete idiot.” Knir chuckled.

“Hmph!” O’Neil snorted and glanced back at Herbert, already gone. “So what... Even if you kill me, you won’t live, either. Once Herbert reaches the Crimson Sun headquarters corps in Sass City, Medith’s wrath will fall on you.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk... Still don’t get where you stand, do you? What do you think that crowd of Sprites is here for?” Knir’s smile turned wicked. He pointed his blade toward the Southern Kingdom soldiers and the Sprites cutting into the Kuso members.

The soldiers held a brutal line. The Elf Clan flowed around them, striking like foxes in brush. Kuso forces were chewed apart in moments. Yet the soldiers seemed to be conserving strength, shielding only, leaving the killing to the Sprites.

Knir’s gaze slid to their attire, their odd rhythm. Understanding hit like a cold knife. “You bastards!”

“So what! Herbert’s gone anyway! You think His High—”

“Ah—!”

A familiar scream tore the air. Something slammed into Herbert and hurled him dozens of meters. He tumbled end over end, skidding toward the cliff’s lip. Life or death unknown.

Hriii—hriii— Three men rode in on Impado warhorses, iron hooves hammering. Spiked barding gleamed like thorns.

“Ah... ah...” O’Neil’s fighting spirit guttered out. Each rider carried a presence just shy of his. And the reason to fight had slipped from his hands.

“Kill him.” A man with a scarlet pheasant plume rasped, voice low and dull.

The other two, their plumes black-red, raised blood-red greatswords to strike.

“Wait. He’s useful.” Knir licked his lips, crouched, and stared at O’Neil’s trembling knees, shadowed and cold.

“O’Neil, how about a deal?”