Chương 112: 112：Victor's Burst Fireball

Alaric let out a long, heavy sigh that seemed to carry the weight of his soul.

"Soren, oh Soren..."

"You are nothing but a mere Captain under the banner of the Crimson Moon Knights. Yet this village of yours... it is an absolute den of hidden dragons!"

"Out of the thousands of elite troops under my direct command, I'd be hard-pressed to find even a handful capable of matching the sheer caliber of your subordinates." Soren simply offered a noncommittal shrug, not bothering to reply. The truth of the world was simple: talent was everywhere. But for a man like Alaric, born to a Duke, his vision was restricted to the polished halls of the aristocracy. He could only elevate nobles of 'good breeding'.

By design, he was completely blind to the monstrous potential buried in the mud among the commoners. The dying light of the setting sun pierced the dense mist, casting a blood-orange halo over the acidic puddles. The tour had reached its end. It was time to part ways. The two commanders strolled unhurriedly back to the open clearing near the village gates. However, Alaric was a Grand Commander of the Holy Empire. His aristocratic pride refused to let him simply tuck his tail and leave.

If he walked away now without reasserting his dominance, he felt he would forever be looking up at Soren from an inferior position. Before I leave, I have to put these swamp rats in their place. I must remind them of the absolute, crushing martial superiority of the Empire! Making his decision, Alaric caught the eye of Archmage Valeriu out of his peripheral vision. The mage had been suffocating on his own suppressed fury this entire trip. Alaric gave him a subtle, sharp nod.

"Give them a demonstration," Alaric murmured. Valeriu, a genuine Silver-tier Mage, instantly grasped his Commander's intent. The old man's perpetually scowling face finally relaxed, replaced by the suffocating, condescending arrogance of a high-tier spellcaster.

"Open your eyes, you ignorant rustics, and bear witness to true magical supremacy!" Valeriu didn't bother chanting the low, drawn-out incantations required by inferior mages to gather elemental mana. He simply raised his staff—its tip set with a profoundly deep-blue water-attribute gemstone—and gave his withered wrist a violent, snapping flick. Zero preparation time. An absolute, instant-cast! CRACK! A sharp, ear-piercing sonic boom tore through the damp air.

Three [Arcane Missiles], radiating a blinding azure light, ripped through the void. They shrieked across the thirty-pace distance, locking dead onto a massive bluestone boulder! BOOM! The explosion was deafening. The incredibly dense bluestone was obliterated as easily as fragile tofu. It detonated on the spot, sending a devastating barrage of shrapnel ripping outward. The fragments slammed into the surrounding puddles, blasting geysers of acidic mud several meters into the sky!

To instant-cast a high-tier spell, and to control the mana compression with such flawless, microscopic precision! This was the absolute, unshakeable foundation that the Archmages of the Holy Halycon Empire prided themselves upon! As the smoke cleared, Valeriu haughtily lowered his staff. He tilted his chin up, eagerly awaiting the collective, terrified gasps of the uncultured peasant soldiers. However. Standing directly opposite him, Soren merely offered a faint, utterly unbothered smile.

It was as if he hadn't just witnessed a display of destructive, high-tier magic, but rather a cheap fireworks trick meant to liven up a party. Soren kept his hands casually clasped behind his back, not even bothering to waste breath on a critique. Just as Valeriu's face began to flush a furious, humiliating red from the blatant dismissal...

"Extracting ambient water mana in a highly humid environment to compress an Arcane Missile... the technique is passable."

"What a pity. The explosive output was pathetically soft." An icy, profoundly arrogant voice drifted out from the village path. Victor, the Chief Magical Advisor, had just returned from securing the anti-detection wards and witnessed the entire display. His slightly worn, greyish-white robes could do absolutely nothing to mask the overwhelming, aristocratic pride radiating from his very bones.

Victor refused—he absolutely would not allow—these pretentious outsiders to posture and flex their pathetic magic inside Lord Soren's territory. Before Valeriu could even open his mouth to spit back an insult, Victor didn't break his stride. He simply raised a hand and casually snapped his fingers. VWOOM! In that microsecond, the ambient temperature of the air violently spiked! The sheer heat instantly flash-vaporized the surrounding dense fog, blowing a massive, perfectly spherical void into the mist!

Accompanying the crisp snap of his fingers, a [Burst Fireball]—visually a full size larger than Valeriu's Arcane Missiles—condensed directly in front of Victor's eyes and roared into existence! Trailing a blazing, serpentine tail of liquid fire, it shot forward with terrifying velocity, ruthlessly slamming into a massive granite outcropping a full fifty paces away! KABOOM! The apocalyptic, ear-shattering explosion didn't just vaporize the massive rock into fine ash.

The residual thermal shockwave was so intensely hot that it instantly flash-baked every inch of acidic mud within a three-meter radius, turning the swamp floor into a scorched, cracked crater of dry earth! It was also an instant-cast. But the sheer destructive payload and the absolute, tyrannical mastery over elemental mana... they weren't even in the same dimension!

"What..." Valeriu violently staggered half a step back. His eyes bulged from his skull as if he had just seen a ghost, staring in sheer terror at the haughty man in the white robes. You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. The perpetually superior Royal Archmage was now entirely drained of blood, his lips a sickly white as he pointed a trembling finger at Victor.

"An instant-cast Burst Fireball... that flawless, terrifying compression of the Fire element..."

"You! You are the Silvermoon Kingdom's legendary, once-in-a-century magical prodigy... Victor?!" According to the Holy Empire's intelligence networks, this supreme genius had been executed months ago, his head claimed by the butcher's blade of the Orc Vanguard Commander, Karl! Yet not only was this legendary prodigy alive and breathing... he was actually willingly submitting himself to serve under a mere Knight Captain?!

Faced with Valeriu's horrified gasp, Victor simply shot him a look of absolute, glacial disdain. He then lowered his gaze and smoothly stepped into position just behind Soren's shoulder, standing there in total silence like the most devout, loyal bodyguard. Seeing his Archmage utterly humiliated, Alaric's hand slowly, deliberately dropped to the leather holster at his waist.

"Since we are both military men who make our living on the edge of a blade... Captain Soren, care to exchange a few pointers?" Refusing to let his faction be completely suppressed, the Grand Commander was determined to forcefully claw back the glory of the Imperial Army. Schwing! Alaric violently drew a compact, hyper-expensive enchanted steel hand-crossbow from his holster. He didn't even pause to aim.

Relying purely on the microscopic shifts in the air currents, Alaric didn't blink once as he leveled the weapon straight up at the fog-choked sky. THWIP! THWIP! Two short, silver bolts shrieked into the heavens. Less than a second later. Flutter... Plop. Plop. Two mangled clumps of black feathers and bloody flesh dropped straight out of the sky, splashing heavily into the mud. They were two tiny swamp sparrows that had been darting through the dense canopy above Greywater Village. Two shots. Two kills.

Fired completely blind! The sheer, monstrous accuracy required for such a feat was genuinely terrifying. Incredible marksmanship, Ein, the Archery Captain standing nearby, couldn't help but praise internally. This Imperial Commander isn't just a political aristocrat; he genuinely has lethal skills. Alaric smoothly spun the steel crossbow around his finger with a cocky grin.

"A minor parlor trick. I humbly invite Captain Soren to—" But before the Grand Commander could even finish his sentence... Soren's hand had already blurred. Reaching over his shoulder, he fluidly unhooked the longbow radiating a profound, cyan luster. [Windwhisper Bow]! Without breaking eye contact, he casually plucked a completely standard, un-enchanted black iron arrow from his quiver. He nocked the shaft. He drew the string! VWOOM! SHREEEEEK!

This sound entirely shattered the physical limits of a normal bowstring! Fueled by Soren's monstrous physical strength and the furious amplification of Wind-attribute magic, the sheer kinetic pressure literally tore the air apart, creating a visible shockwave! A black streak of annihilation fired on a dead-flat trajectory! CRASH! A full two hundred paces straight ahead! A massive, rugged granite outcropping stood in the path.

But instead of snapping the ordinary iron arrow, the sheer, apocalyptic penetrative force met no resistance! BANG! The arrow punched cleanly through the center of the boulder, boring a perfectly smooth, head-sized tunnel right through the solid stone! A single second after the hole appeared, the structural integrity of the massive granite boulder completely failed under the horrific kinetic vibration.

A dense web of cracks spider-webbed across its surface before the entire rock detonated with a deafening roar, crumbling into a pile of pulverized dust! Yet the arrow's momentum didn't decay in the slightest! It shrieked onward, finally vanishing deep into the endless, swirling mist. A single arrow. Fired flat. Piercing and annihilating solid granite. The entire clearing fell dead silent. You could hear a pin drop in the mud. Alaric's hand, still cockily spinning his short-crossbow, froze rigidly in mid-air.

The perpetually haughty, aristocratic mask on his face had been violently ripped away, replaced by pure, unadulterated shock. With tremendous difficulty, he tore his gaze away from the pile of pulverized granite and locked onto the longbow in Soren's hand, which was still pulsing with cyan runes.

"Wind-attribute runes are carved into the frame. But it's not just that. The material itself... the tensile stress of that curvature..."

"That bow... that is a legendary, Master-crafted relic of the Elven race!" An artifact weapon of that tier, combined with Soren's absolutely monstrous, inhuman physical strength... If that arrow had been fired into the tightly packed, heavily armored charging phalanx of his Royal Griffon Knights... Alaric possessed not a single shadow of a doubt: that single arrow would have punched clean through four elite knights wearing full-plate Mythril armor in a single, devastating line!

So this is the truth, Alaric realized, a chill running through his veins. His ultimate trump card isn't just his god-like tactical mind. It is his own, peerless, catastrophic personal combat power... With tremendous solemnity, Alaric slowly holstered his hand-crossbow.

"Captain Soren." Alaric spoke, his voice entirely stripped of any remaining arrogance.

"My visit to Greywater Village today has been an awakening. Your mastery of command, your unmatched personal power... I, Alaric, submit my absolute, profound respect."

"May the oppressive fogs of this Misty Swamp never dull your blade." Alaric gave one final, deep salute.

"Lord Soren. Until we meet again!"