Chương 124: If Fire Failed, Dirt Would Have to Work

The creature continued forward. The spell had hurt him. That mattered. It simply had not hurt him nearly enough to stop the fight. Sieghart finally understood exactly why the northern field army had collapsed against this creature and the corrupted warriors following him. The King could survive attacks that would erase ordinary soldiers. Worse, he remained fast enough to pursue someone repeatedly launching himself through the air with Wind Magic. The Orc King raised his weapon. Bloodlust struck Sieghart again.

This time, Sieghart did not flinch because he was already too busy analyzing everything he had learned. Sieghart needed combinations. More importantly, he desperately needed time. The King started moving again. Sieghart blasted himself backward. Sieghart finally accepted that running forever would not solve anything. The Orc King was faster than something that large deserved to be, and Sieghart's exhausted body would fail long before the monster's corrupted endurance. Distance only delayed the next attack.

If Sieghart wanted enough time to think, he would have to manufacture those seconds by forcing the King to defend, hesitate, or lose track of him. The Orc King charged through the burning camp again, lowering one shoulder while dragging his massive weapon behind him. Every step crushed blackened earth and sent broken weapons jumping from the ground. Sieghart stopped retreating in a straight line. He planted one foot, raised both hands, and shaped a Giant Fireball directly between himself and the oncoming monster.

The spell expanded too quickly for elegance, becoming a roaring sphere of compressed flame that illuminated the ruined tents, fallen trees, and startled orcs surrounding their path. The King saw it forming and continued forward anyway. His weapon rose for another downward swing, apparently confident that his reinforced body could survive whatever the disguised mage produced. Sieghart waited until the enormous yellow face filled most of his vision before releasing the spell from less than ten meters away.

The Giant Fireball struck the Orc King directly across the head and shoulders. Flames erupted outward, swallowing his upper body and hiding the descending weapon behind a violent wall of orange light. Sieghart did not waste the opening by admiring his work. Wind exploded from his left palm, launching him sideways just as the blinded King completed his swing. The weapon struck where Sieghart had been standing.

Earth cracked open, burning debris flew outward, and the shockwave caught his coat illusion without touching his actual body. Sieghart landed several meters beyond the weapon's reach and immediately released another wind burst, refusing to remain where the King could reverse the attack. The flames peeled away from the enormous warrior. Parts of his armor glowed faintly, smoke rose from his hair, and several burns darkened the yellow skin around his face. The damage existed, but it was disappointingly shallow.

His skin looked thick enough to belong on a monster-hide shield, and the magical fire had struggled to penetrate it. Sieghart remembered the unfinished skeleton beneath Bellhaven, whose corrupted structure had endured spells far better than ordinary creatures. The similarity was becoming increasingly difficult to dismiss. Perhaps the Orc King's core transformed hostile mana before it could properly damage his body. Perhaps his reinforcement simply made every layer of tissue unnaturally difficult to destroy.

Either explanation led toward the same conclusion. Repeating stronger Fireballs against his skin would waste concentration unless Sieghart found something more vulnerable than flesh. Eyes still needed to see. Lungs still needed air. Ears still interpreted balance, and even an absurdly reinforced monster probably disliked having foreign material forced into every opening across his face.

Sieghart smiled faintly as the Orc King emerged completely from the flames, one cheek burned, both eyes furious, and his enormous weapon already rising again. The King roared and charged. Sieghart formed another sphere between both hands, but this one contained water, loosened soil, and enough suspended dirt to become thick brown mud. The Mudball lacked the destructive power of his Fire Magic, yet it traveled faster because Sieghart did not waste time compressing it beyond what the attack required.

The Orc King swung horizontally as Sieghart released it. The mud struck his face, flattened across his eyes and nostrils, and forced his eyelids closed before the weapon reached its target. Sieghart blasted himself diagonally upward. The massive blade passed below his feet and struck two nearby trees, knocking both down as though their trunks were brittle twigs. He twisted in the air and extended one hand toward the dirt scattered beneath the falling trees.

Sand Control answered immediately, lifting a dense stream of particles around the blinded warrior. The sand wrapped around the Orc King's head, mixing with the mud and turning the coating into a grinding layer that covered his eyes, ears, mouth, and nose. Sieghart tightened his control. Individual grains pushed toward every exposed opening, slipping beneath eyelids, between teeth, inside nostrils, and around the shallow channels of both ears.

The Orc King stopped advancing for the first time without using his weapon. One hand abandoned the handle and clawed across his face while a furious roar became a choking growl. Sieghart increased the pressure, trying to drive more sand inward before the monster could clear enough vision to attack again. The King answered by slapping himself across the face with enough force to produce a sharp crack and flatten the mud against his own reinforced cheek. The impact sounded like two stone blocks colliding.

A burst of air exploded outward, scattering mud and sand while the enormous warrior's head barely moved beneath his own strength. He slapped himself again. More sand flew away, accompanied by blood from several shallow cuts Sieghart had created around the eyes and nostrils. A third strike cleared most of the remaining material. The King's skin reddened from the blows, but his eyes reopened with murderously focused awareness. Sieghart clicked his tongue.

Apparently, the solution to having sand forced into every facial opening was simply hitting yourself hard enough to generate miniature shockwaves. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.

"That seems unhealthy…" The King lunged before Sieghart finished speaking. His weapon came from below this time, tearing a deep arc through the ground and launching dirt toward Sieghart like shrapnel. Sieghart fired wind from both palms and crossed behind the nearest tree. The blade missed him, but its pressure stripped bark from the trunk and nearly uprooted it.

He accelerated again before the King could follow, zigzagging between trees while using short wind bursts instead of one long flight that would reveal his direction. The Orc King did not bother following the same path. He charged through the first tree, shattered the second with his shoulder, and swung through the third without slowing. Each impact sounded like siege equipment striking fortifications.

Splintered trunks spun through the night while nearby orcs scattered from their ruler's path rather than risk becoming accidental casualties. Sieghart changed direction twice, then dropped low beneath a falling branch. His feet barely touched the ground before another wind blast sent him toward a denser cluster of trees. The King remained behind him. Enhanced Smell revealed the approaching mixture of blood, smoke, burned hair, and furious body odor before the cracking trees announced his location.

Sieghart formed three Poison Spheres while moving. The purple globes floated beside his shoulders, each leaking foul vapor that immediately made him regret possessing a stronger nose. He twisted backward during the next wind-assisted leap and fired all three toward the Orc King's face from different angles. The King swung his weapon through the first sphere. It burst across the metal, releasing a purple cloud that rolled over his chest and climbed toward his mouth. The second struck his shoulder and ruptured.

The third reached his face before he could turn, splashing condensed poison across one eye, his nose, and the corner of his mouth. The Orc King roared and swept one arm through the vapor, but the movement only spread the cloud around his head instead of removing it. Sieghart created five more spheres before landing. Smaller spells required less concentration, allowing him to cast repeatedly while preserving enough control for constant changes in direction.

He sent two low between the trees, one high above the King, and the remaining pair along opposite sides before detonating them through telekinetic impacts. Purple mist converged from every direction. The King charged through it, but each breath carried more invasive mana toward his lungs and every fresh burn offered easier access. Sieghart blasted himself sideways as the weapon crashed down. The impact split the earth, destroyed another tree, and drove enough wind through the poison cloud to scatter part of it.

That accidental defense taught Sieghart something useful. The King's attacks created pressure powerful enough to clear poison, sand, mist, and most other materials whenever he struck nearby. Sieghart adjusted immediately. Instead of surrounding the monster with one large cloud, he kept launching separate Poison Spheres directly toward the face between every swing.

The King smashed one with his weapon, ducked beneath another, and allowed a third to strike his chest because protecting his eyes mattered more than avoiding superficial contamination. Sieghart used that choice. The moment the King raised one forearm across his face, Sieghart curved two Wind Blades toward the exposed knee from opposite directions. Both spells cut through hide and opened shallow wounds. The King's leg bent slightly, but the reinforced joint remained stable enough to support another violent charge.

Sieghart retreated between two trees and created Frozen Floor across the narrow gap. He covered the ice with loose soil afterward, hiding the trap beneath an ordinary-looking layer of dirt. The Orc King entered at full speed. One foot slid, his injured knee twisted, and his massive body tilted far enough that his next swing tore through empty air. Sieghart seized the opening and fired a freshly formed Poison Sphere directly into the Orc King's open mouth before the creature could recover its balance.

The spell burst against the King's teeth. Purple liquid and vapor disappeared between his tusks before he snapped his jaws shut and coughed hard enough to shake his shoulders. Sieghart attacked immediately. Earth Bullets hammered the injured knee while Wind Blades cut repeatedly across the same wounds, trying to overwhelm reinforcement through concentrated damage. The King planted his weapon into the ground and stopped sliding.

Then he ripped the massive head sideways, dragging a wave of earth and ice toward Sieghart. Sieghart launched himself upward, but broken stones followed the attack like a scattered barrage. Several struck Protection, and one clipped his shoulder hard enough to spin him. He corrected with Wind Magic before falling. The Orc King ripped his weapon free and jumped after him, refusing to allow even a few meters of altitude. Sieghart twisted between two branches while the King crashed through the canopy.

Leaves, splinters, and pieces of trunk filled the air around both fighters. A downward wind blast sent Sieghart beneath the enormous warrior. He passed close enough to smell blood, poison, burned hair, and the unmistakable stench of contaminated breath. The Poison Sphere was working despite the King's resistance, slipping past his hardened skin and attacking biological functions that brute reinforcement could not completely ignore. Not quickly enough to win, but the Orc King's breathing had changed.

Each inhalation became louder, and one landing required a small correction he had not needed earlier. Sieghart used the observation to guide his next retreat. He zigzagged through the trees, firing Poison Spheres backward whenever the King entered a straight approach. Some missed and burst against trunks. Others splashed across armor, skin, or the weapon, leaving overlapping purple clouds that forced the King to charge through contaminated air.

The Orc King responded by swinging sideways through entire rows of trees. Pressure waves cleared paths, scattered poison, and sent broken trunks tumbling toward Sieghart from several directions. Sieghart flew between the first two, ducked beneath another, and used Telekinesis to pull a smaller branch away before it struck his head. A fourth trunk landed directly across his escape route.

Sieghart planted both feet against it and released Wind Magic, launching himself upward while the King's weapon smashed through beneath him. The blast carried Sieghart high enough to see the surrounding camp. Hundreds of torches were moving toward the fight, confirming that their private duel would not remain private much longer. He could not stay here indefinitely.

The mist had delayed the army, but the King's destruction had created clear paths, while surviving officers were finally directing warriors toward the noise. Sieghart descended behind another cluster of trees and released ten Poison Spheres in rapid succession, spreading them across the King's likely routes instead of aiming only at his body. The Orc King entered the first cloud, changed direction, and found another waiting. He roared, struck the ground, and cleared both with a circular shockwave.

Sieghart had expected that. Three additional spheres arrived immediately afterward, hidden behind the dirt and leaves thrown upward by the King's own defensive strike. Two spheres burst across his face, coating the burned skin around his eyes and forcing another cloud of purple vapor into his mouth and nostrils. The Orc King staggered one full step before recovering, an almost insignificant movement that nevertheless proved his impossible momentum could finally be disrupted.

It was tiny compared with everything else he had endured, but Sieghart noticed. The poison, damaged knee, burned skin, and repeated sensory attacks were finally accumulating. The Orc King noticed Sieghart's reaction and became even angrier. Dark-red energy spread across his weapon while the ground beneath his feet cracked from the pressure. Sieghart blasted himself backward before the next attack formed, weaving between trees while creating more Poison Spheres around his moving body.

Running alone had accomplished nothing. Running while forcing the enemy to breathe poison, protect his eyes, and step through prepared terrain was an entirely different strategy. Sieghart still lacked a way to finish the King, but the fight no longer belonged entirely to the monster's strength and speed. Every tree became cover. Every patch of earth became a trap. Every breath the King took carried another chance for Poison Magic to spread deeper.

Sieghart accelerated into the darkness while purple spheres followed him like foul-smelling lanterns, and the Orc King tore through the forest behind him with another furious roar. For the first time since the battle began, Sieghart was not merely surviving. He was constructing an opening, one disgusting, irritating, carefully placed spell at a time.