Chương 48: A Crown of Flying Stones

The Firian leader crossed half the remaining distance before Sieghart finished processing how quickly he moved. The man didn't resemble a charging soldier. He became a red streak cutting through smoke, burning tents, and defenders who barely managed to throw themselves aside. Sieghart released the unfinished mud ball. The water and sand collapsed harmlessly across the ground because he no longer possessed enough time to aim such a heavy spell. Maintaining it would only divide his concentration.

The leader was coming for him. Sieghart planted his feet, activated water-aligned Protection, and pointed both hands toward the approaching enemy. Wind gathered between his palms as he compressed everything he could control within the remaining second. He released it. The blast struck the Firian directly in the face. His long red hair flew backward, and the flames rising from its ends vanished beneath the sudden pressure. The attack stopped his charge and forced one foot to slide across the scorched ground.

The recoil struck Sieghart at the same time. His small body possessed almost no weight compared to the force he had released. Both feet left the ground as the wind threw him backward. Sieghart flew several meters through the camp. He twisted before landing, directed a second burst beneath his back, and struck the ground feet first. His balance failed immediately, but Protection prevented the roll from causing serious injuries. The maneuver created distance. Not enough.

Sieghart had imagined Wind Magic carrying him across the battlefield like a projectile. In reality, his speed remained disappointing because he couldn't direct the blast efficiently while protecting his body. Increasing the force recklessly might launch him faster, but it would also remove his control over the landing. Hitting a wagon or stone wall at that speed could injure him despite Protection. His body was light. It wasn't aerodynamic. Perhaps I should have reincarnated as an arrow.

This situation would be considerably simpler. The Firian leader lowered his arms. A shallow cut had opened beneath one eye after dust and fragments struck his face. The wound began closing almost immediately. He looked angrier than injured. Sieghart created several water balls between his hands. These weren't the enormous spheres used against the enemy formations. Each was approximately the size of his head, allowing him to form and launch them quickly.

They lacked the weight required to knock the Firian down, but every impact would drain some of his stored heat. Sieghart fired. The first water ball traveled toward the leader's chest. He sidestepped it easily. The second aimed for his new position. The Firian twisted his shoulders, allowing the sphere to pass close enough that several drops struck his armor. The water evaporated without slowing him. Sieghart launched three more in rapid succession, spreading their paths to limit the man's available movements.

The leader accelerated between them as though he had already predicted every trajectory. One sphere struck the ground. Another passed behind him. The final water ball reached his shoulder, but he slapped it aside with the back of one burning hand. Steam erupted around his arm while the remaining water splashed harmlessly across a tent. The Firian resumed his charge. Sieghart moved backward.

He pointed his left hand toward the ground behind him and released repeated wind blasts, using them to push himself away while his right hand created more water balls. The arrangement sounded reasonable. It worked terribly. A single-handed wind blast lacked the stability and power of the earlier attack. Sieghart slid across the ground instead of flying, and every uneven patch changed his direction. At the same time, producing water with his right hand limited how quickly he could aim.

The balls formed correctly, but controlling their paths became harder whenever his body moved unexpectedly. Sieghart fired anyway. The leader avoided everything. He stepped left, ducked beneath the next sphere, and accelerated through the gap before Sieghart could close it. His movements remained controlled despite the mud, debris, and bodies covering the camp. The man understood that close range offered his best chance of killing Sieghart. Large magical attacks consumed the Firian's stored heat.

They also gave Sieghart time to produce water, mud, or another improvised defense. A punch required far less energy. If the leader reached him, the difference in physical strength would decide everything. Protection might prevent Sieghart from dying instantly, but it wouldn't withstand repeated attacks from someone capable of folding enchanted shields. The Firian might also be conserving heat. Sieghart's mud spells and the earlier collision had drained part of his reserves.

Continuing a ranged duel would favor the person whose mana displayed an infinity symbol. The leader had chosen the practical solution. Kill the mage before the mage developed another annoying idea. Sieghart released another one-handed wind blast and moved behind a partially collapsed tent. The canvas blocked the leader's direct path but offered no meaningful protection. The Firian punched through it. His fist tore the fabric from its supports and sent flaming pieces into the air.

Sieghart ducked beneath one while sliding away. A water ball formed above his right palm. He launched it toward the leader's face. The Firian tilted his head. The sphere missed by centimeters. Sieghart's frustration increased. Water balls were larger than his compressed sand bullets, yet a fast opponent could still avoid them after identifying the direction of his hands. That was another problem. Sieghart could control magic most precisely when it emerged from his hands.

He used his fingers to aim, shape, and direct the spells because that method felt natural. His eyes selected the target. His hands established the path. The limitation had never mattered against boulders, crops, or slow monsters. Against a trained warrior, every movement of Sieghart's arms announced where the next attack would travel. The leader watched his hands. Whenever Sieghart aimed, the man moved before the spell finished forming. He didn't need to be faster than the projectile.

He only needed to be faster than Sieghart. Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! I have been pointing before every attack like a polite idiot giving directions. Sieghart tried creating water beside his shoulder without raising a hand. The spell responded, but the sphere lost its shape before becoming large enough to use. He could manipulate elements away from his body. The mud ball and orbiting water proved that much.

However, his control weakened drastically without using his hands as a focus. Years of training had strengthened the habit until it became a dependency. He couldn't remove that weakness in the middle of a fight. He needed to work around it. The Firian closed the distance again. Sieghart fired another wind blast with both hands. The leader crossed his arms and endured the pressure, sliding less than a meter before continuing. The same trick wouldn't keep working. Sieghart could see that in the man's expression.

The first blast had surprised him, but now he understood its power, direction, and effect. Another direct attempt would only delay the inevitable. Sieghart looked toward the ground. Sand covered everything. The earlier explosions had broken dry earth into loose grains, while the mud collision scattered hardened fragments across the camp. His compressed bullets required too much preparation. Sieghart had wasted time shaping points, hollow centers, and smooth surfaces because he wanted them to penetrate.

Penetration wasn't necessary. A heavy stone striking the side of someone's head at sufficient speed could end a fight. The projectile didn't need to resemble a bullet, arrow, or any recognizable weapon. It only needed mass and momentum. Sieghart stopped retreating. The Firian leader noticed and accelerated. Sieghart lowered both hands. Earth Magic spread through the surrounding ground. Sand rose. The first stream gathered beside his right shoulder, compressed into a rough sphere, and began rotating.

A second formed near his left hip. More sand lifted around him. Sieghart didn't harden the spheres as thoroughly as his bullets. Each remained larger than a fist, dense enough to survive flight but simple enough to create within seconds. Wind wrapped around them. The spheres began orbiting Sieghart. Two became four. Four became eight. Each followed a different path around his body, crossing above his head, beside his shoulders, and near his waist. Their speed increased gradually.

The air filled with low whistles as the rotating stones cut through it. Sand peeled from their surfaces, forming thin brown trails around Sieghart. Controlling several independent paths strained his mind, especially after the earlier spell collision. The pain behind his eyes sharpened, and more blood ran from his nose. Sieghart refused to stop. The spheres didn't need perfect control. Their orbits only needed to remain fast enough that touching one would hurt. The Firian leader reached him.

A stone crossed the path toward Sieghart's head. The man stopped so suddenly that his boots carved lines through the dirt. The spinning sphere missed his face by less than a hand's width. He stepped to the side. A second stone changed orbit. Sieghart guided it toward the man's temple without pointing. The control was clumsy, but the target remained close enough that precision mattered less. The Firian raised one forearm. The stone struck. It shattered against his armor, releasing compressed sand in every direction.

The impact forced his arm backward and opened a shallow cut near his ear. The leader's eyes narrowed. Sieghart created another sphere to replace the broken one. Sand rose from the ground, compressed, and entered the rotating formation. The technique had an advantage his bullets lacked. Missing didn't end the attack. A projectile fired in a straight line left the battlefield after passing its target. The orbiting stones remained nearby, circling back for another attempt.

Sieghart could also replace them continuously. The enemy tried moving around his right side. Three spheres shifted to block him. He ducked beneath the first, twisted past the second, and punched the third. The hardened sand exploded against his fist. The interruption prevented him from reaching Sieghart. Another stone curved toward his head. The Firian leaned away, but the surface grazed his cheek and tore open the wound healed moments earlier. Blood spread across his face before the heat began repairing it.

Sieghart almost smiled. He still couldn't aim well enough to hit the leader reliably at long range. At close range, however, he could fill the surrounding space with dangerous objects. The man possessed fewer safe directions. Every attempt to bypass the orbiting stones forced him into another path. Sieghart didn't need to predict his exact movements when several projectiles covered different angles. The Firian released a burst of heat. Wind surrounding the spheres became unstable.

Two changed direction and struck each other, shattering into a cloud of sand. The remaining stones slowed. Sieghart immediately increased the air pressure around them. Their orbits recovered before the enemy stepped through the opening. The leader punched toward Sieghart's chest. A sphere intercepted his wrist. It shattered, but the impact changed the angle of his arm. The burning fist passed beside Sieghart and struck the water barrel behind him. Wood exploded. Water covered both fighters.

Steam rose from the Firian's body, while Sieghart's altered Protection spread the heat across his skin. He stepped backward and pulled more sand into the orbiting formation. The enemy followed. Sieghart aimed three stones toward his head simultaneously. The leader crossed both arms. The first sphere broke against his right forearm. The second struck the left, while the third passed between them and clipped his forehead. The impact made him stagger. It didn't knock him unconscious.

His body was far more durable than an ordinary human's, and the stored heat strengthened everything from his muscles to his bones. Still, the attack forced him to defend. That was enough. Sieghart increased the number of spheres. Twelve stones rotated around him now, moving at different heights. Several remained behind his body before curving forward, making their paths harder to follow. The Firian tried to accelerate past them. Sieghart targeted his head again.

A stone approached from the front, another from above, and two more curved around his sides. The leader stopped and released another pressure wave. The closest spheres shattered. Those farther away lost speed but remained intact. Sieghart pulled them back into orbit. The Firian's orange veins dimmed again. Even his smaller defensive bursts consumed stored heat, while Sieghart replaced every broken projectile with another handful of sand. The difference between their resources became visible.

The leader possessed overwhelming power. Sieghart possessed repetition. Neither had landed a decisive blow, but the Firian could no longer approach without spending energy. Every step required him to dodge, block, or destroy another rotating stone. Sieghart's strategy wasn't elegant. It didn't need to be. If throwing one rock is ineffective, the obvious solution is to keep throwing rocks until geology wins. The enemy attempted another route, moving behind a burning tent before charging through its collapsed frame.

Sieghart sensed the disturbance and pulled the orbiting spheres closer. The leader emerged from the flames. Four stones attacked his head. He shattered one with his fist, avoided the second, and allowed the third to strike his shoulder. The final sphere curved toward the back of his skull. The Firian spun and caught it. His fingers sank into the compressed sand. Cracks spread across its surface as he crushed the projectile within his palm. Sieghart replaced it. More sand rose around his feet.

The leader stared at the new sphere forming before the remains of the previous one reached the ground. For the first time, frustration appeared beneath his anger. He had spent the battle breaking shields, formations, weapons, and people. Everything stayed broken after he struck it. Sieghart's defenses returned immediately. The Firian's gaze moved across the orbiting stones, the endless sand gathering beneath them, and the five-year-old standing at their center with blood beneath his nose.

His expression became uncertain. Sieghart noticed. He raised one hand, even though he no longer needed the gesture, and directed every sphere toward the leader's head. The Firian strengthened the heat around his arms and prepared to defend again. He could destroy the stones, but doing so would cost more of the energy keeping his wounds closed. The two stared at one another through a storm of sand, smoke, and steam. The red-haired warrior finally spoke.

His voice carried irritation, disbelief, and the first trace of unease Sieghart had heard from any Firian.

"What kind of monster are you?"