Chương 50: The Last Meal of Fire

Sieghart kept calling his grandfather, but Edric didn't answer. The old man's body remained across him, heavy and motionless. Smoke rose from the torn remains of his shirt, while smaller flames continued crawling across the fabric.

"Grandpa?" Sieghart pushed against Edric's shoulder and carefully rolled him aside. His hands shook so violently that he almost lost control of the water gathering between them. He poured it across his grandfather's back. The remaining flames disappeared beneath a hiss of steam, revealing injuries worse than Sieghart had feared. Edric's clothing had fused with sections of blackened and blistered skin. The smell reached Sieghart a moment later.

Burned cloth mixed with scorched flesh, producing a heavy odor that made his stomach twist. It was the same smell that had filled the medical tents after the first battle. Edric's back had received most of the fireball directly. If Sieghart hadn't weakened the attack with the water sphere, there would have been nothing left to save. Even reduced, the flames had inflicted serious burns across his shoulders and spine. Sieghart pressed two fingers against his grandfather's neck.

He knew almost nothing about examining an injured person, but he eventually detected a weak, unsteady pulse. Edric remained alive. He still didn't respond.

"Grandpa, wake up." Sieghart placed one hand against his shoulder and attempted to use White Magic. Mana gathered beneath his palm, reacting to the desperate desire to protect him. Nothing crossed into Edric's body. Protection remained wrapped around Sieghart's skin. The spell refused to expand across his grandfather, no matter how much mana he forced into it. Mana Transfusion offered no help either. It could fill weapons and magical tools because those objects possessed runes designed to receive energy.

Edric's injured body wasn't an enchanted weapon. Forcing raw mana into him without understanding the process might make his condition worse. Sieghart cursed.

"Why was I so stupid?" He had possessed magic for almost five years. During that time, he trained Fireball, Water Creation, wind propulsion, sand control, Protection, and Mana Transfusion. He had experimented with mana potions because he wanted to earn money. He had destroyed a boulder, improved his bow, and spent countless nights learning how to launch spells farther. He hadn't learned healing magic. Sieghart always treated it as something he could study later.

The farm was peaceful, his grandparents remained healthy, and there were no teachers available to explain restorative spells. Later had seemed reasonable. Now, Edric lay unconscious with severe burns, and Sieghart's infinite mana couldn't restore a single section of damaged skin.

"What was the point of all that training if I can't heal one person?" The system didn't answer. White Magic remained Level One. Protection remained the only spell beneath its Support Path, useless for someone already injured. Sieghart tried imagining the wounds closing. He focused upon the circulating blood, damaged flesh, and heat trapped beneath Edric's skin. His mana stirred. Nothing happened. Anger rose alongside his fear, but this time Sieghart didn't suppress it.

The emotion gathered within him until his thoughts became frighteningly clear. The Firian leader was still alive. Sieghart lifted his head. Across the ruined section of the camp, the red-haired warrior stood with both arms lowered. His orange veins had become dimmer after launching consecutive fireballs. He looked exhausted. His breathing had become heavy, and the glow within his chest pulsed irregularly. The wounds inflicted earlier remained closed, but maintaining that recovery had consumed most of his reserves.

The leader didn't approach. He had already learned that fighting Sieghart at close range carried risks. The orbiting stones could return, while mud, wind, and water offered too many possibilities within a confined area. Instead, the Firian began gathering heat again. Flames from the surrounding tents bent toward him. Burning grass dimmed as thin streams of orange energy crossed the battlefield and entered his body. The process moved more slowly than before.

Perhaps there wasn't enough heat left after the camp fires, the grove, and the previous attacks. Most nearby tents had already burned down, leaving only smoldering wood and cooling ash. The Firian might also be exhausted. Absorbing and processing heat probably required physical effort. His body had been wounded, healed, cooled, and forced beyond ordinary limits repeatedly. It didn't matter. If the leader gathered enough power for another fireball, Edric would die beneath it.

Sieghart might survive through Protection, but he couldn't defend his grandfather and himself simultaneously. The man had chosen to remain at range. He considered it the safest option. Sieghart gently lowered Edric onto the least damaged section of ground. He created a thin layer of water beneath his grandfather's back, cooling the burns without placing excessive pressure upon them. Then he stood. Blood from his earlier nosebleed had dried across his lips.

His clothes were burned, his mentality felt close to collapsing, and every attempt to focus sent another stab of pain through his skull. His mana remained infinite. His anger felt equally deep. Sieghart glared at the Firian.

"You truly want fire?" The leader couldn't understand why the child was asking. His eyes narrowed as heat continued flowing into his body. Sieghart raised one hand. Several Fireballs appeared around him. They didn't resemble the orange spells he had practiced at the farm. Those flames had been bright, unstable, and created through anger shaped into ordinary fire. These were darker. The centers of the spheres appeared black, surrounded by thin layers of crimson flame.

Light seemed to disappear near their surfaces instead of spreading across the camp. Sieghart hadn't consciously chosen the color. His Black Magic responded to something deeper than simple anger. Grief, helplessness, guilt, and the desire to erase the person responsible had mixed within the spell. The system offered no notification. Sieghart didn't care whether the technique possessed a name. The black Fireballs multiplied. Five hovered above him. Then ten. Then twenty.

Each sphere remained smaller than the enormous attacks launched by the Firian leader, but Sieghart could replace them faster than his exhausted mind should have allowed. His control no longer felt delicate. He didn't need complicated paths, precise timing, or several interacting elements. Fireball was the spell he had trained more than any other. Anger ignited mana. Rotation maintained its shape. His target stood directly ahead. Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere.

Support the author by seeking out the original.

"Eat them,." Sieghart launched the first volley. Black Fireballs crossed the battlefield from several directions. The Firian leader raised his arms, expecting another attempt to injure him with an element his body consumed naturally. The first sphere struck his chest. It didn't explode. The flames bent inward, stretching across his armor before sinking into the glowing veins beneath his skin. Orange light surged through his body. The second Fireball entered his shoulder. The third disappeared into his right hand.

The leader's exhaustion faded. His veins brightened, his muscles expanded, and the shallow injuries across his face healed completely. Power returned to his body faster than he had managed to gather it from the surrounding fires. For a moment, surprise became satisfaction. The child had lost his mind. After discovering water and mud could weaken the Firians, Sieghart had chosen to provide their leader with exactly what he needed. The warrior spread both arms and allowed the flames to enter him.

Sieghart sent another volley. Then another. Black Fireballs filled the air between them. Some approached from above, while others struck his chest, arms, stomach, and legs. The Firian absorbed everything. His power increased tremendously. The orange lines beneath his skin turned yellow, then approached the white brilliance they had shown before the final attack. Heat radiated from him strongly enough to ignite fragments of canvas nearby. He stood straighter. His confidence returned. Sieghart continued.

Thirty Fireballs became fifty. Fifty became too many for the surrounding soldiers to count. Every time one disappeared into the Firian, Sieghart created another. The battlefield darkened beneath the growing swarm. Defenders stared at Sieghart as though he had finally become the monster his enemy described. The remaining Firians shouted encouragement when they saw their leader regaining strength. Nobody understood what Sieghart intended. He barely understood it himself. He only remembered one detail.

The Firians absorbed heat passively. During the previous battles, flames had curved toward their bodies even when they were injured or attempting to retreat. Their altered nature pulled energy from their surroundings without requiring a conscious decision. The ability offered tremendous power. It also meant they couldn't simply refuse a meal. The Firian leader absorbed the next wave. His white veins brightened further. Then he flinched. The reaction was small enough that most people missed it.

One hand tightened briefly against his stomach before he forced his arm outward again. Sieghart noticed. He accelerated the bombardment. Black Fireballs struck every section of the man's body. They entered his skin faster than he could convert their energy into strength. The glow around his heart stopped becoming brighter. It had reached its limit. The Firian attempted to release some of the excess through his right fist. He punched the air, launching a blast of flames toward the sky.

The attack emptied a portion of his reserves. Six more black Fireballs entered him before his arm lowered. His veins returned to white. The leader's expression changed. His satisfaction vanished first. Confusion replaced it as he attempted to understand why his body felt heavier despite the power pouring into him. Another volley arrived. The Firian moved aside. The flames curved after him. They followed the heat surrounding his body, bending away from their original paths before sinking into his shoulders and back.

He couldn't dodge them. The leader tried raising a wall of hot air. The pressure disrupted the Fireballs' shapes, but their flames still entered his absorption range. Broken streams of black and crimson twisted toward him. His own nature betrayed every defense. The Firian attempted to retreat. Sieghart walked forward. Every step created more Fireballs. They appeared beside his shoulders, above his head, and around his hands before joining the endless barrage. His mind screamed beneath the strain.

Sieghart ignored it. The leader placed both hands against his chest. The power inside him no longer felt strengthening. It felt wrong. His body possessed limits. The pathways that transformed heat into physical strength, regeneration, and fire attacks had become saturated. Every reserve was full, every channel active, and every section of altered flesh burning with more energy than it could process. The flames continued entering. The Firian opened his mouth and attempted to release heat through his breath.

Fire erupted from between his teeth, but the black flames surrounding him immediately replaced everything lost. Cracks appeared across the glowing lines near his neck. Light shone from beneath his skin. The leader stumbled. He finally understood. This wasn't a gift. It was an execution. The Firians could consume fire, but consuming something didn't make their capacity infinite. Even the strongest body could contain only so much energy before breaking. Sieghart possessed more mana than the man could ever absorb.

The leader attempted to speak.

"Stop." Sieghart heard him. He remembered Edric lying behind him with burned flesh and no healing potion. He remembered the wagon exploding and his grandfather's expression when he believed Sieghart had died. He remembered being told to run, only for Edric to place his own body between the second fireball and the child he had raised. Sieghart didn't stop. The Firian dropped to one knee. Both hands pressed against his stomach as the heat spread through his organs.

Steam and flames escaped through his mouth with every ragged breath. His skin darkened around the glowing veins. The power he had used to heal wounds now created them faster than his body could repair them. Internal burns spread through muscles, blood vessels, and organs. The leader tried releasing another attack. His arms refused to move properly. Sieghart continued bombarding him. The Firian fell onto both knees.

His red hair no longer resembled ordinary flames; it burned white at the roots and blackened at the ends. Orange light flashed erratically beneath his chest. His followers noticed. The momentum of their attack disappeared as they watched their unstoppable leader clutch his stomach and burn from within. Several moved toward him. The heat drove them back. His body radiated so much energy that even other Firians couldn't approach without absorbing more than they could safely contain. The leader was alone.

Sieghart stopped creating small Fireballs. The sudden end of the bombardment left dozens of dark flames burning across the ground. The Firian raised his head, perhaps believing the attack had finally ended. Sieghart brought both hands together. A giant black Fireball formed above him. The sphere grew until it became wider than the ruined tents surrounding him. Crimson lightning-like veins moved across its surface as mana condensed into rotating layers. The spell illuminated nothing.

Instead, its black center created the impression of a hole cut into the battlefield, bordered by dark red flames. Sieghart's knees trembled. His mind had almost nothing left to give. Controlling the massive Fireball felt like holding a mountain above his head with fraying ropes. He looked at Edric. His grandfather remained motionless. Sieghart faced the Firian leader again. The man attempted to rise. His legs failed. Sieghart pushed both hands forward. The giant dark Fireball moved.

It crossed the battlefield slowly enough for the leader to see death approaching. He raised one arm and tried to produce another pressure wave. Only a weak flame escaped his palm. The Fireball struck. Its outer layer folded toward the Firian immediately. His passive absorption pulled the flames inward, forcing the enormous spell into a body that had no capacity remaining. For a fraction of a second, the entire sphere disappeared. The leader's veins turned black. Then the world flashed white.

The explosion began inside him. A column of black and crimson fire erupted upward, tearing through the smoke and illuminating the clouds above the camp. The ground beneath the Firian collapsed as the pressure expanded in every direction. The sound arrived like thunder breaking directly against the earth. Sieghart threw himself over Edric and created water around them. Protection shifted beneath his skin while the shock wave tore through the remains of the camp. Tents flattened. Burning wood flew through the air.

Defenders and Firians alike were thrown from their feet as the expanding wall of heat and pressure passed over them. The black flames rose higher. Their center became crimson, then white, as the accumulated energy inside the leader detonated all at once. The heat melted sand into glowing glass and baked mud into fragments of dark ceramic. A circular crater formed beneath the explosion. Its edges cracked outward while the center sank several meters.

Molten earth gathered at the bottom, glowing orange before darkening beneath the night air. The blast continued for several seconds. Then the column collapsed. Black flames folded into the crater, consuming the remaining oxygen before disappearing. A cloud shaped like an opening fist rose above the camp. Silence followed. Sieghart remained over his grandfather while fragments of glass and clay rained against his back.

Protection stopped the smallest pieces, and the water surrounding them absorbed the remaining heat. When the debris stopped falling, Sieghart raised his head. The place where the Firian leader had knelt no longer existed. A crater stretched across the battlefield, its walls blackened and partially covered in glass. Smoke rose from deep cracks around its center. No armor remained. No bones remained. There wasn't even ash that could be identified as human.

The enemy who had swallowed fire until his body became a weapon had finally consumed more than he could hold. The man who called Sieghart a monster had left no corpse behind.