NOVEL NEXT Chapter 144: Flames Against Flesh
The battlefield had thinned to silence, broken only by the clash of monsters. Most of the lesser orcs had scattered after the explosion and the Warlord's fury, leaving only their chieftain behind—towering, unyielding, and hungry for blood.
Ethan's soldiers had long since dissolved into motes of light, his mana stretched thin and exhausted. The female wolf staggered, her big body trembling, one foreleg mangled beyond proper use. Even if she felt no pain, the weight of her broken frame hindered her. The alpha alone stood strong, weaving in and out with predatory grace, darting in to rip and claw before the cleaver could fall. Ethan fought alongside it, blade flashing, his movements taut with exhaustion. Every dodge felt a heartbeat too late.
The Warlord's power was something else entirely. Every wound Ethan carved, every arrow Lirael drove home, closed before their eyes. Its regeneration was monstrous, flesh knitting, even the arm Ethan had severed moments ago bubbling with new growth. Its laughter rumbled deep, more beast than man, as though mocking the futility of their assault.
Still, they pressed on. Ethan ducked under a cleaver swing, sparks spraying as it split a tree behind him. The alpha lunged low, tearing at its leg, forcing the Warlord's stance to buckle for an instant. Lirael's arrows whistled down like silver rain, biting into its shoulders and neck, buying Ethan precious seconds at a time.
But seconds weren't enough.
Then—the spark. Another idea. Ethan gritted his teeth using his last bit of mana called the flame again. Heat answered, licking his blade, wrapping it in a sheath of fire. When he slashed, the flames seared across the Warlord's thigh.
The giant howled. The wound sizzled, burning black. This time—no instant regeneration. The torn flesh bubbled sluggishly, struggling to close.
"Ethan!" Lirael's voice rang in his head, sharp and urgent. "That's it! Fire slows its recovery—keep burning it!"
Ethan's mouth curled into a tired grin. "Finally… something that sticks."
But even as his confidence flared, the Warlord shifted. Ignoring the alpha's snapping jaws, it brought its massive fist around in a brutal arc.
"—Master, careful!" Sylvie's cry pierced the din.
Ethan had no time. The punch landed square against his chest.
BOOOOM!
Air vanished from his lungs as the world turned upside down. His body rocketed backward, smashing through undergrowth and into the dirt with bone-jarring force. His vision went black at the edges, stars flashing across his sight.
Not… good.
Sylvie's staff blazed desperately. She poured everything—every last drop—into Ethan's battered frame. His ribs cracked back into place, breath returned, blood ceased its flow. But in giving all, she stripped herself bare. Her mana pool hit empty, and her knees buckled.
Her staff slipped from her fingers as her body faltered. Her eyes blurred, breath shallow. For a moment, panic flashed in her gaze.
Then a shadow moved beneath her. The female wolf—still limping—slid under, catching Sylvie on its broad back before she collapsed completely.
She clutched its fur weakly, realization dawning in her weary eyes. "I… I'm sorry..Master"
The wolf padded away, carrying her out of the fray, retreating with silent obedience. Sylvie's last thought before darkness touched her was of Ethan still standing in the storm.
Now only two remained in the fight.
The alpha, battered but unyielding, circled the Warlord, its side torn wide, blood spilling freely—but it showed no hesitation. No pain. Only feral hunger.
And Lirael, her arrows finding every opening she could, each shot laced with frantic precision. "Ethan, don't you dare fall now…!"
The Warlord roared, raising its cleaver once more. The alpha snarled back, blood dripping from its jaws, and charged headlong into death's maw.
The alpha's charge should have ended in ruin. The Warlord's cleaver was already arcing down, the air splitting under its weight. But before steel could find its mark, something blurred past the wolf—faster, heavier, a force wrapped in heat and fury.
BOOOOM!
The ground split from the impact, dust and splinters flying as Ethan's blade locked with the cleaver. His clothes hung in tatters, his body streaked with dirt and blood—but there wasn't a scratch left on him. Sylvie's last desperate heal had left him whole.
Where he lay before, shattered into glittering fragments, lay a glass vial.
In that moment he had been hurled across the battlefield, pain had consumed him—burning ribs, torn muscle, the weight of death pressing close. But then came Sylvie's light, soothing, pulling him back from the brink. And after… the bitter, scorching rush of mana as he downed the high-tier potion he'd torn from his . Fifteen thousand SP burned in a heartbeat, but the return was instant.
His eyes narrowed. Sylvie… she sure is good.
Ethan inhaled deeply, shutting out the world. He reached inward, beyond muscle and bone—toward the pulse of his own being. Aura. It rose, invisible at first, then bursting outward in a surge that wrapped him whole.
The world shifted.
Every breath stretched, every swing slowed. He could feel the drag of the Warlord's cleaver through the air before it struck, could taste the rhythm of battle in each heartbeat. His stamina, always teetering, flowed back in steady waves thanks to the bond with his blade.
And then he summoned flame.
Red fire licked across the aura, blooming into a sheath of searing energy. His sword now burned with twin power: the raw presence of his spirit and the consuming hunger of flame.
---
The Warlord blinked, its beastly eyes narrowing in disbelief. This was not the same prey it had been toying with.
"Now…" Ethan's voice was low, dangerous, as the firelight painted his eyes gold. "You face me."
He lunged.
The Warlord swung, but Ethan was already gone, sliding under the cleaver with inhuman speed. His sword came up in a blazing arc, cutting deep into its side. Flesh split, fire seared—and for the first time, the wound did not heal. The smell of burnt meat filled the clearing.
The monster bellowed, rage twisting its face. It struck back wildly, its blows heavy enough to fell trees. Ethan met them head-on, blade colliding in showers of sparks. Every clash sent shockwaves through the clearing, but Ethan no longer gave ground. He matched the beast, strike for strike. Faster. Harder. Sharper.
Above, an arrow loosed. Not straight—its path bent, weaving like water through the air. It curved past the Warlord's raised cleaver and struck true.
SCHHHT!
The arrow burrowed into its eye socket, burning with compressed water mana until steam hissed from the wound. The Warlord howled, thrashing, half-blinded.
> [Ocean's Eye] – Shots infused with the force of gathered water mana; once released, the arrow bends its path like flowing water, curving around obstacles to strike the target with devastating precision.
The beast stumbled, clutching its face—only to scream louder as Ethan's blade carved once more. This time, the strike took its left arm at the elbow.
Flame seared across the wound. Flesh sizzled, blackening instantly. The regeneration halted, choked out by the fire's kiss. The limb was gone for good.
The Warlord staggered, clutching at the stump in horror. Its monstrous confidence faltered for the first time.
Ethan's breath came steady, his sword wreathed in fire and aura, his eyes locked on the trembling giant.
"You're not healing this time," he said, voice like steel. "This ends here."