Rivers of the Night

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Tyran tapped a foot and rapidly accelerated back. This was already the third volley he had sent at Theron, but the latter hadn't moved, and those eyes were just the same.

It was like Theron didn't feel pain or the looming scent of death over him.

He was almost as cold as the valley had been, his emotions bottled up into a world that was undetectable by others, and maybe even himself.

"TYRAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!? We can't hold on for much longer!"

Tyran's expression became especially ugly when he heard this. It wasn't that he wasn't trying—he was. But something deep inside was telling him that if he truly went all out and revealed the slightest hint of a flaw, it would be his head rolling on the ground instead of Theron's.

He had never felt this sort of pressure from anyone of the same generation, let alone a kid that was at least seven years younger than him and in the mere Silver Mancy Realm. It made no sense.

However, Tyran knew that if the Ice Spirit broke free of their restrictions, the end result would be even worse.

"Theron, if you agree to allow us to restrain you and bring you off the planet, I can let you live. I'm sure you're smart enough to know that we can't let anyone know what happened here today, right?"

Tyran's gaze lit with a fierce light as he looked toward Theron, trying one more thing.

Theron didn't respond. He stood there, his chest heaving for breath, his dagger and short sword crossed over his body. Burn marks licked down the length of his wrists and forearms, what frost had once afflicted him becoming scalding flesh instead.

Those eyes were the most unsettling part, almost as though he was looking right through Tyran, seeing every little thing the young man could possibly have to hide in a single instant of time.

Tyran was taken aback, but then his expression became even fiercer.

"Fine. You forced me to do this."

BOOM.

Tyran's Fire Mana erupted from his body, forming the flickering form of a four-armed behemoth at his back. Each hand formed a scythe of roaring flames as Tyran crossed his actual arms before his chest—or rather, he crossed the polearms of his scythes, forming the shape of an incomplete swastika.

Rauther and Ophan were taken aback by the explosion in Tyran's aura. They knew that spell, and they couldn't imagine why Tyran would have to use it against a Silver Mancer. But they also couldn't possibly turn their attention away from the Ice Spirit now.

"DIE!"

Tyran roared. His knees caved into a thunderous squat that shattered the earth beneath him. Plumes of ice kicked up from the hidden frost below, billowing into a steam that pervaded the air.

Theron's expression darkened just the slightest bit, his knees also bending. However, the latter was so subtle that even his height hardly changed at all. To the eyes of an outside observer, it was almost like he was too injured to even properly get into a ready stance.

Scythes of fire cut through the air, but they carried an air of death and destruction with them as though it wasn't just a normal blade he was facing.

Theron's expression finally became more than just cold, carrying with it hints of solemnness.

There was a hidden Mandate within—a powerful one that transcended flames and touched upon something he could only summarize as…

Hell.

It cut him to ribbons.

Tyran exhaled a breath as he saw Theron being sliced before his eyes. What he didn't expect was that the moment he relaxed, a blade would cut across the back of his neck.

His last sight was that of his own headless corpse as his head spun through the air. His eyes widened in shock as he glimpsed a figure reforming behind him.

Who said Theron had to use all several hundred kilometers to activate [Death Walk]?

However…

Theron coughed, falling to a knee.

In order to be as precise as possible, he had activated his Third Eye. As expected, the moment he did, a searing pain ripped through him as the chill dug in.

On the one hand, Tyran being unable to use his Third Eye was why this worked so seamlessly. On the other, him using it to ensure his success was now costing him.

Theron tried to pull himself up. There were still two more enemies. He couldn't afford to fall here.

But his desires and reality were two different things. The frost was returning, ironically creeping onto his burns as though wanting to first spurn heat before anything else.

The good news was that this was helpful.

The bad news was that this wouldn't last for long. It was only a matter of time before the frost turned from helpful to lethal.

"TYRAN, DAMMIT!"

Rauther could only spare a glance over, and what he saw left his eyes widening in shock.

Theron's eyes blurred, knowing trouble was coming. But he had only stored two [Death Walks] and didn't have the soul focus he needed right now to cast such a complicated spell again.

It was the worst-case scenario. He still had more than enough Mana, but every time he tried to focus, it felt like his head was being split into millions of pieces—jagged, mirrored edges were all he could see of his soul, as though a strike of lightning had completely shattered it into an image of itself.

Rauther's distraction was the last straw. Before Ophan could understand what happened, their control snapped, and a wave of Ice Mana spilled out in all directions.

Theron felt it hit his back, and his body was almost instantly encased in ice. From head to toe, even his cells themselves were flash-frozen, leaving him perfectly preserved in a coffin of another's making.

The world fell into an eerie silence, pulsing waves of blue turning the lush forest back into a sea of snow.