Chapter 812: Stunned with Fear
The rest—those who hadn’t broken through the encirclement—were either killed by the impact and shrapnel of the meteors, or torn to pieces by the Blazeforge Orcs surging in from behind...
Thorne gripped the greatsword’s hilt with one hand, plunging the blade into the ground to support his faltering body, his face etched with despair.
The few survivors beside him didn’t try to run—there was simply no chance left.
Hundreds of Blazeforge Orc warriors stood opposite, along with more than a hundred Blazeforge Orc warlocks—and even Hobart, a formidable Eighth-Rank Title Archmage!
No chance. There was no way to get the message back. Disaster—this was nothing short of a disaster...
Thorne’s face twisted with unwillingness and despair. His arm trembled, yet he still tried to raise his greatsword for one last fight. The honor and hope of the Merlin Family couldn’t end here.
Just then, Hobart drifted down from the mountain’s summit.
“Stop.”
Hobart halted the Blazeforge Orcs’ final assault, his gaze fixed on Thorne with a mocking sneer.
“Sir Thorne, your bravery rivals the fiercest of our Blazeforge Orc warriors. Unfortunately, you’re a fool—a fool who’s been used and betrayed.”
Hobart burst into mocking laughter.
“Humans are truly foolish—that’s what gave us this perfect opportunity. Your Merlin Family’s allies, the Watson Family and the Black Tower, have already betrayed you.
Haven’t you realized? This is a trap—a trap set for your Merlin Family. I’ve already struck a deal with the Watson Family and the Black Tower. We lured you here, slaughtered you, wiped out your finest. Soon, I’ll seize the fortress your Merlin Family controls myself.
The Watson Family and the Black Tower will easily snatch up the lands your Merlin Family controls. See? It’s so easy—dividing your family’s spoils between them, just like that.”
Hobart’s words struck Thorne like a bolt from the blue—he nearly collapsed to the ground.
“What?!”
Thorne’s face was a mask of shock and fury. His shoulders trembled—he’d never imagined the Watson Family and the Black Tower would betray them!
They’d struck a deal with the Fireblade Tribe. But now, there was no way to send a warning—the Merlin Family was in grave danger...
Thorne’s face was hopeless, his eyes dull and gray. Soon, it wouldn’t just be the Blazeforge Orcs. The Watson Family and the Black Tower—those two greedy, vicious vampires—would mercilessly pounce on every fortress the Merlin Family held.
With the Merlin Family’s attention fixed on the Blazeforge Orcs, they could be utterly defenseless against the Watson Family and the Black Tower—every Merlin scion in the Blazeforge Realm would be slaughtered.
Generations—decades, even centuries—of hard work would vanish in an instant.
You could even imagine the Watson Family and the Black Tower pinning all the blame on the Blazeforge Orcs. Once control of the Blazeforge Realm was lost, the family would never know it was all a Watson-Black Tower conspiracy!
Despair—cold, bone-deep despair—seeped into Thorne like poison, eroding the last of his resolve.
The few remaining Merlin Family members nearby had already collapsed in hopeless exhaustion. One wounded mage failed to catch his breath and died on the spot.
Hobart hovered in midair, coldly watching Thorne’s despair before bursting into triumphant laughter.
“You foolish humans are worse than the ugliest maggots! What a pack of idiots. Sir Thorne, rest assured—as a warrior, I’ll kill you myself. See that teleportation array behind me?
I’ve already finished setting it up. Once I activate it, the elite warriors of the four major northern tribes of the Blazeforge Realm will all be teleported here. Then, whether it’s the Watson Family or the Black Tower, they’ll all be wiped out—destroyed!
And your Merlin Family will be destroyed by us too!”
Thorne staggered, nearly collapsing, the despair on his face deepening—his eyes now utterly lifeless.
It’s over. Completely over...
The Watson Family and the Black Tower—those fools—what have they done? Not only have they doomed the Merlin Family’s legacy, but they’ve unleashed an unprecedented counterattack from the Blazeforge Orcs.
No. Even if I die, I can’t let Hobart’s scheme succeed. If I kill him and destroy the teleportation array, maybe—just maybe—there’s still a chance!
With that thought, Thorne’s eyes filled with deathly resolve—he had no intention of surviving.
Powerful battle aura surged from Thorne, wrapping him in blinding light. His aura transformed into transparent flames, burning across his body. In that moment, Thorne was stronger than ever before—but his face grew paler by the second.
This was the Sword Saint’s final move—burning his battle aura, then his life force, and finally his soul. Everything ignited, unleashing the greatest power of his life.
But this technique came with a terrifying price—not only was death certain, but even the chance to become undead was gone. Every trace of his existence would vanish from this world.
To become a Sword Saint was to be exceptional—almost none would choose this path, even in death.
There were many ways to be revived. After becoming a Sword Saint, even death might not be the end—souls could be preserved, a new beginning possible. No one would willingly sever every hope.
But now, Thorne burned his battle aura and life force, shooting toward Hobart like an arrow—his aura fluctuating wildly.
Hobart’s eyes flickered—he realized instantly: Thorne was burning everything, preparing to self-destruct!
A Fifth-Rank Sword Saint, detonating all his power, could seriously injure even an Eighth-Rank Title Archmage!
Just then, a sudden thunderclap split the sky.
Boom...
A deafening roar, like the curtain rising—a terrifying transformation unfolded in the sky.
A pitch-black fissure appeared in midair, as if ripped open by some monstrous giant. In an instant, a space rift over a kilometer long tore across the sky.
Wild elemental energies churned around the rift, forming a fearsome elemental storm. Bolts of lightning crackled, twisting like endless serpents across the heavens.
In a flash, massive black clouds gathered around the rift, swirling into a gigantic vortex. The space rift looked like a colossal eye slowly opening.
Gale winds erupted, sweeping across a ten-kilometer radius—the elemental storm and vortex pulling in everything within range.
Pitch-black tornadoes formed on the ground, rising like giant dragons to join the swirling vortex in the sky.
Blinding lightning churned wildly within the black vortex, and bolts of lightning and raging elemental storms rode the tornadoes down to the earth.
A single bolt of lightning, stretching over a kilometer, struck a small hill—a hill dozens of meters high vanished in a thunderous blast...
Raging elemental storms spewed from the rift, stirring the black clouds—like some mighty sorcerer casting spells in the sky.
Below, Hobart’s expression changed drastically. This was no power a Title Archmage could summon. Instantly, Hobart gathered all the Blazeforge Orcs around the mountain, bracing for danger—he even drew a wooden staff, staring grimly at the sky.
Thorne was stunned, forgetting all about his plan to take Hobart down with him.
Within the vast black clouds, the space rift slowly opened—like a god’s eye awakening.
At that moment, an ancient, colossal warship bathed in endless lightning surged from the rift. Its terrifying aura spread like a tsunami, flooding the surroundings.
The warship, steeped in ancient majesty, emerged from the rift just as it snapped shut. Lightning hammered the vessel, but it was like rain on steel—unable to leave a mark.
A dozen thick, black tornadoes battered the ship’s hull, but they might as well have been towering pillars supporting the vessel.
Wild, multicolored elemental storms tore at the ship, but like a sea breeze, they only set the black sails billowing.
Slowly, as the space rift vanished, the endless, raging power faded as well—leaving only the ancient warship floating silently in midair.
The chaotic energies around it calmed, but below, an eerie, deathly silence reigned.
Hobart gripped his staff tightly, eyes locked on the warship above. Every ounce of his power was primed, ready to strike at any moment.
The Blazeforge Orcs looked utterly stunned—as if petrified by the warship hanging in the sky, and by the terrifying spectacle they had just witnessed.
Suddenly, a cold, clear voice echoed down from above.
“Sir Thorne, you’ve done enough. Go back now.”
As the voice drifted down, icy shards—like slivers of frost—fell gently onto Thorne, extinguishing his burning battle aura.
The warship slowly descended, and only then did everyone see—a figure floating at its prow.
Clad in simple robes, right hand gripping a staff set with a massive four-colored dragon crystal, left hand holding a book that glowed with a soft halo. Beside him floated a slowly spinning **, runes swirling endlessly across its surface.
Thorne looked up at the figure hovering in midair—tears streaming down his face.