CHAPTER 130: CHAPTER 130: LAW AND ORDER (PART 28)

Borik’s severed head rolled across the cracked stone floor, spinning once before coming to rest against a fallen chair. A thick trail of crimson smeared across the ground, stark against the pale dust from the quicklime.

A single heartbeat later, his headless body swayed where it stood—like a puppet with its strings cut—before collapsing in a heavy heap. The sound it made was wet, final.

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then the shock hit.

It rippled through the room like a cold wind. Men froze mid-breath, their expressions caught between disbelief and horror. Borik had been one of their strongest—the man they thought unshakable, the one who could stand against any knight of the crown. And yet, he had been cut down with a single, effortless strike, as if his years of battle meant nothing at all.

The weight of that reality crushed their will.

Weapons slipped from sweaty hands, hitting the stone floor with dull clangs. A few fighters dropped to their knees outright, heads lowered, surrender already in their eyes. The fierce resistance that had burned only moments ago guttered like a dying flame.

But in the back, Tannus still stood, his grip on his staff so tight his knuckles had gone white. His gaze was fixed on the small, cylinder-shaped object still lying near the wall, the faint hiss of escaping powder curling into the air like the last breath of some venomous creature. The chalky residue it had spewed clung to the floor and wall, staining the stone in pale streaks.

The room around him was a scene of ruin. Men writhed and clawed at their faces on the ground, their eyes swollen shut, skin blotched and blistered where the quicklime had seared through flesh. Some coughed up blood, others gagged on the acrid dust that still lingered, refusing to settle. The sharp stench of lime burned the inside of his nose, mixing with the metallic tang of fresh blood until every breath felt like inhaling fire.

And now Borik—Borik, their vice commander, the man who had once split a royal knight’s shield in half with a single strike—lay headless on the floor.

Tannus clenched his jaw.

If not for that cylinder...

He could see it clearly in his mind: Borik, uninjured, aura blazing, his greatsword cutting through the enemy’s formation like a storm through wheat. Without the burns, without the blindness, Borik could have taken at least three of them down before falling. Maybe more. Even against the royal knights, Borik’s raw strength and unyielding rage would have given them a real fight.

But instead...

That thing had crippled him before the battle even began.

"What the hell..." Tannus muttered, his voice low and ragged. "What is that thing...?"

He’d never seen anything like it—no arcane light, no divine flare, no explosion. Just a hiss and smoke... and suddenly, half the room was blind, broken, or dying.

His voice rose, edged with disbelief and anger. "How did we not know about this? How the hell do they have something like that—and we don’t?!"

No answer came.

Only the steady, rhythmic sound of armored boots advancing—each step a reminder that whatever that weapon was, it had already tilted the fight against them.

Then Kaelen’s voice cut through the despair like a blade drawn in anger.

"Get it together!" the leader of Iron Shield roared, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "If we don’t fight back, we’re dead anyway! You want to die like Borik? Stand up and FIGHT!"

The words snapped some of the fighters out of their stupor. The few who still had strength stumbled forward, weapons raised, gathering at the front alongside Kaelen and Tannus.

The surviving Aura Knights members of Iron Shield tightened their grips on their swords until their knuckles whitened. The mages—bloodied, burned, but unbroken—dragged themselves to their feet, gripping their staves and forcing their voices into the opening lines of their chants.

Kaelen lifted his staff, the crimson gem at its tip catching the dim, flickering lantern light like a burning ember. His chant was deep, steady, unyielding:

"O breath of flame, rise to my call. Burn through the night and shatter the wind!"

Heat gathered instantly, the air shimmering as fire and wind magic coiled together into a roaring vortex, swirling like a miniature storm around him.

Beside him, Tannus drove the butt of his staff into the ground, voice carrying over the noise:

"O earth, my shield and spear, rise from the stone—pierce my foes and guard my kin!"

The ground beneath his boots shuddered, cracks splitting outward as jagged spears of stone began thrusting up toward the ceiling, surrounding him in a defensive cage.

From the shattered doorway, the royal forces poured in.

Knights—tower shields raised, spears bristling—moved in perfect phalanx formation. Behind them came the royal mages, their own chants rising in unison, voices layered like a grim choir. Sparks of lightning crackled between fingertips, frost swirled into jagged shapes, and fireballs pulsed with molten light.

The first clash was immediate.

Kaelen’s vortex of flame and wind surged forward, slamming into the knights’ front line. Their shields flared with defensive enchantments, holding the inferno back—but the sheer force of the impact still drove them a step backward.

"Hold the line!" a royal knight captain bellowed.

A royal mage’s chant reached its end, releasing a spear of ice that streaked toward Kaelen. Tannus reacted without hesitation, slamming his staff down. A jagged wall of stone erupted from the floor, the ice spear shattering against it with a sharp crack.

An Iron Shield water mage finished her own chant, sending a cresting wave into the royal ranks. A royal wind mage countered, blasting it apart mid-air, the water scattering into harmless mist.

Steel met steel as Aura Knights rushed the breach. Swords clanged, shields slammed, and sparks lit the gloom.

A royal knight’s blade grazed Tannus’s arm as he began a second chant. Gritting his teeth through the pain, he slammed his palm into the stone floor—earthen spikes exploded upward, forcing the knight back before he could strike again.

Kaelen fought like a storm given form. A wall of wind flared to deflect incoming arrows, then in the same breath he twisted the gust into a tunnel of flame, engulfing a royal mage and forcing others to raise their shields in defense.

But the royal forces were disciplined, their training evident. Knights fought in pairs, always covering one another. Mages cast in staggered rhythms, ensuring there was never a lull in their offense.

The room became a maelstrom—flashes of magic blinded the eye, steel clashed in a deafening chorus, the roar of fire mingled with the grinding crack of stone. The floor quaked beneath the layered impacts, and the air grew thick with heat, smoke, and the metallic tang of blood.

Tannus ducked under a knight’s shield and swung his staff upward, knocking the man off balance—only for another royal mage to finish his chant and send a wave of searing heat rolling across the battlefield, forcing Tannus to brace behind a hastily-raised stone bulwark.

"Hold them back!" Kaelen shouted over the chaos. "We just need one opening!"

But deep down, everyone knew—this was no longer a fight for victory.

It was a fight for survival.