CHAPTER 125: DYING KNIGHTS

Nolan’s fingers drummed furiously against the side of his chair, his eyes glued to the interface window shimmering before him.

The students—Selin, Ruvin, Erik, Calien, and the rest—continued their relentless slaughter of the humanoid octopus creatures. And each time they threw those damned knives, Nolan felt his blood pressure rise just a little higher.

"No, no, no, you little goblin-brained fools!" he shouted at the screen, voice cracking with exasperation. His fists clenched as Selin’s throw arced slightly wide before somehow finding its mark in the beast’s temple. "What was that wrist flick?! Are you trying to impress your friends or kill the damn thing?! Your angle was all wrong—horribly wrong! That’s not how I showed you!"

The blade buried itself into the octopus creature’s head, dropping it in one clean motion.

Nolan scowled harder.

"And you, Ruvin! You call that proper footwork? Your left foot’s too far forward! That stance is trash! Pure trash! If I had a stick, I’d whack you over the head for it right now! And still—still!—you hit it? Unbelievable! The gods are mocking me at this point!"

Ruvin’s blade hit true. The creature collapsed into itself, red sludge soaking into the mossy ground.

"And Calien! Don’t even get me started on you!" Nolan raged, nearly toppling his chair as he leaned closer to the screen. His face was flushed, veins prominent in his forehead.

"Your elbow—too high! Your grip—too loose! That throw was a disgrace to every knife I’ve ever forged! A disgrace to the entire art of knife throwing! If your blade hadn’t hit its mark, I would’ve cheered, just so you’d learn a lesson!"

But again, the kill was clean. The octopus spawn dissolved, leaving behind yet another glimmering mana crystal that one of the attendants scooped up without ceremony.

Nolan felt his hands tremble. His teeth ground together.

"You’re making me look bad!" he yelled at the oblivious students. "Do you know how long it took me to master that throw? Years! And you lot are out here hurling blades like you’re born for it, with terrible form no less! What kind of sick joke is this?!"

He threw his hands up, slumping back in his chair with a groan. His heart pounded in his chest, half from frustration and half from watching the impossible unfold.

But then—a sound.

A terrible, wet sound. Like something massive sliding through a bog. The kind of sound that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

"Yes!" came the gurgling cry. "Yes! I am now a Novice Seventh Stage Mana User, middle realm! Yesss!"

Nolan’s breath hitched. His eyes snapped to the secondary feed—where Yxthul moved through the forest floor like it was water, his scaled, briny body undulating with unnatural grace. The demon-fish creature’s gills flared as he slid forward, fins slicing through the underbrush.

And then Yxthul paused.

He looked up.

Right at Nolan.

Nolan froze. His mouth went dry.

"I don’t know what you are," Yxthul hissed, voice carrying like a cold wind, "but I will make sure to kill you."

Panic gripped Nolan’s chest. His mind raced. His gaze darted toward another window—toward the scattering remnants of Varros’s knights, those who hadn’t been turned into spawn.

They ran, spread thin across the forest, trying desperately to escape the endless tide of octopus demons.

But Nolan saw it immediately.

Their movements slowed.

Their shoulders slumped.

Their breathing labored.

Their mana—gone. Completely drained. Whatever had been left of their strength was now snuffed out. They were no longer knights. No longer warriors. Just men. Men being hunted.

"No, no, no! You idiots! Don’t run like that! Break line of sight—zigzag, damn it! Don’t just—argh!" Nolan shouted, slamming his palm against the interface.

But they couldn’t hear him.

And one by one, Nolan watched the inevitable happen.

A knight stumbled, breathless. A tentacle wrapped around his ankle, pulling him down into the brush. A scream, short-lived, echoed through the trees. Then another knight fell, arms flailing as an octopus spawn latched onto his back. And another. And another.

Nolan’s heart raced faster, pounding against his ribs as if it meant to break free. His eyes flicked to Yxthul’s feed.

Yxthul’s mana surged.

From Novice Seventh Stage, middle realm... to peak realm.

Nolan’s fingers dug into the armrests of his chair.

"No—don’t—don’t let him feed more! Someone stop him!" Nolan hissed, voice shaking. But it was useless. He was a spectator in this nightmare.

Yxthul laughed, a deep, guttural sound that rumbled through the woods. His body shimmered with the rising tide of mana as he fed off the slaughter. His strength grew.

Novice Eighth Stage, initial realm.

Nolan’s eyes widened.

"Shit. Shit! No!"

Yxthul’s fins spread wider, his form casting a monstrous shadow over the forest floor. The air around him seemed heavier, darker.

Novice Eighth Stage, middle realm.

Then peak realm.

Nolan’s breath came in short, shallow gasps.

Yxthul’s eyes glowed brighter, his form swelling with raw energy.

Novice Ninth Stage, initial realm.

And finally, Yxthul stilled, standing tall, towering, his aura crackling like lightning in the storm-wracked sea.

"So," Yxthul rumbled, voice thick with menace. His eyes narrowed, locked onto Nolan’s unseen presence. "It’s you."

Nolan swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. His mouth moved soundlessly at first before he managed a single, trembling word.

"...Shit."

Yxthul stood still for a breathless moment, his scaled, monstrous form shimmering beneath the faint, sickly light that filtered through the canopy.

His abyssal eyes glinted like twin pearls of doom, locked with a gaze that pierced through the barrier of space and magic that separated him from Nolan.

And for the first time, it felt as though the distance between them was an illusion—like Yxthul’s presence could seep through the screen, through the threads of mana, and reach Nolan where he sat.

"You... you’re stronger than Georan," Yxthul hissed, his voice thick with contempt and amusement, his fins twitching as if the very thought disgusted him. "Don’t tell me... don’t you dare tell me... that you’ve abandoned the strength of an army to make yourself stronger instead? You human, are you really so stupid?"

Nolan flinched at the words, heart hammering.

He clenched his fists tighter, nails biting into his palms.

He wanted to curse back, to shout, to spit in defiance—but the words caught in his throat, choked by the sheer, oppressive weight of Yxthul’s voice.

Yxthul laughed—a horrid, wet sound that echoed like crashing waves through the void between them. His form rippled, as if the laughter itself warped his flesh.

His tentacles unfurled slightly, twitching with barely-contained fury and mockery.

"Is that it? Is that the plan? Abandon all sense of strategy, cast aside the concept of leadership, and stake everything on being a one-man army? You human, do you think this is a tale of heroes? A game of lone champions? What a joke! A hilarious, pathetic joke!"

His eyes gleamed brighter as his body seemed to pulse with power, absorbing the mana of the fallen. "No wonder your little army crumbled. No wonder your knights died like cattle. Because you—you chose to make yourself stronger, instead of making them stronger."

Nolan bit his lip, shaking his head, rage and fear boiling inside him in equal measure.

"And now look at you!" Yxthul snarled, voice rising, fins flaring wide like some terrible crown.

"Sitting there, hiding, watching, like a rat peeking from a hole while the house burns. You gambled everything on your own power, you human, and now—now—you will see how useless that is. I will kill you. I will kill your demon slave. I will rip apart your precious demon guardian. And when I’m done, I will grind your Dungeon Den into dust beneath the waves of my spawn."

Nolan felt the blood drain from his face as Yxthul’s body began to rise—literally rise—swelling in size and strength as more knights fell.

The forest floor quivered under the weight of his growth. His aura thickened, a miasma of brine and malice, spreading like a storm surge through the mana around him.

The last surviving knights, those few brave souls of Black Vale Territory, fell one by one, their screams cut short as the spawn overran them.

Each death was another offering to the abyss, another surge of energy that poured into Yxthul’s body.

The creature’s gills flared with greed, his fins crackling with the mana that now coursed through him in unrelenting waves.

"Look at this! Look at this, you human!" Yxthul roared, voice shaking the air. "This is what true strength is! The strength of many! The strength of those who serve their purpose! And you? What are you? A fool who chose to stand alone. And now, you’ll fall alone."

Nolan’s breath came fast, his heart thundering so loudly he thought it would drown out Yxthul’s voice—but nothing could.

Every word from the creature seemed to burn itself into his mind, a scar of sound he couldn’t silence.

Yxthul rose higher still, his form expanding, fins and tentacles twisting like the limbs of a drowned god. His aura burned brighter, as though the very forest around him would be consumed by his ascension.

The ground beneath him cracked and warped, unable to bear the weight of his power.

And then it happened.

A surge. A shift. A pulse that Nolan could feel even from his distant vantage.

Yxthul broke through.

Tenth stage.

Nolan’s eyes widened as the connection—the fragile thread that had allowed him to peer into the battlefield—snapped.

The image of Yxthul vanished, swallowed by the rising tide of the demon’s power.

Darkness flooded the interface.

The forest, the knights, the battlefield—all gone.

All erased from his sight.

But the sense of him remained.

Nolan sat frozen, staring at the void where Yxthul’s monstrous form had been.

The black screen stared back at him, empty but somehow watching. He could feel it—the weight of that gaze, the certainty that beyond the veil, Yxthul now saw him not as a distant observer, but as prey.

The Fishman, as Nolan called him in his mind, was out there. And he was no longer looking at an army. He was looking at him.

And Nolan knew—knew it in his bones, in the pit of his stomach—that the predator had set his sights. That it wouldn’t be long before the storm came crashing down at his door.

"...Shit," Nolan whispered again, voice trembling. "Shit..."