Kai knew exactly what Khorvash had consumed.

Liquid mana.

Every competent Mage knee of it—it was a substance of myth and danger, raw power condensed into fluid form. It was just pure, volatile mana. Enough to turn even a novice into a threat. Enough to turn someone like Khorvash into a monster.

What Kai didn’t know was why Valkyrie had left a vial of it on the ground floor of her tower. Maybe bait. Maybe madness. But that didn’t matter now.

What mattered was that liquid mana wasn’t meant to be drunk. Not unless you wanted your insides scorched and your body to burn from within. But orcs were different. They absorbed mana—not for spells, but to fuel their strength, their regeneration… And of course, their fury.

And in the time it would take for the liquid mana to kill him—ten minutes, twenty at most—Khorvash would be the most dangerous creature alive.

The proof came in the roar that split the air.

Raw mana surged outward in waves. The ground shook as Khorvash launched forward like a cannonball. Kai reacted instantly—palms flashing, wind walls erecting, layers of ice forming behind them—but each barrier shattered in seconds. Khorvash plowed through them all like they were paper, his body glowing, steaming, veins lit from within.

Kai leapt back, twisting midair, and conjured a construct of spinning flame—an orc-shaped inferno hurtling toward the real one. Khorvash still came strong. He raised his gauntlets, the enchanted metal glowing red-hot, and blocked the assault head-on. Flames wrapped around him—his own and Kai’s combined—licking at his skin, boiling the air.

He didn’t care.

He kept walking, roaring, each step cratering the floor beneath him. Mana bled from him like steam from a fractured core, and still he advanced—eyes locked on Kai.

From above, lightning crackled down by the Storm Sovereign. The bolts struck true, lighting the chamber like a storm, but Khorvash barely staggered. His focus didn’t waver. His mind, though wild, was honed on one single point—Kai.

So Kai did what he had to.

He spun his hands, faster now, and wrapped the winds around Khorvash like a cocoon, compressing the air so tightly it cut against his skin. Every reserve he had left—every drop of power—he poured into his spell.

But Khorvash didn’t dodge. He leapt into it.

The tornado screamed as it tore at him—ribbons of blood spiraling outward, skin splitting wide—yet even as his flesh peeled open, it knitted itself back together. Veins pulsed. Bones cracked, then recovered.

Kai shot back, heart hammering, conjuring a [Flaming Lance] in his grip. He hurled it downward, the spear spinning end over end before piercing through Khorvash’s chest with a molten hiss. It sank deep.

Khorvash stumbled, but grinned—mad, wild, teeth stained red. His hand closed around the burning shaft and yanked.

Then he flung Kai skyward.

Wind rushed past Kai’s ears. He heard his party shouting his name, but there was no time. He muttered the [Flight] spell mid-air, mana flaring beneath his feet, and caught himself just below the tower’s fractured ceiling.

Bolts of mana struck Khorvash from all sides—precision shots from above. They lit up his back, punching into his skin. He didn’t care.

“You’ve got too many tricks,” Khorvash growled, his voice a snarl layered with mana. Then he crouched—and launched.

Kai twisted midair, barely avoiding the collision as the orc lord soared past him. Khorvash hit the ground hard, sending tremors through the floor, then spun, grabbing a shattered statue by the arm. He hurled it upward like it weighed nothing.

Kai braced, summoning a layered shield. The statue shattered against it, pieces flying like shrapnel. In response, Kai fired another spell, a barrage of [Blazing Spheres] that exploded midair, painting the chamber in firelight.

Khorvash, on the ground, leapt like a predator, dragging rubble from the earth, throwing it with rage-fueled strength. Every time Kai moved, something followed. Every time Khorvash advanced, something else broke—walls, floor, whatever stood in his way.

At one point, Khorvash turned and unleashed a cone of searing heat and a shockwave of brute force toward the Storm Sovereign’s perch. It was powerful, but unfocused, an afterthought. His eyes never left Kai.

And that was all Kai needed to understand.

He’s gone, Kai realized. Mad to the core.

It showed in his stare—wide eyes, unblinking, cracked with blood vessels. There was no strategy left in Khorvash’s movements, only obsession. And every time he advanced forward, he only had one goal—Kai.

The liquid mana wasn't just fueling Khorvash’s strength.

It was feeding his fury.

What had once been a cunning warlord was now a beast in humanoid form—snarling, mindless, drunk on power. His eyes had lost all focus, all thought, consumed by the blind hunger to destroy.

And no amount of third or even fourth circle spells would fix that.

Kai had held back, trying to preserve his mana. But that luxury had burned away with the last of Khorvash’s sanity. It was time.

As another pulse of heat mana burst from the orc’s toe rings, warping the air into molten waves, Kai didn’t dodge sideways—he launched upward.

Wind blades whipped around him, slashing through the remnants of the glass roof. Sunlight spilled through as Kai burst into the open sky above Valkyrie’s tower.

Khorvash’s scream followed immediately.

He reached behind him, ripped a spear free from a shattered statue's grip, and hurled it like a missile.

“You can’t run forever, human!” he roared.

Kai caught the movement and spun midair, wind curling beneath his feet. The spear grazed his shoulder, drawing blood, but he was too focused to care.

“I’m not running,” he called back, his voice echoing across the rooftop. “Some spells just don’t belong in tight spaces.”

Then he raised both hands to the sky.

Mana surged from his core, spiraling upward as glowing lines began to form. It became a complex art of light, glyphs and intent etching itself across the air. There were circles, runic syllables, and everything in between. The structure slowly began to take shape above him, but as the spell grew, so did the drain.

Kai gritted his teeth knowing his mana wasn’t enough.

He reached into his robes and pulled free a storage stone—then another.

He drained them one by one and let it flow into the formation above like blood into a beating heart.

A loud snarl came from below.

Kai looked down to see a hulk of tensed muscles and angry tusks. The hate in his eyes almost scared Kai. but he refused to give into that. Rather, he let the spell grow, knowing this had to end now.

But of course, Khorvash didn’t stand idle.

As soon as the spell structure began to solidify in the sky, he lunged with a roar, aiming to slam into Kai mid-cast and end it all. His massive form shot upward like a boulder launched from a catapult, both arms raised to crush.

But just before impact, his fists struck a shimmering dome surrounding the glowing array—a barrier of concentrated force.

The impact echoed like a gong, vibrations rippling through the air.

He reeled back, bellowed, then hurled a blast of wild heat toward the spellwork above. It dispersed like smoke against the shield.

Again. And again. Mana burst from his rings in wild arcs, striking the barrier—but none of it got through. His attacks, so fearsome moments ago, were now little more than tantrums against a fortress of arcane will.

Enraged, he landed hard on the glass roof below, spiderweb cracks spiraling beneath his feet. The ground groaned under his weight.

“You coward!” he roared, fists clenched. “COME DOWN AND FIGHT!”

Kai didn’t even glance down. He focused.

Each symbol etched in the air required precision, control—discipline born from a lifetime of study. He didn’t rush. I fought like an Enforcer in the desert, he thought. Brute against brute. But that’s not where my power lies.

He was a Mage.

And Khorvash—destructive, relentless—was still a creature of the ground, with fists for arguments and barely any reach. Kai let him rage. Because now… it was done.

The final glyph slotted into place with a low hum. Mana drained from his heart like a snapped artery. Even with the storage stones, he felt hollow, empty, barely floating—yet what hung in the sky above him was enough.

It had to be. He lowered his gaze.

Below, the orc was still pacing the rooftop, muscles flexing, teeth bared, eyes wild with fury. Kai exhaled and released the spell.

The air ignited.

Heat surged in all directions, rippling like a shockwave. He could tell even the sky was shifting its stance, but before he could properly take a look at it, the spell structure came to life.

A massive dragon, forged entirely from flame, burst out of the spell circle. Wings of blazing fury spread wide, its body formed. It hissed as it twisted midair, golden eyes flaring to life—then snapped its gaze toward Khorvash like a predator finding its prey.

The orc barely had time to react.

He let out a war cry and punched the descending beast with both gauntlets glowing. The blow struck true, fire and mana colliding in a burst of light.

It didn’t matter. It had no effect on the dragon.

Its maw opened wide, tongue curled, flames spiraling inwards, and then bit down on him—jaw locking onto his torso, teeth of heat piercing flesh.

Khorvash screamed, a raw, guttural sound as fire ate into his skin, past muscle, into bone. His body buckled beneath the sheer force of it, the reinforced glass finally shattering beneath him.

The Duneborn thrashed violently, even as his body blackened, even as his voice broke. But the dragon only tightened its grip, dragging him into a storm of flame.

“Arghhhhh!” He screamed in pain. But even now, the orc refused to die.

Inside the dragon’s flaming maw, Khorvash fought back—his fists hammering against the very flames that seared him. Each punch sent sparks scattering through the air, each blow a wild testament to his will.

Kai narrowed his eyes, then flicked two fingers. The dragon jerked its head and spat the orc out like a broken arrowhead.

Khorvash tumbled through the air, but didn’t fall far.

Somehow—somehow—his burning hands latched onto the dragon’s outer coils, gripping the solid flame that made up its form. His skin hissed and bubbled where it touched, but he held on, snarling like a beast dragged into hell.

Kai’s lips curled into a faint smile.

Good, he thought. I was hoping you’d be that stubborn.

With a single command, the dragon soared upward, cutting through the clouds like a comet. Higher and higher it flew, the temperature rising, the wind turning thin.

And at last, Khorvash’s grip failed.

His fingers slipped. His body peeled off the dragon’s burning hide like ash from embers.

He fell.

Arms spread, smoke trailing from his limbs, he plummeted through the air—and Kai pushed mana for the final spell.

The dragon dove.

Its wings folded as it streaked downward, mouth opening wide.

A second later, the [Dragon’s Breath] came—a torrent of concentrated flame erupting from its throat, engulfing Khorvash mid-air. The inferno caught him like a wave, shoving him faster toward the earth, spiraling him downward in a pillar of fire.

Kai followed silently behind, descending in the breath’s wake.

The crash came moments later—a thunderous crack as the orc slammed into the rocky cliffs below. Dust rose in plumes. Flame flickered along the shattered ridgeline.

For a long moment, Kai hovered above the wreckage, breathing hard. The emptiness in his core was gnawing now, his Mana heart nearly bone-dry. But he had to be sure. He descended.

And what he saw at the bottom made his brows knit.

The orc still breathed. Barely.

His chest rose and fell in slow, broken shudders. His armor was gone—burnt away. The gauntlets that once shone with runes were cracked and molten, hanging in scraps from his charred forearms. Blood streamed from his mouth, his ears, his eyes.

But somehow… he was alive.

Kai landed softly, boots crunching on scorched stone.

He stared for a moment—at this creature that should’ve died ten times over, at this twisted, stubborn will that refused to fade. Then he raised his hand.

Wind gathered at his palm—sharp, bladed, countless edges swirling in a silent promise. But just as he moved to strike, Khorvash’s lips moved.

A rasp of air left his throat. The words came slow, ragged, slipping past bloodied lips like sand through cracked stone.

“Human…” Khorvash wheezed, eyes barely open, his breath trembling. “You… might kill me… but Belkhor… won’t let this go. He will… reincarnate me. I will take revenge.”

Kai stared down at him, wind still coiled at his palm, then let out a quiet scoff.

“I’d almost give you that,” he said. “There’s an actual cycle of reincarnation. But no, Khorvash. Belkhor can’t give you a second chance. No god is that powerful. And Belkhor…”

He stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“…wasn’t a god at all. Just another orc—stronger than most, clever enough to dress himself in divinity and gather followers. He died like any other mortal. And so will you.”

Khorvash coughed, blood bubbling at the corner of his mouth. “Blasphemy,” he growled. “His palace… is proof of his greatness…”

Kai tilted his head, lips curling slightly.

“That palace,” he said, “is a Mage tower. My mother’s tower. Belkhor didn’t build it. He probably couldn’t even read the engravings on its walls.”

Khorvash’s eyes flickered, confusion trying to push through the haze.

But Kai shook his head. “Either way… I’m not here to argue.”

The orc chuckled, weak but defiant, a dry, broken rasp. “You’re wrong… You’re very wrong… You don’t believe me now… but when I come back… I’ll crush you under—”

The sentence never finished.

[Wind Blades] flashed—dozens of them. Each one cutting brutally. Thin lines sliced across Khorvash’s thick neck, one after the other, until his breath caught mid-word.

Then his head rolled onto the scorched earth, blood spurting in rhythmic pulses before going still.

Dead silence followed.

He glanced down at the orc’s lifeless body, his expression unreadable. There was no satisfaction—only a faint flicker of disappointment. Even at the end, Khorvash had clung to his delusions. Still worshipping a false god. Still lost in fanaticism.

But that wasn’t Kai’s concern.

Fanatics didn’t change.

And he hadn’t come here to save anyone’s soul.

He had come for his inheritance.

And now, with the Duneborn slain, the path was wide open.

Before turning back to the tower, Kai raised his hands.

A small flicker of fire pulsed against the blue sky—a spark no larger than a candle flame. It drifted upward in silence, then burst into a cascade of red and gold. Fireworks. The signal they had agreed upon to tell one thing.

Khorvash was dead.

He could only hope the tribes would take it well… and that their leaders would be strong enough to reclaim the desert now that the Duneborn’s grip was broken.

With that done, he reached into his pouch and pulled out several storage stones, cracked and slightly warm to the touch. He pressed one to his chest and began to draw the mana inside, siphoning the dense energy slowly into his heart. The dragon construct had devoured almost everything he had—flying and the final spell had left him bone-dry. He couldn't afford to enter Valkyrie’s tower with his reserves empty.

There were too many unknowns left inside and there was only one way to find out.

***

Once he’d filled his Mana heart halfway—just enough to fight or flee if it came to that—Kai floated off the edge of the cliff. The wind tugged at his cloak as he descended, his body slipping through one of the shattered openings along the tower’s jagged side.

Inside, the air had shifted.

The oppressive air of raw mana that once pressed against his skin was replaced by a quiet, tense stillness. It was the kind of silence that followed storms.

His eyes swept across the chamber, sharp and searching.

His party was gathered near the far wall, seated or leaning in the dim light. Some were cradling wounds, others simply catching their breath, too exhausted to speak. Their formation was loose but deliberate—positioned well away from the three orcs that lay crumpled and broken in the corner. The bodies had not died cleanly. The acrid scent of scorched flesh lingered in the air, thick and clinging, mixing with smoke and dust.

Kai’s gaze flicked briefly over the corpses before settling on his people.

They looked up at him almost in unison, relief blooming across weary faces. Tension unwound from their shoulders like strings cut loose.

Even Adil’s lips softened—though whether it was because Kai had returned, or because his return confirmed that Khorvash hadn’t… that remained unclear.

“I took care of it,” Kai said, cutting through the silence before anyone could speak. “We’re safe.”

Claire was the first to rise, brushing dust from her skirt as she stepped forward.

“Are you okay, Lord Arzan?” she asked, her voice laced with concern.

He gave a small nod. “No injuries.” A faint breath escaped him—half sigh, half disbelief. “Honestly… I got out of that fight better than I expected. Khorvash was… a lot dumber than I expected.”

A few of them chuckled—tired, shaky laughs. But it helped. The tension in the room lightened just enough. Kai’s eyes drifted around the aftermath.

The statues that once stood tall were shattered in pieces across the floor. Cracks ran like veins through the stone walls, and soot-black scorch marks marred everything within sight. A place meant for power, now worn by violence.

“We can deal with all this later,” he said, turning back to the group. “Right now, I need to take control of the tower.”

Kael lifted an eyebrow, arms crossed. “How are you going to do that?”

Kai only shrugged lightly, then turned his attention to the podium.

His gaze locked onto it—the same structure they’d passed before the battle erupted. Despite the chaos, it had somehow remained untouched, perfectly intact amidst the ruin. The runes carved along its sides still pulsed with a faint silver light, soft and rhythmic, like a heartbeat under stone.

It honestly felt like an invitation. And Kai gladly took it. But all the while, there were questions that ran through his mind.

Was this it? he wondered. Will I face no other obstacles? Or was this tower, with all its secrets and suffering, not quite finished playing its games?

Either way, he wasn’t turning back now. He was ready.

***

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