Round 44: Rebellion in the Furnace

From a distance, the area around Hellgate Fortress was completely enveloped in terrifying, billowing clouds of smoke. Those inside could hardly distinguish between sky and earth. The boiling smoke was drawn up by the scorching tornadoes created by the Flame Monarch, spreading across the sky to form dense clouds. From time to time, burning stones fell like meteors, while the vague figure of the Flame Monarch—radiating a blinding white light even brighter than the brightest stars—roamed through this sea of fire and smoke, pursuing and blocking 47’s path. It was neither flying nor moving through the dust; rather, it seemed to vanish suddenly in one place only to reappear elsewhere as a new form formed from the flames, blocking 47’s route. No matter how he tried to dodge, he couldn’t escape the Flame Monarch’s cloud cover, like a butterfly trapped in a net.

47 flew through the jungle, with the rolling black clouds dragged by the Flame Monarch behind him, instantly engulfing vast areas of forest. He couldn’t fly in a straight line for long—before him, a massive wall of fire appeared out of nowhere, forcing him to ascend. The Flame Monarch followed, bringing more dust and ash, leaving behind nothing but scorched land.

Fortunately, the Flame Monarch seemed unwilling to go too far from Hellgate Fortress; otherwise, the entire Sleeping Forest might have been set ablaze in this game of cat and mouse. The three elements of combustion seemed reduced to just one in the presence of the Flame Monarch—those ashes mixed with flames would tell anyone with even a basic understanding of physics that combustion was no longer possible. The air became highly toxic, filled with various deadly gases from the burning, and the oxygen concentration dropped to levels insufficient to sustain life. This effect was no less severe than that of the Death Cloud Technique. Yet under the Flame Monarch’s control, everything continued to burn and rush toward 47, as if trying to lock this defiant monkey firmly inside an alchemy furnace to turn him into an elixir.

In fact, the flames did have some effect on 47. The screams of the BBQ Devil grew increasingly faint, and his flesh was nearly gone due to the intense flames and 47’s own power. On the contrary, after Melganis, which had been a source of his strength, was reduced to ashes, 47 felt his power grow stronger and more refined. Pure power from the underworld flowed again within him. Tch—this devil was truly annoying enough to cause indigestion. Cursing inwardly, 47 broke through one wall of fire only to be forced to climb rapidly by another blazing barrier.

“Kastor! Take the warrior leaders and elves away from here! Philgas, you too! Whatever you’ve become now, get out! If you don’t want to die along with the Construct!”

Eldrith shouted, struggling to use magic to maintain a somewhat tolerable environment in the hellish flames. She felt weaker by the moment—the flames and thick smoke blocked her connection to nature. In such a harsh environment, her magical power was depleting rapidly. Each protective spell required more energy, yet its duration shortened significantly…

Fergas showed no gratitude. Did she still remember her former comrades? It was unknown. The demonized elves remained faithfully, scattered within the scorching black clouds, avoiding the intense flames. Many eyes watched the battles above, with no intention of leaving or staying in Eireldis’s protective area. Their bodies would char from the fierce flames, yet they would rapidly recover thanks to the surging dark energy. In severe cases, they would even shift between ashes and their original state—the ritual still worked to some extent. The new flesh and limbs bestowed upon the demonized elves displayed astonishing efficiency and speed under the power of the abyssal magic, but at this moment, this terrifying strength seemed more like an eternal torment. It was an incredibly cruel superpower: the Flame Lord’s flames burned them to ashes, yet they recovered due to the dark magic he brought, a torment akin to suffering in an eternal hell of fire. Their lives were like a joke, constantly shaped at will, while their cold and gloomy expressions and behavior seemed indifferent to all this. Who had the time to listen for any cries of sorrow hidden beneath their terrifying appearance?

“No… we must find a way… we can’t let that monster continue to wreak havoc. The forest will…” Zarydan coughed as he spoke, spitting out blood clots mixed with black ash.

“We can’t do anything—let that construct deal with it!” Eireldis pushed aside the surrounding smoke to create a path for her people, hoping to leave this place. “Such a being can’t stay in the primary realm for long! We just need to avoid drawing its attention. It seems determined to capture that construct! Once it gets it, it might return—Mr. Anton! What are you doing?!”

Anton no longer needed Milia’s support. He had transformed from a weary, aged man into someone who seemed decades younger, returning to the peak of both strength and spirit. Although his appearance hadn’t changed much, the holy energy surrounding him was incomparable to before. White light flashed like lightning, creating a strange resonance with the sky obscured by smoke, reflecting dazzling colors akin to the aurora—something even the hellfire couldn’t hide. Milia was stunned by this miraculous sight. Was Anton really just an old holy warrior living in seclusion in the sleeping forest?

“Mr. Anton, you—” Milia was bathed in the sacred radiance emanating from Anton, all her fatigue and weakness vanishing. Yet, seeing the old holy warrior glowing with glory, she felt an overwhelming sense of solemnity and sanctity, a force that made one want to look up at him, yet also carried an ominous premonition.

“Actually, Lady High Priest is right…” Anton held his ordinary long sword, as strands of light continuously poured into its blade. “This Flame Monarch is likely after the Construct. Once he achieves his goal, he might return to the Abyss of Hell, allowing us all to stay safe… I hope so, but it might just be wishful thinking. Either way, this is our only chance to retreat now.”
He seemed not to hear Eireldis’s cries behind him: “But I can’t do that. Even if it’s insignificant, I must cause as much trouble as possible to this great devil… It’s not just stubbornness as an old man, nor the delusion of recklessly confronting evil…”
Anton’s breathing was rapid. He seemed to be talking to himself, giving Milla no chance to interject: “I’ve made many mistakes in this matter… but now I think I’m doing the right thing… That Construct might not want my help. I can’t deny it doesn’t seem to possess kindness in the broad sense, though I also don’t think it’s unbearably evil… It doesn’t even have what we call life by common standards, but that’s no reason to stay out of it. As a knight, I should do my best for those in need—this includes you as well as him.”
“Stop him! He’ll draw the Flame Monarch’s attention to us!” With Eireldis’s shout, a few minor Night Elves rushed at Anton—
Milla’s great sword emitted a blindingly bright light, pushing them back.
“What are you doing!” Eireldis cried in anger and shock. “This isn’t the time for internal strife! He’ll kill us!”
“O All-Knowing, All-Powerful Lord… please forgive me for not being able to see Your glory now…” Milla stood behind Anton, as if having some realization. “Please forgive my hesitation and confusion, but at this moment, I firmly believe I’m choosing the right path. I’ll wield my sword for this, even if I regret it later… Mr. Anton, I believe you’re right. No matter who stands beside us or what sins they bear, we must do what’s right and not let personal preferences sway our sense of justice.” Milla swung her long sword with force, the wind from the blade filled with solemnity. Her gaze was resolute—just like Anton’s true disciple.
Stubborn! Foolish! Faced with Milla, who obeyed every word, Eireldis was momentarily at a loss.
The encirclement around them was tightening.
He retracted his Construct Cannon, as the flaming projectiles only caused futile explosions and couldn’t harm the Flame Monarch at all—plus, as the Flame Monarch grew more impatient, the projectiles disappeared silently once they entered the dark clouds. They only hindered mobility.

“You can’t escape! It’s time to regret your choices!” The Flame Monarch embraced 47, and in an instant, the flames burned away his wings. Though he managed to struggle free from the dark clouds, he soon reappeared with wings even larger and more suitable for flying. With a single flap of his wings, he dispelled the darkness around him, yet flames persisted on his body—strange black flames that absorbed dust particles floating in the air. Instead of generating heat, they seemed to drain energy from 47 like countless leeches. The storm of dust and smoke circled around 47 like a giant hand choking him, with the ash accumulating on his body, forming a shell that made his movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Hurry up! Don’t be so clumsy!” Dagula mercilessly threw a mage who had slowed down due to the violent turbulence out of the control room. He flew high into the air, and as soon as he was outside the protective spell of the aircraft, his screams grew several times louder. His mage robes were whipped wildly by the storm and soon caught fire, turning him into a human torch along with his robes.

“You’d better collect enough samples!” Dagula was furious at not having time to admire such a beautiful sight. “Analyze the data quickly! Do you realize how rare it is to observe a demon of this caliber up close?! What are you doing?! Ignore that melted table!”

The red-robed female mage did not participate in this chaotic spectacle. She stood firmly on the aircraft, which was tossed about like a small boat in giant waves. When she saw that construct gradually showing signs of weakness, a barely noticeable flicker appeared in her clear eyes.

“Mr. Anton! You can’t seal this abyssal passage! Let alone drive the Flame Monarch back to hell!” Since force was ineffective for now, Eirwen tried to persuade him: “This far exceeds our capabilities! Doing this will only anger him—”

Anton ignored her. He had no time to pay attention to anyone else. To live up to the truth he believed in, this would be the last glorious battle of a knight.

The smoke and clouds around them seemed to realize the potential trouble these insignificant insects might cause, and they began to roll in, pressing down.

“I pledge loyalty as a beacon, my soul as a sacrifice…” Anton’s voice grew from a murmur to a roar, eventually becoming a cry that seemed to draw on all his strength: “…Evil demons of the abyss, your black flames cannot harm me! In the name of justice and kindness, you will eventually fall back into the endless depths!”

A straight beam of light shot into the sky—as if opening the gates of heaven.

For the first time, the Flame Monarch, whose hands were repeatedly scattered by 47’s attacks only to reassemble, turned his gaze elsewhere. He was no longer just enraged.

The cloud of ash suddenly descended, pulling down Agus’s floating mech, who had been watching from above. Anton’s glow was dimmed by the leaden clouds, and blood seeped from the old paladin’s mouth before evaporating—but he still stood stubbornly, refusing to fall.

“You old stubborn fool—” Eirwen stepped back in terror, barely managing to pull Castor beside her.
Milia looked up and met the Flame Monarch’s eyes, glowing with intense white light. She screamed, feeling as if she had gone blind; her armor and clothes were melting, and her greatsword felt like a soldering iron, scorching her hands.
No elf without the protection of holy light suffered worse than her. Wherever the Flame Monarch’s gaze fell, flames erupted instantly, and the elves caught in its light burned like ants under a magnifying glass—In just an instant, the area where Anton stood was filled with heat waves as if ten red dragons had unleashed their breaths at once.
The holy light seemed to go out for a moment—but soon, a pillar of light rose again, breaking through the flames and clouds, radiant and beautiful, accompanied by increasingly loud cries.
Forty-seven lost his balance in midair and struggled to regain flight; his wings had been destroyed for the third time. It seemed even worse if he landed on the ground—he had no doubt the Flame Monarch would turn the entire area into molten rock and drag it into the lower realms. Though he wouldn’t mind going back, not now and not in such a way.
Forty-seven tore at the ash-covered shell on his body. Damn it. The Flame Monarch had fused all the rock, soil, and trees reduced to ash with its own body, blocking even its joints. Forty-seven was sure that if this continued, he would eventually be turned into some grotesque lump of iron by the Flame Monarch, to be taken home in a pocket—At least Kaz was still floating in outer space!
Suddenly, something inside him stirred, as if a small explosion had occurred. The power of that “God of Forging” Billy had mentioned once again helped him from within to overcome this crisis. This god was quite enthusiastic, always rushing to help those in need. Unlike other gods, it seemed he hadn’t developed the bad habit of putting on a solemn and sacred pose after things were done.
But if Forty-seven were close enough to Agus’s flying craft, he might hear the syllables whispered by the red-robed female mage. If even closer, he might realize that those syllables differed from ordinary spells—lacking their complex, lengthy, and confusing variations, with instead a rough, fervent tone, even a strange rhythm, as if—like a dwarf’s battle song.