The deafening roar of destruction slowly faded, giving way to an absolute, deathly silence.
No longer could one hear the constant hum of machinery, the hiss of acid, or the groan of twisting metal.
The Forge—once a living nightmare, seething with heat, corrosive fumes, and the noise of oppression—was gone.
In its place lay nothing but a vast, perfectly circular crater, carved deep into solid rock as if drawn by the hand of a giant.
At the very center of that flawless mark, I sank to my knees.
My right arm hung limp and useless at my side, as if severed from all connection to the rest of my body.
"It was worth the cost."
I spoke the words barely above a whisper, all while feeling a faint yet steady sensation spreading through every part of me.
It was as if every drop of my blood carried a quiet energy, flowing slowly through the regions where my bones had cracked and my tendons had been stretched to the point of tearing.
A warm, gentle numbness replaced the sharp, biting pain, working from the inside out to stitch back together what had been damaged by the overwhelming strain of the technique.
The Kazekiba slipped from my numb, rigid fingers and struck the churned earth with a dull thud, standing upright and still vibrating faintly.
From my shoulders all the way to my fingertips, my muscles trembled violently and uncontrollably, wracked by painful spasms caused by the superhuman effort of channeling such immense power and enduring the friction and pressure the transformation had imposed.
Every breath I drew into my lungs felt like inhaling shards of cold glass, burning and scraping the inside of my chest, leaving a metallic, bitter taste in my mouth.
"I think I've found the limit of Stage Two of the Wind Transformation… I haven't felt this kind of pain in a long time."
A few paces away, Arthur remained standing, though his breathing was heavy and deep, sounding like the bellows of a great furnace working with desperate effort.
Sweat mixed with soot and stone dust covered his face and torso, streaming down in dark lines until it vanished into the ground.
Thick, billowing clouds of steam rose from his arms and shoulders, which had grown scorching hot from serving as the unshakable anchor that had absorbed and stabilized the full force of my speed and impact.
He did not collapse, nor did he stagger—but anyone could see that every bone, every tendon, and every fiber of his being had been pushed to its absolute limit.
He glanced around the ruins, then looked down at me and let out a dry, rasping laugh.
"You're completely insane," he said, shaking his head, unable to hide the awe in his voice.
"If you'd told me beforehand you were going to unleash that Tatsumaki, I would have either prepared myself far better or suggested a much saner plan."
I forced a weak smile, bracing one hand against the ground to push myself upright.
Pain flared through every limb, yet the sense of having achieved our goal outweighed every ache.
"It worked, didn't it?" I replied, my voice still rough and strained. "If I'd held back, we'd still be knocking down towers one by one, waiting for them to surround us."
Arthur took a step forward, his gaze sweeping the horizon and the paths leading toward the former entrance of the Forge, sharp and alert.
His expression shifted, growing far more serious and guarded.
"It worked, yes," he agreed, his tone turning grave. "But the explosion we created must have been heard for miles. They'll be hurrying here faster now."
"Vanki and Katarina," I murmured, more to myself than to him. "They won't take long to arrive."
"Exactly," Arthur confirmed, his fists clenching tightly.
I rested my hand on the hilt of the Kazekiba, feeling the blade still hum faintly beneath my palm, and took a deep breath to gather what little energy remained.
"Let's go. The sooner we put distance between us and this place, the better."
Together, we took flight, staying low and moving swiftly, leaving behind the perfect circle of ruins before the shadows of the Empire's generals could catch up.
Minutes later, the heavy silence still hung over the crater when the sky above seemed to tear open once more.
Two presences dropped from the heavens like falling meteors, slamming into the ground with such force that the earth shook as if struck by a powerful earthquake.
A shockwave rippled outward in all directions, kicking up thick clouds of dust, twisted metal, shattered concrete, and even small streams of corrosive sludge still oozing from the cracks.
As the dust began to settle, the figures of Vanki and Katarina came into view—standing tall and imposing in the center of the destruction, as motionless as statues of war.
Katarina scanned the entire area with cold, piercing eyes, searching every corner of the crater and sensing the lingering energies still drifting through the air.
After a few seconds, she closed her eyes briefly, shook her head, and spat onto the ground in disgust.
"I can't feel them anymore," she said, her voice sharp and laced with frustration. "They moved fast enough and masked their auras well."
At her side, Vanki gripped the handle of his massive double-bladed axe, resting its heavy head upon his broad shoulder.
"The warning came too late," he replied, his deep voice echoing across the ruins. "They acted faster than we anticipated."
He took a heavy step forward and kicked the crushed body of one of his own soldiers, sending it rolling through the debris.
"But it doesn't matter how far they run or where they hide," he continued, his teeth grinding together. "We will remain together at the Last Forge. When we find them again, we will hunt those vermin down one by one—and every last one will die knowing their struggle was meaningless."
As he spoke, Katarina slowly knelt beside another fallen body lying a short distance away.
She lowered herself carefully and ran her fingers along the wound that had torn through the soldier's chest and shoulder.
The cut was clean, deep, and bore a distinct shape—not made by the edge of a sword, nor by the blunt force of fists, but by something sharp, curved, and marked like the imprint of claws.
She frowned, studying every detail with intense focus.
"Claws?" she murmured, more to herself than anyone else, surprise flickering in her cold gaze.
She lifted her head and looked toward Vanki, her expression a mix of doubt and sudden recognition.
"You told me one of them wields a sword and the other relies only on brute strength," she said, pointing to the injury. "But this was done by neither."
She looked back at the wound, and a glint of understanding appeared in her eyes.
"It must be the girl," Vanki said slowly, finishing her thought. "I have not yet had the chance to cross blades with her, but if they truly are disciples of the Silver One, then this can only be Laura."
"Laura…" Katarina whispered, repeating the name as if etching it deep into her memory.
She brushed her fingertips once more over the mark left in the flesh, then raised her hand to the eye patch covering half her face—a gesture almost automatic, as if recalling something long buried and unresolved.
She stood up straight, her posture rigid, and her usual icy composure returned.
"You are right, Vanki," she said firmly. "We will not separate again. We will stand together at the Last Forge—and when they show themselves, there will be nowhere left for them to run."
"NO."
A voice boomed out—powerful, deep, and commanding—seeming to come from every direction at once, descending from the sky like thunder, calm yet utterly unyielding.
The air grew heavy in an instant, and the dark clouds still lingering overhead were pushed aside, ripped open like thin cloth.
From above, a figure descended slowly, hovering just before touching the ground: Tsukumo.
He landed with a lightness that seemed impossible for one of such overwhelming presence, yet the moment his feet made contact with the earth, a burst of raw energy erupted outward.
Every speck of dust, every piece of debris, every abandoned corpse, and even the remaining streams of toxic acid were blasted away, hurled dozens of meters as if they were nothing more than dry leaves caught in a gale.
The very rock beneath them trembled, and the air cleared so completely that every detail of the landscape became visible in the dim light now flooding in unobstructed.
Vanki and Katarina immediately bowed low, planting their hands against the ground just to keep themselves from being thrown backward.
The aura radiating from Tsukumo was crushing, dense, and suffocating—a pressure that made their chests tighten and their bones ache simply from standing within its reach.
Even as demigods, they felt the full, terrifying scope of their Lord's power.
Tsukumo's long braids whipped wildly around him, stirred by the force of his own energy, though no wind blew. His eyes burned with a fierce amber glow.
"Lord, there was no need for you to come here in person," Katarina said, rising slowly and bowing her head slightly in respect. Though she kept her usual cold and controlled demeanor, her tone was careful—fully aware that she stood before a presence whose very existence weighed upon everything around it.
Beside her, Vanki set the shaft of his axe against the ground, the steel ringing out with a deep, resonant hum. He stood tall and firm, but never forgot the deference owed to his master.
"We were already on our way to the Last Forge," he continued, his voice carrying through the ruins. "With Katarina and myself standing guard, no intruder will ever come close enough to harm it—let alone destroy it. None shall pass us."
"Do not be foolish, Vanki," Tsukumo replied. He did not raise his voice, yet his authority was so heavy it felt as though the air itself was shrinking back in fear.
He turned slowly, letting his gaze travel across every inch of the vast crater—over the cracked earth, the twisted girders, the scorched remains, and the lifeless, stagnant air hanging over the site.
"This place is no longer worth defending."
Katarina's brow furrowed in confusion. She took a small step forward, keeping a safe distance, and asked, "What do you mean, Lord Tsukumo? The Last Forge still stands, and it is the greatest source of resources across our entire domain."
Tsukumo raised one hand and gestured broadly toward the desolate wasteland stretching as far as the eye could see.
"It means we have already taken everything Ruitan has left to give. We have dug into the very bowels of its mountains, poisoned its rivers, and burned its skies just to extract what we needed. Yet after all this effort, all these years of labor, and all the lives spent, we still have not obtained what I truly desire."
He paused, and for a moment, his gaze seemed to travel far beyond the horizon, as if seeing worlds that only he could perceive.
"The time has come to leave this dying planet behind. We will seek out another place—a world still healthy, pure, and untouched—where the soil is rich and the resources flow freely."
A heavy silence fell over the crater. The news was unexpected, but neither general dared to interrupt.
Then Tsukumo's expression shifted. His eyes narrowed, and a cold, rising fury began to radiate from his body, making the stones around them tremble faintly.
"But before we leave this place for good…"
He clenched his right fist tight, his fingers curling as if squeezing something invisible into dust, and the energy pouring from him grew denser, heavier, and harder to breathe.
"…we will wipe out every last one of those vermin who dared to disrupt my plans. I will not let them walk away thinking they have escaped or won. All who have risen against me will pay—with every drop of their blood—for every delay and every injury they have caused."
Without another word, he launched himself upward, ascending with such incredible speed that he left a powerful gust of wind in his wake, sweeping away the last traces of dust.
He rose until he hovered high above, a towering shadow against the sky, and stretched both arms wide.
A wave of colossal energy erupted from him—so intense it completed and expanded the perfect circle of destruction carved by Suki's technique, stretching it outward for miles more. It sliced through mountains, valleys, and everything in its path, as if the very earth had been drawn with a divine blade.
His voice rolled down from the heavens like resounding thunder, echoing across the entire region—deep, unyielding, and filled with a promise of unrelenting vengeance.
"Wait for me, Lavinsk…"
He paused, and his tone sharpened, turning far more personal and dripping with lethal intent.
"And most of all…"
The name left his lips like a sharp strike, cutting through the wind and the distance.
"Suki."
Far away from that place, Arthur and I descended slowly, gliding through the air before touching down gently in a sheltered clearing nestled between rocky slopes.
My body still ached, my muscles burned, and I could barely move my right arm—but at the sight of the crowd gathered there, the weight of exhaustion felt a little lighter.
This was the spot where Kael had hidden all the refugees: safe, high above the toxic fog that choked the lowlands.
No sooner had our feet touched the ground than a figure came running toward us.
Laura had just arrived as well, bringing with her every slave she had managed to lead out of the Southern Forge—all alive, though still shaken and marked by years of suffering.
Without a word, she threw herself forward and wrapped both of us in a tight embrace—a rare gesture, yet one that spoke volumes of the relief she felt.
"You're both alive," she murmured, pulling back just enough to look us over, a faint, satisfied smile touching her lips. "After all this chaos and destruction, Tsukumo has no choice but to back down. He must realize now that he can no longer control us, nor defeat us so easily."
"I only hope you're right," I replied. "If he keeps pushing us this far, a fight against him will become inevitable."
Later that same day, as night fell, I flew a circuit around our new home. It was perfect.
It stood high above the smog line. The air here was thinner, yet clean, fresh, and free of the metallic, bitter taste that lingered everywhere else.
There were natural springs of cold, clear water, sheltered slopes protected from the harshest winds, and more than enough space to build and grow.
"This would make an excellent village, Kael," I said, the words carrying on the breeze.
The very first stone laid in its foundations was not placed by me, nor by Arthur, nor by Laura.
As we stood looking out over the flat, solid ground—protected by the mountains and bathed in sunlight that had not touched the lower lands in decades—a small figure approached with hesitant steps.
It was a young Orc, still growing, his skin a deep, dark shade, and his large eyes still holding the glint of fear and uncertainty, yet also a new spark of hope.
His hands were small but already tough and calloused, scarred from years of forced labor, gripping heavy tools and digging rock beneath the scorching heat and poisonous fumes of the mines.
He stopped before us, staring at the ground, then lifted his head with timid curiosity.
"Look," I said softly, so only he could hear, as I picked up a smooth, solid stone. "This is no ordinary rock. What you place here today will be the foundation of something that will never fall."
The boy looked at the stone, then at our hands wrapped around his, and for the first time since we had met him, a shy smile appeared at the corner of his mouth.
Together, we set the stone into the chosen spot, pressing it gently until it sat firm and steady in the earth.
"Done," he said, his voice growing a little stronger, gazing at the stone as if already seeing all that would be built upon it.
And so was born the village of Orin—a name that, in the ancient records of his people, carried a simple yet powerful meaning:
Hope.
In the weeks that followed, as we waited for any sign of Tsukumo's next move, the hidden mountain slopes transformed into an unlikely refuge, brimming with new life.
Village Orin soon held dozens of simple but sturdy structures, raised by the hands of the villagers themselves.
There were rustic wooden huts with roofs woven from thick leaves to keep out rain and wind; greenhouses covered in heavy vines to hold in warmth and allow crops to grow even through the cold; and large circular hearths of stone at the center of the settlement, kept burning day and night to warm the wounded and ward off wild beasts.
Using precise, concentrated gusts of wind, I carved deep, smooth channels into solid rock, creating irrigation paths that ran neatly down the slopes. The water from the natural springs flowed freely through them, feeding the soil and keeping the earth moist.
Orin was no longer just a temporary camp for refugees—it was slowly becoming a true home.
The village of Orin was breathing.
As the settlement grew, roles and responsibilities settled naturally, without need for orders or forced laws.
Arthur—usually the most distant, reserved, and quiet among us—took charge of Orin's protection and security.
Beside the small, makeshift forge, where the one-armed old blacksmith helped him shape knives, spears, and reinforced wooden staffs, Arthur began teaching the new arrivals how to defend themselves and fight with purpose.
One morning, I watched from a distance as he led a training session.
He handed a rough, unfinished iron sword to a thin young man whose hands shook and whose eyes were wide with fear.
"Do not hold the blade as if it is something foreign or worthless," Arthur said, his voice carrying to every ear. "Feel its weight. Understand its balance."
He looked directly into the faces of the refugees gathered around.
"When you raise your weapon to fight, know and fully accept that on the other side, someone may not rise again. Do not fight only out of desperation—fight because you have chosen what you stand for."
That same night, after everything we had lived through and all the events that had reshaped the path of Ruitan, I paused to take in all that surrounded me.
The light from the hearths cast a warm golden glow, making the shadows of the dozens of newly built huts and tents dance across the slopes.
Further on, near the small forge, the faint reddish gleam of freshly forged steel slowly faded as blades and tools cooled inside large barrels of water, sending up a steady, comforting hiss of steam.
I breathed in deeply, filling my lungs completely—and for the first time in a long while, there was no burning sensation, no metallic aftertaste.
The air was pure, fresh, and light; with every breath, it felt as if it was renewing every tired part of my body.
I closed my eyes for a moment, listening only to the soft crackle of burning wood and the gentle sound of wind brushing through the stones and trees of the mountains.
"Perhaps hope truly needed this…" I whispered to myself, my voice low, as if sharing a thought still taking shape. "A quiet, safe place to rest and settle, before we can walk forward again."
I lowered my gaze to the solid earth beneath my feet, and suddenly a memory rose clear in my mind: my last meditation, when I had tried to understand and master the power of the earth.
"Why not try again?"
The question turned into determination.
Without making a sound, I leaped lightly into the air and began to fly, putting distance between myself and the village.
I headed toward a cluster of barren, lifeless mountains—rocky, desolate, and far enough away that any mistake or uncontrolled surge of power would never endanger the people living below.
Still in flight, before my feet even touched the ground, I focused my energy and activated the Earth Transformation.
I felt the connection form—a silent current flowing through my entire body, marked by glowing green lines spreading across my skin.
I descended smoothly, gliding over loose gravel and stone, as if the earth itself welcomed me without resistance.
"Here we go…" I murmured, calm and confident.
I settled in the center of that rocky clearing, crossed my legs, and straightened my spine, seeking the inner peace and balance I needed.
Closing my eyes, I set aside all weariness and the worries of the day, and poured all my focus into the strength that lay within the land—and into the life that dwelled deep beneath its surface.