Cold flames roared in an arc, swallowing the battlefield whole—until a blade punched through. The Godskin Apostle jerked its leg back. Clang. The Dark Moon Greatsword bit into stone.
The furnace-hardened ground spat sparks as the sword rebounded, spinning midair. The Apostle tracked its rotation—then a shadow crashed into its vision. Throne came wreathed in black fire, a hell-demon given form. He moved like the flames weren't there, snatching the tumbling greatsword's hilt mid-spin.
"No effect...?"
The Apostle barely raised its blade in time. Crash. Throne's two-handed slash drove its knee into the dirt. Steel shrieked against steel. Forced down, the Apostle looked up—and saw the agony in Throne's eyes. The realization hit like a second blade.
"Not immune. Just enduring."
That truth cut deeper than the flames' failure. Pain could be weathered. But black fire didn't burn flesh—it devoured souls. Gods or mortals, their bodies might show no mark, yet they'd drop dead when the last ember of their spirit guttered out.
Flesh mended. Bodies regrew. A scorched soul couldn't even return to the Erdtree. The Apostle was right—Throne had no resistance. The flames were eating him alive, pain beyond words driving him toward the edge.
But this soul wasn't like the Apostle's other prey. It had gorged on dragons, serpents, demigods, Great Runes, legions of the slain.
"Your flickering flame thinks it can burn all that away?"
If he was slipping into madness, he'd dive in headfirst.
He released the sword, slapped its hilt—using their locked blades as a pivot to send the greatsword whirling. Thwack. Steel sheared across the Apostle's chest, painting the air red. Physical pain shocked it alert. Its body stretched unnaturally, looming meters over Throne as it gripped its sword two-handed.
Black Flame Dance.
The blade became a blur. Under the stars, inky afterimages wove a chaotic web—a child's scribble made lethal, closing around Throne.
"Burn it all? Kill you? Please. You're no walking Erdtree!" the Apostle roared.
Only the Erdtree laughed at black flames. Countless souls returned to its roots; even Destined Death was but a spark against its bark. The inferno thickened, swallowing Throne whole—until a wan moonlight pierced the dark.
A Dark Moon, small—two meters wide, pitiful next to Ranni's—burst among the flames. Frost flash-froze fire and air alike, suspending blackened crystals in midair. Ice encased half the Apostle's body before it shattered free.
It tried to retreat. An iron hand seized its greatsword, black fire be damned. Then a face emerged from the conflagration.
"Had... your fill?"
In centuries of hunting, none had reached into the flames. Its pupils shrank to pinpricks.
Before it could recover, a tremendous force dragged it over, and an iron fist filled its vision. BANG. A pale shockwave rippled across its face, force traveling skull to soles as it hurtled backward. Throne yanked it back by the sword before it could fly far—meeting its return with a knee to the teeth.
Even with the protection of the black flames, the force still penetrated to the bone. The Godskin Apostle's eyes bulged, and when it was pulled down for the third time, it finally twisted its right hand. The spiraling greatsword cut, instantly covering Throne's hand in blood, but he ignored the piercing blade and simply grabbed the back of the Godskin Apostle's neck.
Pfft—bang!!
The muffled sound of the breastplate being pierced and the crisp sound of the knee shattering the sternum came one after another. Throne was run through, but the physical pain had long been suppressed by the burning of his soul, becoming weak enough to be ignored.
"That's right. Tearing my flesh and destroying me in a physical sense is the right way to go. What took you so long?"
Throne grinned, blood staining his pale teeth. A reminder was a reminder, but trying to pull out the sword to slash was now a luxury. There was no need for judgment or technique. A raised knee slammed into the Godskin Apostle's chin, and the head that had been raised was hammered down again.
When he collapsed to the ground and saw the raised iron boot stomping down, he hurriedly let go of the hilt and rolled to the side. Bang—the iron boot kicked up a cloud of dust. Throne didn't even look at the greatsword still sticking out of his chest; he lunged forward, with only killing intent remaining in his mind. Tear you apart! Dismantle you!
Throne didn't have that kind of profound soul attack, but his speed was fast, and his fists were heavy. In a few steps, he caught up to the Godskin Apostle, meeting the black flame blade the latter had condensed. He ducked to dodge, grabbed the sweeping blade, and crushed it with his palm.
The Godskin Apostle had to retreat, but noticing the sea of clouds on one side and the great cauldron on the other, it simply gritted its teeth. Your soul is resistant to burning, is it? Then try the ash-destroying flames at the bottom of the furnace. Facing the lunging Throne, its entire body elongated and rolled.
Its legs seemed to turn into noodles, wrapping around Throne's waist, intending to throw him into the furnace, but—it couldn't budge him! It felt like it was wrapping around a mountain; it couldn't lift him at all. Grabbing the edge of the fireplace with both hands, just as it prepared to exert more force, it saw Throne, who was also locked in the struggle, raise his hand.
"Do you really think I've lost my mind from being burned by you?"
The Dark Moon Greatsword, pulled by gravity, cleaved down overhead. Watching the blade enlarge in its vision, it contracted its body like a turtle, hearing a crisp 'clang' above its head.
The final blow!
Like a stretched rubber band contracting, it wanted to use both hands to slap him into the bottom of the furnace, but at that moment, a familiar object appeared in its field of vision. Accompanied by a spray of blood, the greatsword stuck in his chest was pulled out by Throne using gravity, flipped around, and aimed directly at itself as it flew over!
No—Throne didn't need to exert any force at all; the Godskin Apostle had actively sent the greatsword into its own chest, then displayed the correct posture of being burned by black flames. Its body stiffened, its soul solidified, and it instantly lost all ability to act. The black flames spreading from the wound were far more intense than the wound pierced by the greatsword.
Taking one look, Throne leaned back, pressed his palm against the ground, twisted his waist and abdomen, and whipped his leg out like a lash, kicking the Godskin Apostle in the side of the face and sending it tumbling into the furnace.
"Become firewood for me!"
Throne had always been one to hold a grudge. Burning him pitch-black and turning Melina into firewood—did they really think they'd be left with a corpse?! Its soul was burned by the black flames, and its body rolled down the side of the furnace. When it touched the crimson residue at the bottom, before it could curse or even scream, it was instantly ignited.
It was like throwing a person into molten steel; the crimson flames flared for a moment, and then, a near-demigod Godskin Apostle didn't even leave a trace, vanishing instantly into thin air. Whoosh—Throne lay by the furnace, watching the flames brighten for a moment and then rapidly dim, immediately knowing that whatever was inside the furnace could not be touched physically.
"It can even burn divinity; no wonder it can ignite the Erdtree, and no wonder Marika went to such great lengths to create Melina. Only she can draw out the fire within the furnace."
His mind was muddled; the combination of physical pain and soul weakness made him feel incredibly uncomfortable.
After a moment, he braced himself with the Godslayers Greatsword and slowly stood up, struggling to straighten his back. The matter wasn't over yet. Melina was suspended in mid-air, her eyes wide, watching the man walk over unsteadily. Behind him were the furious roars of the Fire Giant and the barely perceptible black flames of two Godskins. She couldn't move either, just watching like this.
Her mind was in chaos, unable to even see the magnificent scene before her. The light of the flames and the Erdtree, which seemed to be right before them, illuminated the man's figure, adding a few glimmers of brilliance to his weary steps.
When he drew the Dark Moon Greatsword and, using both swords as crutches, walked slowly and steadily to Melina, the girl finally blinked and shed a crystal-clear tear.
"Why... why?"
The black embers were rapidly extinguishing. Throne looked down at the girl and shook his head gently, "I said it before, no one can distort your will. Let alone a few Godskins, even if the Greater Will came in person, I would still send It to take a bath at the bottom of the furnace."
His brain slowly regained clarity. Throne didn't know how much energy he had lost to the black flames, and the greedy great serpent had fallen silent, but since he had come, he would no longer count the cost.
He reached out, wiped away Melina's tears, and then raised his sword, shattering the golden arc.
"I'm here, why are you still crying."
"I, I'm not."
Melina wiped her face, and then didn't know what to say. A myriad of words accumulated in her heart; gratitude, attachment, and shame were all mixed together. The emotions were too much, exceeding the processing limit of her brain, causing Melina to instantly freeze up.
Hey, I finally managed to play the hero saving the damsel, why are you standing there like a block of wood again? Throne's expression gradually became helpless, with a hint of intense self-mockery. This piece of wood hadn't even been singed, while he himself was almost burned to a crisp. Fortunately, he knew that this piece of wood would freeze up when her emotions were too intense.
"Not even a thank you?"
Melina woke up from her daze. Her blank face finally gained some emotion, and she gripped the corner of her clothes.
"That you could come, I, I'm very happy."
It was more than just happy; she was so happy she was about to faint, she just didn't know how to express this feeling.
"You're so badly hurt, those black flames must have damaged your soul, and..."
Before she could finish, her mouth was covered by Throne, "These costs are nothing, but Melina, can you continue to trust me?"
Right by the furnace, the end of Melina's journey, the girl who had recovered her memories hesitated for a moment, naturally knowing what Throne was talking about.
She stared at the furnace before her, the weight of her mission pressing against her chest like a stone. Memories flooded her mind, swirling until they crystallized into a single, searing image: a man wreathed in flames, trudging toward her with slow, deliberate steps.
Throne wasn't here for idle chatter. This battle, this immense cost, had carved out a rare moment of freedom for her to choose. Even the Melina he had first met would have faltered.
"My promise is fulfilled. Now, the choice is yours."
Throne released her and took half a step back, his gaze drifting down the mountain as if it were no concern of his. The Godskin had vanished, and the furious Fire Giant glared at him, its eyes daring him to descend. Throne ignored the challenge, refusing to tally the gains and losses.
The toll had been steep—enough to leave him coughing blood. Yet he stood there, letting the frigid mountain wind whip around him, his eyes fixed on the girl's back. This was the culmination of Melina's journey, the purpose of her existence. Matters of value and meaning defied logic and lay beyond the reach of interference.
Melina was no puppet. If he manipulated her fate, how would he differ from Marika?
If she chose to embrace her mission, Throne might feel disappointment, but he would honor her decision. Let me see, he thought, how much weight the blood I've shed and the soul I've burned for you truly carries.
He watched her, motionless, his mind blank. Time stretched endlessly until Melina, who had stood as still as a statue, finally stirred.
Without hesitation, she rose on her toes and lunged at him before he could react. Her arms wrapped around his waist, her face buried in his chest.
"Throne, I trust you!"
Her voice held no grand emotion, but for him, those words were enough. He glanced at the furnace, then at the distant Erdtree.
For those words, how many roads had he walked? How many lives had he ended? Yet he felt no elation, no surprise—only a quiet satisfaction, as if this outcome had always been inevitable. Melina had chosen freely, uncoerced and untwisted—or rather, those who would have twisted her had already been erased by him.
"From today, you're free."
Throne's hands settled on her shoulders, his gaze solemn. Free? The word felt foreign to Melina. Unlike Ranni, who chased freedom, she had never considered it. Her life had been defined by her mission, and now that mission was gone.
For a moment, she felt hollow, as if the force that had driven her forward had vanished. The path ahead seemed to dissolve into nothingness.
"Feel like there's no road ahead?" Throne asked.
"No," she murmured. "I just feel like I've lost my purpose. I don't know what to do."
"Then stay close to me. There's plenty for you to do."
"Trying to boss me around again?"
Melina frowned, then softened.
"Fine, I'll keep cooperating with you. At least I've been satisfied with this deal so far."
She didn't elaborate on the terms, but as long as she followed Throne, she would find her reason.
"I risked my life to save you, and you dare to complain?"
"I didn't ask you to come. Sometimes you call me stupid, but you're much stupider than me."
Her words sent Throne's blood pressure soaring. He reached out and knocked her lightly on the head.
"Ouch! What was that for?"
She crouched, clutching her skull, her earlier guilt and confusion forgotten. With gritted teeth, she lunged at him.
Throne leaned in, his breath hot against her ear.
"Don't rush. Now's not the time for games."
That damn trick again. The Fire Giant's furious roar echoed in the distance. Melina's jaw clenched so tight her teeth ached, but she had no comeback. She turned away, arms crossed.
There—the usual Melina. Throne exhaled, shoulders loosening.
He was a bit afraid that his actions might cause Melina to harbor resentment. Walking on eggshells around her would only make things worse. Better to stay sharp, stay himself.