The stone itself seemed to shudder, like it feared what was coming.
Beyth, once the tyrant of the hall, now stood silently behind the towering wooden being—Peyndral, the Nature Lord Spirit, the true master of this place.
His presence alone warped the air. The walls groaned. Roots crawled like serpents across the floor, lashing out with killing intent.
Sylen's Twilight team fought back desperately, their formation breaking apart with each strike.
They were being crushed.
Peyndral hadn't moved a single step—his vines were enough to toy with them all.
High above, a lone figure crouched near the shattered rafters. His crimson eyes gleamed behind a shadowed mask.
Evan Windstone.
He'd been waiting, watching.
And now, Arven's voice echoed in his mind.
"Alright, kid… It's your turn. Time to drop."
Evan's grin widened beneath the mask. "Heh. Let's make an entrance then."
He hadn't come all this way to hesitate now.
A streak of black light tore through the air.
/BOOOOM!/
A shockwave split the hall as a crater exploded between Peyndral and Beyth. Dust, rock, and mana rippled outward. The entire castle seemed to gasp.
When the haze cleared, a cloaked figure stood at the center, blade resting loosely at his side, cloak fluttering in the hot air.
A human.
Peyndral tilted his wooden head, confused that something had managed to fall right beside him without his senses noticing.
Beyth growled and raised his arm, ready to crush the intruder.
But Peyndral's branch extended slightly.
"Stop."
His voice rumbled like roots grinding through stone.
He studied Evan, curious.
"To appear before me unnoticed… impressive. But bravery without sense is still foolishness, human."
Evan's lips curved.
"We'll see who's foolish in a few minutes, tree."
The insult hit harder than a blade. Even Sylen froze.
From the back, Sylen whispered to his team, "That voice… who is he?"
He couldn't recognise the masked stranger, but he saw an opportunity.
"Everyone… move quietly. Retreat now. Don't make a sound. Leave the forest if you want to live."
Hope flickered in their eyes. They began backing away, inch by inch.
Sylen prayed they could escape before the storm broke loose.
But peace never lasts.
Peyndral's tone darkened.
"To mock me, a Lord of Nature… very well. Beyth—kill him. Don't leave a trace."
The Lycan's claws flared with mana.
"You shouldn't have angered him, human."
He swung. A brutal downward slash that could split boulders.
But the impact never came.
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. Then Beyth froze mid-swing, confusion flashing across his beastly eyes.
He looked down.
His arm—gone.
Blood sprayed across the cracked stone.
"A-Aaaaaahhhhhh!!!"
His scream echoed through the entire castle. Even Peyndral's expression stiffened.
The Twilight team watched in shock as the mighty Lycan, who had nearly destroyed them moments ago, now knelt on one knee, clutching his bleeding stump.
Evan lowered his blade—Crimson Edge—and turned his masked face toward Peyndral.
"You were right about one thing, tree. This fool really was childish—too stupid to know who he was facing. But don't worry…"
"You'll learn soon enough, too."
A thin red line appeared across Beyth's throat.
Silence followed.
Then—/shnk/—his head slid cleanly off his neck.
Gasps filled the hall.
Even Sylen, who once called himself the strongest adventurer of the Expanse, felt his body tremble.
The man he couldn't defeat with his entire squad had just been erased in two swings.
He doubted everything—including his own worth.
Peyndral's vines shuddered, glowing with rage.
"You dare kill my successor… in my presence?"
His roar shook the hall.
Roots burst from the walls. The ceiling groaned. The floor cracked open as his aura surged like a tidal wave.
Every living being in the hall dropped to their knees.
Only one man stood firm amid the storm.
The masked human.
"You've crossed the line, human! Haaaaaaa!"
The battle of Lords was about to begin.
The air turned heavy.
Those who tried to crawl away found their bodies pinned to the floor as Peyndral's aura exploded through the castle like a mountain falling from the sky.
Bones creaked. Blood splattered.
Screams filled the hall.
The weaker ones dropped first—unconscious, mouths foaming red.
Even the veterans coughed blood as the sheer weight of pressure shredded their insides.
Sylen gritted his teeth. So this is the Lord's full power…
He'd thought Peyndral was holding back earlier, but this… this was suffocation turned divine.
"Damn it… instead of crushing that masked man, he's killing us with him!"
He tried to push back with his mana, but it was pointless. His strength wasn't even a spark compared to this storm.
And deep down, he knew the truth.
He wasn't special. He had never been.
Just a test subject—a flawed prototype before his "brothers" were perfected.
They had talent. They had power.
He had neither.
The thought stabbed deeper than Peyndral's aura.
"If I had even half of what they did… I wouldn't be crawling here like some joke of an adventurer…"
His despair only deepened as vines cracked through the stone walls, circling the masked human standing defiantly in the center.
Peyndral's wooden body creaked as his fury peaked.
"No one leaves this place alive. I swear upon my title as a Lord—this castle shall become your grave!"
A forest of vines erupted from the ground, screaming like serpents as they coiled toward Evan from every direction.
But the masked man didn't flinch.
"You sure you can even touch the edge of my cloak?" he said calmly.
Peyndral paused for half a heartbeat—confused by the man's lack of fear.
"Arrogance until the end, human! Then die!"
The vines struck all at once, collapsing into a massive cage that swallowed Evan whole.
The impact shook the castle.
Dust and debris rained from above.
Satisfied, Peyndral turned his attention toward the surviving humans.
"You dare flee in my sight? You will share his fate!"
His vines slithered back toward the cowering team—until a voice echoed from within the cage.
"Hoh… you stole my line."
Peyndral froze.
"No one leaves this place. That's what I said."
A spark of crimson light flickered from inside the vines.
Then came the roar of flame.
/FWOOOOOSH/
Fire erupted in every direction—burning vines, shattering stone.
But Peyndral didn't panic. His vines had resisted every flame in the Expanse for decades.
Until now.
The heat kept rising—red to gold, gold to white.
And then, the fire turned ashen grey—cold, devouring, unnatural.
"What… is this flame…?" Peyndral muttered as a chill rippled through his core.
Before he could react, dozens of slashes flashed through the inferno.
One heartbeat later, his vines were gone—burned and sliced to ashes.
From within the storm of fire, a figure emerged.
Evan stepped forward, cloak singed, blade blazing with a devouring grey flame that consumed even light itself.
"Now tell me," he said, his voice calm and cold,
"Are you still confident you can win? Your little wolf's already dead. You're next—but not yet. Before that, I've got something else to take care of first."
He walked right past Peyndral.
Didn't even glance at him.
The Nature Lord froze—not out of fear, but disbelief. The arrogance was unreal.
Even Sylen's battered team gawked as the masked human descended toward them like a phantom of death.
The first person in his path was the same swordsman who had fought him that day, the day the mockery began—barely breathing, eyes glazed, blood streaming from his mouth and ears.
Evan stopped beside him.
He looked down at the broken team lying across the floor.
To them, his arrival felt like salvation.
A human—one of their own—who stood unshaken before a Lord.
Hope sparked in their dying hearts.
But none of them knew the truth.
This wasn't a saviour.
This was something else entirely—something colder, darker, and far beyond human reason.
Would he save them?
Or erase everything left breathing inside this cursed hall?
The answer was hidden behind that mask.
And soon, the entire castle would learn it.
To Be Continued…
As flames devoured the hall and a Lord trembled before a human, one truth remained—Evan Windstone had finally descended.
Deliverance or destruction… the next breath would decide.
Add to library and await till the next descent—Chapter 180: "The Nature Lord vs The Necrotic Armiger."