Chapter 1613 The Nobles of Flame <TOC> Chapter 1615 Sebastian
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Translator: SumTLMan
Gloria decided to momentarily set aside her contemplations and focus on the match at hand.
After standing up, Trom spat out a mouthful of fresh blood; his face seemed flushed as if steamed by the fire burning in his chest.
“Demon Fire,” Trom, who had spent much of his life in the Abyss, was all too familiar with demonic power. With a scrutinizing gaze, he looked at Azaz across from him, “Why do you wield Demon Fire?”
Azaz spoke softly, “I’m merely borrowing his power for a moment.”
“His? Who do you mean by ‘his’? A demon of the Abyss?”
Faced with Trom’s probing questions, Azaz slightly lowered his head, speaking with a hint of apology: “I have a prior agreement with him; forgive me for not being able to disclose it.”
Since Azaz was unwilling to elaborate, Trom refrained from prying further. After all, now was not the time for interrogations.
Trom lowered his gaze to the injury on his chest, fighting off the intensifying spasms of pain. Taking a deep, steadying breath, he said, “My initial plan was to wield its power when I challenge him. However, it seems now I must take this seriously.”
“… The power of demons is something even I should treat with gravity.”
Upon saying this, Trom underwent a peculiar transformation. His hands metamorphosed into furry moose hooves, his thighs began to thicken, his lower legs, although narrowing, became tauter and stronger, and his feet also turned into hooves gleaming with light.
Once the transformation was complete, an inexplicable cold mist began to envelop Trom, swirling around his hands and feet like a cloak of fog.
Simultaneously, this frigid air slowly crystallized the burning wound on his chest. Since he couldn’t heal it instantly, the best he could do was to temporarily freeze it.
During Trom’s transformation, Azaz did not launch an attack. This slightly improved Trom’s impression of him. However, even if Azaz had struck, Trom was prepared for it.
Due to Azaz’s previously “gentlemanly” conduct, Trom announced before taking action, “I’m coming at you, be prepared.”
No sooner had he spoken than Trom transformed his feet into hooves and powerfully stomped the ground.
A crisp sound manifested at the moment of his exertion. The arena beneath his feet suddenly seemed as though it had frozen over, only for Trom to shatter the ice with his applied force.
Like a cannonball, Trom emitted an immense sonic boom as he charged at Azaz.
It was only after Trom had moved that everyone noticed a large pit in the arena where he had been standing, filled with shattered ice.
Witnessing this, everyone looked on in horror: it turned out the arena beneath Trom’s feet hadn’t just frozen over; he had turned it into ice himself!
Earlier, the pockmarked holes Trom had punched in the arena could be chalked up to his brute strength. But the scene that had just unfolded required at least a third spell for even an adept apprentice of ice magic to barely replicate.
And yet, Trom obviously had not cast any spells; he had simply stomped his leg lightly and transformed the entire arena into ice.
It wasn’t a spell, which indicated that this was Trom’s innate power. It had not been displayed before, so it was undoubtedly the power he wielded in his current “semi-beast” state.
What terrifying icy force could this power originate from? What kind of demonic lineage does he have?
As people speculated, Trom had already entangled with Azaz in combat. One side flashed with dark fire while the other was enveloped in frost mist, accompanied by the occasional earth-shattering roars that reverberated through the heavens, as if embodying A Song of Ice and Fire.
As a gourmet wizard, Azaz had previously strategized to keep his distance when facing those with powerful bloodlines. But after borrowing demonic power, he found that close-range combat actually enhanced his demonic abilities.
However, Azaz had never systematically learned hand-to-hand combat. Faced with Trom’s overwhelming onslaught, he could only manage to hold his own by the skin of his teeth.
In the process of countering the assault, Azaz had to tread carefully. While fending off the attacks from Trom, he had to infuse his defense with demonic power to neutralize the chilling cold that came with Trom’s assault. Otherwise, even the merest brush with that dreadful icy aura could have insidious effects. In fact, Azaz had unintentionally made slight contact with it earlier, and it instantly burrowed into his being like a relentless maggot gnawing at his very marrow.
After grappling for approximately three minutes, Azaz began to feel he was falling behind in keeping pace with Trom’s speed.
Trom’s attacks were growing fiercer and faster. If this continued, Azaz knew he wouldn’t be able to ward off every strike. And once his body was frozen, the outcome would be anyone’s guess.
Azaz started attempting to extricate himself from this agonizing stalemate.
Trom, of course, had noticed this as well but had no intention of letting Azaz escape easily. Instead, he quickened his movements and erected a wall of frosty mist to corner Azaz, leaving him no room for escape.
Seeing this, Azaz clenched his teeth and muttered in his heart, “Sebastian, I need to borrow your strength once more.”
Not long after, a distant voice, as if emanating from the depths of darkness, reverberated in response, “Dear Miloris, of course, as long as your gourmet offerings are satisfactory, I will naturally reciprocate.”
With this reassurance, Azaz felt somewhat relieved. Having gained Sebastian’s assurance, he did not hold back. He drew forth a large portion of the demonic power that had been residing within him.
This demonic energy coalesced into a dark-red orb in his hands.
A horrifying aura immediately emanated in all directions. Even those seated in the spectator stands, outside the protective barrier, felt the shivers from this ominous energy.
Trom, who was closest, felt it the most acutely. As he looked at the dark-red orb in Azaz’s hands, where the demonic power had reached its zenith, a flicker of unease crossed his eyes.
When cracks began to appear on the surface of the dark-red orb, Trom’s unease reached its peak. Without hesitation, he turned and bolted.
In the very instant that Trom turned around, a ferocious explosion rang out, accompanied by an unfathomable darkness, enveloping the arena in a mere blink of an eye.
All that the spectators saw was Trom appearing to be thrust backward as if propelled by some force, the aftermath shrouded in an impenetrable darkness, rendering it invisible to all.
A profound silence settled over the spectator stands. Everyone was utterly astounded by this sudden turn of events, the terrifying aura of raw power still reverberating around them, compelling them to keep their mouths tightly closed, even slowing their breaths.
The entire arena seemed to freeze in that moment. In this haunting silence, even the rustle of fabric from clothing friction could be distinctly heard.
After what felt like an eternity, a piercing voice shattered the stillness.
“Could Trom actually be dead?”
Though posed as a question, the statement carried an inexplicable hint of schadenfreude. People’s heads swiveled toward the source of the voice, only to find a snow raven hovering in mid-air, its eyes filled with delight as it fixated on the arena. The speaker… or rather, the speaking bird — was indeed this raven.
Who was this bird? Did it have a vendetta against Trom? Otherwise, what reason would it have for celebrating?
Similar questions surfaced in everyone’s minds. However, these doubts were fleeting; their main focus remained on the arena. While rumors of love, hatred, and intrigue were certainly tantalizing, they decided to delve into such gossip only after the contest had concluded. For now, the competition held precedence.
Yet, the arena still remained enveloped in darkness, obscuring all visibility within.
What in the world had transpired there?
How was Trom faring?
Chapter 1613 The Nobles of Flame <TOC> Chapter 1615 Sebastian