Chapter 289: The Night Silver City Cried [Part-2]
The Night Silver City Cried [Part-2]
He clenched his eyes tighter, jaw set.
"Damn it... Don’t lecture me, System. I know. I fucking know. But if I let someone die right now... that’ll kill me too."
[You need to calm down, Host.]
He didn’t answer. Just breathed. One second. Two.
[You still have an option.]
A slow exhale left his lips, shaky but grounding him. "...How? What is it? Tell me."
[Host, use the Earth Grimoire. Create an earth armor shell around your body—then layer a thin coating of water inside it. You’ll be able to enter the fire safely and rescue them.]
He didn’t move at first. Just... blinked. Then a heartbeat passed.
"...You’re a genius," he breathed, and the fire in his eyes reignited. "Alright. Let’s do this."
Leon sucked in a long breath. The smoke burned like poison, thick and heavy with ash. But he shoved it aside—cut through it with focus like a blade.
He raised both hands. And spell the earth spell: [Stone Shell – Terra Armour!]
The ground responded like it knew his desperation. Stone surged up around him, wrapping his frame like it had a will of its own. Hard. Jagged. Rough. Alive.
It crawled over his chest, arms, down his legs—locking him in a shell of earth from shoulder to boot. Only his golden eyes remained bare, glowing from within the cracks like something divine—no, something dangerous.
Then, under his breath— [Water Veil – Inner Flow.]
It came soft, unseen. A thin, living film against his skin. Cool. Wet. It slid between the armor and his body like breath before a scream. A quiet defense against the inferno waiting to eat him alive.
And just like that—he stopped being a man.
Now... he was a force. A thing the world had spat out of its bones and rivers. Armor of stone, soul of water. A walking myth.
From the edge of the street, panicked voices broke through the chaos.
"W-What is that?!"
"What the hell—our Duke turned into a rock monster?!"
"Is that really him?! Is that really the Duke?!"
He didn’t turn. Didn’t blink. Their fear didn’t reach him. The only thing ahead of him... was fire.
The ground hissed under his feet as he stepped forward, heat clawing at him with invisible fingers. But it couldn’t touch him. The flames writhed and snapped, licking the stone—but his armor didn’t flinch.
It wasn’t mercy. It wasn’t safety. The fire still screamed. Still devoured. Still burned like hell made real.
Smoke clawed down his throat. The heat punched with every step. Inside the house, the world was a grave.
Walls sagged under the weight of flames. Furniture caved and crumbled into soot. Above, the ceiling writhed—snakes of fire slithering over the beams, ready to come down and kill whoever was left.
Then—he saw her.
Far back. Curled under a half-broken beam. A woman, small and shaking, her skin smeared with soot and hair clumped with smoke. Arms wrapped tight around something... no—someone. A child. Her child.
She was crying. Trembling. Eyes swollen red from smoke. And when she looked at him—
She screamed.
"Who... who are you?"
"PLEASE STAY AWAY!" Her voice shattered in panic. "MONSTER! PLEASE DON’T—!"
He froze.
Then—quiet. Gentle.
"I’m not a monster," he said, voice low. Steady.
"I’m Duke Leon."
The woman stiffened. Her breath stopped. Eyes wide. Disbelieving.
"D-Duke...?"
"There’s no time to explain."
No more waiting. He moved. Stepped in and scooped her up. She didn’t let go of the child, not even for a second. Her arms locked in place, terrified. Protective.
Leon held them both carefully—one arm strong under their weight, the other casting a fresh spell to shield them. A soft shimmer of magic wrapped around them as the flames roared louder.
He dodged a half-burned cabinet, ducked low under a falling beam—
Then the path ahead exploded—
A massive burning support crashed straight down.
He didn’t pause. Didn’t even blink.
He twisted, shoulder-first, slipping through the narrow opening as the fire bit at his heels.
And then—
CRASH!
Something huge—half the ceiling—ripped free and came down like a hammer.
Leon shifted, teeth gritting. One arm curled tighter around the woman and child.
His free hand snapped forward—stone-coated fist slamming through the burning timber.
BOOM!
The pillar shattered. Wood flew in chunks. Flames scattered.
The way cleared.
And then—they were out.
He emerged from the blaze like a beast from legend, smoke rising off his back, golden eyes still glowing. A woman and child clutched in his arms.
Behind him—the house collapsed. Screaming timber, billowing fire, ash curling up to the black sky.
The crowd stood silent. Breath caught.
He lowered them gently to the ground. Careful.
Then let go.
A slow breath. A whisper of magic breaking.
The stone shell cracked—then crumbled. Dust fell from his skin in flakes. His shirt clung to him, damp with sweat and smoke, torn from strain—but his eyes... they didn’t waver.
"You’re safe now," he said.
The woman dropped to her knees, arms wrapped tight around the child. Her body shook. Tears came in torrents.
"You... thank you... thank you..." she kept whispering, like she wasn’t sure this was real. Like it might vanish.
The child buried its face in her shoulder. Still silent. But alive.
Leon turned, sharp and clear.
"To the safe zone. Get them there. Now."
"Yes, my Lord!"
The soldiers didn’t hesitate. They moved fast, guiding the survivors away from the burning wreckage.
Leon stood still a moment. His eyes drifted to the skyline.
Fires still burned. Whole blocks. Screams echoed in the distance. Somewhere, more people were trapped. Paralyzed. Waiting to die.
"I need to find them," he murmured. His jaw tightened. Muscles tensed. He took a step.
Then—
FWIP.
A chill. Cold and wrong. It brushed the back of his neck like death leaning in to whisper.
He turned. Instinct kicked in.
A blade hissed past his throat—SLASH!
Too close.
He dropped low, body moving on muscle memory, and looked up fast.
A figure. Cloaked in black. Sword drawn. Eyes dead and full of murder.
"You," Leon growled, voice like a blade unsheathed. "You’re one of them...!"
The man didn’t speak.
Just lunged.
Blade aimed straight for his chest.
Leon blocked it with his forearm. No armor. No hesitation. Just raw power.
Steel met skin—clang rang out.
He twisted, grabbing the sword, yanking it aside hard. The assassin gasped, stumbling.
Leon’s fist cocked back—and slammed forward.
CRACK.
Skull met knuckles. Bone gave way.
The man crumpled. Blood painted the ground.
A few thick drops smeared across Leon’s chest. He didn’t even blink.
He wiped his hand on the corpse’s cloak. Turned his head.
"One more rat down," he muttered, scanning the streets. "How many more?"
The area was already shifting. Guards were clearing civilians fast. The safe zones were holding.
Leon straightened, turning toward the fires deeper in the city. His mind locked on the next rescue.
But then— A voice.
Cold. Cruel. Dripping with mockery.
"Well, well... leaving so soon, Leon the war hero? When the party’s just getting started?"
Leon spun.
Five of them. Walking out from smoke and flame. All dressed in black. Shadows cloaking their faces. But their presence—undeniable.
He felt it. In his chest. In his bones.
"Grandmaster realm..." he muttered. "And one of them... damn near Monarch..."
They didn’t have to speak. He knew.
Their power pressed against him like a weight. Thick. Toxic. Heavy enough to choke.
The one in front laughed, low and cruel.
"You recognize our strength. Good."
Leon’s hands curled into fists. His teeth grit.
Leon’s jaw locked, his teeth grinding. "Who the hell are you?" His voice cracked like thunder. "Why the fuck are you burning my city and butchering innocent people?!"
The one in front just laughed—low, cruel, condescending. "Strong. Sharp. But damn, you talk like a fool."
Leon’s eyes narrowed, golden irises flashing like molten steel. His heartbeat didn’t skip. But his fury—God, it swelled hot and thick in his chest.
The man kept going, his voice cold as a corpse, soaked in poison. "We’re not here for them. The peasants mean nothing. You’re the one we came for."
Leon’s fists curled tight at his sides, veins tightening across his arms. His gaze cut like a blade, pupils sharp beneath the glow. "Me?" he muttered, stepping forward, jaw tightening until it ached. "Why?" Another step. "Who sent you?"
From behind the smoke, another voice—darker, rougher, coated in shadow and death—chuckled.
"Oh, Leon..." That mocking tone slid across the air like a knife. "Save your breath. You’re dying tonight. That’s all that matters. And when your body burns, the truth dies with you. You want answers? Find them in hell."
All five of them moved as one—synchronized, silent, like they’d rehearsed this in blood. Hands slid to hilts. Swords hissed in the firelight. The one on the left leaned forward, grinning through the dark.
"No more speeches. Let’s see if the great Duke bleeds like the rest of us."
Leon didn’t blink. Didn’t step back. The glow in his eyes changed—burning now. Not golden. Not soft. But raw. Violent. A warning.
"You want dance in blood?" His voice dropped. Lower. Sharper. "Fine."
In one motion, he reached inside his storage ring—fingers sure, movement fluid, like muscle memory. The broadsword came out with a hiss of steel—silver, polished, ancient. It caught the firelight like a mirror of starlight dipped in war.
"Then I’ll dance in blood too." His tone didn’t rise. It didn’t have to. "Fine by me."
His body shifted—sliding into stance like water finding shape. His breath slowed. His fingers wrapped tight. The blade hummed, alive now with surging energy. A low vibration that kissed the air like thunder waiting to fall.
He whispered it. The old name. The technique passed down like a secret you weren’t supposed to speak aloud.
"Falling Petal Dance Art." Calm. Steady. Lethal.
"Let’s see how long you last."
They struck first. No signal. No sound. Just movement—shadows cutting forward like wolves in the dark.
But Leon... He was already moving.
He slipped between them like wind slipping through branches—silent, fluid, fast. His blade flickered once—then again. And the world snapped.
Sparks flared. Steel collided with steel. The sound cracked through the night like a scream. Blades ground against each other. Pressure built. Rage bled into motion.
Fire roared around them, the flames dancing higher like spirits watching from the edges.
It wasn’t just a fight.
It was war. Survival. Fury shaped into swordplay.
And blood began to mark the stones beneath their feet.
The night hadn’t ended. No.
The night was just starting to burn.