CHAPTER 270: OUR SALVATION

On the horizon, Colossith’s immense form towered, so vast that even the lords and Vesha could discern its outline with mortal eyes. Its sheer presence pressed against the air like a living mountain.

"Doesn’t matter how many times I see it, it always sends a chill down my spine," Orven Draven murmured, his hand instinctively resting on his daughter’s shoulder. Beads of cold sweat traced rivulets down his forehead, his body tense with instinctive dread.

A heartbeat later, another figure emerged beside the beast. Humanoid at first, it swelled with alarming speed, fur bristling across a body that sprouted six powerful arms. In moments, it rivaled Colossith’s massive bulk. Liora, in her Titan Ape form, unleashed a roar that seemed to split the sky itself.

The sound thundered across the plains, carrying all the weight of dominance, yet curiously, the people on the walls felt not fear, but a surge of hope. Expectation ignited within their hearts—they knew this figure well. Liora Virell, the kingdom’s unyielding protector, was ready for battle.

"First impact is about to hit," Malrik warned the mortals beside him, his eyes locked on the two titans as they closed the final distance with earth-shaking inevitability.

BOOM!

The ground shuddered beneath the distant collision, sending rolling vibrations through the vine-choked plains. Dust and debris rose in clouds, carried by the shockwave, brushing the city walls with a whisper of danger. Malrik’s expression, tense moments before, relaxed slightly.

The clash of the Rank 4 Spark, though titanic, did not possess enough force to threaten the city—at least, not yet.

But Malrik knew caution better than hope.

Liora pulled back one massive fist, the surface of her arm catching the light with a metallic gleam, and smashed it into Colossith’s thick, dark-brown skull. The resulting shockwave tore outward, scattering grit and dust toward the city, ruffling banners and whipping the king’s crimson cloak into a frenzy.

"Lord Malrik, are we truly safe here?" King Vale called, raising his arms instinctively to shield himself from the gust. The sheer force rattled the stone beneath his feet.

Malrik’s gaze swept past the wave of air, unflinching. "Begin the evacuation. Move every citizen to the far side of the city. Now." His voice cut through the roar of the furious wind like a blade.

He was certain that Liora had not yet unleashed her full power. When she did, the shockwaves would surge beyond comprehension, threatening to engulf the entire city.

"Yes," King Vale said without hesitation, pacing along the ramparts with measured authority. The lords mirrored his movement, their voices cutting across the battlements as orders cascaded down to the streets below.

Armored knights sprinted between carts rattling along the cobblestones, guiding citizens in a chaotic but structured exodus, shepherding them away from the walls and toward safer ground.

But no effort could match the speed of what was coming.

Liora’s second strike had already begun to form. Both fists drew back, swelling with raw power, their surfaces gleaming as if molten metal flowed just beneath her skin. Malrik’s eyes widened. He knew this was no mere blow—its recoil would annihilate everything in its path.

Without hesitation, he summoned his Frost Wyvern. The creature’s massive wings carved through the tense air, leaving a biting chill in their wake. Malrik’s gaze swept across the battlements and the streets below, noting the Lords and even the King moving with precision, knights rushing from one section to another, and citizens evacuating—but then it landed on Vesha. She clung to her father, Orven Draven, both straining to help a family struggling toward a cart.

Time offered no pause. With a single, powerful motion, Malrik leapt from the wall, landing on the Wyvern as it angled downward toward them. His voice rang out, echoing over the clamor of the evacuation and the rising roar of Liora’s power. "Stop everything! Find cover! A shockwave is coming!"

The Wyvern descended in a controlled dive. In a single, fluid motion, Malrik scooped Vesha into one arm and Orven into the other. The two mortals felt impossibly light in his grasp, as if they were nothing more than feathers, yet the family they had been helping had to be left behind—the Wyvern could not carry them all.

With a surge of strength and precision, he vaulted back onto the Wyvern’s back. Its claws raked briefly against the cobblestones, anchoring before the wings unfurled in full, powerful arcs. The wind screamed past, carrying the metallic tang of dust and the faint, acrid scent of upturned earth.

The fake dragon surged skyward, lifting them above the chaos.

BOOM!

Finally, the strike Liora had been preparing reverberated across the land, a thunderous wave surging toward them like a raging tide, tearing through the earth and obliterating everything in its path. Malrik’s gaze fixed on it, wide with dread.

"Ah, Lady Mirela... Why here? Why didn’t you choose somewhere farther?" He muttered, urging his Wyvern higher into the sky. Vesha and Orven were cradled in his arms, held firm as sacks of flour, their faces frozen in shock.

The shockwave quickly reached the city walls, weakened but still devastating.

Even the city’s sturdy walls cracked under the impact. The remaining force spilled into the streets like a tidal wave, hitting civilians who had taken refuge too close to the walls, along with knights, lords, and even King Vale himself, all still exposed as they tried to help those who could not move quickly enough.

Malrik’s face was locked in horror, eyes wide as he watched the chaos unfold below.

The tremors shook the entire city. Windows shattered with a deafening crash, bodies were thrown to the ground by the impact, but the destruction went far deeper.

The vibrations tore at the internal organs of those caught in the wave. Though the strike had not instantly killed everyone, dozens, perhaps hundreds, collapsed, bleeding or losing consciousness where they fell.

"No," Malrik whispered, powerless, his body rigid as he hovered above it all.

He had no defense-type skill capable of halting the shockwave, no healing ability to aid the bloodied mortals. All he could do was watch, and with every second, the weight of helplessness pressed down, not only upon him but also on Vesha and Orven cradled in his arms.

"We’re going down. Evacuate those who can still move," Malrik barked through gritted teeth, his voice strained.

The streets were littered with the wounded, and with no way of knowing when Liora’s next strike would land, the only strategy was to salvage what they could and move quickly.

As he directed his Frost Wyvern to descend, a new wave caught his eye on the horizon.

"So soon?" Malrik’s face paled further at the sight.

The streets were still filled with citizens, many already collapsed, their bodies wracked by the first shockwave—internal organs bruised and battered, blood pooling from noses and mouths. This second wave would have been enough to finish them off, had it struck now.

But as the wave drew closer, something struck him—this was no ordinary attack. Unlike the first, it did not churn dust and debris or smash through the earth. Instead, it advanced like a beam of pure light, flowing in a wave that seemed to breathe life into everything it touched.

As recognition and understanding settled in, a wave of relief washed over Malrik, the tension in his body finally ebbing. He exhaled softly, eyes fixed on the approaching light.

"What... what is that?" Orven asked, his voice trembling, staring at the colossal, strange beam of radiance. It resembled nothing he had ever seen. If he had to compare it to anything, it might be the slow illumination of the earth by the morning sun—but even then, this seemed like a godly wave of light, immense and divine.

"That... is our salvation," Malrik said calmly, his voice steady and reassuring. He continued the Wyvern’s descent, keeping the light in view as it swept over the walls first, then through the streets, touching the wounded and all those affected by the shockwave.

Its divine radiance bathed the city, filling every body it touched with a soothing warmth, a tangible relief that spread even into Malrik’s own chest, calming his racing heart.

"This... this feeling... Lady Mirela?" Vesha gasped, a surge of warmth and uncontainable comfort spreading through her entire body and mind, as if every visible and invisible wound, every trace of pain in her being, was being bathed and cleansed by the sacred light.

"Mirela? No, even Lady Mirela has no power to create something like this," Malrik said with a quiet laugh, unsurprised by her assumption.

The citizens, to varying degrees, knew the practitioners not just by name, but as idols to admire. Their deeds and personalities were woven into daily life, spoken of constantly—sometimes as gossip, often with reverence. Mirela’s renown for her healing made it only natural that the miraculous light be attributed to her first.

Vesha paused at Malrik’s words, her mind racing with a new possibility. A smile slowly began to bloom across her face, radiant and bright as the divine light now spreading over the entire city before her eyes.