Translator: CinderTL
Rumble!
The tremors beneath his feet suddenly intensified, no longer the aftershocks of battle, but the deep, agonizing groans of the very foundations of the earth, the city's bedrock.
Roland snapped his head up, his pupils contracting sharply.
The sight before him instantly made him understand what was happening: the magnificent High Tower, the final stage of their duel and the very spine of Demon Capital Gilles, was now emitting a teeth-grinding, agonizing groan.
This wasn't damage from the battle; the entire base was...
sinking!
His vision tilted sharply.
Roland staggered, forcing himself to steady his stance and clinging tightly to the blistering hot stones of the molten edge.
The searing pain in his palm paled in comparison to the shock of the sight before him.
He saw it.
The entire Demon Capital Gilles, this miracle city briefly awakened from its ancient slumber, seemed to be emitting a final, desperate sigh.
The once-grand architectural complexes, now reduced to ruins, were being dragged downward by an invisible giant hand, slowly but inexorably sinking into the earth.
Massive fissures, like ravenous black maws, spread and expanded frantically across streets and squares, devouring the remaining shattered remnants.
A swirling cloud of dust, mixed with the last flickering remnants of magic, surged skyward from the cracks, like the dying breath of the city.
From the tower spire where he stood, he watched it visibly collapse toward the city's center.
The entire structure groaned with the sound of rending stone, like the bones of a dying behemoth crumbling inch by inch.
The ancient, arcane runes etched into the tower's outer walls rapidly dimmed and extinguished, like candles guttering in the wind.
In the distance, the massive silhouettes of palaces, temples, and libraries tilted and collapsed one after another, swallowed by the surging tide of earth and rock.
Giant boulders tumbled from above, crashing into lower structures and triggering chain reactions of collapse, stirring up even greater waves of dust.
The city's horizon was sinking in an irreversible descent.
The air moaned with a low, continuous hum—the sound of the city's structure twisting, of rocks grinding against each other, of space itself buckling under immense pressure.
The sky seemed to darken, not because of clouds, but because the city that had briefly illuminated history was now withdrawing its last light, returning to eternal darkness and oblivion.
"The magic core..."
Roland instantly understood.
In his recent battle with the Lich, he had drained the last vestiges of magic that sustained the Demon Capital Gilles's brief manifestation.
That nearly endless torrent of power had not only threatened to overwhelm his own body but had also depleted the city's lifeblood.
The tower top beneath his feet tilted at an ever-increasing angle, its molten edges crumbling beneath him.
The searing heat had transformed into a howling gale, whipping dust and debris around him and tearing at his body.
"I must escape!"
The instinct for survival overwhelmed his physical exhaustion and the hollow void left by his depleted magic.
Roland struggled to rise, searching desperately for any possible escape route.
Just then, a slender figure caught the corner of his eye.
Vanessa.
The Purple-Haired Witch showed no panic.
She stood on a relatively intact edge of the tower top not far away, the howling wind billowing her voluminous robes and outlining her elegant silhouette.
Her deep violet eyes did not gaze upon the collapsing city but instead fixed on Roland, a smile of inscrutable amusement playing on her lips.
"Mr. Roland."
Her voice cut through the city's lament and the wind's roar with its usual composure and mystery.
"You're... surprisingly interesting," she said.
Her gaze seemed to pierce through Roland's exhausted body, seeing something far deeper.
"Then, I hope you're still this 'interesting' when we meet again."
As she spoke, her figure didn't dart away. Instead, she began to dissolve like purple smoke scattered by the wind, her outline blurring and becoming translucent.
Under Roland's gaze, the witch's form silently faded away, as if she had never truly existed. Only a faint, peculiar fragrance remained, which was instantly swallowed by the dust from the collapsing city.
Seeing this, Roland's heart tightened, but he had no time to ponder her departure or the meaning behind her words.
The remnants of the tower's peak beneath his feet gave a more jarring crack.
His footing was about to completely collapse.
Just as he prepared to leap forcefully toward a larger piece of debris, a faint yet peculiar glint caught his eye at the edge of a crevice in the molten rock.
It was a small, multifaceted object, no larger than a thumb joint, lying quietly among the charred rubble and slag.
It was completely dark, like obsidian, yet faint, abyssal light seemed to swirl within.
Its eight facets were polished to an extraordinary smoothness, exuding an icy, precise texture even amidst the chaos.
"Is this... a die?"
Roland instantly realized.
"It must be something the Lich dropped earlier."
Without hesitation, he reached out with lightning speed and precisely scooped it into his palm.
An icy touch instantly spread through his hand, carrying a faint, chilling aura.
But he didn't examine it closely. He flipped it into the depths of his leather pouch at his waist and prepared to retreat.
However, the moment the die settled into the pouch...
Boom!
With a deafening roar of collapse, the tower top where he stood completely fractured and disintegrated.
Weightlessness seized him, and his body plummeted straight down along with countless massive debris and molten slag.
"Roland!"
"Mr. Roland!"
At the critical moment, two urgent calls came from the edge of the crumbling platform.
Two fair hands simultaneously gripped Roland as he fell from the sky, holding him tightly.
Using the life-saving force, Roland tightened his core and, in the next instant, narrowly leaped onto the platform that had yet to fully collapse.
Seeing the two dust-smudged girls before him, Roland suppressed his racing heart, quickly rose, and urgently waved them to hurry.
"Quick..."
Before the words had fully left his lips, a melodious song suddenly drifted into his ears.
Following the sound, they saw Galvis standing at the edge of the violently shaking platform. Completely disregarding the city collapsing beneath his feet, he gazed at the apocalyptic scene with rapt attention, his fingers gently stroking the strings of his harp, his eyes filled with intoxicated bliss.
The song paused abruptly as the bard spun around.
Those eyes, usually twinkling with a hint of mischief, now blazed with an astonishing intensity, as if they held the last radiance of the entire sinking Demon Capital.
Facing Roland and the two girls, he pressed one hand to his chest and raised the other high, as if saluting this epic final act. His voice rose and fell with the bard's characteristic cadence and passion.
"Behold! The mortal flesh ignites the flames of divine retribution, burning away the skeletal king's eternal obsession!"
"Listen! The Demon Capital's mournful dirge, heralding the final act of the hero's glorious descent!"
"Here, legends are forged! Here, epics reach their end!"
"Gilles will return to eternal slumber, while your name, Mr. Roland, will echo through all nations, carried on the winds of this magnificent end!"
His words, like a clear note cast into a chaotic storm, carried both awe and condemnation, cutting through the apocalyptic backdrop with striking clarity and infectious power.
Yet, clearly, no one had the leisure to appreciate his performance at that moment.
Smack!
Roland, his patience snapped, slapped the bard hard on the back of the head.
If the situation hadn't been so desperate, he would have snapped that damned lyre in half on the spot.
He had even crafted it with his own hands!
"Freddy!" Roland roared, his gaze sweeping over the burly orc standing tense beside them, his body tensed but showing no obvious injuries. "Carry this bastard! Run!"
"Avril, Theresa—follow!"
Before the words had fully left his lips, the group of five shot down the still-partially intact spiral staircase like arrows loosed from a bow, fleeing in a desperate race against time.
As they spotted a gap in the platform's edge, relatively close to the ground below, Roland seized the moment. Taking a deep breath, he surged forward and roared, "Guys! Jump!"
Without hesitation!
The other four dodged the falling debris overhead and followed Roland's leap through the gap!
Thud! Thud! Thud! Thud!
The group landed in a series of heavy impacts, rolling across the ground in a disheveled heap. Though slightly disheveled, they were all unharmed.
Roland quickly scanned the swirling dust and collapsing scene, desperately searching for a path to continue their escape.
Just then, a raspy, gravelly voice, as if squeezed from a rock crevice, cut through the chaos and pierced his ears:
"Kid! Over here!"
(End of the Chapter)
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