"Mr. Koruto, it seems your little pet—Solvarin—has been defeated rather badly." Wilhelm said with a twisted smirk.
Julius remained silent.
Not far from them, the old man, wounded and utterly exhausted, was still walking slowly toward Wilhelm to aid him.
"Mr. Koruto, I know you can feel it too—that all my teammates have been taken down, but so have yours. None of them are in a state to fight anymore. This is now a two versus one, Mr. Koruto. You're at a disadvantage."
"Huh? Two versus one? Open your eyes and look around, Mr. Reign." Julius replied calmly.
"What?"
And then suddenly, the old man felt intense heat on his back.
He turned his head sharply—and froze.
Solvarin was standing again.
Its eyes were hidden beneath the cast of shadows, but its feathers now burned even brighter—glowing with radiant fire, and licking flames trailed from its wings like living lava.
"W-What!? How!? I defeated you!" the old man gasped in disbelief. He clearly remembered crushing the beast earlier—he had poured every ounce of his strength and mana into that victory.
Meanwhile, Julius stood silently... smiling, as if he had expected this all along.
"Sebastian, come here. Take a look at this document. This creature—Solvarin—it's way too overpowered, don't you think?"
"Huh? Hold on, I'm coming."
Julius was reading over game documents in his office when he stumbled upon something interesting. His eyes lit up in shock and fascination.
"Wait... why is this thing so overpowered?" he muttered.
Sebastian flipped through the pages quickly, his expression stiffening.
"So even if we manage to kill it once, it still has an awakening phase?!"
"Yep. And once awakened, anything within a two-meter radius gets melted instantly. Plus... its attacks get amplified a hundred times." Julius explained.
"But at least its defense takes a big hit during that form."
"Yeah... that's the only good part." Julius sighed.
The battlefield was already scorched. Trees lay charred, their skeletal remains crackling under the dying wind. The sun dipped behind the horizon, painting the clouds with orange and crimson—like blood spilled across the heavens.
Above it all, Solvarin hovered—no longer just a majestic firebird. His body radiated like a living inferno, flames licking across his glowing feathers. His wings beat slowly, but each flap melted the nearby earth in a radius of meters. His form shimmered with the golden-red aura of his awakening.
Across from him stood the old man, cloaked in tattered fabric that had partially burned away. His beard was singed, his breathing ragged. Deep cracks marred his wooden staff, and splinters ran along his arms where bark-like armor had once shielded him. But he stood tall, his spine straight. He wasn't going to die on his knees.
A vortex of burning wind spiraled around Solvarin, distorting the air itself. His beak opened, releasing a high-pitched screech that shattered the last standing branches in a hundred-meter radius. Then, without warning, he dove.
The old man slammed his palms into the ground—wood erupted like a cannon, twisting into a spiral shield above him, rooted from the deepest parts of the earth. Solvarin collided with it. The explosion lit the battlefield like a second sun. Shards of burning bark scattered in all directions.
The old man coughed blood and slid backward, using his staff to steady himself.
"You're not natural..." he muttered, and thrust his arm forward.
A wave of thorned wooden spears burst from the ground, rising like serpents beneath Solvarin. But in this state, the bird didn't dodge. He spread his wings wide, and with a sharp flap, a cone of superheated air incinerated the spikes mid-rise, turning them to ash before they reached his talons.
Solvarin let out a guttural cry and reared back.
A column of fire exploded from his throat, a roaring torrent that surged toward the old man like a wrathful river. The old man formed a dome around himself—roots layered over bark, vines twisting into thick braids—but even that wasn't enough.
The flames melted the first three layers within seconds.
Sweat poured from the old man's brow as he thrust his staff upward, pulling every last drop of mana to reinforce his defense. Trees from distant corners responded, rising and sacrificing themselves to form a final shield.
The firestorm hit.
Everything turned white.
The trees screamed as their moisture evaporated in an instant. The earth cracked. The dome sizzled, burning from green to brown, to black, to glowing orange. And then—collapse.
The old man stumbled out, armor gone, most of his clothes turned to smoking threads. His skin was blistered and blackened, his right arm limp and charred. Yet, his eyes still held fight.
"I will... not lose... to a bird."
With a cry, he summoned a final strike—a massive tree emerged from beneath him, lifting him up like a tower. It splintered into dozens of thick limbs, each like a battering ram, and hurtled toward Solvarin from every direction.
But Solvarin didn't evade.
Instead, the flames around him intensified until they shimmered like molten glass. He tucked in his wings and shot forward like a meteor.
The tree limbs struck him—then ignited, split apart, and turned to cinders.
Solvarin blasted through the burning maze, reached the old man in less than a second—and in one final burst, opened his wings mid-charge.
A circular inferno burst out, engulfing everything within twenty meters.
The tree beneath the old man collapsed in an instant. The air itself seemed to scream.
The old man didn't even have time to cry out as the flames consumed him. His figure turned black, then gray, then crumbled into ash that scattered with the updraft.
And then—silence.
Solvarin landed with heavy breaths, molten feathers dimming slightly. The awakening had taken its toll—but the battlefield now belonged to him. The wood mage, once a master of nature's might, had been turned to dust under the wrath of living fire.