Volcanos stood on the watchtower, suddenly alone with the trembling girl. Ash had gone to assist Elder Fang, while Gravitas was locked in a fierce battle with a small snake woman. He glanced at the younglings, their eyes wide as they watched the fight. The girl's fear had returned the moment Gravitas released her shoulder.
Tentatively, Vulcanos reached out, trying to provide the same comfort. However, the girl flinched away, dodging his large palm. Smiling awkwardly, he retracted his hand. "Sorry."
The girl watched him for a moment before slowly returning to her spot. She looked up at him, her eyes a little wet. "Can't you help them?" she asked, pointing toward the wall.
Vulcanos sighed. He could help—to a degree. But even if he gave it his all, he couldn't turn the tide of the battle. He knew his limits. Vulcanos was as strong as one of the Elders, maybe a bit stronger because of his powerful Magic. Still, he would likely be targeted immediately, and there would be no coming back from that.
On top of that, he would waste all the efforts his companions had made to keep him safe. He'd have to be a fool not to realize what they were doing. They were probably afraid of what might happen if he used Blood Boil in a battle like this. The technique was powerful, but it had its drawbacks. For one, he had little control over his limits while under its effect. Retreat never felt like an option, which was fine if the battle was winnable. Here, though, he'd likely burn himself out and die miserably.
Instead of answering, he gave the girl an apologetic smile—the best he could offer. Though earlier he'd seemed eager to join the battle, he had his doubts. In the arena, Vulcanos never cared much about life or death. A victory just meant another fight tomorrow, and many times, he had hoped for it all to end. But now, he had something to live for, something to look forward to, and he was far more hesitant to throw his life away.
…Unless he used Blood Boil.
No, that was not an option. He could already picture himself impaled by dozens of spears, slowly bleeding out while poison coursed through his veins. Of course, he wouldn't feel it in the heat of battle, and that's what frightened him the most—the thought of his life slipping away without him even realizing it. Still, his fingers itched for a fight. It was strange to crave battle so intensely while simultaneously fearing the outcome. He truly was a failure as a warrior.
The two stood in silence, watching the battle. Occasionally, Vulcanos launched an attack to keep the enemies on edge, but he wasn't doing much damage. His Magic was too obvious, and from this distance, the enemies had plenty of time to dodge. As the battle raged, corpses from both sides piled up on the ramparts, only to be thrown off by violent clashes moments later. It was a brutality unlike any he had previously seen.
He periodically checked on Ash and Gravitas, and both were doing fine. For some reason, Gravitas had removed her veil, which he rarely saw her do. He didn't understand why she kept her face hidden in the first place. She had a beautiful appearance, and he had noticed many people staring at her when she revealed it. Perhaps she didn't like drawing so much attention?
"Look!" the girl next to him screamed, pointing at something.
Vulcanos followed her gaze and saw a massive contraption being rolled up the hill. It was half the height of the gate, with a metal-covered log hanging beneath it—a gigantic battering ram. Frost had noticed the contraption, too, and was attacking it with shards of ice. However, the roof of the machine seemed unusually resistant to his attacks.
Just as Frost was preparing a bigger attack, Polaris struck. Along with Razeth, they unleashed such intense suppressive fire that he couldn't focus on the contraption anymore and struggled to keep himself safe. They probably couldn't maintain this level of firepower for long, but whether the gate would still be intact by then was anyone's guess. The other tribesmen continued to rain attacks on the armored vehicle, but they were doing even less than Frost had. They were forced to watch helplessly as the ram rolled ever closer to their gate.
Vulcanos felt a gaze and turned. The little scout was staring at him again, her eyes even more pleading and pitiful than before. She didn't need to speak—he knew what she wanted. He glanced back at the ram. Could he do it? Yes, of course, he could. But that would mean leaving the safety of the walls and exposing himself in the open.
It was a far greater risk than he was comfortable with, but he found it strangely hard to refuse the girl again. Where did this urge come from? Was he really so soft-hearted?
What would his Master do?
The question hit him out of nowhere, and Vulcanos froze. Why had he asked himself that? Since when did he base his actions on what others would do?
He didn't! Or at least, he never had.
To his surprise, the thought wasn't as revolting as he had expected. In that moment, Vulcanos realized he admired his Master deeply. The young human had a peculiar way of acting—cold and ruthless at times, yet kind and caring at others. He clearly distinguished between friends and enemies and always treated them accordingly. Vulcanos had yet to see his Master abandon an ally, and he hoped he never would. It was an admirable quality, one that resonated deeply with him.
Would his Master help?
Vulcanos believed he might. No, he definitely would. But his Master would likely find a way to do it without putting himself at risk—probably even gaining something from it in the end. Vulcanos knew he couldn't do that. He didn't have the cunning or the skills his Master had. The real question was... did he have the will?
With another glance at the pleading girl, he made his choice. He pulled off his dark coat and handed it to the girl, who took it with a confused look on her face.
"Hold on to that for a while; I'll want it back later," he said, adding the word 'maybe' in his mind.
He took a few steps back, reaching the tower's edge, his eyes locked on the ledge in front of him. It was a long way down, and he couldn't afford a mistake. Taking a deep, steadying breath, Vulcanos prepared himself. His heart pounded like a drum, and his muscles tensed with anticipation. A faint smile crossed his lips as the tightness in his chest eased.
Yes, this felt right.
He pushed off the wall behind him and sprinted toward the edge. With a powerful leap, he cleared the railing of the watchtower, soaring through the air. His aim was perfect. The young scout, still clutching his dark coat, watched in wide-eyed amazement as he hurtled toward the battering ram.
Vulcanos's mind was clear, despite the growing tension in his chest. He had made his decision. With a deep breath, he focused his energy, his fingers tingling with the heat of his impending attack. As he fell toward the ram, his body radiated a fierce, fiery glow, and the air around him shimmered with heat. He spread his arms behind him like a bird of prey, the lines across his body glowing as power gathered at his fingertips. Two trails of liquid fire streamed behind him. His eyes locked onto the battering ram, growing larger in his sight—he was heading straight for it.
The battering ram continued its relentless advance. Its massive metal-covered log loomed ominously over the gate, and the efforts of Frost and the others to halt its progress seemed futile. The contraption was nearly unstoppable, and Vulcanos knew this was the critical moment to act.
His momentum slowed, and his jump turned into a fall. But it was enough—he was directly above the ram now, inching closer to the gate. It would never reach its target.
With a guttural roar that echoed across the battlefield, Vulcanos released his pent-up power. Two streams of molten fire burst from his hands, cascading toward the battering ram like twin rivers of liquid flame. The intense heat melted the frozen snow and ice around him, and the fiery streams converged on the ram's roof with a devastating impact that pushed him further into the air.
The reaction was immediate and catastrophic. The roof of the battering ram buckled under the force of his attack, the metal and wood warping and splintering. The heat was so intense that it turned the snow-covered ground into a steaming, bubbling mess. The shockwave from the impact swept across the battlefield, sending soldiers stumbling and forcing them to shield their faces from the scorching heat.
Screams of agony filled the air as the men and women pushing the ram were engulfed in the inferno. Their bodies writhed in the flames, the magma seeping through the cracks of the ram's armor and consuming them in fiery death. The battering ram, once an imposing symbol of the Frostscale tribe's might, was now reduced to a smoldering wreck.
As the intense heat began to subside, Vulcanos allowed himself to fall, his fiery streams sputtering out. He landed with a heavy thud in the midst of the rapidly hardening magma. The cold winter air immediately began to solidify the molten rock, turning it into a stone-like substance. The once-dangerous contraption was now a mass of cooled lava and twisted metal, its threat neutralized.
The battlefield was momentarily silent, the destruction of the battering ram casting a brief but powerful pause over the conflict. Vulcanos stood amidst the ruins, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The immense power of his Magic had taken its toll. His body felt heavy, and the heat that had fueled him was now replaced by an overwhelming weariness.
The sudden change in the battle's momentum was palpable. The Frostscale tribe, shocked by the loss of their ram and the fiery devastation, faltered. The Icefang warriors seized the opportunity to press their advantage, their spirits lifted by the destruction of the siege weapon.
Vulcanos wiped the sweat from his brow, his face etched with a mixture of relief and exhaustion. The cold wind bit at his skin as he prepared to rejoin the fray. His intervention had changed the course of the battle, but the fight was still raging on. He readied himself, fully aware of the situation he now found himself in.
As the echoes of the battle once more reverberated across the snowy landscape, Vulcanos faced forward. Hundreds of eyes were locked on him, filled with wariness, anger, and hatred.