Chapter 23: The Wrath of the Stormlord

Ian was only 17, but with the Card of Fate in his possession, his spirituality was exceptionally stable, and his progress swift. Moreover, he didn't have to worry about lifespan for the time being.

Besides, even the extraordinary weren't invincible, especially in naval battles, where ships held far more sway than individual prowess.

That's why he decided to use the drop of Water of Life on Wawa.

"Wawa, open your mouth!"

The little creature blinked its eyes in confusion before its expression turned to surprise. A single droplet of shimmering, gold-red liquid, radiating an otherworldly energy, floated gently toward it.

With an eager snap, Wawa swallowed the droplet whole.

"Wawa…"

There was no dramatic reaction. Instead, Wawa conveyed a simple, comfortable feeling through their spiritual connection before promptly falling into a deep sleep.

Ian glanced at the pendant on his neck. The once-filled droplet at its center was now completely gone.

A wave of emptiness swept through him at the sight. The absence of the Water of Life left him with a faint sense of loss.

He couldn't help but think that if his spiritual world weren't as solid and disciplined as it was, the overwhelming desire for such a rare treasure might have distorted his very being.

It seemed the more precious the treasure, the more dangerous it became.

Ian re-centered himself, sinking into a deep meditative state, calming his turbulent emotions.

A sudden spike of danger stabbed through Ian's senses like a blade.

In an instant, his spirituality surged from calm to boiling, mana roared to life, and his body tensed as if set aflame.

Every ounce of energy within him was summoned in a split second. Spiritual light glowed on his skin, and his instincts triggered defensive mechanisms faster than ever before, propelling him out of his original position.

Not a moment too soon.

A pillar of storm-force wind obliterated the door, crashing into where Ian had been standing with devastating force.

"BOOM!"

The aged floorboards splintered under the impact, and the turbulent winds turned the small room into a vortex of chaos. Furniture, books, and debris were hurled against the walls in disarray.

The shockwave slammed Ian and the still-sleeping Wawa against the far wall, pinning them down as if by an invisible hand.

"Not bad. I do enjoy a prey that struggles before it dies. The more you fight, the more fun I have! Hahaha…"

A voice oozing malice echoed through the room as a small, stocky figure strode in, wielding a long staff.

Clad in a silver-blue robe, with brown hair, piercing blue eyes, and a swirling aura of wind, the man seemed to carry a living storm around him. Every movement he made caused the air to tremble.

Ian recognized him immediately: the extraordinary who had tried to forcibly buy Wawa at the bounty hunter guild.

"Hestorm..." Ian muttered.

Now it made sense. Hestorm had taken the time to investigate Ian's background before striking decisively. The oppressive aura radiating from him screamed of a Sequence 7 Storm-Type Extraordinary.

"Impressive! You're still standing. Most people collapse just from facing me," Hestorm sneered, though the corners of his mouth twitched with irritation.

His true assault had already begun.

Spiritual warfare.

This was the classic move of higher-sequence extraordinaries when dealing with lower-sequence opponents. The greater the gap in spiritual strength, the more effective it was.

However, Hestorm's annoyance grew as Ian showed no signs of breaking.

Ian felt the crushing weight of Hestorm's spiritual power. It was overwhelming in both quantity and quality, but Ian's spirituality was compact, stable, and unwavering. By concentrating his spiritual defenses around himself, he managed to endure.

'This guy talks too much,' Ian thought, his face devoid of expression. 'Maybe he's got issues.'

He didn't bother responding.

Instead, Ian raised his right hand, summoning a deep crimson flame of spirituality.

The moment Hestorm saw the flame, a wave of soul-wrenching terror washed over him.

With a flick of Ian's wrist, the spiritual flame "disappeared," racing along his own spiritual energy like a current.

Before Hestorm could react, the flame ignited his sprawling spiritual aura.

"AAAAH!"

A bloodcurdling scream tore through the tower, loud enough to drown out the howling wind outside.

Hestorm's entire spiritual world seemed to be consumed by the fire, and the searing pain drove him into a frenzy.

The crimson flames didn't burn physical objects, only spiritual energy and the soul itself.

Ian watched, pulling a card labeled [Covert Strike] from his deck, intending to finish Hestorm off.

But to his astonishment, Hestorm, still howling in agony, attempted to reclaim his burning spiritual energy back into his core.

'You've got to be kidding me. Is he trying to save himself by making it worse?' Ian thought, both impressed and baffled.

The correct course of action would've been to sever the burning spiritual energy and retreat, but not everyone had the nerve for such drastic measures.

Hestorm's ignorance of the flame's properties sealed his fate.

As the fire engulfed his entire spiritual world, it burned through everything—leaving only an empty husk behind.

"Thud."

Hestorm's lifeless body collapsed to the floor. His exterior remained pristine, but his soul was utterly destroyed.

'So, this is the power of ignition…' Ian thought with a shudder.

He mentally rehearsed the scenario. If he were in Hestorm's position, the only way out would be to sever the burning energy immediately. A spiritual wound was preferable to death.

But now? Ian, a mere Sequence 9, had just vanquished a Sequence 7 adversary unscathed.

'Not bad. Not bad at all,' Ian thought, a smug grin tugging at his lips.

Ian stayed cautious, scouring the tower from top to bottom to ensure no one else was lurking.

Once satisfied, he returned to the fifth floor, where Hestorm's remains lay.

His spiritual flame, having consumed all it could, had extinguished itself. Still, Ian's reserves of the flame were now significantly depleted.

'Better tread carefully until I recover,' he thought.

Now, it was time for the fun part—looting the corpse.