The black flame

Iode launched himself forward with an explosive leap, his hand slashing the air. Four violet claw-shaped auras burst forth, cutting through the atmosphere toward Valier like spectral blades.

Valier's two lieutenants moved instantly. They jumped from their positions, raising their lances to block the incoming strike.

"My lord," said the right lieutenant coldly, "permit us to deal with this incorrigible fool. I've had enough of his disrespect."

Valier gave a nod. "Do as you wish."

The right lieutenant leapt down, the left one following closely. An arc of shadow formed from shoulder to shoulder on the right lieutenant's armor—dark runes etched along it pulsed with a steady red glow.

"Undying Flames," he intoned.

Black fire erupted along his lance, racing forward as he lunged at Iode.

Iode grimaced. He hated that this was his only viable option. His stigma shimmered—and from the glow emerged a longsword, branded with Valier's own emblem. He gripped the hilt and clashed the blade against the flaming lance.

But before he could press an advantage, the left lieutenant appeared behind the right, clapping his hands together. A surge of black plasma flames blasted toward Iode.

Forced to break the lock, Iode leapt back three paces, narrowly avoiding the deadly inferno. But the right lieutenant would not allow him respite. He thrust his lance toward Iode's chest.

Iode twisted midair—the lance scraped past his ribs, missing by a hair. In a fluid counter, he clawed upward across the right lieutenant's helmet, from chin to temple. Sparks flew. The helmet was torn away, revealing a snarling, pale face beneath.

Reeling from the blow, the right lieutenant staggered. Iode moved in for the finish—but the left lieutenant intercepted, leaping between them and launching a volley of black flame orbs.

Iode twisted and weaved, dodging each projectile—until one clipped his right arm.

The pain was immediate and excruciating. His flesh sizzled beneath the cursed fire. He tried to smother the flames with his hand, but it was futile—they spread rapidly, hungrily, climbing toward his shoulder.

"Ever heard the legend of the Black Flames?" the left lieutenant said darkly. "The fire that never dies—consuming all until nothing remains."

Iode gritted his teeth. The flames had engulfed his entire arm. The pain was unbearable, and he was running out of time.

No choice.

He raised his sword—and severed his own arm.

"Grrh!" he grunted, staggering, pain crashing through him like a wave. The cost was steep—but his priority was survival. Getting home.

Without warning, the right lieutenant sprang from above, aiming to drive his lance through Iode. But Iode didn't dodge.

"Terra Faultus!" he yelled.

The ground beneath the lieutenant erupted. A jagged spike of earth slammed into his chin mid-descent. Caught off guard, he was thrown backward.

He'd underestimated Iode.

He'd forgotten Iode was born a wizard. Magic was his origin, his true strength.

Once a Twelve-Star Mage—the highest rank in his world—Iode's spells were once legendary. But since sacrificing Igor's powers, his magic had regressed. Now, he was merely a One-Star Mage—the lowest tier.

To compensate, he'd trained in swordsmanship. In his homeland, he was the first and only magic swordsman of the wizard tribe. His fusion of powerful spells, swordplay, and draconic heritage had once earned him renown as one of the greatest warriors of the magical nation.

Iode dashed forward, seizing the lieutenant's imbalance.

But the left lieutenant was quick—he threw another wave of black fire.

In response, Iode opened his mouth, releasing a burst of concentrated purple energy. The two forces clashed violently in midair, pressing against each other.

As they struggled for dominance, the right lieutenant circled behind. Iode reacted just in time, catching the thrust with his remaining hand behind his back.

Yet the trap was closing in.

Caught between two enemies, one exploiting his blind spots, the other pelting him with undying fire—he had little room left to maneuver.

Then he noticed something strange.

The black flames began to eat through his own energy blast—slowly, but surely—devouring it.

The right lieutenant lunged again, targeting a new blind spot. Too much. He couldn't keep this up.

Iode shut his eyes.

Then—release.

A pulse of raw energy exploded from his body—an EMP shockwave that hurled everything within a thirty-meter radius backward. The blast rattled even the distant onlookers—Valier and the red-haired twins—though they remained untouched.

Panting, Iode seized the moment of reprieve. He picked up his severed arm, still wrapped in black flames. With a grimace, he siphoned the cursed fire into his mouth—consuming it.

Then, slowly, he reattached the arm...