Whoosh!
The instant the flames roared forth, the once-arrogant Brand was reduced to nothing but a scorched, man-shaped smear on the ground.
Duke stepped onto the ashes, his hand gripping a cyan fragment of rune — the very core that had once belonged to Brand.
The shard was as large as a human fist, its edges sharp and uneven, neither smooth like river stones nor perfectly cut like a diamond.
It looked as though it had been chipped off a much greater whole, much like when Duke had once watched Demacian stonemasons strike small chunks off a block of petricite.
And indeed, that was exactly the case.
"So it really is just a fragment." Duke examined the shard resting in his palm. Just this little piece of stone... and it gave birth to a being like the Vengeful Blaze, Brand.
The memory of Brand's explosive power still lingered vividly in Duke's mind. It was difficult to believe that such terrifying might could originate from a fragment so small.
Yet even after Brand had drained much of its energy, the shard still pulsed with power as vast and boundless as the ocean — endless, inexhaustible.
"There are five keystones in total — the orange Precision, the red Domination, the blue Sorcery, the green Resolve, and the yet-unfound white Inspiration."
He glanced at the glowing cyan shard. "Judging by its hue, this should belong to the Sorcery line… but which aspect exactly, that's hard to tell."
He studied it more carefully, probing its energy. A beam of pure azure light rippled out from the shard — and everything before him disintegrated into its most basic particles.
In the blink of an eye, the ground ahead vanished without a trace.
"What terrifying destructive power…"
Duke had merely drawn upon a sliver of the shard's strength, shaping it according to his own will — yet that alone had erased a massive stretch of terrain.
And that was only a fraction of the power contained within.
Only now did he fully grasp just how wise it had been to suppress Brand with petricite during their battle.
Without that countermeasure, the man of fire would've been far harder to kill.
Still, Duke realized that even Brand could never wield the shard's full might. If Brand's mana capacity was a mere pond, this shard was an ocean. He could only draw as much as he could endure — replenishing himself bit by bit from the endless source.
No wonder he had been so strong.
Duke toyed with the fragment, then pulled out a petricite-forged containment box from his inventory. He carefully placed the rune shard inside before stowing it away again.
"Now then... time to erase the evidence."
He frowned at the devastation he and Brand had wrought. "Well… there's still plenty of time. I'll handle it piece by piece."
Removing his Ant Warrior armor, Duke exhaled a long, relieved breath. Finally, some cool air.
"I wonder what kind of face Ryze will make when he finds the vault containing the World Rune fragments… completely gone."
He pulled out a cigarette, sparked it with a flicker of lightning, and took a slow drag.
"My guess? He'll be devastated."
A puff of cyan smoke curled from his lips. Duke glanced down at his hand — faint arcs of electricity danced across his fingertips.
At this rate, he felt like he could manually launch a railgun — if only he had a projectile durable enough to withstand the electromagnetic acceleration.
"Edees."
"I'm here, boss!"
"Update the memo," Duke said, flicking the ash from his cigarette and watching the sparks crackle between his fingers. "Shift Force training and research to Tier-1 priority. Move extreme environment weapon development to Tier-2. And put the Rune Fragment study and Original Sin project upgrades into Tier-0."
[Memo updated.]
"Good."
He dropped the cigarette butt and let out a long plume of smoke.
"Now then… time to wipe the scene clean."
Rolling up his sleeves, Duke deployed his autonomous machines and got to work.
The scorched remains of Brand were soon trampled and swept away, leaving no trace behind.
――――――――――
Oasis of Dawn, City of the Sun.
Thud… thud… thud…
Clad in golden armor, Azir strode down the Emperor's Road — a grand avenue paved with pure gold.
With each step, his staff struck the ground, echoing a lonely rhythm through the empty capital.
Towering on both sides stood colossal statues — the earliest rulers of Shurima — their silent gazes following him as he advanced.
Beyond the horizon, dawn's pale light began to spill across the sands. The brightest star still hung above, but soon, even that would be drowned by the rising sun.
The stars themselves had changed — constellations misplaced, their patterns unfamiliar.
Every glance upward was a reminder that thousands of years had passed since his era.
The last time Azir walked this path, ten thousand elite soldiers marched in formation behind him, the cheers of his people filling the air.
But that moment of glory… would never return.
The once-proud City of the Sun had become a city of ghosts.
What had become of his people after the Ascension?
He raised his staff, commanding the sand beneath nearby rocks to rise and swirl into humanoid shapes — mirages of the past, echoes of Shurima's final moments.
Countless sand-formed figures turned toward the great Solar Disk, still hovering half a mile away — radiant, magnificent, but unseen by living eyes.
Recently, Shurima's daughter had awakened him, allowing him to finally complete his interrupted Ascension. But when he raised the ancient city once more, she had already vanished into the desert.
He could still feel her presence — no matter how far she fled, the bloodline tethered them.
Azir pressed onward, watching as the sandborn images grew frantic. Faces twisted from awe to horror, mouths opening in silent screams as they fled, stumbled, and fell — erased by invisible power in the next breath.
He stood amid the quiet despair, forced to relive the death of his people.
What catastrophic flaw had turned the Ascension ritual into this calamity?
Grief hardened into resolve. His taloned feet scraped the stone as he climbed the grand stairway to the Ascension dais, ascending five steps at a stride.
In his era, only the royal bloodline, his priests, and his most trusted soldiers had ever been allowed upon these steps.
Now their forms — his kin, his confidants — appeared again in sand and wind, their faces lifted to the heavens in silent agony before scattering into dust.
He quickened his pace, climbing faster than any mortal could, claws gouging the stone.
Each stride destroyed the sand figures that tried to form beside him, only for new ones to rise and meet the same fate.
At last, he reached the summit.
There, before him, stood the final circle of witnesses — his advisors, priests… and his family.
Azir fell to his knees, his staff slipping from his hand into the sand.
His wife, heavy with child, stood hand in hand with his shy daughter; his son, proud and nearly grown, reached instinctively for his blade.
Their faces shifted — joy giving way to fear. He knew what came next, yet could not bear to look away.
His daughter buried her face in her mother's gown. His son opened his mouth in a silent cry.
And his beloved wife…
Azir's eyes widened, filled with sorrow and despair, as some unseen force tore them apart — until nothing remained but dust.
He had relived their deaths, the deaths of his subjects, his entire empire — all over again.
But there were no tears.
The sun's divine fire had long since burned them dry.
With a heavy heart, Azir stood and retrieved his staff.
Questions weighed upon him — what had truly happened that day? How had his bloodline endured?
Then came the final vision.
The mortal Azir of the past rose into the air, arms spread, ready to be remade by the sun. The divine light pierced through him, reshaping his mortal form into that of a god.
And then — another figure of sand emerged.
His most trusted friend, his magus, his brother… Xerath.
Xerath's lips moved, uttering a single word — and Azir shattered like glass, exploding into grains of sand.
"Xerath…"
Azir exhaled slowly. There was no need to see more. He now knew the name of the traitor.
Turning around, the first rays of dawn struck the Solar Disk, the reflected brilliance bathing his golden armor in light.
He raised a hand — and from the base of the Ascension steps, an army of elite soldiers of sand rose to stand at attention.
"Xerath," he rasped, his voice thick with fury. "Your sins are beyond forgiveness."
"I will restore the glory of Shurima!"
He lifted his staff high, his voice booming across the dead city.
"I will uphold the ancient tradition — reclaim Shurima's lands, and restore her radiance!"
"I will find you… and make you pay!"
End of chapter....
IRONBOUND PATRON
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