Chanter

BOOM!!

A thunderous crash.

Gilan's hammer blow had employed the secret technique, "Forge Tempering."

A terrifying force of vibration erupted through the incomparably heavy Rending Wheel warhammer, spreading outward in warped, unstable shockwaves.

Buzzzzz!!

Dust and garbage fragments several meters high erupted in more than a dozen layers, inside and out at once, like the ripples splashed up when a stone struck a lake at high speed.

Winter Snake retreated at once to evade it, raising his cane before him as he gathered another green barrier of light.

But this time, with only a muffled pop, the protective barrier condensed with the full strength of a veteran Tier 5 Long-Lived One lasted less than a second before the shockwave shattered it.

Winter Snake took the blow head-on and was sent flying uncontrollably. Blood sprayed from his nose and mouth in midair as he screamed, "Aah!"

Crash—

He then slammed heavily into the ground, skidding and rolling across it as clouds of dust rose.

Amid a series of cracking noises.

Winter Snake, drenched in blood and filth and looking utterly wretched, struggled up from the smoke and dust. His hair hung loose, his expression twisted, his knuckles distorted; his left arm had suffered a comminuted fracture, and his left ankle was bent one hundred and eighty degrees.

Yet he was still alive.

Gilan turned to look at him, and the mad grin beneath his crown grew wider.

"True Self—Potential!"

Winter Snake rasped.

"Open!"

The next second, his expression became utterly blank, neither joyful nor sorrowful. The light faded from his face, and his emerald eyes gradually turned hollow.

As a technique that could be mastered as early as Tier 2 of the Path of the Flaming Sword, Winter Snake could wield it to its utmost, perfectly drawing out every last trace