195
The thundercloud carried the obese body swiftly backward, a longsword held across her front-but the anticipated attack never came. Instead, a string of piercing screams reached her ears.
"Mama-save me-"
The voice squeezed out from between his clenched fingers.
The flame imprisoned by black currents writhed frantically. It was one of her few remaining creations.
"I have indeed seen it."
He closed his fingers. No matter how the flame in his palm battered and burned, the pitch-black shell did not budge.
He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the old man nearby, whose forehead had beaded with sweat.
"I spent these past few years on the sun."
His knuckles closed, and a faint cracking sounded.
The flame went out in an instant, leaving only wisps of smoke drifting between his fingers.
The obese woman froze.
Even she knew that the true fire of the sun could melt most substances in the world. The flames she fabricated with soul power could never compare.
And this man actually claimed to have returned from there?
Her first thought was that it was absurd.
But the oppressive force that had descended from the sky, and the ease with which he had snuffed out the flame with his bare hand, forced her to believe it.
This man had always scorned boasting. Besides, her creations were not things anyone could casually hold in their palm.
"You-"
Having lost an important fighting force at the very start of the clash, she began thinking of retreat and turned toward the old men.
What met her eyes were five faces without a trace of wavering.
"Gentlemen, there is no need to hold anything back."
The old man in the flat cap spoke gravely, leaning on his cane.
They understood the weight of this opponent better than anyone.