The fire raged for ten seconds, turning the corridor into an oven. When it finally dissipated, the stone where Cahir had been standing was scorched black and smoking.
But when the flames died down, Cahir remained.
He hadn't moved an inch. His hands were formed into a cross, a defence executed in the fraction of a second before the blast. He had hardened his flesh into absolute iron, capable of withstanding the inferno. His body was now a terrifying silhouette of cherry-red and blinding white, dissipating the thermal energy into the air.
He looked untouchable. It seemed as though even the holy fire of the Stellar God of the Immovable Universe would fail to scratch him.
"Is that all?," the molten figure mocked.
Gareth clicked his tongue. " Engage!"
The eight remaining knights abandoned the scraps of the clones and rushed Cahir. It was nine against one, with Gareth leading the charge, dragging Norvin along with him like a piece of luggage.
"You hold him," Gareth shoved Norvin into the hands of a subordinate knight near the rear. "If he tries to run, break his legs. If he tries to cast, cut his throat."
"Understood, sir," the knight said, gripping Norvin by the neck. The Ghost went limp, calculating. 'If I use Numen now, the knight kills me. If I don't, Cahir kills me. I have to wait.'
Gareth rejoined the fray. The hallway became a blur of violence. Cahir Merlin, armed with nothing but his own magic and a slender rapier he produced from thin air, moved like water.
"Why go to such lengths, Merlin?" Gareth shouted, parrying a thrust from Cahir that was aimed at his throat. "You possess the skills of a Grandmaster. You are the eldest disciple of the Wind-Walker of the Night Sky! Why live in disgust with the Wanderers? Why follow your master to the extent of joining the traitors?"
Cahir danced back, weaving a spell with his left hand that sent three knights tumbling backward with a gust of concussive force.
"The Wind-Walker..." Cahir's voice turned cold, losing its amusement. "My master is a great man and he understands the Goddess."
Gareth pressed, launching a series of heavy, fiery slashes. "The Goddess of the Night Sky preaches tranquillity! You and your village of Wanderers have twisted her scripture into a manifesto for genocide!"
Cahir blocked Gareth's heavy sword with a barrier of hardened air, the impact creating a shockwave. "Tranquillity, Lieutenant, is only possible when the impurities are removed. The Goddess believes Humans are the supreme vessels of the soul. We are the chosen."
Cahir spun, kicking a knight in the chest with enough force to dent the breastplate.
"Now that you know I have breached your stronghold, I have no need of that child," Cahir said, pointing his rapier toward the shadows of the keep. "Give me the creature from the Land of Foul Souls that you are keeping in your dungeon. Hand over the demon, and I will return to my tribe. I will leave you be."
"Oh, Merlin!, Humans or demons of the Land of Foul Soul, what difference does it make? As long as the surrender their strength to us for our cause" Gareth barked. "We don't harbour them. We use them. They are tools. You want to kill them all because you're a fanatic."
"A tool?" Cahir laughed, a sharp, barking sound. "You call a demon a tool? You play with fire, Gareth. The Wanderers... we are the only ones with the conviction to put out the fire before it burns the house down."
The battle raged on. Despite being outnumbered nine to one, Cahir was not losing. He was holding court.
"Iarann Spikes!" Cahir flicked his wrist. Metal spikes erupted from the walls, impaling a knight who tried to flank him. The man fell with a gurgled cry.
"One less protector of filth," Cahir noted.
Gareth gritted out, sweat pouring down his face under his helm. "You murder your own kind. The Wanderers are enemies of humanity, not saviours. You attacked the Kvothe trade routes. You slaughtered the village of East-Hallow. Were those 'Foul Souls' too?"
"Collateral," Cahir said simply, dodging a sword swing by millimeters. "To save the body, sometimes you must cut off the infected limb. Those villagers harboured Rockmen and Giants. They sheltered half-breeds."
His face twisted in disgust. "Such filthy sinners... how dare they reproduce with monsters? To mix human blood with those vile creatures? Sympathizers are just as guilty as the beasts themselves."
The Ghost, watching from the grip of his captor, felt a chill that had nothing to do with the dungeon dampness. 'This man... he isn't just a mercenary. He's a true believer. He truly thinks killing the Rockmen and Giants is an act of God.'
"Your God sounds like a convenient excuse for murder. The Village of East-Hallow was where the Giants and Rockmen made peace for the first time in eons, and you wanderers destroyed it!," Gareth spat. He signalled his men to flank. "Circle him! Don't let him cast!"
"You call it murder," Cahir said, his eyes glowing with a faint, violet light. "I call it gardening. Weeding out the invasive species."
Cahir slammed his hand onto the ground. A shockwave of wind blasted outward, knocking four knights off their feet. He looked directly at Gareth.
"You impress me, Lieutenant. Truly. Most men crumble after the first exchange. You have the spirit of a warrior. It is a shame you serve a corrupt system that values the lives of slaves and monsters over the purity of mankind."
"I serve the law," Gareth said, steadying himself. "And the law says you die here."
"The law is a fiction written by kings to keep their crowns," Cahir retorted. "The Wanderers answer only to the sky. And the sky demands blood."
Cahir lowered his rapier, pointing it not at Norvin, but past him—deeper into the shadowy corridor leading to the high-security containment cells.
"Give me the creature, Gareth," Cahir said, his voice deadly calm. "Hand over the Demon of the Foul Soul. I know you keep it down here. Give me the beast, and I will walk away. I will let you and your remaining men live."
Gareth spat on the floor, his burning sword flaring brighter. "You think you can bargain with us? You think we are so weak that we would need to unleash that monster just to defeat a single wandering Anchor?"
Gareth stepped forward, his eyes burning with pride. "We don't need the help of a demon to kill filth like you."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, Cahir threw his head back and laughed. It wasn't a chuckle this time; it was a deep, booming sound that vibrated in the knights' chest plates.
"A single wandering Anchor?" Cahir wiped a tear of mirth from his eye. "Oh, Lieutenant. You have tragically misunderstood the gap between us."
Suddenly, the atmosphere changed. Gravity seemed to double. The damp stones on the floor began to crack under an invisible weight. Cahir's violet eyes began to glow with blinding intensity, and the air around him warped, distorting the light.
"You are a skilled swordsman, Gareth," Cahir whispered, but his voice echoed as if spoken by a giant. "But I... I have stepped into the realm of the Titan-Anchor."
The colour drained from Gareth's face. "Titan... Anchor?"
No matter how young the vessel, the strength of a Titan is not to be meddled with. In the world of power, the ascended ranks—Prime, Phantom, and Titan—are not viewed merely as warriors. They are acknowledged as living natural disasters. Each rank is a cataclysm in its own right, yet they are far more dreadful than any storm or earthquake—for a storm has no malice, but a Titan does.
"Prepare yourselves!" Gareth screamed, his voice cracking with sudden fear. "Shield formation! Full power!"
The Red Ghost, sensing the cataclysmic buildup of energy, whispered urgently to the knight holding him. "You might want to let me go. If you hold me, I can't help you survive this."
The knight looked down, sneering, though his hand trembled. "Shut up, slave."
"Have it your way," the Ghost muttered. "But when he shears your armour off, don't say I didn't warn you."
Cahir smiled. He didn't move his feet. He simply raised one finger, and the metallic taste in the air became unbearable, as if the oxygen itself had turned to rust.
He chanted a single word.
"Ferrum... Obliterate."
BOOM.
There was no battle. There was only the crush.
A shockwave of pure magnetic force slammed into the knights. It was heavier than a mountain. The iron in their own armour turned against them, crumpling inward instantly. The Shield Formation shattered like glass. Gareth was flung backward, his breastplate dented by invisible hands, smashing into the far wall with a bone-crunching thud.
In a single second, the squad was decimated—crushed by the very metal they wore to protect themselves.
The dust settled slowly. Gareth groaned, coughing up blood, trying to push himself up.
Cahir stood untouched in the center of the carnage. He looked at the fallen men with boredom. He began to walk backward, fading into the shadows of the broken wall that led to the marsh forest.
"I will not kill you today, Gareth," Cahir called out, his voice drifting from the darkness. "Tell your masters what you saw. Tell them the Wind-Walker's disciple has returned."
His violet eyes pierced the gloom one last time. "I will be back. And when I return, I will take the Demon's head."
And then, he was gone.
Silence returned to the dungeon, broken only by the groans of the injured.
The knight who had been holding Norvin had been knocked unconscious, his grip finally released. But before the Red Ghost could make a move to escape, two reinforcement guards—who had arrived just in time to see the blast—grabbed the boy.
Gareth dragged himself to his feet, clutching his side. He looked at the destruction Cahir had caused with a single spell. His pride was gone, replaced by cold, hard terror.
"Lieutenant?" a surviving knight wheezed. "What... what do we do?"
"Get the comms crystal relic," Gareth ordered, spitting blood. "Inform the Chief immediately."
"Sir?"
"Tell him a Titan is here," Gareth said, staring at the empty darkness where Cahir had vanished. "Tell him the mission parameters have changed. We cannot handle this alone. Send the reinforcements for a S-tier threat."