Chapter 133 Cloudkill

"It's gravity magic!"

It felt as if every inch of his skin was weighed down by compressed ingots of refined iron, his body emitting a sluggish, grating sound as bone and flesh ground against each other.

It was a familiar yet infinitely more unbearable ordeal, one that immediately brought Cornell's mind back to his student days in Chromatic Ring City—specifically to his roommate, who had specialized in gravity magic.

Back then, he had gritted his teeth against the gravity spells his roommate cast on him, ultimately using the standard-issue staff provided by the Academy Faction to crack the other boy's head open, all to win the bed furthest from the toilet.

Now, many years had passed. As a Level 9 Mage specializing in the School of Conjuration, he was only one step away from the Transcendent Tier.

Yet here, in this remote corner on the kingdom's border, deep within a gloomy cavern where perhaps no intelligent life had ever set foot...

He was once again experiencing the crushing pressure of gravity.

"Creak..."

The sharp, grating sound of grinding teeth and bone echoed from beside him.

He subconsciously shot a glance out of the corner of his eye.

And then froze.

The half-orc, also affected by the Silver-White Device at the center of the distant cavern, was enduring several times the normal gravity.

Yet he was already on all fours, pressed halfway to the ground as though he had truly been reduced to a beast of the badlands.

'No, this isn't right!'

His mind flashed to the half-orc's contorted expression as he forced his body to withstand the weight, to his bulging muscles, the pulsing veins on his arms and thighs, and his fingers sinking deep into the muddy soil...

Admittedly, the half-orc's body weight and muscle density were several times greater than his own.

But by the same token, as a Barbarian who fought with Rage and sheer physical prowess, the half-orc possessed far greater endurance and Strength.

If even Volga was being crushed into such a state, there was no reason Cornell should still be able to stand in place, let alone spare the focus to observe his surroundings.

He should have been pinned to the ground long ago, unable to even lift his head.

'Could it be...'

The rational mindset cultivated over his many years as a Mage kept Cornell calm even in the face of this sudden, bizarre situation, instinctively analyzing the battlefield.

He forced his gaze to shift toward the other side of the party.

Facing a dangerous enemy, as a Spellcaster protected at the rear, he had a clear view of the other members' conditions.

The human Warrior, clad in heavy armor and wielding a reddish-brown longsword, was still standing at the very front of the formation.

He remained silent and motionless, seemingly no different than he was a moment ago.

Only the iron boots sinking deeply into the mud beneath his feet, and the compressed, deformed metal plates at the thinner edges of his armor, revealed just what kind of exaggerated pressure he was enduring.

It was even worse than what the half-orc was facing.

The tall, blonde Elf had lost her usual untrammeled grace, turning from a bird soaring through the forest into a loach trapped in a quagmire.

Her body was hunched over, her right arm trembling as she leaned against the nearby stone wall. Her previously pristine, unblemished fingers were now splashed with foul, dark green mossy sludge.

She was faring much better than the half-orc Volga, but still not as well as he was.

Sweeping his gaze around, he realized that out of the entire party, he—the one with the weakest physical Strength—was actually the least affected!

His clear eyes reflected the Silver-White Iron Ball spinning in thin air above the distant altar.

Cornell thought, 'Could it be that this piece of special equipment, capable of casting large-scale gravity magic, also possesses the ability to distinguish friend from foe and adjust the spell's intensity based on the target's actual condition?'

The black-robed Goblin standing silently on the altar, mere feet away from the Silver-White Iron Ball yet seemingly completely unaffected, its robes fluttering lightly in the energy ripples, seemed to confirm his theory.

But a second later, as his mental power extended outward, two streaks of deep blue light flashed in the depths of his eyes.

An expression of utter disbelief—one that hadn't been seen on his face in the many years since he graduated from the academy and became an advanced Class Holder—suddenly appeared on Cornell's face.

"How is this possible?!"

"There... there are no magic particles?!"

This held true from Mage Apprentices who couldn't even chant a spell smoothly, all the way up to Legendary Grand Arcanists at the pinnacle of the schools who owned their own mage towers and floating cities.

Almost every mage on the Aifala Continent followed a fixed spellcasting process.

They trained their mental power through meditation, memorized spell models, and connected to the Magic Weave to convert the chaotic, violent primordial magic in the air into docile magic that Spellcasters could control. They then injected this into their spell models to complete the casting.

Some spells also required supplementary special materials, or specific hand gestures and incantations.

Simply put, it was "constructing the framework," "locating the nodes," and "releasing the energy."

Throughout this entire process, the specific details might vary due to the Spellcaster's own talent, experience, capabilities, or their relationship with the Goddess of Magic.

But fundamentally, it always involved the channeling and invocation of "magic particles."

This held true even for the most basic entry-level cantrips like "Light" and "Fire Bolt."

Yet right now, having suppressed four advanced Class Holders in an instant, the clearly high-grade Magic Equipment before him showed absolutely no signs of drawing upon magic power.

It was as if everyone had just been subjected to the illusion of gravity magic.

No!

Even enchantment and mind-control spells couldn't escape the manipulation of magic power.

For some reason, that fleeting, absurd illusion from earlier surfaced in Cornell's mind once again.

This solid silver-white metal iron ball before him, spinning amidst stone dust and blood, was absolutely not a creation of the Material Plane.

It didn't even have any connection to the several Outer Planes he was familiar with.

It came from even further out, from an unfamiliar realm that not even the gods could reach:

—Outside the Crystal Sphere System!

The ancient secrets he had once read in the deepest parts of the academy library during his youth suddenly flooded his mind. The tragic divine wars, the Goblin pantheon's main god who vanished and reappeared, the Goblins whose physiological structures and racial instincts had undergone drastic mutations, the terrifying rumors from the edges of the continent...

His thoughts seemed vast and chaotic, his mind spinning round and round.

But in reality, the time that had flowed by in the physical world was no more than a fleeting instant.

Had this been a peaceful day outside of his usual adventuring, he might have had the leisure to carefully study the device's operational mechanisms, observe the fusion details of the runes and metal, and even appreciate the aesthetic craftsmanship of the iron ball itself.

But at this moment, only a single thought remained in Cornell's mind.

"Destroy it!"

"Now!!!"

Forcing his bent body up against the gravitational pressure, he bellowed at the top of his lungs.

At the same time, as if trying to snap the staff in his hand, his right hand gripped it tightly, raised it, and abruptly slammed it down.

"Bang!"

Along with the sharp crack of the staff's base striking the ground...

Magic power surged!

The spell model he had prepared during his meditation last night roared to life, and the precious magic power purified by the Magic Weave was frantically poured into it as if it cost him nothing.

His mind crystallized as though it were a tangible entity, his focus reaching its absolute peak.

Target locked, Release!

Hum—

A dense cluster of yellow-green gas suddenly blasted out from the tip of his staff. It churned and boiled, expanding into shape and transforming into a massive, cloud-like sphere twenty feet in radius.

The surging mist struggled and bit like a living creature, yet under the drive of the Spellcaster's mental power, it maintained its basic cloud-like form. It flew toward the altar at a speed that appeared slow but was actually blindingly fast.

5th Circle, School of Conjuration—[Cloudkill]!

"Sizzle..."

Reeking of rotten eggs mixed with the choking stench of sulfur, the murky yellow-green miasma cast a scorched, deathly shadow across the ground, illuminated by the stone walls on either side.

If an ordinary person so much as approached that near-liquid vapor of venom, the highly corrosive and lethal toxins would seep through their skin and devour their flesh and bone.

It harvested life like the scythe of the Grim Reaper.

Its massive area of effect meant it couldn't be precisely aimed; as long as the general direction was locked in, it would push forward steadily.

The unique, abyssal-swamp-like miasma gave it the ability to corrode durable equipment while simultaneously dealing lethal damage to living creatures.

And its inherently liquid-cloud form made it incredibly difficult to block.

Under the current crushing weight of gravity, where it was difficult to maintain focus for long periods, and where he needed to pin down the enemy while simultaneously destroying the Gravity Device behind them...

This was the most suitable spell from his spellbook that Cornell could think of.

"Ding!"

A flash of green light, brimming with rich life energy, suddenly flared in his peripheral vision. A fierce yet gentle breeze brushed against his cheek, sending his indigo ramie robes billowing.

Her long blonde hair whipping wildly behind her, the Elf's face was completely stripped of its former relaxed ease.

In its place was a solemnity as deep and ancient as the tangled briars and ancient trees in the heart of the dense forest.

As gusts of fresh wind swirled around them, the invisible, crushing weight enveloping every inch of their skin seemed to vanish into nothingness in that moment.

They were all veteran Adventurers whose strength neared the Transcendent Tier. They had brushed past death more times than they could count on both hands and completed countless dangerous missions.

A mere difficulty like this was naturally not going to make them surrender without a fight.

In fact, even before Cornell had roared out their target, even before the staff in his hand had struck the ground...

His teammates had already unleashed their respective abilities, forcibly restoring their mobility under the crushing gravity.

"Roar!!!"

Carrying a savage, berserk aura, an invisible shockwave of sound swept through the nest.

His expanding, rippling muscles looked as though they were trying to tear free from the greenish skin covering them, while blindingly bright blood seeped out from his pores.

The half-orc Volga let out a berserk roar. It was as if some invisible flare erupted from the Rage igniting in his heart, cloaking his body as he slowly rose from his all-fours stance.

At the very front of the formation, the silent human Warrior abruptly took a step forward.

His iron boots remained buried deep in the mud, but his head, previously bowed by the gravitational suppression, was now held high.

Through the hollow slits of his streamlined helmet, his icy eyes stared fixedly at the black-robed Goblin in the distance.

In just a few short breaths, relying on pure physical Strength, he had actually adapted to the multiplied gravity pressing down on him.

A battle was on the verge of breaking out.

And it wasn't until this moment that the hunchbacked, diminutive Goblin in the black robes finally concluded its devout hymn to the "holy relic" bestowed by its main god.

Its cloudy eyes beneath the shadow of its hood gazed at the figures standing below the altar.

"Blasphemers."

"I grant you... death."

Its twig-like arms slowly spread upward, as if embracing some invisible presence in the air.

Rumble—

It was as if the mute button had been pressed again; the previously dead-silent nest was suddenly filled with a deafening, chaotic clamor.

It was an overwhelming torrent formed by the ear-piercing shrieks of countless Goblins.

The green-skinned Goblins that had been confined within the stone walls of the nest poured out of the countless honeycomb-like caves like a tidal wave.

The excitement and frenzy in the air were almost tangible.

A sickly green light began to take shape between the black-robed Goblin's palms. Its lips moved, and an obscure, bizarre language echoed between the stone walls.

Its withered fingers lightly clenched, and the green light transformed into ethereal raindrops that fell into the tide of Goblins.

"Creak."

A grinding, sluggish noise that set one's teeth on edge suddenly rang out in the air.

It was the sound of rapidly swelling muscles and bones violently rubbing against one another.

Their gaunt torsos filled out and expanded at a visible rate. At the cost of their lifespans, the power hidden deep within their bloodlines was unearthed and ignited.

Growing, bulging...

Those Goblins, originally only reaching an average person's thigh, were rapidly stretched by their inflating muscles and bones to the height of an adult's chest within just a few seconds of being struck by the sickly green motes of light.

The surfaces of their skin were even covered in a nauseating, dark green glow.

At the same time, the "Cloudkill"—the 5th Circle Spell wreathed in magic particles that Cornell had cast the moment the battle began—drifted right up to the black-robed Goblin amid hissing corrosion and howling winds.

It did not dodge, nor did it make the slightest defensive movement.

The black-robed Goblin simply maintained its posture, standing perfectly still upon the altar.

And just as the toxic vapor of the "Cloudkill" was about to swallow it whole...

The perfectly round, silver-white Gravity Device above its head suddenly accelerated its rotation, sending invisible energy fluctuations surging outward.

Like a miniature black hole, the toxic gas that was bound and guided by magic power reacted as if it had met its natural predator.

It was rapidly sucked away, dissolving and fading.

The torn storm clouds gave off a faint phosphorescence as the mist collided, while dark green halos of dissolving collapse flickered within.

In the blink of an eye, this 5th Circle Spell cast by a Level 9 Mage, condensed with massive amounts of magic power, was about to completely dissipate beneath the swallowing gravitational waves of the iron ball, reduced to nothing more than a ring of stardust gas orbiting its surface.

Having paid no attention to the battlefield since casting his spell, Cornell, who had fully focused on chanting an incantation, finally completed his spell preparations.

He violently sharpened his focus!

Driven by the Spellcaster's mental power, the dissipating yellow-green cloud in the distance instantly condensed, its tendrils of mist vaguely forming a blurred pattern.

And at that exact same moment, the totem-like patterns on the surface of the half-orc Volga's chest plate also burst with silver light.

5th Circle, School of Conjuration—[Teleportation Circle - Type VI Improved Version].

Hum—

Silver light flashed.

The half-orc, covered entirely in blood droplets, overflowing with Rage, and with his muscles bulging to their absolute limit...

...was teleported straight into the green cloud right in front of the black-robed Goblin.

Based on the divine spells the enemy had previously cast, it was already confirmed that this black-robed Bugbear, whose frame was far more emaciated than others of its kind, was a Cleric worshipping their main god, Maglubiyet.

In all likelihood, it belonged to the War Domain.

Without a doubt, it was a ranged Spellcaster.

Under these circumstances, having Volga, a Barbarian class, suddenly close the distance...

Even if he couldn't execute it on the spot, he could at least cause it a fair amount of trouble and draw its attention.

This would buy a precious window of opportunity for the blonde Elf—who had long since vanished from Cornell's side and was already riding the breeze around the altar—to strike.

Whether she first destroyed the Silver-White Device continuously emitting gravitational waves or executed a decapitation strike, attacking from both front and back to deal with that black-robed Goblin...

"Squelch."

Cornell's thoughts instantly froze, and his slightly pale face—drained from casting consecutive spells under heavy pressure—suddenly went completely rigid.

He saw the half-orc Volga, who had been teleported right in front of the enemy and was roaring as he charged forward.

He had abruptly stopped dead in his tracks.

On the left side of his chest was a massive, bloody hole that went completely through his body.

And correspondingly, in the black-robed Goblin's withered, twig-like palm, there was now a beating heart, still steadily pumping out fresh blood.

(End of Chapter)