Chapter 378 - 363: Nine Prisons Flame

Chapter 378: Chapter 363: Nine Prisons Flame

"Hah... hah... hah..."

Roland slowly descended from mid-air, landing on one knee. Violent gasps tore at his chest.

The price of unleashing Dragon’s Breath was far greater than he had anticipated.

An intense wave of exhaustion swept over him, as if every last drop of his Power had been drained by that destructive Thunderbolt.

And his right arm.

The arm that had just wielded the Thunderbolt now throbbed with excruciating pain.

His entire forearm, down to his palm, was scorched black. Large patches of the dense, silver Dragon Scales that once covered it had peeled and curled away, revealing severely burned, almost carbonized skin beneath.

At the edges of the charred flesh, the wound was a mangled mess. Faint arcs of electricity could still be seen dancing defiantly across its surface, letting out soft CRACKLES.

He tried to move his fingers, only to be met with a tearing, stabbing pain and a deep numbness.

The entire arm had temporarily lost all sensation, as if it no longer belonged to him.

The air was filled with the acrid smell of burnt flesh and the metallic tang of his own Dragon Blood.

He looked down at his "masterpiece."

The ground below looked as if an invisible giant’s hand had viciously crushed it, leaving a massive, scorched crater nearly a hundred meters in diameter.

The soil and rock within the crater had all vitrified into a crystalline, glass-like substance that still radiated astonishing heat and sent up wisps of white smoke.

At the crater’s edge, twisted rubble, as if forcibly fused together, had taken on bizarre, molten shapes—a testament to the terrifying Energy unleashed in that single moment.

A pungent, burnt smell—a mixture of ozone and sulfur—filled the air. Occasionally, tiny arcs of electricity would still dance across the scorched earth, letting out soft CRACKLES.

The dense swarm of Purgatory Bats that had been trying to flee had now vanished without a trace.

Not even a scrap of debris, not a single speck of ash, remained. It was as if the pure Thunder Power had erased them from existence itself.

Only in the center of the crater did a small, pale flame remain, so weak it seemed it could go out at any moment, flickering like a candle in the wind.

It was the last, defiant ember of Malcolm, all that was left after his destruction.

He glanced around. Even the din of battle from the distant field seemed to have paused for an instant, silenced by this sudden, god-like display of punishment.

Silence descended upon the area that had just suffered such devastating Destruction.

Roland gritted his teeth, bracing his good left hand on his knee as he tried to push himself upright.

The injury to his right arm was horrifying, but he could feel that the damage was not fundamental.

The powerful Life Energy granted by his Giant Dragon Bloodline was already in a Struggle against the residual Thunder Power, slowly and steadily beginning to repair his body.

It would just take time...

And the inevitable waves of pain.

Fighting through the waves of searing pain and numbness in his right arm, Roland summoned his Professional Panel in the depths of his mind and eagerly scanned his status.

When he saw that the Gaze from the Abyss Trait—which had clung to him like a disease—had vanished, the tension that had gripped him finally released. He let out a long, ragged breath that tasted of blood.

The Trait was gone, meaning the source of the Curse had been completely severed.

Malcolm, that cunning Demon from the Nine Prisons, had well and truly fallen. Even his very Origin had been disintegrated by the Dragon’s Breath.

However, the joy of victory didn’t last long, quickly replaced by a sober assessment of the battle.

He looked down at his charred right arm, its Dragon Scales cracked and peeling, and replayed the perilous battle in his mind.

Malcolm’s speed, his inescapable Thorn Chain, and his array of bizarre Spell-like Abilities all spoke to how powerful he must have been at his peak.

’If he hadn’t already been weakened from his long, fierce battle with Morne...’

Roland assessed coolly.

’Beating him would never have been this "easy."’

He knew full well that he’d only managed to seize that fleeting opportunity and end it all with Dragon’s Breath because Malcolm was already a spent force.

If he had faced a High Tier Demon at full strength, the outcome of today’s battle would have been far from certain.

Just as his mind began to settle, a familiar stirring emanated from deep within his bloodline.

The Plundering Trait had been triggered.

His gaze immediately snapped to the center of the scorched wasteland below.

He focused on the pale, flickering ember that was the last remnant of Malcolm’s existence.

The wisp of Flame, which should have dissipated naturally, was instead seemingly cupped and molded by an invisible hand, slowly levitating from the bottom of the scorched crater.

It no longer radiated the unsettling aura of the Nine Prisons. Instead, a faint but resilient, invisible Force Field enveloped it. ℴℴ𝘮

The pale fire within bizarrely solidified and contracted, finally forming an irregular, fingernail-sized crystal of a deep, dark red. On its surface, what looked like solidified flames seemed to swirl slowly.

Roland’s eyes narrowed. Ignoring the intense pain in his right arm, his sharp gaze swept the sky and ground like a hawk’s, and his Perception spread outward in ripples.

Once he confirmed there was no immediate danger, Roland no longer hesitated.

He pushed off the ground with his left foot, launching himself into the air and soaring toward the suspended, dark red crystal.

However, just as he drew within a few paces, preparing to get a closer look at this "most precious treasure" from the Nine Prisons Demon Fiend, the unexpected happened.

As if sensing his approach, the dark red luster on the crystal’s surface suddenly flashed.

The entire crystal then seemed to come to life, transforming into a viscous stream of dark red light that shot deliberately and swiftly toward Roland’s chest.

Alarm bells screamed in Roland’s mind. He instinctively tried to dodge, but the stream of light was unimaginably fast, giving him no time to react.

WHOOSH!

With a sound so faint it was nearly inaudible, the stream of dark red light sank unimpeded into the center of his chest and vanished.

There was no impact, no pain from an explosion of Energy, not even the slightest sensation of a foreign object.

It simply merged into his body without a sound, like a drop of water returning to the sea.

Apart from a silent shriek—full of defiance and venomous hatred, seemingly echoing from the distant Nine Prisons deep within his soul—it left no other trace.

Roland snapped his head down to look at his unblemished chest, then subconsciously touched it.

Beneath his skin, everything felt normal.

Before he could even process what had happened, several terse, cold lines of text appeared in his vision.

[Detecting external high-purity Energy source...]

[Identified as: Nine Prisons Flame (Origin Fragment)]

[Host Trait detected: Heart of the Furnace]

[Attempting fusion...]

’Nine Prisons Flame?’

Just as Roland was reeling from this sudden information, another change occurred.

In the scorched crater, at the very spot where Malcolm’s Origin had met its Annihilation, faint motes of light emerged as if breaking free from a cage.

Most of them seemed to carry a joyful sense of release, scattering silently into the wind and dissolving back into the world.

One mote of light, however, was completely different.

It was more substantial than the others, and it radiated a cold, viscous malice.

This light didn’t disperse. Instead, it shot forward and stopped right in front of Roland.

The light twisted and flickered violently, at times stretching into the blurry, ferocious outline of a human face, at others contracting into a hateful glare "nailed" firmly upon Roland.

The venom and hatred it contained were so potent they nearly materialized into a tangible Curse.

Had an ordinary person been standing here, their mind would have likely been eroded by such pure malice.

But Roland merely furrowed his brow, watching it calmly.

He could clearly sense that while this hateful Soul Fragment seethed with overwhelming emotion, it was itself incredibly fragile.

Like a ship without an anchor, it had lost its foundation of Power. It could do nothing but radiate impotent malice.

Roland stared at the blurry, savage face outlined in the twisted light. Though it shifted constantly, the lines of the eyes and brows, the faintly discernible features...

’Wait, is that... Anno?’

He muttered aloud, his voice tinged with disbelief.

’This once-illustrious Duke, reduced to this? Nothing more than a wisp of a resentful, remnant soul?’

The moment the words left his lips, Roland’s ear twitched almost imperceptibly.

A faint sound, nearly lost in the wind, reached him from the shadows of the nearby ruins—the sound of footsteps, mixed with the scraping of something heavy being dragged across the ground.

The sound was faint, but it couldn’t escape his Perception, which had grown ever sharper as his power increased.

He spun around, his gaze as sharp as lightning, fixed on the source of the sound.

A moment later, a figure slowly emerged from the Shadow of the crumbling ruins.

It was Morne.

But the old King was clearly not in good shape.