Chapter 584 - 512: Crush! The Spellbreaking Fist

Chapter 584: Chapter 512: Crush! The Spellbreaking Fist

Before Roland could speak, Ogre had already stepped forward.

As his massive frame moved, it carried an almost tangible pressure, born from years of accumulated authority and intimidation.

As his feet hit the ground, the men who had been subtly forming an encirclement all took an involuntary, synchronized half-step back.

Their fingers tightened subconsciously on their weapons, and a flicker of barely perceptible fear crossed their faces.

Seeing this, the subservience in Ogre’s light brown eyes—the one he showed before Roland—was instantly replaced by the ferocity and violence of a Half-beastman, like an awakened beast.

The hideous scar on his face twitched slightly. He bared his yellowed fangs, his voice like grinding stones.

"Malok ’Blood Claw’... cut the act."

"This is the black market. Anyone who can afford the ’ticket’ can come."

His gaze met the Tiefling’s vertical pupils, which burned like embers, without backing down. His tone was filled with undisguised contempt.

"And don’t you put on that disgusting act like you own the place. Everyone knows you’re just one of Viper’s snarling watchdogs. You really think you’re the one in charge?"

"Excellent..."

Hearing the term "watchdog," the Tiefling called Malok didn’t get angry. Instead, the sardonic curve of his lips deepened slightly.

He raised his hands and began to clap, slowly and deliberately.

The crisp sound of his well-defined fingers striking each other was jarring in the suddenly quiet area.

"Well said, Ogre. ’Watchdog’... I like that name."

Malok’s voice was still hoarse, but now it held a hint of pleasure, like a cat toying with a mouse.

"So, as a ’watchdog,’ I should know how to guard my own territory and keep certain..."

As he spoke, he took two seemingly casual steps forward, closing the distance with Ogre.

"...’stray dogs’ who don’t know the rules from sneaking in and causing trouble."

Before the words had even faded, everything changed in an instant.

With no incantation, no obvious casting motion. ℴ

Malok’s right hand, which had been hanging naturally at his side, suddenly clenched its five fingers inward, as if grasping a ball of invisible, searing heat.

The next moment, a blinding, orange-red pillar of fire—as thick as an arm yet incredibly solid—shot out from his palm like a viper striking from its den.

The pillar was not a diffuse flame; its edges were sharp, and its core flowed with a magma-like luster. It carried terrifying heat and destructive force as it shot straight toward Ogre’s chest, now just inches away.

The air instantly ignited with a crackling POP, and a wave of heat so intense it stung the skin washed over them first!

"A spell!"

"And an Instant Cast Flame Spell! How is that possible?"

Ogre’s pupils shrank to pinpricks, his mind reeling in shock.

’That bastard Malok is a Tiefling, true, and it’s also true that some Tieflings have a natural affinity for Flame.’

’But to cast a Flame attack of this power so quickly and without preparation... this is definitely not some ordinary bloodline talent!’

’When did he master this level of Casting Ability?’

Shock was one thing, but the combat instincts honed by years of walking the line between life and death saved Ogre at that moment.

Faced with the deadly pillar of fire that was nearly impossible to dodge and closing in fast, the muscles in his left arm bulged. With a roar, he stomped his foot, tearing a slab of shattered earth from the ground to use as a shield, then pushed off to retreat diagonally backward.

However, the distance was too short.

The pillar of fire was too fast, and the force it contained far exceeded his estimation.

Just grazing the edge of it sent a searing pain through his body. The impact sent him staggering backward, his balance lost.

Meanwhile, the core of the fire pillar had already shattered the slab of earth and was about to engulf his torso.

The scorching light illuminated the Half-beastman’s face, a mask of shock and fury. The stench of death was in the air.

But just in the nick of time...

A dark shadow cut between the two without warning, moving at a speed far beyond what an ordinary eye could follow.

It was Roland.

He hadn’t even fully turned. With just a single sidestep, he had precisely positioned himself in front of Ogre, directly facing the roaring, orange-red pillar of fire.

No incantation. No hand signs. No external aids.

Facing the savage Magic Flame—hot enough to melt gold and iron—Roland simply raised his right arm.

He made a fist.

Then, meeting the searing wind and blinding light of the fire pillar, he threw a straight punch.

In that instant, a tangible, almost viscous crimson light erupted violently from his clenched fist.

It was not Flame, yet it was hotter and more turbulent than any Flame.

The Blood-colored Fighting Spirit seemed to have a life of its own, surging and spinning before his fist, forming a miniature, crimson vortex that simultaneously collapsed inward and burst outward.

The next moment.

The fist and the pillar of fire collided!

"BOOM!"

A sound far deeper and heavier than the initial blast of the fire pillar—like two mountains smashing into each other—erupted in the narrow mine tunnel.

There was no stalemate, no struggle.

To everyone’s utter disbelief, the condensed, violent, orange-red pillar of fire—powerful enough to kill Ogre instantly—seemed to hit an unbreakable barrier the moment it touched the crimson fist.

Like the most ravenous of beasts, the Blood-colored Fighting Spirit instantly tore apart, devoured, and annihilated the core Energy at the pillar’s tip.

Immediately after, a ring-shaped shockwave of pure, irresistible Power exploded outward from the point of his fist.