Chapter 585 - 512: Crushing! The Spell-Shattering Fist

Chapter 585: Chapter 512: Crushing! The Spell-Shattering Fist

PSHHHH!

It was like a scorching-hot branding iron plunged into ice water, or like red-hot glass shattered by immense force.

The menacing pillar of fire began to collapse from its tip, disintegrating inch by inch, shattering into countless dim sparks and turbulent bursts of heat that scattered in every direction.

Fragments of orange-red and blood-colored Energy, mixed with the dispersed Magic Elements, danced and sputtered in the dim light like the most extravagant and dangerous of festival fireworks, illuminating face after face filled with shock and horror.

The searing wave of heat was driven back by a far more powerful shockwave, kicking up dust and debris from the ground to form a chaotic vortex.

And Roland, the black-haired young man standing before the Ogre, remained perfectly still in his punching stance.

The air around him warped slightly from the high temperature and the Energy Shock, but he himself—along with the Blood-colored Fighting Spirit that enveloped his fist and was now slowly receding—didn’t even have the corner of his clothes singed.

One punch.

Just one punch.

No fancy techniques, no profound Magic.

Only the most primitive, most direct, and most soul-shaking...

Power.

Dead silence.

If the crowd had been watching the earlier argument between Malok and the Ogre with the detached interest of spectators at a show...

...then now, this small area felt as if it had been plunged into a sea of absolute zero, freezing the very air.

Behind Malok, the handful of fierce-eyed thugs who had been forming an encirclement now wore expressions like frozen masks.

Their eyes were wide, their mouths hung agape, and the knuckles of the hands gripping their weapons were white from the strain, even trembling slightly.

As for the onlookers—the black market Merchants and Adventurers from all walks of life—their reactions were far more direct and clamorous.

"Gods above... What... what did I just see?"

A tall, thin man with a scarf covering half his face took an unconscious step back, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

"He destroyed ’Molten Breath’ with his bare hands? The last time that thing was used, it burned a Barbarian Warrior who was looking for trouble to a pile of cinders!"

"Molten Breath? That’s a Second Ring Shaping Spell at least! And it was an Instant Cast! When did that Tiefling get so strong? No... wait! The point is the kid with the black hair!"

A middle-aged man nearby, dressed like a Merchant and carrying a large pack, whispered urgently, his eyes filled with a mixture of shock and uncertainty.

"Was that Fighting Spirit? No... that color... that feeling... I’ve never seen Fighting Spirit that... that ’heavy’! It was like a sea of blood condensed into a fist!"

"Where did the Ogre find a monster like that?"

From the shadows, a figure completely wrapped in a tattered cloak murmured, their voice dry and raspy.

"Malok really kicked an iron plate this time... no, he kicked a Siege Hammer!"

Whispers spread through the crowd like a plague, and every gaze directed at Roland was filled with disbelief, awe, apprehension, and deep curiosity.

The once amused or indifferent gazes were now entirely replaced by shock.

A few onlookers in the front even took a few more involuntary steps back, afraid of being caught in the crossfire of an even more terrifying conflict that might erupt next.

And at the center of the storm was Malok himself...

His right hand, which had just unleashed "Molten Breath," was still slightly outstretched, frozen in mid-air.

The lingering orange-red sparks at his fingertips drifted down feebly and died out.

The mocking, cat-and-mouse amusement on his face had vanished without a trace, replaced by an almost stupefied bewilderment.

And in the depths of his pupils, a rapidly expanding wave of shock mixed with a hint of...

Fear.

His vertical pupils, like smoldering embers, were "nailed" unblinkingly to Roland’s calm, emotionless face, before slowly shifting to his own "masterpiece"—now reduced to nothing but scattered sparks and waves of heat.

The Instant Cast, Tier Two Shaping spell, "Molten Breath," was an ability he had only recently acquired through some secret price.

It was the foundation of his confidence, the reason he dared to vie for more influence under "Viper" and even deliberately provoke the Ogre today.

He had imagined the Ogre might dodge, be gravely injured, or even be saved by an accomplice...

But he had never imagined, and simply could not comprehend, the scene unfolding before him.

No blocking, no dodging, no countering with an equivalent spell.

Just...

One punch.

With that bizarre and domineering Blood-colored Fighting Spirit, his condensed Magic Flame had been "smashed" out of existence in the most savage, unreasonable way possible.

’This level of Power...’

’This absolute control and overwhelming dominance over Energy...’

’Just who is this guy?’

’How could the Ogre possibly command a being like this?!’

Malok’s thoughts nearly ground to a halt under the immense shock, and an icy chill ran down his spine.

But Roland paid no mind to the surrounding gazes, which were a mixture of shock, awe, and Fear.

He frowned slightly and shook his right hand, flicking away the last few hot embers and fine specks of Magic Dust from his knuckles.

’The level of Energy condensation and explosive force... it should meet the standard for a Second Ring Spell? I didn’t expect an attack cast by a half-blood Tiefling in this era to have such intensity...’

’If I didn’t possess the [Heart of the Furnace] Trait, which gives me an extraordinary affinity for and control over the Fire Element...’

’...even if I could have forcibly dispelled that pillar of fire just now, my arm, and maybe even my body, would have likely been burned by the highly condensed Magic Flame.’

’Still...’

Roland slowly raised his head, his calm gaze landing on Malok, who was still seemingly in a daze from the shock. There wasn’t the slightest hint of tension in his eyes.