600. Walking Fire
What is the Walking Fire?
It is a forbidden spell, meaning it is a spell that should not be used.
But why was the Walking Fire forbidden?
Spells could either draw power from beings in another realm or be created using the caster’s own mana within a spell world.
The former is called borrowed magic, and the latter is called creative magic. The Walking Fire belonged to the domain of creative magic.
Its origin was a calamity caused by an extraordinary monster known as a Salamander.
“All that burns is beautiful.”
A genius, entranced by flames, became obsessed with manifesting various forms made of fire.
The Walking Fire was one such manifestation, but it was also the most corrupted and failed spell.
The requirements for its casting were sacrifices and the caster’s lifespan.
‘The necessary sacrifices: one hundred sentient beings of any race capable of experiencing the agony of being burned alive.’
Additionally, the caster’s lifespan was consumed, and in theory, the caster always died upon the spell's activation.
This was no arbitrary forbidden spell. It drew inspiration from summoning the enigmatic entity Salamander, placing the Walking Fire at the edge of both creative and borrowed magic.
The genius filled the spell’s deficiencies by invoking the name of the Demon God who wielded the flames of the Demon Realm.
One might wonder if it’s feasible to brainwash a well-trained magician into casting such a spell. The answer is no—it was impossible.
The Walking Fire was so difficult to cast that only an exceptionally talented magician could even attempt it.
From mana control to the incantation, a single mistake would result in the caster either burning alive or exploding.
It was a spell that required the caster to risk their life, even if they were highly gifted.
For this reason, no sane magician would attempt it. But if successfully cast, it became a catastrophic weapon.
The Walking Fire would not disappear until it fulfilled its purpose.
It used the ambient mana flowing through nature as its fuel.
Esther was a witch—a seeker and researcher of magic.
When she nodded in response to Encrid’s question, her mind raced through everything she knew about the spell “Walking Fire.”
A few additional notes came to mind: the spell sacrificed control for destruction and was nearly impossible to avoid if one became its target.
‘What would I do?’
Esther quickly considered several solutions, but each required her unique expertise as a witch and a scholar of the stars.
There was nothing a mere swordsman could do.
“Why?”
Esther asked. The mirror she had given him only reflected Encrid’s face. Their conversation had to be brief because the mirror, while a powerful artifact, contained limited mana.
“Because I need to know. Tell me what you can.”
The man on the other side of the mirror spoke, and Esther detected urgency in his tone. Without questioning him further, she condensed her thoughts and explained.
“What if someone stood before it and endured until its mana was depleted?”
Encrid interrupted. He was clearly desperate, skipping context to get straight to the point.
Esther understood and responded.
“That might work, but I wouldn’t recommend it.”
She suspected he planned to confront the spell himself, which would likely result in his death or leave him burned and crippled.
But, of course, her advice went unheeded.
“That might be an option.”
Encrid muttered and disappeared from the mirror. The mirror quickly reverted to its dull surface.
Esther stood up.
His words and the unfolding situation played through her mind.
If he had already encountered the Walking Fire, she might be too late. Yet she had learned something from Encrid.
‘If you stop because you think it’s too late, nothing will ever change.’
The fastest course of action was to act immediately upon realization. Esther took her first step.
The mirror Esther had given him was a special artifact that responded when held and focused on her.
As Encrid thought about his next move and let go of the mirror, it returned to its original state.
There was no time for pleasantries. Encrid placed the mirror aside and began removing his scaled armor.
If he planned to endure the flames, the armor would only hinder him.
He stripped off his dark blue cloak and everything else, leaving only a thin short-sleeved shirt.
He quickly re-equipped his sword belt and weapons. His hands moved faster and more skillfully than those of a veteran soldier with over twenty years of service.
“What are you doing?”
Luagarne asked.
“It’s too hot.”
It wasn’t the most convincing excuse, considering it was early winter.
“Fire!”
“Ahhh!”
“The fire is walking!”
“By the gods!”
The combination of incomprehensible screams and scattered cries of terror made “too hot” seem like an appropriate statement.
“What… is this?”
Luagarne puffed her cheeks in disbelief.
“Well then.”
Encrid stood up and ran outside. He hadn’t even crossed the plaza when he saw the Walking Fire.
As usual, its stretched, rod-like fingers reached out, igniting people and buildings.
Boom!
An explosion erupted from an area where oil had been stored, sending black smoke into the sky. The acrid stench and sudden blindness caused further panic among the people.
“What the hell is this?”
“It’s hot! Too hot!”
“Ahhh!”
Amidst the screams, the knight’s instincts clearly sensed the presence of the spell. He didn’t need to see it to know it was there.
Encrid bent his left knee slightly and prepared to act.
Bang!
He pushed off the ground, drawing a horizontal line with his blade.
The black steel, refined with orichalcum, sliced a portion of the Walking Fire’s surface. His repeated deaths had not been in vain.
‘If you cut through its body, it explodes. A deep cut will trigger that. If you sever a large enough part of it, it’ll explode.’
Each explosion created a shockwave that sucked everything nearby into the flames, scattering embers in all directions.
Every ember was as destructive as a fire spell cast by a skilled mage.
The solution wasn’t to attack but to endure. He had to hold out until the spell’s mana was depleted.
Once Encrid decided to endure, he knew this would be a battle of patience.
So, what was the first thing he needed to do?
‘Chip away at it.’
He would trim its flames, like carving slices off a roast, without causing it to explode. This would force it to expend energy faster and hopefully draw its attention, allowing others to escape.
Encrid set about his task.
Was it a feat akin to acrobatics? Yes.
Was it incredibly dangerous? Absolutely.
But it wasn’t impossible.
His finely honed senses, shaped by training under Saxen and the isolation techniques he learned from Audin, allowed him to act with precision.
Combining his skills with unwavering focus, his swordsmanship reached the level of an art form.
Two blue flames danced like artists painting lines in the darkness of the smoke.
Those lines carved through parts of the Walking Fire, scattering its embers into the air.
What began as a desperate battle of endurance started to tilt in his favor.
Gripping his sword tighter, he focused entirely on the fight.
The Beast’s Heart within him lent him boldness, allowing him to channel his instincts fully into combat.
The Beast’s Heart did more than provide courage—it eliminated the natural reflex to flinch or close his eyes at incoming danger.
This meant he could use the time he would have spent blinking or recoiling to make calculated decisions.
It was similar to how Lem split gaps with her impulsive axe strikes.
Encrid did the same, but the Walking Fire remained unresponsive to his attacks.
“Walking Fire!”
Luagarne’s alarmed shout came from behind. As Encrid continued slicing and chipping away, he heard another familiar voice.
“Idiots! Get to the mansion!”
It was Lord Louis, shouting the same orders he had given during countless repeated days.
Encrid’s sharp senses detected people moving in a rush, and the Walking Fire turned its hand toward them.
If he didn’t act, dozens of people would burn.
“Baby! Baby!”
Amidst the chaos, a woman crouched over her child, shielding them with her body. Even without looking, Encrid could imagine the scene.
The child had fallen, and the mother was protecting them with her own body.
If he continued his current strategy, he could save the majority. But doing so would mean sacrificing the mother and child.
Sacrifice a few to save the many?
There was no time for hesitation.
The orichalcum blade flashed upward, swift as a swallow.
Whoosh!
The sword severed the Walking Fire’s arm.
Fwoosh!
The fire flared violently, followed by an explosion.
Encrid grabbed the flaming figure, wrestling it to the ground.
As the flames licked his body, his clothes burned, and his skin began to char. The pain was excruciating—his entire body trembled, and saliva dripped involuntarily from his mouth. Not that he noticed; the heat evaporated it instantly.
“Fool! Enki!”
Luagarne ran toward him, shouting.
Even as he endured the agony of burning alive, Encrid thought this was a better outcome.
The winter flowers had burned, but Delma hadn’t, and neither had Luagarne.
Fwoosh.
Another day came to an end. As darkness engulfed him, the ferryman appeared. This one felt similar to the ferryman from before.
Sometimes, the ferryman’s mood changed unpredictably, like a twelve-year-old’s tantrum. But lately, the atmosphere had been consistent.
“Such foolish dreams.”
The ferryman spoke.
“What do you mean?”
“To keep others safe when I offered you the chance to run with them. What did you say? To protect tomorrow? Arrogant. So arrogant.”
“Hmm, perhaps.”
Encrid replied absentmindedly, lost in thought.
Once awake, there was little time for reflection. Even with accelerated thinking, it was never enough.
He had gained time and experience through countless repetitions of today. He decided he might as well use this time.
“You won’t overcome it like this.”
As the ferryman finished speaking, today began anew.
When Encrid opened his eyes, it was once again the moment he woke from his nap.
‘Like this?’
The ferryman’s words lingered in his mind, but he had immediate tasks to tackle.
The Walking Fire would enter the city, igniting everything in its path. He always woke with a sense of foreboding just before it began.
So, what if he confronted it before it reached the city?
Encrid formed this hypothesis and ran as fast as he could.
When he reached the outskirts, the Walking Fire had already entered the city.
This time, he barely had the opportunity to fight back effectively.
‘I should’ve ditched the armor first.’
He had rushed to save time and paid the price. Running while removing armor wasn’t easy.
Encrid leaped across rooftops to gain an advantage but found the same results. His hypothesis was incorrect—the Walking Fire was already in the city.
Instead, he witnessed the beginning of the devastation.
Near the gates, it set a carriage ablaze and incinerated the hay and horses in a nearby stable. No one had died yet, but chaos was unfolding.
Some people stared at the fire in confusion.
Others screamed at the sight of burning horses.
An elderly stable master swung a pitchfork at the Walking Fire in futile defiance.
Fwoosh!
The fiery prison consumed the old man without a sound.
Watching the scene, Encrid had one thought.
‘I need more information.’
Afterward, he fought, felt his skin sear inside his burning armor, and died.
“You fool.”
The ferryman’s reprimand echoed as he returned to the present.
Running while stripping off his scaled armor was a feat that required as much skill as catching arrows mid-flight—while easier, it still demanded practice.
Removing armor quickly was no easy task. Encrid needed a different approach.
‘Don’t remove it.’
Encrid used a short sword from Aetri to cut the armor straps.
“That was expensive.”
Luagarne commented, but it wasn’t the time to worry about costs.
He charged forward, armor straps cut, only to die again.
“You’re hopeless.”
The ferryman’s scolding greeted him once more as another day began.
‘I’ll cut time spent strapping on weapons too.’
He abandoned strapping on his belt and upper gear, wielding only his orichalcum sword as he ran.
Several days passed with no breakthroughs.
‘Information.’
This time, he drew the mirror while running.
By now, Encrid had mastered the art of removing his gear mid-sprint.
He hadn’t expected this skill to develop from his endless repetitions.
“You know the Walking Fire, don’t you? That forbidden spell that burns until its mana is depleted? Tell me everything.”
Esther, surprised for a moment, quickly explained what she knew.
He listened while running and pieced together information over repeated days.
And then he uncovered something new.
‘No wonder it seems to grow larger during the fight.’
The Walking Fire replenished itself by absorbing ambient mana.
It also grew stronger by consuming living beings.
As a spell created from sacrifices, it continued to feed on new sacrifices.
In other words, it was weakest before claiming its first victim.
He now understood this critical detail, but still, Encrid failed.
“So, you’re not just arrogant—you’re also an idiot?”
The ferryman’s exasperation grew. Though he seemed to enjoy trapping Encrid in today, his outward demeanor suggested otherwise.
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