Josh had barely begun his charge toward the Manticore King when a sharp crack split the air—Lola.
She darted past him like a bolt of lightning, her whip already unraveling mid-sprint. She had a death level loyalty, built on the foundation of love, she would lay her life for him in any situation. With practiced precision, she hurled it—snap!—it coiled perfectly around the Manticore King's massive neck. The beast let out a guttural roar that shook loose stones from the cliffs around them.
Then came the thunder.
Lola's eyes blazed. She dug her heels into the earth, raised her hand high, and sent a surge of raw electricity through the whip. A blinding flash lit up the sky, followed by a deafening boom. The Manticore King shrieked—a sound none of them had ever heard before.
For the first time in its ancient, tyrannical life—it felt real, physical pain.
But it wasn't enough, it kill it, mostly just superficial wound.
Its legs buckled, smoke rising from singed fur—but death didn't come. The monster's burning gaze turned on Lola.
On either side of Manticore Mountain, waters churned violently. Those cursed rivers had never been charted. People called them the Drowned Pits—bottomless, black, and alive with creatures so vicious that no explorer had returned to describe them. It was said the water itself devoured souls.
That was why this cursed mountain pass was the only way into the western quadrant of El'dan. Why manticores ruled this region like gods.
Lola attacked again. Her body twisted in midair with uncanny agility—one strike, then another—her whip lashed with electrifying fury, each strike landing with thunderous impact across the manticore's massive torso.
But the beast barely flinched.
"Now... I am thoroughly enraged," it growled, voice like gravel grinding against stone.
Before Lola could recoil, the creature's paw shot forward and grabbed the whip. Sparks danced across its skin as the current still surged, but the monster held firm. With a terrifying roar, it yanked.
Lola was ripped from her footing. The world blurred—sky, rock, beast—before she slammed directly into the Manticore King's waiting paw.
Crack!
The strike landed against her chest with monstrous force, sending her spinning through the air like a discarded doll. Her body crashed to the rocky ground several meters away, motionless.
Blood trickled from her mouth as he chest had a slight depression.
She didn't move.
Josh froze.
The whip uncoiled limply from the beast's claw and fell to the ground, but Josh didn't see it.
He saw Lola.
Crushed.
Still.
Something snapped inside him.
For the first time, the ever-calm, ever-calculating Josh Aratat trembled—not in fear, but in unfiltered rage. His rod gleamed with a dark glow as he charged.
"You'll pay for this," he growled, his voice low, trembling with fury. "With your life."
PWIICK!
The first strike landed squarely at the base of the Manticore's skull—a blow that would have caved in a man's head. The beast barely turned, the skin dented only slightly. A shallow mark.
But Josh didn't stop.
PAH! PAH! PAH!
He became a blur—strikes raining down in rapid succession. The creature reeled under the relentless assault. Its legs shifted, tail thrashed. Josh struck the side of its thigh, then its belly, then a diagonal slash across the snout. Then again.
And again.
Then Josh made a fatal move.
He darted toward the stinger.
The beast's tail jerked. Its third digit twitched—its venom sac—Josh was close. Too close.
The Manticore King felt fear.
Real fear.
Its survival instincts flared.
WHAM!
The beast's massive paw came out of nowhere—Josh never saw it coming.
It slammed into his side with the force of a collapsing boulder. His body flew—arms limp, rod spinning out of his grip.
He hit the ground hard. Didn't get up.
Silence.
Then, the manticore turned to the battlefield strewn with two broken warriors and let out a rumbling laugh that echoed across the blood-soaked mountain.
"HA… HAHAHAHAHA..."
It wasn't a laugh of joy.
It was scorn.
As if to say: Was that all?
Conrad Stan and Shammah moved like shadows in the mist—coordinated, precise, and deadly.
They didn't dare approach the manticore king directly. Instead, they launched their assaults from a calculated distance, hurling barbed spears that shimmered in the moonlight and letting loose arrows tipped with silver that screamed through the air.
The beast snarled, forced to retreat momentarily, its stinger twitching in frustration as the onslaught kept it from delivering a finishing blow to the unconscious Josh Aratat.
But it was only a matter of time.
Each clang of metal against scale, each flicker of pain in the manticore's golden eyes, only served to further its wrath. The beast's growl rumbled like distant thunder, shaking dust from the rocks around it.
Then came reinforcements.
Limro, tall and quiet as a phantom, joined the fray. Joab followed, face hardened, eyes narrowed. Baggon thundered in next, his heavy armor catching firelight as he launched a whirling lance directly at the manticore's exposed joint. The impact made the monster stagger back with a hiss, dangerously close to the cliff's edge, its stinger nearly severed by Joab's spinning glaive.
For a fleeting second, hope ignited.
But that hope was crushed with terrifying speed.
"Paaaah!" The sound was sickening. The air split as the manticore's tail lashed out with surgical precision. Conrad Stan's body was flung into the sky like a lifeless doll, his scream torn from his throat midair. He landed with a dusty thud, bones cracking beneath him.
"Pufffff!"
Shammah was next. Then Joab. Then Baggon. One by one, the remaining generals were swept aside like scraps beneath the paw of a god. Bodies hit the ground—bent, bruised, and broken. Moans of pain filled the air, muffled by the dust they stirred.
The manticore king exhaled heavily, its breath hot and putrid, fangs gleaming with anticipation. Blood trickled from a cut near its brow, but its eyes were alight with savage triumph. It stepped over the fallen, slow and deliberate.
"Now," it hissed, voice guttural and thick with hunger, "it is time to feast on you rodents."
It raised a claw toward Shammah, the closest of the fallen generals.
But then—a voice cut through the chaos like a blade through silk.
"You will do no such thing…"
The manticore froze. Not in fear, but in sheer disbelief.
Josh Aratat—bloodied, broken, yet standing—rose from the dust like a figure reborn. His chest heaved with effort. One leg trembled as he steadied himself. And yet, his eyes… they burned with a fury so controlled it was terrifying.
From the flickering blue screen of the kingly system interface, Josh retrieved a glowing vial—a healing potion forged in the palace's deepest chambers. He uncorked it with a flick of his thumb and drank half. A soft golden light erupted from his core, mending wounds, straightening bone, restoring every ounce of power.
Then he knelt by Lola, brushing dust from her blood-streaked face. He poured the remaining potion into her mouth.
She gasped—eyes flaring open, body jolting upright like lightning had struck her soul. Strength surged through her limbs. Josh handed her a couple of vials containing healing potion as he turned to face the manticore king. She gritted her teeth, nodded once, and without a word began administering healing potions to the rest of the fallen.
Josh turned his eyes back to the beast.
The manticore king stood still, arms crossed, its body a mountain of coiled muscle and menace. Its tail swayed lazily behind it, like a serpent deciding when to strike.
The look it gave Josh said it all: You can rise all you want. I will still bury you.
Josh didn't care.
His grip tightened on his rod, and he took the first step. Dust rose underfoot. The heat from the manticore's breath grew with each stride.
"For what you did to my generals…" Josh's voice was quiet, but every syllable shook the very air. "You will pay. With your life."
Then he took another step.
And another.
Each one a promise.
Each one bringing the wrath of an entire kingdom down upon the monster's head.