Dungeon King: The Hidden Ruler-Chapter 92: [Three Faces of the Blade 10] Oathbreaker

Raven ducked under another burning arc, chain recoiling as he leapt across a fracture in the floor. The heat blurred his vision. Steam hissed from his coat. He could still hear Ostreva’s whip-crack incantation behind him, could still see the flicker of her vines slicing across Arvax’s molten frame. But it wasn’t enough.

Not anymore.

They were holding it—but they weren’t breaking it.

Raven landed behind a half-collapsed brazier, breathing hard, fingers clenched tight around his chain.

We’re down to two. The damage isn’t keeping up.

He opened his interface. One slot left.

Time to use it.

No more cards to play. Just this last one. The only thing left that could go toe to toe with a creature made to test finality itself.

"Emberforge Titan," Raven growled. "Come to me."

A sigil pulsed into existence beneath him, veins of burning orange light spreading like molten cracks across the ground.

A deep, metallic rumble answered from the abyss.

The arena shuddered. Stone split. A furnace-shaped rift tore open in the ground behind Raven.

And from it rose Emberforge Titan.

Ten feet tall. Plated in bronze and black steel, its limbs vented fire like breath. In one hand it carried a war-axe glowing with liquid heat. In the other, a furnace core burned within its chest, casting orange light across the room.

It turned its head once—toward Arvax.

Then toward Raven.

"This one burns... wrong," Emberforge growled, voice like coal cracking under pressure. "I will show it how fire should dance."

Arvax reacted instantly.

It surged forward, all six arms raised in a bristling fan of molten brass. Emberforge lowered his shoulder and charged to meet it, furnace-core roaring.

The impact was seismic. The arena groaned under the clash—stone split, debris lifted, and heat exploded outward in concentric waves.

Arvax struck first, two upper limbs hammering down. Emberforge caught one on his armored forearm and twisted, dragging the construct forward as his shoulder rammed into its chest. The second strike glanced off his plating, shearing sparks.

Then Emberforge’s axe came around in a wide arc—one fluid, flaming sweep. It cleaved through two of Arvax’s lower arms in a spray of molten metal.

They grappled.

Metal shrieked against metal. Emberforge grabbed one of Arvax’s remaining arms and pulled it downward while slamming his elbow into the engine’s jawless head. Arvax retaliated with a spinning knee-like piston into Emberforge’s side, forcing separation.

Neither gave ground—but Arvax, staggered, was driven back three paces.

From the rear flank, Ostreva emerged again, slipping between burn zones to reapply Crimson Thornlash. Her cast struck true, re-wrapping Arvax’s leg plating in thorned corrosion.

Meanwhile, Raven was already moving—grappling from one wall to the next, dodging streaks of flame that chased behind every Arvax swing.

He launched from a diagonal arc, chain pulled tight, and struck from behind.

Arvax spun, trying to track him.

"Over here," Raven growled, hurling Phantom Bind and blinking to a new blind spot. The construct turned again—its focus fractured.

Every step Emberforge took left burning sigils in his wake—smoldering runes that lingered in the scorched earth and flared whenever Arvax passed near. The battlefield became a moving crucible, a shifting grid of flame and ruin.

Each clash between them ignited brief explosions of superheated steam and flaring pressure bursts. The force of each impact echoed like divine thunder, rattling the foundation stones and sending bursts of flame through cracked seams in the arena.

Ostreva kept moving, weaving through the widest arcs the arena allowed—staying just far enough to avoid direct aggro but never far enough to be useless. Her path traced the edge of fire and ruin, toes just skimming the edge of burning glyphs and lingering poison.

Every few strides, she paused just long enough to cast another Regal Bloom, blanketing the field in thin veils of toxic green mist. The vapor crept low across the broken stone, curling around debris, pooling beneath Arvax’s feet.

From that haze, her next incantation followed—Crimson Thornlash, sharp and rhythmic. Thorns flicked across the arena, snapping around Arvax’s limbs and driving deeper with each pass.

The arena had become a graveyard of elements—fire swirling from Emberforge, poison from Ostreva, steam from Arvax’s ruptured vents. Every breath tasted like ash and venom.

Emberforge didn’t just swing; he scorched with every motion. Each punch detonated with the force of a forge bellows and left molten embers trailing from Arvax’s armor. The heat shimmer warped the air around them, turning the battlefield into a blazing mirage.

Arvax staggered under the sustained assault. Its outer shell, already warped from poison and heat, now buckled visibly. Movements grew staggered. Each step came half a beat too slow. The inferno was dragging it down, piece by piece.

It was no longer just a battle. It was a furnace trial.

Now it was two titans—one artificial god of trial, one summoned god of fire.

And Raven danced between them, keeping the burn alive.

He moved like a shadow among infernos. Every second, he had to calculate—where the burn trails overlapped, where the floor might give, where the next impact zone would be. Grapple. Swing. Roll. Blink. His eyes never left the space between Arvax’s shoulder joints—but his mind had to play six moves ahead, or he’d die in one.

Raven was smaller. Weaker. But that didn’t make him tremble.

He had two advantages.

Mobility—when pushed to the edge—could make him nearly untouchable.

And second: bigger targets had bigger joints.

He launched a diagonal grapple, soaring across the burning arena, then hooked his chain around one of Arvax’s upper arms. As the chain snapped taut, he twisted midair and drove his dagger into the exposed joint.

Hit.

He yanked himself free before the counterstrike landed, tumbling back behind scorched debris.

Arvax roared—a sound that cracked the air—and turned violently toward Raven.

That was the opening.

Emberforge roared in turn, answering the challenge, and raised both hands.

[Skill Activated – Firestorm]

Effect: Constant swirling AoE around Emberforge Titan

All enemies within radius receive Damage over Time with burned effect

(Burned: The target takes additional damage over 4 seconds. Stackable effect)

Heat spiraled from Emberforge’s core as flame rings exploded outward, bathing Arvax in white-hot backlash.

Arvax roared—its molten frame shuddering under the added pressure. Now it wasn’t just thorned corrosion biting into its limbs. Fire wrapped around its plating, sizzling deep into already scorched joints.

It turned, struggling to stabilize—

But Emberforge was already there.

The fire-titan surged forward with brutal efficiency. His massive fist arced like a comet and slammed into Arvax’s jawless cheek.

The impact rang out across the arena.

The sound was thunder made physical. Chunks of the stone platform broke loose and flew outward. A scaffold collapsed from the reverberation. The shockwave cracked several of the old Velkarin banners still clinging to the walls—snapping them free in clouds of ash and cloth.

Arvax staggered sideways, feet skidding across stone. Steam vented in a violent burst from its spine as it tried to recover.

Then the glyphs along Arvax’s core pulsed blood red.

It stopped tracking Raven and Emberforge Titan. Its head locked toward the rear of the arena.

Toward Ostreva. The one that cause prolonged huge damage.

[Red Phase Triggered Skill – Oathbreaker Engaged]

Target: Lady Ostreva

Effect: Branded Execution Hammer

Outcome: If hit, reduces target HP to 1

Raven’s eyes widened. "Ostreva—MOVE!"

Ostreva turned just as Arvax lunged. The molten titan crossed the arena in a blink, its massive hammer arm raised high—branded with searing glyphs.

She tried to blink aside—but the burn zone hindered her, slowing her spell just enough.

The hammer clipped her shoulder with brutal force. Her body was hurled backward across the scorched field, trailing embers.

[HP Reduced to 1 – Execution Threshold Reached] [Burn Field Active – Movement Hazard]

Raven hurled another Phantom Bind, but it hit only after the blow had landed.

Ostreva’s silhouette flickered inside the heat haze. She was still alive—but barely. And the field was closing in.

Ostreva staggered to her feet, her movements strained and slow. Her HP bar pulsed crimson—just a sliver remaining.

Oathbreaker was a red-stage mechanic designed to bait panic. Players would instinctively retreat, heal, or reposition—and that’s when Arvax would follow up with a killing blow.

But one loophole in that system that exploited by Raven.

Ostreva wasn’t a player.

She was a summon.

She didn’t need to retreat.

She wasn’t coded to prioritize survival.

Raven had known that from the start.

And that’s what made her the perfect answer to Oathbreaker.

With a guttural breath, she pushed forward through the lingering flames. Her cloak dragged, smoldering at the edges. She raised her arms again—in a mesmerizing mix of grace and fury.

She cast Regal Bloom one last time.

The poison gas cloud bloom burst from beneath her legs and filled the arena again, wild and overgrown—feral and unrestrained.

Then another Crimson Thornlash.

Then another.

Each one cracked through the air, wrapping thorns around every exposed joint. The construct staggered in heavy stack of DoT.

Then came the last cast.

But she didn’t finish it.

Arvax’s massive palm reached out—uncharacteristically fast. It closed around her body like a cage.

Her scream echoed through the inferno as the searing grip burned into her sides. But in between the pain—she laughed.

Spiteful. Wicked. Liberated.

"Go to hell, you trash heap," she hissed.

Her body cracked under the heat, blackened bark and corrupted vines flaking away.

Then she turned to ash in Arvax’s hand.

[Unsummoned Lady Ostreva – Cannot be summoned again until the stage clear]

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