ShadowBound: The Need For Power-Chapter 372: The Green Calamity (7)

Back when Eliv boldly assured Lord Sylvathar that he would handle Galen Magna—that he would keep the knight from interfering with the grand plan—he believed it. Genuinely. Between himself, Morbuan, and two other generals, he was certain Galen could be subdued, killed even. Four against one. Tacticians, not savages. Real opponents, not reckless demons. It was supposed to be simple.

After all, Galen’s reputation was built mostly on myth. He was said to wield terrifying firepower, true, but very few had actually seen it with their own eyes. Eliv had assumed—no, calculated—that the rumors were inflated. That Galen, powerful as he may be, could not endure four of Sylvathar’s enhanced commanders.

But now...

Now Eliv watched the man stand completely unfazed, having not moved a single muscle during the earlier coordinated barrage. Not one dodge, not one parry. He’d simply let the attacks collide with an invisible field of heat—and they burned away like paper caught in a furnace. The arrogance Eliv once felt began to slowly twist into unease.

’Tch. How the hell did they hide this from us?’ he thought, mask of composure still firmly in place. ’A fire mage with an active, invisible barrier? That’s not common myst—it’s something else. And his eyes... they weren’t like that at the Summit.’

Despite the growing uncertainty gnawing at him, Eliv wasn’t ready to back down. He still had his calculations. That barrier couldn’t last forever. And even if it could, Galen couldn’t possibly fight while maintaining it. No mage could. Not for long.

’We’ll kill him,’ Eliv told himself. ’Even if he burns through half the forest in the process. He’s not leaving this place alive.’

"You know, Galen," Eliv began, voice calm and confident as always, "I’m a Grand Primordial. And Morbuan, well, ever since Lord Sylvathar gifted him his blood, he’s refined his command of earth and nature magic to an entirely new tier."

He gestured to the two others. "Lamit and Damian—" the one in the green hat and the brooding pretty boy, respectively—"One wields lightning, the other earth. And like Morbuan, they now possess two secondary affinities for nature and earth. A gift from our lord. You’re not fighting common knights. You’re facing the future of this world."

Eliv’s tone dipped into cold finality.

"So I’ll offer you a moment of mercy. Surrender now, and I’ll grant you a swift, painless end."

For a heartbeat, silence hovered in the air like a blade. Then Galen tilted his head slightly, crimson-orange eyes glowing like smoldering suns.

"Is that the same line you fed to the round pig—Thuden, or whatever his name was—before you cut his head off?" he replied, voice flat, bored.

Eliv didn’t flinch. But the tension in the air sharpened.

"You brought me here to die, right?" Galen continued, taking a slow step forward, hands still buried lazily in his coat pockets. "Then what’s the holdup? I’ve been itching for a proper fight since Icua, and right now... you’re all looking like a damn warm-up."

He paused, letting the words hang like ash in the wind.

"You said they’re as strong as you, right? Good. That just means I’m up against a squad of retarded crusty old man-wannabes who think they can rival me."

Then, his grin returned—feral, hungry, fearless.

"So please, all of you—come at me like your lives depend on it. Because... well—"

His aura exploded into a wave of heat that cracked the very ground beneath him, warping the air around his form.

"—they do."

Hearing that, Damian was the first to move—rage pulsing off him in waves.

His green eyes narrowed, and without a word, he lunged forward, boots crushing the grass beneath him with explosive force. His form blurred with a burst of earthen propulsion, shards of stone kicking out from his heels as he closed the distance between himself and Galen with frightening speed. His right arm cocked back, crackling with a spiral of lightning and nature-infused myst.

He struck.

A brutal punch, aimed straight for Galen’s sternum—raw power behind it, reinforced by an arc of lightning that traced his shoulder down to his fist, coiling like a viper ready to detonate on impact.

But Galen didn’t even blink.

At the very last second, just as Damian’s fist was about to breach the outer edge of his heat field, the aura flared.

The force of the heat met Damian’s blow with a roaring hiss—like water tossed on molten iron. The barrier didn’t just resist—it fought back. A concentrated surge of thermal pressure repelled the attack, sending a burst of scalding air that scorched the skin on Damian’s knuckles. His fist never touched Galen.

But Damian wasn’t finished.

With a grunt, he dropped low and twisted his entire body, spinning on his heel and aiming a vicious sweeping kick meant to knock Galen off balance. His leg was covered in a layer of solidified earth like a stone blade, trailing dust and sparks behind it.

Galen sidestepped—casual, effortless—like he was dodging a drunkard’s swing. As the kick sailed past, he retaliated with a lazy backhand, and the air cracked with fire.

Damian flew backward, not from the hit itself—Galen hadn’t touched him—but from the sheer pressure of the fire burst released in that tiny motion. He flipped midair, landing in a crouch, boots skidding through the grass and leaving a scorched trail behind him. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm

"Tch—cocky bastard," Damian spat, his eyes flashing with building rage.

Then the next came.

Lamit.

The man in the green hat vanished into the earth beneath him without a sound—no flash, no wind-up—just gone, as if the grass swallowed him. Galen raised a brow, finally moving both hands out of his pockets, embers dancing along his fingers.

The moment his fingers twitched, Lamit erupted upward behind him—arms spread, coat fluttering as thorned roots exploded from the ground like living serpents. They twisted midair and lunged toward Galen’s legs and arms in synchronized motion, each tip glowing faintly with paralyzing venom.

But Galen, ever calm, stomped the ground once.

BOOM.

A ring of flame burst outward in a full circle around him. The roots didn’t burn—they disintegrated, shredded by the atomic separation of heat so intense the air itself screamed. Lamit landed beside him, eyes wide for a heartbeat—but Galen was already on him.

With a forward step that cracked the earth, Galen’s palm surged toward Lamit’s chest.

Lamit blocked with a bark-coated forearm—but it was like trying to stop a hammer with parchment.

CRACK.

The impact shattered the nature armor along his arm and sent him flying, spinning midair like a leaf in a cyclone before he smashed into one of the stone outcrops flanking the lake, the rock fracturing on impact.

Before Galen could capitalize, the ground beneath him shuddered.

Morbuan’s turn.

The "ordinary" man stood still, arms slightly raised, eyes glowing faintly. From all around Galen, giant slabs of earth began to rise, forming a dome of layered stone. It wasn’t just a cage—it was a compression seal. Roots intertwined with the rock like rebar, glowing with damp green myst as they grew tighter, denser. The temperature inside began to drop unnaturally as freezing mist crept in through the stone.

Then came the pressure.

Galen’s heat field began to buckle—not falter, but push against an opposite force. Cold. Nature. Compression. A direct attempt to strangle the heat out of the air and entomb him in elemental entropy.

Eliv, still standing off to the side, raised both hands now. His own aura shimmered to life, and golden light began to form between his palms—a concentrated spear of elemental fusion, equal parts light, wind, and nature myst.

"Don’t move, Galen," Eliv muttered. "Let me pierce your core and end it now."

He hurled it.

The beam screeched through the air, spiraling with blinding speed as it carved a path through space itself. It pierced through the layered stone dome—straight into the epicenter where Galen stood.

The impact shook the meadow. A blinding explosion of golden light erupted, swallowing the dome whole. Wind tore through the cliffs. The lake rippled violently. Birds scattered from the mountains above as the shockwave echoed through the sacred realm.

Silence.

Smoke.

Cracks in the earth.

And then—footsteps.

A shadow walked through the smoke, slow and deliberate.

The moment the mist cleared, they saw him—Galen Magna, walking calmly from the wreckage, shirt singed, aura raging now like a sun confined to flesh. His coat fluttered behind him, soaked in his blazing myst. His skin glowed faintly beneath the surface, veins lit like channels of lava.

His irises—now pure orange suns—burned as they locked eyes with Eliv.

"That was it?" he sneered, voice low and dripping mockery, the grin curling wider, hungrier. "That was your strongest move?"

He let the silence stretch, just long enough to let the insult soak bone-deep.

"Damn... if that’s all you’ve got, I’m not even insulted—I’m disappointed."

His tone shifted, colder now. Cruel.

"’Cause if that was your best shot, then hear me loud and f***ing clear—none of you," he spat, eyes sweeping the field like a judge at a gallows, "none of you worthless little insects are crawling out of this place alive."

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