Maxwell was swallowed by the raging inferno, his agonized screams echoing through the battlefield. Cevic grinned in triumph, relishing the sight of his foe burning alive—until Maxwell's screams twisted into something else. Laughter. A deep, mocking chuckle that sent a chill down Cevic's spine.
The flames died down, revealing Maxwell standing unscathed. His robes had been mostly reduced to cinders, exposing a body far more muscular than one would expect from a mage. Not a single burn marked his skin.
"That scream?" Maxwell flexed his fingers, opening and closing his fist as if testing his own strength. "Just playing along. Seems like the plot armour boosted my physical stats too. Guess that explains why I walked away from a Demon Lord's attack."
Cevic's smirk faltered.
Maxwell's eyes locked onto him, glinting with amusement. "You thought you were some master tactician, didn't you? But you forgot what I told you at the start of this fight…" His grin sharpened, eyes dark with amusement. "You're nothing but a guinea pig. I didn't cancel your pathetic sigil magic because I wanted to see the limits of my abilities."
Panic gripped Cevic as he hurled fireball after fireball, each one a desperate attempt to wipe that smug look off Maxwell's face. But Maxwell didn't move—he didn't need to. With a mere flick of his fingers, he snuffed out every attack like they were nothing more than candle flames.
He sighed, looking utterly disinterested. "This is getting boring. You're not even worth testing my abilities on anymore."
His voice turned icy. "Fine… it's time to end this."
Maxwell raised a single finger.
"Fireball."
It should have been an ordinary spell. But what erupted from his fingertip was anything but ordinary.
A monstrous sphere of fire surged into existence, so massive it dwarfed the entire forest. Its glow turned night into day, its sheer presence bending the horizon. Compared to a standard fireball, this wasn't magic—it was a celestial event. A second sun. Even from Heaven's Peak, the Outcasts could see its terrifying brilliance.
Hana's breath hitched. "What… what is that? Could Maxwell be over there?"
Arthur's gaze darkened. "I don't know. But I do know this—the adventurer who killed the 10th Demon Lord is over there."
Without another word, he shot forward at an unbelievable speed, racing toward the inferno.
Hana moved to follow, but Fay's hand shot out, stopping her.
"Hana… that thing…" Fay's voice was unsteady, her eyes locked onto the fiery sphere. "Something's wrong."
Hana frowned. "What do you mean?"
"That thing should be radiating an insane amount of mana, right?" Fay asked, her face tightening.
"Well, yeah—"
"Then tell me why we can't sense any mana at all."
A shiver ran through them both. If it wasn't mana… then what was that apocalyptic fireball made of?
Their faces paled as a chilling realization set in.
This wasn't just magic. This was something else entirely.
Cevic's body refused to move. His flames had failed him. His strategies had crumbled. And now, as he knelt, staring at the sun-sized fireball hovering above him, he finally understood.
Maxwell had killed a Demon Lord.
The sheer weight of that truth crushed him more than the spell ever could.
Maxwell studied him with cold detachment. "So this is the power I'll use to slay the Demon King… It does seem limitless." He let the words settle, his voice carrying an air of finality. "This is the end for you, Cevic. You'll no longer stain the legacy of adventurers."
Then, with a simple gesture, Maxwell pointed downward.
The fireball fell.
The world erupted in chaos.
The moment it touched the ground, a cataclysmic explosion engulfed the battlefield, its force so immense it shattered the land itself. The impact disintegrated Cevic instantly, along with most of the surrounding forest. The earth groaned beneath the devastation, the shockwave rolling out in all directions, flattening trees and sending waves of fire spiralling into the sky.
But Maxwell had miscalculated.
The sheer magnitude of his own spell had exceeded his expectations. When he saw the incoming shockwave, he barely had time to react. Desperately, he conjured protective crystal barriers, but they shattered like brittle glass the moment the force hit them.
The impact launched Maxwell through the air. He crashed into a tree with bone-snapping force, pain tearing through his body as his right arm broke on impact.
Now, surrounded by the burning remnants of the forest, he gasped for air—only to choke on the thick, suffocating smoke. Panic set in. He tried to heal his arm, tried to summon magic—nothing. His powers were gone. His plot armour had abandoned him at the worst possible moment.
His vision blurred as he struggled for breath, the flames closing in.
Then—
A flash of steel.
With a speed beyond comprehension, Hana appeared in front of the inferno. With a single, decisive swing of her katana, she carved through the burning wreckage, clearing a path and extinguishing the flames threatening Maxwell's life.
To an outsider, it might have seemed like a mere show of strength. But Hana's true reason ran far deeper. She wasn't showing off—she was intervening. She knew that if Arthur had been the one to save Maxwell, things would have ended very differently, as she knew how Arthur detested saving Maxwell.
Arthur, who had been prepared to clear the fire himself, narrowed his eyes at her sudden appearance. He had almost forgotten how powerful Hana truly was. For a brief moment, he was impressed. But admiration was secondary.
He wasn't here to praise her.
He was here to find the adventurer who killed Tadesse.
Arthur scanned the wreckage, searching for anyone else—someone who could have been responsible for this destruction. But all he found was Maxwell, coughing violently, struggling to stay conscious.
His jaw tightened in frustration. He had come all this way, only to find this?
With no other options, he stepped closer, looming over the fallen mage. "What happened here?" he demanded. "Where's the adventurer?"
Maxwell's coughing grew worse as he tried to speak. His body trembled, struggling against the lack of air—until, at last, he collapsed.
Arthur scowled, his patience thinning. No clues. No answers. Nothing but destruction.
Hana crossed her arms, watching him carefully. "Why are you so eager to find this adventurer, anyway?" she asked. "Do you want to thank him?"
Arthur let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "Thank him? Hell no." A wicked grin spread across his face. "I want to fight him."
Hana exhaled, glancing at the ruined land. The scorched earth. The devastation.
She raised an eyebrow. "You want to fight the person who did this?"
Arthur's grin only widened.
"Good luck," she added.
The last to arrive was Fay. As she stepped into the carnage, the scent of burnt flesh hit her like a wave. Nothing remained—not the elementals, not the bandits. The devastation was absolute. It was eerily reminiscent of the aftermath of the 10th Demon Lord. That same sense of emptiness. That same crushing silence.
And yet…
She felt nothing.
No mana residual. No lingering traces of magic.
Her gaze drifted to Maxwell, still unconscious. Relief flickered through her—he was alive. But even as she knelt beside him, an uneasy feeling crept into her chest.
The mystery remained.
The identity of the adventurer responsible for this destruction rested with Maxwell. And Fay feared what he might say when he woke up.
Would he claim—again—to be that adventurer?
She wasn't sure of much. But one thing was certain:
Whoever this adventurer was, they were better at hiding their mana than she was.
And she was an expert at it.
Maxwell awoke to the sterile scent of herbs and medicine. His head throbbed, his right arm stiff beneath its bandages. The dim glow of lanterns flickered against the wooden walls of the clinic in Heaven's Peak.
Beside him, Fay sat with her arms crossed, her expression unreadable. But the moment he stirred, she spoke, her voice low and urgent.
"Maxwell—if anyone asks about the mysterious adventurer, don't say what you're thinking. Just say you don't remember."
Before he could respond, the door swung open.
Arthur and Hana entered, Arthur wearing his usual false smile—the kind that never reached his eyes.
"Hey there, pal." His voice was deceptively friendly. "You've been out for three days. And I've been worried about you. Well… mostly about what happened to the Elementals and how you suddenly ended up in the middle of a burning forest."
Maxwell sat in silence, weighing his options.
Should he listen to Fay's advice? Or should he speak the truth—truth he had no real way of proving?
He took a deep breath.
"The Elementals and the bandits are dead," he said at last. "And I killed them, bringing justice to the town… and to Top."
Fay's shoulders tensed.
Arthur's expression twisted into irritation.
"Not this shit again," he muttered, running a hand through his hair before shooting Maxwell an exasperated glare. "I told you before you left—you'd just get yourself killed. And look what happened. Someone strong enough to wipe out those Elementals wouldn't need our help. If we had gotten there a second later, you'd be dead."
Maxwell clenched his fists. "I had a witness. You can ask Top."
Arthur scoffed. "You mean the mute kid? We did ask him. The people translated for us."
He leaned in, voice dark with finality.
"He doesn't remember a thing."
Maxwell's breath hitched.
That didn't make sense. Top was there. He saw everything. It wasn't like he had hit his head—so why couldn't he remember?
Arthur folded his arms. "So tell me again, Maxwell. Who, exactly, are you trying to fool?"
Maxwell's heart pounded. "I'm telling you the truth, it was—"
"ENOUGH."
Arthur's fist shot forward—
—only to be caught mid-swing.
Fay's fingers gripped his wrist, stopping the punch inches from Maxwell's face.
"Maxwell has a concussion," she said, her tone light but firm. "It's safe to say he doesn't know what he's saying."
Arthur's gaze snapped to hers, his expression unreadable. "Hey… elf girl... let go of my hand."
Hana, standing behind him, shifted uneasily.
Fay held his stare for a long moment—then released him.
Arthur exhaled sharply, shaking out his wrist. "The next time you interfere with how I handle my party members," he said coolly, "you and I will have a problem."
With that, he turned and left the room, Hana following close behind.
A heavy silence lingered in their absence.
Maxwell let out a slow breath. "Thanks for that." He flexed his fingers, testing the pain in his arm. "Judging by how I feel, I'm guessing you didn't use your healing magic on me."
Fay ignored the comment, instead leaning forward slightly, her gaze sharp. "I don't know what's going on anymore," she admitted. "And I don't know if you're telling the truth or if you're just losing your mind. But if you are serious—if you truly believe that some supreme being gave you the power to kill Demon Lords—then you need to start asking yourself who or what you're working with."
Maxwell stilled.
She continued.
"This world is on the brink of being overrun by the Demon Clan. You know that much." She folded her arms. "But tell me, Maxwell… do you know the real difference between an adventurer and a civilian?"
He hesitated. "Power?"
"No." Her lips curled into something humourless. "A killer."
Maxwell blinked.
"The only way an adventurer can level up is by killing." Fay's voice was calm, but her words carried weight. "Every living creature has a power stone inside them—that's where our mana pools are stored. When we kill another, their power stone gets absorbed into ours. That's how we get stronger. That's how we level up."
Maxwell's stomach turned.
"The truth is," Fay went on, her tone dropping, "this world—this entire system—was designed so that the only way we can survive… is to kill."
She stood, turning toward the door. "Now think about that. Truly think about it. If this world was created by a conscious being—one who knew exactly what it was doing—then it means the very rules of existence were set so that we would have to kill each other just to evolve."
She cast him one last glance, her expression unreadable.
"Do you really think a being who made those rules can ever be considered good?"
With that, she left him alone.
Alone with his thoughts.
Alone with the chilling weight of her words.
Maxwell swallowed.
The power he had been granted—his plot armour—felt limitless. It had allowed him to stand against forces stronger than he could have ever imagined. But had it been given to him by some benevolent force?
Or had it been granted by something far worse?
Had he been chosen to vanquish the Demon King...
…or was he nothing more than a pawn in a game set by the devil himself?