Ch 13.3

The blazing tower of the Pavilion had finally begun to calm.

Little by little, the raging flames were being smothered beneath a thick layer of disgusting gel-like mucus. The substance clung to the burning walls in heavy folds, bubbling and foaming as it swallowed the fire with loud hissing sounds.

The smell was awful. Rotten.

Like damp swamps mixed with spoiled fish.
Even the smoke itself seemed less offensive.

Tiran, however, looked completely satisfied.
“There we go,” he muttered proudly while pointing upward. “Another one there, Frukt!”

Beside him, the massive toad inflated its cheeks until they bulged grotesquely outward.

“Quaah—!”

The next instant, a huge stream of thick goop blasted from its mouth.

The slime splattered across another flaming section of the tower wall, coating it entirely. The mucus spread rapidly downward like a living thing, oozing over the burning wood and stone before devouring the flames beneath it.

Hissssss.

Steam rose instantly. The fire shrank.
“There!” Tiran shouted again, pointing toward another spreading blaze.

Frukt responded obediently.

Three more globs of mucus shot through the air in quick succession, slamming into separate patches of flame and drowning them beneath layers of bubbling sludge.

The fire was finally losing ground. Slowly. Reluctantly.

But the Pavilion itself had already suffered too much damage. Cracks spread through parts of the upper tower. Burned support beams groaned under the strain, and chunks of brick and stone began breaking loose, crashing downward from above.

Then suddenly, the tower trembled dangerously.

Even with the flames being smothered, the upper structure groaned under its own weight. Cracks spread through the scorched stonework, and several support beams had already partially collapsed.

Tiran clicked his tongue.
“At this rate, the whole damn tower’s going to come down.”

He turned toward the massive toad beside him.
“Alright, Frukt! Keep putting out the fires. I’ll hold the structure together.”

Without waiting for a response, Tiran leapt from the rooftop.

As he soared through the air, thick strands of sticky fluid burst from his wrists, stretching across the tower walls before latching firmly onto the stone. The liquid hardened almost instantly into durable white tether-lines.

Tiran swung through the air using them like webs.

One tether. Then another.

He shot across the damaged sections of the tower with startling speed, rapidly firing more adhesive fluid from his arms. The substance spread over broken beams and fractured walls, hardening into thick, web-like braces that held collapsing sections together.

He moved quickly across the vertical surface, sticking effortlessly to the walls as he reinforced the crumbling structure.

After all, Tiran belonged to the Arachnid Tribe.

Below him, Frukt continued its work dutifully.
The giant frog puffed its cheeks again and again, launching heavy globs of foul-smelling mucus upward like siege mortar fire. Each blast drenched another burning section of the Pavilion, smothering flames beneath thick, bubbling slime.

The smell grew even worse. But the fire kept dying.
Minute by minute, the pair slowly regained control of the situation.

Eventually, the last major blaze atop the tower hissed into steaming ruin.
Tiran let out a long breath, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Good work, Frukt!” he called out proudly. “Bolio better keep his promise after this.”

“Croaak!” Frukt croaked enthusiastically in agreement.

Then, the Pavilion shook.

A violent tremor rippled through the structure from somewhere below, followed by sharp crackling bursts of lightning from the inner courtyard.

The tower lurched.

Several of Tiran’s hardened web-lines snapped instantly. “Ah, crap!”
The upper structure tilted dangerously as fresh chunks of stone began breaking loose again.

Tiran reacted immediately.

His feet clung tightly to the wall as he fired more web-fluid from both arms, catching falling debris mid-collapse and binding fractured sections together before they could cave inward completely.

He sprinted across the tower surface at full speed, desperately weaving new support lines over the damaged structure.

But his breathing had grown ragged now.
Damn it… I’ve used too much fluid already.
His arms felt heavy.

Then, a massive chunk of stone broke free directly above him.
Tiran looked up. Too late.
The debris was already falling.

Before he could even react, something wrapped around his waist.
A long pink tongue snapped outward, latching onto him before violently yanking him sideways.

The boulder crashed where he had been standing barely a second earlier, exploding against the rooftop.

Frukt reeled him back safely beside itself.
Tiran panted heavily, staring at the shattered debris.

“…Phew.” He placed a hand on his chest.
“That was way too close.”

Below them, another pulse of lightning echoed from the courtyard, shaking the Pavilion once more.

Tiran frowned toward the trembling courtyard below.
“What the hell is going on down there…?”

Meanwhile, in the ruined courtyard, Nosmos stood amidst shattered stone and scorched earth, breathing heavier than before.

The midday sun hung overhead, but thick smoke from the burning Pavilion dulled the light, casting wavering shadows across the broken courtyard. Heat shimmered above the scorched ground while sparks of electricity snapped through the air.

Perhaps for the first time that day, the young rat beastman looked genuinely troubled.

Usually, Nosmos never backed away from conflict. The stronger the opponent, the greater the thrill. But after dragging out his brutal clash against Wallus, his mana and stamina had already been heavily drained.

And now another monster had arrived.
Before him stood a massive iron pillar crackling with electricity.

Balanced effortlessly along its side was an old monkey beastman with his arms folded behind his back, staring coldly down at Nosmos.

Despite his short stature and almost harmless appearance, the pressure radiating from him was immense.

This was Old Monk Rugbert.
Former Guildmaster of the Flying Staff Guild. One of the veteran mages of the Isle continent.

“This has nothing to do with you, old geezer,” Nosmos replied coldly.

Rugbert’s brows rose slightly.

“Oh?” The old monkey tilted his head.
“Young lad, it seems you never learned how to respect your elders.” A faint smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Perhaps I should teach you the old-fashioned way, just as I did to that man over there.”

Rugbert slowly raised a single finger.

At once, the remaining four iron pillars scattered around the courtyard began trembling violently before lifting from the ground. The massive rods rose into the air and spread around Rugbert in a radial formation, positioning themselves like spokes around the old monk. The moment they aligned, electricity erupted across their surfaces. Crackling arcs leapt from one pillar to another while streams of lightning wrapped around Rugbert himself, making the air hum with pressure.

Nosmos narrowed his eyes.

Even he wasn't reckless enough to underestimate Old Monk Rugbert. The old beastman was a legendary veteran adventurer and one of the accomplished mages of the Isle.

“Why do you care?” Nosmos asked, his voice remaining cold.

Rugbert’s eyes narrowed.
“The Pavilion you attacked belongs to Miss Onteko,” he said calmly. “And despite our differences, she is still an old comrade of mine.”

His voice hardened. “So naturally, I cannot overlook you tearing apart her guild and injuring those poor girls.”

The electricity surrounding him intensified. Lightning crawled across his fur and jumped between the floating pillars as his gaze remained fixed on Nosmos.

“Now then,” Rugbert continued, “prepare yourself. And try to give this old man a fight worth remembering.”

With that, he raised his hand.

All around the courtyard, the scattered knives left behind by Gina suddenly began trembling. Many had been bent, chipped, or warped during the earlier battle, but the metal still responded to the electricity surging through the area.

One by one, the fallen blades rose from the ground. Hundreds of knives floated into the air.

Crackling arcs of lightning danced across their edges as the weapons slowly spread outward, surrounding Nosmos from every direction.

Five enormous iron rods hovered around the courtyard.
Hundreds of electrified blades filled the air between them.
Nosmos stood at the center of it all.

The floating weapons slowly began drifting toward him, their sharp edges pointed directly at his body as the pillars crackled with increasing intensity.

Nosmos exhaled slowly and straightened his posture.
“Calm down, Old Monk Rugbert,” he said at last. “I have a good reason for all this.”

Rugbert raised an eyebrow. “A reason, you say?”

The advancing rods halted in midair.
The old monk stared at Nosmos for several seconds before letting out a quiet snort.

“Well now...” he muttered.
“I asked you that the first time, and you chose to stay silent. Now feel like talking?”

His fingers curled slightly around his mustache as he studied the guildmaster.
“I certainly hope it’s a damn good reason.”

With that, Rugbert lowered his hand.

The electricity surrounding the courtyard gradually weakened. The trembling ground settled, and the floating rods stopped advancing. The hundreds of blades remained suspended in the air, still pointed toward Nosmos.

For now, Rugbert had postponed the guildmaster’s punishment.

But judging by the expression on the old monk’s face, Nosmos had only bought himself a few moments to explain.