The ground trembled beneath Walter Grefen's feet as the shockwave from the golem's monstrous attack lifted him from the earth. The sheer force of the golem's fist slamming down was like an avalanche—unstoppable and devastating. Walter felt the air rush past him as his feet left the ground, his body weightless for a split second before crashing back to the ground with an unceremonious thud.
Pain flared through his body as he struggled to regain his balance, his heart pounding in his chest. But despite the ache, Walter couldn't help but notice something: the rock golem, that towering monstrosity, seemed to sway slightly.
It wasn't just his imagination. The golem was losing its balance.
His mind raced, piecing things together quickly. Sir Raleigh had instructed them to focus on the golem's legs—a seemingly odd order at first. But now, as Walter took in the sight of the golem stumbling, he understood. By targeting the legs, they had slowly worn away at its foundation. The golem's immense weight—its greatest strength—was also its greatest vulnerability. If they could just keep attacking the legs, it wouldn't be able to keep itself upright.
The realization struck like a bolt of lightning. Bring it down. That was the goal. If the golem fell, the resulting impact would deal enough damage to cripple it. At that point, killing the creature would be a far simpler task. It was a brilliant strategy, one that relied on both patience and precision. And now, it was almost within reach.
But the battle was far from over. Walter barely had time to process his thoughts before a chilling roar cut through the air—so deafening that it seemed to shake the heavens themselves.
The golem was on the move again.
With terrifying speed for its size, the golem turned, its massive fists raised high. The assault team had barely regained their bearings from the previous shockwave, and they scattered in all directions, too slow to react. Walter's heart sank as he saw Sir Raleigh, the only mage capable of leading them, stagger to his feet but crash violently to the ground, a painful cry escaping his lips.
The impact was devastating. Raleigh's body wasn't built for direct combat. His strength was in his magic, his mind, and his ability to think beyond the battlefield. But the physical toll of the attack was overwhelming. Raleigh groaned in agony as he tried to push himself up, his body trembling from the shock of the blow.
Walter could see it in Raleigh's eyes—regret. The mage's face twisted in frustration as he gasped for air, his body crumpling under the strain. Kael had been right about one thing: a mage's body could only endure so much. Raleigh's magic might have been a formidable weapon, but when it came to brute force, he was just as vulnerable as the rest of them.
Walter's mind raced again. Raleigh was injured, and the rest of the assault team was either too wounded or exhausted to do anything. The magic equipment they had relied on was depleted, their offensive spells extinguished as the mana reserves ran dry. They were at the mercy of the golem now.
Another roar of defiance echoed as the golem rose, its fists raised once more. There was no way to avoid this attack—not this time.
The remaining militia members who hadn't been thrown off balance could only watch helplessly as the golem loomed above them. They were fighting a losing battle. Magic could only go so far, and without reinforcements or a quick solution, they were doomed to fail.
Walter's breath hitched as he saw Raleigh struggling to rise. They couldn't give up. Not now.
"Get up!" Walter shouted hoarsely, pulling himself to his feet, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest. He could feel the weight of the situation pressing down on him. The village, the lives at stake, it all depended on this moment.
But there was nothing Walter could do alone. Even if he rushed the golem with his sword, it would be useless against the creature's might. They needed a plan—and they needed it now.
"Sir Raleigh!" Walter called, his voice hoarse. He looked to the mage, his face twisted in a grimace of pain. "What now?!"
Raleigh's eyes flickered toward Walter, pain still evident in his expression, but his resolve hadn't wavered. "We need time," he rasped, trying to stand but collapsing to one knee. "We need time for the reinforcements to arrive. We can't beat it alone."
Walter clenched his fists. Reinforcements. But would they make it in time?
The golem's roar cut through the chaos again, its fists descending with all the power of an avalanche. Walter's blood ran cold.
The only thing left to do now was stall for time.
---
Just as the golem raised its titanic fists to crush the last of the village's struggling assault team, a sudden flare of tension crackled in the air.
Virelle, standing at a distance with narrowed eyes, wasted no time. A scroll parchment appeared in her hand with a mere flick of her wrist, runes glowing faintly against the aged paper. Her voice dropped to a low, incanting murmur—each word ancient, laced with power.
Then—snap. A surge of light burst from the scroll like a thunderclap, streaking through the sky in a brilliant arc and colliding with the golem mid-motion.
A loud crack echoed as the creature staggered, a strange groan erupting from its rocky throat. Cold surged across the battlefield, an unnatural frost riding the blast.
The very air shifted. Moisture thickened into mist. The villagers and fighters around the square gasped and shivered, their breaths visible as the temperature plummeted.
A creeping frost spread like a living organism across the golem's stony surface. At first, it resisted, trying to lift its limbs. But the ice moved faster, sheathing its arms, crawling up its torso, wrapping around its neck like a noose of winter.
With a final groan—half defiance, half defeat—the golem froze in place, encased in shimmering crystal ice. Then, as though gravity itself finally caught up with the beast, it collapsed with a thunderous boom, the ground trembling from the impact.
The assault team stood there, wide-eyed, backs pressed against nearby rubble as they processed the sudden, miraculous turn. Some dropped to their knees—half from exhaustion, half from relief.
The battlefield had become an eerie silence after the echoing crash of the frozen golem shattering into fractured boulders. The air still carried the bite of unnatural frost, curling into the lungs of every soldier like a winter gale. For a moment, no one moved. The rock golem, once an unstoppable wall of power, now lay crumbled like a broken statue—its stony might turned brittle by a force no one could comprehend.
Virelle remained hidden in the thicket, her breathing shallow, her gaze fixed on the aftermath. Kael turned to her with wide eyes, stunned by what he had just witnessed.
"You… You did that?" he whispered, his voice laced with disbelief.
But Virelle didn't answer. Her focus remained on the battleground, as though she feared that even a breath would undo her spell.
Meanwhile, Raleigh slowly pushed himself to his feet, his joints aching from the impact, his robe stained with dust. Around him, the assault team erupted into cheers.
"He did it!" one of the soldiers shouted, pumping a fist into the air. "Sir Raleigh felled the golem!"
More voices joined in. The jubilation surged like a wave—soldiers patting Raleigh on the back, villagers shouting his name with grateful tears in their eyes.
Walter Grefen, limping slightly from the shockwave, made his way through the crowd and gripped Raleigh's shoulder. "By the gods, you saved us. That spell… it was like the breath of a winter dragon. I've never seen anything like it!"
But Raleigh wasn't smiling.
His brows furrowed deeply, and he looked out toward the shattered remains of the golem. He knew the truth.
That spell—that spell was not his.
Not even close.
He wasn't a Tier 3 mage. He couldn't cast ice-element spells, not even with rare equipment. And certainly not one that could paralyze and destroy a Tier 0 golem in seconds.
The runes, the elemental resonance, the magical intensity—everything about that attack screamed high-tier sorcery. That kind of power didn't belong to a struggling Tier 0 like himself.
Which meant one terrifying thing: someone else was here. Someone strong. And someone who clearly wanted to remain hidden.
Raleigh's eyes swept over the woods that bordered the village. He knew magic left traces—emotional resonance, etheric scent, invisible pulse. But he couldn't sense anything now. Whoever had done this had masked their presence well.
His frown deepened.
"No," he muttered under his breath. "This wasn't me. This wasn't luck. This… was deliberate."
As the villagers celebrated, Raleigh stood still, the weight of a new suspicion forming like fog around him. This wasn't over. Someone in this village had power—real power—and had just declared it without revealing their identity.
And that unknown mage was watching.