Chapter 582: Waves of Devastation ( 582 )

Meanwhile—before the missile hit.

The halfling soldiers were marching along, laughing loudly and telling crude jokes. Their banners flapped lazily in the morning sun. Thousands of them, all in armor, moved across the open plains in a chaotic but roaring force—confident, drunk with arrogance, and completely unaware of the danger ahead.

“Yeah!! We’re heading straight for the dwarven capital! Let’s crush those stubborn bastards!!”

“Their stronghold can’t stop us! We have the numbers!!”

One soldier grinned wickedly, waving his spiked club in the air. “And after that—heh—we get to enjoy those slim little dwarf girls, right?!”

“Damn right!” another shouted, licking his lips.

“I heard their women look like teenagers—but with curves! Bwahahaha!! We’ll line ’em up and take our turns!”

Loud, disgusting laughter echoed among the columns of troops.

“Don’t kill the beauty, boys!” someone yelled. “Save them for the celebration!”

“Dwarven wine! Dwarven women! Dwarven riches! All ours!!”

The commanders didn’t even bother to scold them. They shared the same confidence. Based on scout reports, there was little resistance. The outer walls of the stronghold looked repaired, but their last fight had shown that the dwarves were almost finished—tired, underfed, hopeless.

A halfling archer squinted up, shielding his eyes from the bright sun.

“Hmm? What’s that?”

“Eh? What?”

He pointed lazily with his bow. “Something’s up there. A small dot, moving…”

Another soldier looked up, squinting. “Probably just a bird.”

“No… it’s hovering…”

Suddenly, a deep, unnatural hum started vibrating through the air. At first, it was faint—like a whisper in the wind—but then it grew louder.

It increased from a whisper to a thrum.

From a thrum to a pulse.

The mana in the air shivered. Nearby animals bolted in fear. More sensitive halflings tensed, their instincts screaming.

Then—

A piercing whine echoed from above.

And in an instant, something plunged from the sky.

BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!

The impact shattered everything.

A blinding flash erupted right in the middle of the halfling vanguard. Dirt and flame shot upward like a volcanic eruption. The shockwave of mana tore through flesh and metal, instantly ripping apart the front lines. Dozens of halflings were wiped out before they even had a chance to react.

The ground trembled.

A wall of fire and smoke swallowed an entire section of their army.

Screams rang out—short, panicked, dying screams.

The smoke from the first blast hadn’t even cleared.

Charred bodies littered the scorched earth. Halflings screamed and scrambled, slipping in blood and ash as they tried to gather themselves. Officers shouted orders, but no one listened—fear had taken hold of everyone like wildfire, thick and choking.

And then—

They saw it.

Another object descending from the sky.

A second mana missile fell faster, hotter, and hungrier for destruction.

“No—NO!!”

“ANOTHER ONE!? RUN!!”

“It’s heading straight for us!!”

Some halflings dropped their weapons and fled in pure panic.

Others froze, paralyzed by the deafening hum—by the unnatural, glowing light growing in the clouds above them.

The wind suddenly shifted.

The air around them seemed to collapse inward—as if reality itself was holding its breath.

Then—

A monstrous, horrifying explosion erupted.

It tore across the battlefield, crushing everything in its path.

The second impact wiped out the entire area.

A gigantic wave of magic-infused fire burst from the blast zone. The shockwave swept across the field like a tidal wave of death, flattening trees and shattering rocks. Armor melted in mid-scream, turning into molten metal. Thousands of halflings vanished in an instant—vaporized by the blast.

The ground split open, spewing dust and ash into the dead sky.

Those far from the explosion clutched their heads, overwhelmed by the mana overload. Their eyes bled, their ears burst—then they were thrown backward like rag dolls.

There were no survivors.

No wounded.

No second chances.

Just a charred, smoking crater where a mighty army had once stood seconds earlier.

Not even bones remained.

Only silence.

A silence so deep it felt deafening, louder than any dying scream could ever be.

Javier lowered the mana glass from his eyes and exhaled softly.

The sky grew quiet now—no more screams of halflings, no flapping of wyvern wings, no frantic shouts from commanders issuing empty orders.

Just silence.

That kind of silence only comes after showing overwhelming power.

Below him, the stronghold remained untouched. Not a single scratch marred its walls. His puppet knights lined the ramparts, stone-still and alert—like statues or silent sentinels waiting for the next command.

In front of him, the long tube still faintly smoked.

That was the mana missile launcher.

He had already fired three.

Three small ones.

And each was enough to wipe out tens of thousands—without him even drawing his sword.

Javier lazily sat down on a large stone.

He leaned back slightly, eyes fixed on the sky.

“I still have plenty more,” he murmured quietly to himself. “I haven’t even used the strongest one yet.”

Inside his storage, there was a warhead of a completely different level. A mana missile so massive and destructive it could flatten one-eighth of the Halfling Kingdom in one strike. But he hadn’t touched it. Not even armed it.

“…No,” he said, eyes calm but sharp. “I’m not here to wage war. I’m here to defend.”

He stood up, dusting off his coat.

“These small missiles are already more than enough. There’s no need to use the dangerous one.”

Javier looked up at the sky, his body trembling.

Why?

Why do I have to kill… to stop them?

To prevent war?

He clenched his fists slowly. The cool wind brushed against his face, but it couldn’t ease the heavy weight pressing on his chest.

“I didn’t want to do this…” he whispered softly.

Behind him, thick columns of smoke still rose from the battlefield—black trails reaching upward like accusing fingers. Light ash drifted on the breeze. The silence after the explosions was deafening, too harsh and sharp, as if piercing into his ears.

He lowered his gaze, staring at his own trembling hands.

“Even if they were enemies… they laughed as they marched to kill others.”

He exhaled quietly.

“But I still feel it.”

The weight.

He didn’t let it show in front of the dwarves, didn’t let it slip into his commands. But this part of war always made him sick—the part where he had to erase lives before they could commit horrors.

“Don’t get soft,” he muttered to himself.

Then, his eyes sharpened.

“If I hesitate… more will suffer. And I’ve already promised myself…”

His voice turned cold, resolute.

“Never hesitate. Or I’ll risk the safety of the ones I love.”

His family. Liana. Gloria. The people of Armand. Everyone he swore to protect.

( End Of Chapter )

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