Chapter 27: The Judgment That Fell

Chapter 27 – The Judgment That Fell

For the first time—

The monster looked afraid.

Its hollow gaze, once filled with cruelty and amusement, now widened as it stared at the sky. At the thing Leon had summoned. At the spear.

It wasn’t just a weapon anymore.

It was a sentence.

Leon saw the shift immediately—its breath hitched, shoulders stiffened, jaw clenched. The aura around it fractured at the edges. Flame flickered in panic.

You’re scared.

The realization tasted better than victory. Leon’s hand lowered slowly, his silver eyes locked on the beast like a general watching the verdict fall.

Then—

He thrust his hand forward.

The sky answered.

A streak of blinding blue tore downward like divine wrath unleashed. Wind howled in its wake, warping the chamber, dragging heat and ash into a spiral behind it. The ice spear roared with untamed elemental pressure, leaving arcs of frozen mist in its descent.

The creature shrieked.

Not in pain.

Not yet.

But in fury.

In terror.

In defiance.

A sound that rattled the chamber, raw and primal and loud enough to make Leon’s ears ring. But he didn’t flinch. He didn’t blink.

He just watched.

Scream all you want.

That won’t stop it.

The monster’s muscles buzzed violently, obsidian veins glowing like cracks in volcanic stone. Its entire frame surged with burning mana. Lava churned beneath its flesh, bulging across its shoulders and arms. Its hammer—once dull—now burned like a second sun, veins of molten fire racing through its surface until it looked like a slab of solar fury ready to erupt.

Leon’s brows furrowed.

It’s stronger. A lot stronger.

But even without touching it, he felt the cost. The monster was overclocking itself—pushing its body far past natural limits. And it knew it.

But it didn’t matter.

Because the spear was already there.

Too fast.

The beast tried to dodge.

It failed.

A blur of heat and instinct, it brought the burning hammer up in a desperate, final block.

Spear met steel—

BOOOOOOM.

Stone fractured in a wave of light and pressure. Wind shrieked, fire scattered, and the very floor beneath them cracked open like a split drumhead.

For a split second, it looked like the hammer might hold. The burning weapon screamed, the monster roared, mana clashed in a cataclysm of opposing wills.

But it was an illusion. A lie.

The spear didn’t stop.

It crushed the hammer. Shattered it like glass under divine judgment. The blade of frozen death punched through, unfazed, unchallenged—slamming directly into the creature’s chest.

And then through it.

The monster’s eyes widened in pain. A gaping, jagged hole opened where its heart should’ve been—its upper torso blown apart in a burst of blue ice and roaring wind.

The force hurled the shattered body backward. The massive spear didn’t stop there. It kept going—driving the twitching remains of the monster into the stone floor, tearing through it like parchment, until it embedded itself halfway into the earth, glowing with flickering blue runes of raw condensed mana.

Silence.

Then a deep shockwave followed, rolling outward.

Leon braced himself instinctively. He felt it slam into him like a tsunami of force.

But he was ready.

With a breath and a flick of will, he channeled a spiral of wind around his body—dense, layered, and shaped into a defensive veil. The gale met the explosion head-on and redirected most of the blast away from him.

Still, his cloak snapped violently. His hair whipped like silver flame. His boots slid back two steps across the fractured floor.

Still that strong, even in death...

he muttered under his breath, eyes narrowing.

The chamber was a mess.

Ash rained from the ceiling. Chips of molten obsidian drifted down like black snow.

And at the center of it all—

That massive spear stood like a monument. Ice cracked along its shaft. Wind still circled it like guardian spirits.

And the monster?

It didn’t move.

It couldn’t.

Because the upper half of its body no longer existed.

Ash still drifted in the air. The shattered corpse of the monster lay skewered beneath the massive ice spear, its torso split wide open like a broken furnace, embers still faintly pulsing around the wound.

Leon stared at it for a moment—eyes sharp, breath steady.

Then, with a soft sigh, he murmured:

"...Shame about the hammer."

It had looked terrifying in the best possible way—like it could level buildings, like it held a name and legend of its own. A weapon that reeked of power.

A proper prize.

And now?

It was dust.

Obliterated in the clash. Reduced to warped fragments barely the size of bricks. Steam rose from where the molten handle had cooled, splinters scattered like dead embers across the floor.

Leon clicked his tongue.

Would’ve looked nice strapped to my back too.

You were probably ranked high. Damn it.

Still, no use crying over melted loot.

He turned toward the skewered corpse and began walking.

His steps were calm. Quiet.

But each one felt like a victory march.

When he reached the body—what was left of it—Leon crouched beside the ruined chest. The spear had pinned it straight through, but some of the upper neck and lower torso still remained. Twisted. Charred. Blackened.

The head had mostly disintegrated, but half the face was intact.

And the expression—

Leon’s gaze lingered.

Frozen in place. Mouth parted in a silent scream. Eyes wide with primal fear. A being of heat and hate and violence, brought down by something it never thought possible.

Terror.

Even in death.

Leon’s lip curled faintly at the edge.

He didn’t laugh.

But the satisfaction bloomed sharp and clean in his chest.

That’s for breaking every bone in my body, bastard.

Not so smug now, are you?

He stood again, dusted his palm off, and suddenly tensed.

"Mana core."

His eyes snapped back to the body, scanning it. His heart skipped.

What if it had been destroyed in the explosion? That would’ve been a nightmare.

No no no—don’t tell me...

He dropped to his knees and began checking around the ribcage, then under what remained of the back, carefully avoiding the still-hot stone beneath.

And then—

There.

Glowing faintly beneath cracked flesh and burned muscle.

Leon reached in carefully and drew it out.

His eyes widened.

It was huge.

Easily three times the size of the cores he’d collected from the lightning and fire wolves. A perfect, obsidian sphere shot through with glowing red and gold threads—like veins of lava trapped inside onyx.

It pulsed in his hand. Heavy. Dense. Alive with residual heat and power.

"This... is worth something."

His nerves relaxed slightly. The panic faded.

But satisfaction?

No. Not yet.

Not even close.

Leon stood, pocketing the mana core into his inventory, and turned back toward the corpse.

I put so much effort into killing you.

One mana core isn’t enough.

You’re hiding more. I can feel it.

He gripped one of his daggers, wind curling around the blade, turning it into a scalpel of force.

And then?

He got to work.

Carefully. Methodically.

He sliced along the torso, peeling aside cracked plating and muscle with precise, surgical movements. The blade hummed faintly as it cut, wind-assisted edge parting even the hardened hide with ease.

Minutes passed.

Blood hissed as it hit the cooling stone. Ash clung to his boots.

He reached near the remains of the chest cavity—then something glimmered faintly inside.

Not like flesh. Not like bone.

A stone.

Embedded beneath layers of obsidian muscle, half-covered in cooled magma.

Leon narrowed his eyes and reached in.

It was smooth. Warm to the touch. Carved with strange, swirling runes that glowed faintly, even through the blood and soot.

He held it in his palm.

And the moment he did—

Ping.

A blue screen appeared before him.

[You have acquired: Skill Rune – King’s Touch (Epic Rank)]

Leon blinked.

"What?"

His fingers closed tightly around the stone, breath catching.

A skill rune...?

Epic?

What the hell did I just find?

His heart began to race.

Because whatever this was—

It wasn’t normal.

And it definitely wasn’t worthless.