Chapter 73: Marcus and Cynthia (7)
Without warning, Trearch laughed—a sound that echoed like crackling thunder across the cavern—as he raised his staff and pointed it straight at the wyrm’s glistening crystalline head.
"A crystalline wyrm located this close to the city...?" he muttered, voice tinged with curiosity and faint amusement.
Suddenly, the massive wyrm slammed into the ground with an earth-shaking crash, its serpentine body pinned as if invisible hands had forced it down, every inch of its shimmering form straining against a gravity far heavier than natural.
"Looks like Oswald was right..." Trearch said calmly, watching the beast writhe, its limbs scraping against the ground in vain. "This is no normal dungeon..."
The roses beneath it, impossibly soft moments ago, now prickled its armored scales like acidic needles, slicing into its supposedly impervious hide as if it were mere butter. The wyrm let out a guttural growl, low and guttural—a sound that made even the stone walls tremble.
Trearch laughed again, louder this time, pure confidence radiating from him. He lowered his staff slightly, the glow intensifying with each passing second.
"No wonder why they only assigned me..." he sighed, as if burdened by the very task he was effortlessly accomplishing. With a flick of his wrist, he aimed again.
"Looks like the others owe me an explanation..."
Then—like a divine sentence being passed—the wyrm’s body suddenly pancaked, flattened by an unseen force with such overwhelming pressure that blood erupted across the floor like a crimson tide. The magical roses greedily drank the spreading fluid, their petals shifting subtly, as if feeding.
Marcus and Cynthia stared in stunned silence, the monster that had nearly killed them obliterated in a single instant. So anticlimactic, so absurd—it almost felt unreal.
Trearch slowly turned toward them, his expression unreadable beneath the blindfold that covered his eyes.