Thieves of the Mine (2)
The Humian soldiers, all assuming firing stances, were gripped by an unprecedented tension. It was a threat unlike any they had encountered since being assigned their duties as soldiers—a sensation the fearless Humians had never imagined they could feel. It was fear.
Kwaaaang!!!
A fierce explosion erupted in the midst of the Humian troops, who had been prepared to fire without hesitation at the slightest suspicious movement from their opponent. By all rights, soldiers facing an enemy should never take their eyes off their foe, yet their primal instincts as living beings forced their gazes to turn. What they saw was one of their own, his head cleanly blown away, collapsing to the ground. The head that should have rested atop his neck was gone, and the stench of burning human flesh mingled with thick black smoke.
The Humians realized from the circumstances that the Demoni an woman they were confronting must be the cause of the blast.
“Hohoho.”
Kwaaaang!!!
Another explosion tore through the Humian ranks. Two more soldiers died instantly, their mangled corpses crumpling to the earth. One had his abdomen blown open, upper and lower body separated, with shredded entrails spilling out in a grotesque cascade. The other’s chest had burst apart; the blast had caught his head as well, ripping his jaw clean off and leaving his tongue lolling out as he fell.
Both detonations had occurred precisely where the Demoni an woman’s gaze had shifted, a faint smile playing on her lips. Explosions erupted wherever she looked.
“Open fire! Shoot!!!”
Zwoooong!! Zwoooong! Zwoooong!!!
Forty soldiers positioned at the front unleashed a concentrated barrage of mana beams. The searing rays could pierce even a massive Grizzly Bear or a mighty Griffin and reduce them to ash. The heat from the forty beams instantly generated thick black smoke, and the ground beneath began to glow red-hot and melt under the intense temperature.
The acrid smoke swirled around Neromeltia, obscuring her form, while the molten lava pooling at her feet bubbled and tinted the smoke a fiery red. Flames repeatedly flared and vanished from the scorched earth. The mana beams, powerful enough to melt the ground into lava, scattered tremendous heat that ignited the surrounding area as well. The black smoke grew denser, billowing violently and blanketing the vicinity. From a distance, one might have mistaken the scene for a forest fire. Even the Humian soldiers keeping their distance coughed intermittently as the choking fumes reached them.
Click! Click! Click!
Driven by their commander’s orders and raw survival instinct, the Humian soldiers kept pulling their triggers long after their weapons’ mana reserves were exhausted. It was a reflexive act born of sheer desperation—they had poured every last drop of mana into the attack, revealing just how frantically they were fighting to overcome Neromeltia.
“Did we get her…?”
Kwaaaang!!!
The soldier who had carelessly spoken while letting his guard down made those words his final utterance. The new explosion was far more powerful than before. The soldier struck directly lost his entire upper body, and the blast caught several nearby comrades as well. Those closest to the blast died instantly—half their bodies torn away or heads severed—though that was almost merciful. Soldiers farther out suffered agonizing wounds: an arm or leg ripped off, half their face blown away. They lingered at death’s door, paying the price of survival with unbearable pain.
“Kghaaaaah!!!!”
“Krrgh…!!”
“Higyaaaaah!!!!!”
The wounded soldiers writhed on the ground, limbs mangled or severed. Their comrades should have rushed to help, yet the chaos prevented any immediate aid. Even those not directly caught in the blast suffered severe burns from the heat or fragments embedded in their eyes, blinding them. Soldiers at the very edge of the blast radius, though physically intact, had their hearing shattered by the shockwave and their minds left reeling. Above all else, terror had frozen every soldier in place.
Through the gradually clearing heat and smoke, a vivid crimson glow emerged. Eyes that radiated spine-chilling dread. Ruby-red irises that one would fear to see even in nightmares fixed upon them, gleaming with an eerie light.
“W-what happened?! Luke! What’s going on?!”
“H-hiik… h-heeek…!!”
“Pull yourself together! Are you still a commander?! Snap out of it!!!”
Two officers rushed to the half-mad centurion, desperately trying to restore his sanity and extract information. Every Humian operating outside wore the standard dark-green mask—a full-face magical device fitted with a visor and a cylindrical purification array to protect their respiratory systems from Terraris’s rampant pollution. It was essential gear for all Humians, including the centurion. Yet his mask was not green but crimson, as were the masks of the two officers who had arrived.
They were the other two centurions responsible for the middle and rear ranks, drawn forward by the commotion at the front.
“A-a demon!!! A demonnnn!!!”
The deranged centurion had few options left: faint quietly, collapse in a daze, or thrash about in panic. Judging that no useful information could be gained from him, the other two centurions decided to assess the situation themselves.
“T-that’s…?”
“You! Report! Did that woman do this to our troops?! Answer me, soldier!!!”
What met their eyes was a sea of bubbling lava and drifting smoke. At its center stood the Demoni an woman, gazing calmly back at them. From the state of the battlefield, it was clear the soldiers had unleashed a full barrage upon her—yet she remained completely unscathed, even standing atop the molten lava without so much as a scratch. The surreal sight made the centurions instinctively sense that a crisis unlike any they had faced before had arrived.
While one centurion’s mind grew hazy before the overwhelming spectacle, the other seized a trembling soldier and pressed for answers. Realizing the situation was beyond salvaging, he assumed command in place of the two incapacitated officers.
“What are you all doing?! Rotate and resume firing immediately! Alternating fire! Those who need to replace their mana stones, fall back—everyone else, fire at once!!!”
“Y-yes!!”
“U-understood!!!”
At the centurion’s fiery command, the soldiers forced their minds back into order and began reforming their ranks. Those in the rear dragged their leaden legs forward to take up firing positions, while those who had already expended their mana stepped back to swap depleted stones. Once he confirmed the line was ready, the centurion gave the order.
“Fire!!!”
Click! Click!
Despite the resounding command, nothing happened. Only the hollow sound of triggers being pulled echoed uselessly. The bewildered soldiers pulled again and again, yet their weapons refused to obey. The centurion’s furious rebuke died on his lips as he noticed something wrong. He scanned the ranks and realized the failure was not due to negligence.
Every single weapon had gone dead. When a firearm was activated, its engraved mana circuit would glow as mana flowed through it—yet not one gun showed even a flicker of light.
The centurion turned his gaze forward. The crimson glow within the black smoke burned brighter than ever. He looked down at his own weapon and tried to activate it. Despite his meticulous care and ample mana reserves, it remained silent. Swallowing hard, he began to tremble as he stared into the crimson light, sensing an unknown power at work. He could not fathom the principle, but the mysterious Demoni an woman was clearly responsible.
“Without those toys, you are nothing. Try facing me with your own strength. Your enemy stands right here, waiting.”
What she had used was a technique once employed against the sage Lamid of the hero’s party during the fall of Hemonigent a thousand years ago. A power that dismantled an opponent’s spell itself through mana, collapsing mana circuits by interfering with pure mana rather than physical force. A spell-breaking art that transcended mere mana interference.
It was Neromeltia’s unique technique, known as Silent Touch.