Chapter 333: Chapter 333 – “The Scream That Tore the Reality!”

The world was fire.

Not chaos—fire.

Endless, absolute, unbroken.

Magma seas stretched to the horizon, their surfaces rolling slowly like breathing beasts. Lava cascaded from towering peaks in molten waterfalls, crashing into glowing basins below with a soundless fury. The sky itself burned—no sun, no clouds—only layers of heat and ember-red light folding endlessly into one another.

And in the center of it all—

A woman floated.

She sat suspended in the air, knees drawn to her chest, arms wrapped tightly around them as if holding herself together was the only thing keeping her from scattering into the inferno around her. Her red hair drifted weightlessly, strands glowing faintly at the edges, and her entire body was wreathed in fire that did not consume her—only clung, like a second skin.

Her eyes were closed.

Her face was still.

Unconscious.

There was nothing else in this world.

No ground beneath her feet.

No wind.

No sound.

Then—

“Aureliaaaaa!”

The voice tore through the fire.

It did not echo. It did not distort.

It cut.

The flames around her rippled violently, reacting as if struck by a force they could not understand. Aurelia’s body flinched, just barely—a tremor passing through her fingers where they clutched her knees.

“Aureliaaaaa…!”

The voice came again.

Closer.

Urgent.

Her brow furrowed.

A breath shuddered out of her chest.

And then—

She gasped.

“—Luca!”

Aurelia’s eyes snapped open.

She bolted upright.

The fire vanished.

She was no longer floating.

She was falling—

—into reality.

Her back slammed against a bed, bandages pulling tight across her ribs as pain flared sharply through her side. The sudden change in sensation ripped a ragged breath from her lungs as she clutched at the sheets, heart hammering wildly against her chest.

“Luca…!” she whispered hoarsely.

Her breathing came fast and uneven, chest rising and falling too quickly as her eyes darted around the room.

Stone walls.

Soft rune-light.

The clean, sharp scent of herbs and metal.

An infirmary.

T-this… where is this…?

Her head spun as fragments of sensation overlapped—fire and heat fading into cold air against her skin, the echo of a voice still ringing faintly in her ears.

L-luca… where is he…?

The thought hit her harder than the pain.

Why does it feel like… like he needs me…?

Before she could think further, Aurelia threw the blanket aside and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. Her feet hit the stone floor—bare, unsteady—but she didn’t stop. Bandages tugged painfully with each movement as she pushed herself upright, dizziness washing over her in waves.

She staggered forward.

Then ran.

The infirmary doors burst open as she stumbled into the corridor, breath ragged, heart pounding. The world felt tilted, distant, but the pull in her chest only grew stronger with every step.

“A-ah—!”

A dwarven healer stepped into her path, eyes widening as he caught sight of her.

“You woke up, young mistress,” he said quickly, reaching out instinctively. “Elder Hilda will be delighted—”

“Where is Luca?”

The words cut through him.

Urgent.

Raw.

He blinked, startled by the intensity in her voice.

“Luca…?” he repeated, then hesitated before lifting a hand and pointing down the corridor. “The arena. Today is his trial day. Unfortunate young man—”

He didn’t finish.

Aurelia was already moving.

She ran past him, bare feet slapping against cold stone as she tore down the corridor, ignoring the sharp pain lancing through her body with every step. Her breath burned, vision blurring at the edges, but she didn’t slow.

Luca.

The name was the only thing holding her together.

She ran.

And ran.

And ran—

Why does it feel like he is in difficulty?

She ran continuously through roads and corridors.

Until the corridor opened wide.

Until the sound hit her.

A deep, resonant thunder that seemed to come from the mountain itself.

She stopped at the entrance of the arena.

Her breath caught.

Slowly—hesitantly—Aurelia stepped forward and looked inside.

Her eyes widened.

Tears welled instantly, spilling down her cheeks before she could stop them.

The arena burned.

And at its center—

She saw him.

The arena was silent.

Not the tense kind.

Not the expectant kind.

The kind where sound itself feels wrong.

Aurelia stood at the threshold, unable to move, her breath catching painfully in her throat as her eyes tried—and failed—to understand what they were seeing.

At the very center of the arena lay a body.

Not standing.

Not kneeling.

Lying.

Luca.

He was sprawled in a widening pool of blood so dark it looked almost black against the rune-etched stone. His limbs were twisted at unnatural angles, his chest barely rising—if it was rising at all. Every breath came as a faint, irregular quiver, more reflex than life.

Above him, suspended in perfect, merciless symmetry, hung the thousand hammers.

They were poised mid-descent, rune-chains taut, each massive head glowing faintly with heat and stored force, as if waiting for a single command to fall again. The air around them vibrated with restrained violence.

Around Luca, magma flowed.

Not violently.

Deliberately.

Molten channels had opened in precise patterns, liquid fire creeping inward, pooling against his broken form, seeping into wounds that no longer closed fast enough. Each time the magma touched him, his unconscious body jerked—a small, involuntary tremor, like something deep inside him still remembered pain even when his mind could not.

No one spoke.

Dwarves sat rigid in their seats, faces carved from stone and horror. Reporters stood frozen, crystals forgotten in their hands. Human nobles stared without blinking, as if afraid that looking away would make them complicit.

The world had stopped to watch a single young man being destroyed.

Aurelia’s vision swam.

Her knees nearly buckled.

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe.

Then something tore loose from her chest.

“Lucaaa!!”

Her scream shattered the silence like glass.

Every head turned.

The sound echoed violently through the arena, raw and desperate, carrying something no one there could ignore.

Kyle flinched as if struck.

His body stiffened, hands trembling where they gripped the railing as his head snapped toward the entrance.

“S-sister…!” he whispered, voice breaking.

But Aurelia didn’t hear him.

She didn’t see anyone.

She ran.

Bare feet slapped against the stone as she sprinted forward, bandages tearing slightly with the force of her movement. Her lungs burned, vision blurring through tears, but she didn’t slow—not when guards shouted, not when dwarves moved instinctively to block her path.

She reached the barrier.

And slammed into it.

The reinforced rune-wall flared as she struck it with both hands, the impact sending a shock through her arms that made her cry out—but she didn’t pull back. She hit it again, palms stinging, fingers curling desperately against unyielding stone.

“Lucaaa!!”

Her voice cracked completely this time.

She screamed his name as if it were the only thing anchoring her to the world, as if saying it loudly enough could pull him back from wherever he was slipping.

The hammers above Luca trembled.

The magma hissed softly.

And the unconscious body at the center of the arena quivered once more.

***

[Luca – POV]

Darkness throbbed.

Not empty—heavy. Pressed tight around what remained of him.

And then—

“Lucaaa…!”

The sound cut through the void like a hook driven straight into his chest.

Luca’s eyes snapped open.

Light crashed back in violently—firelight, rune-glow, molten gold and crimson—his vision swimming as reality forced itself into focus. Pain followed an instant later, but it lagged, as if even agony needed time to remember him.

And then he saw her.

At the edge of the arena.

Bandaged. Barefoot. Hair disheveled. Eyes wide with terror and relief twisted together so tightly it hurt to look at.

Aurelia.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to her alone.

The screams.

The hammers.

The lava crawling into his broken body.

All of it faded.

A faint smile—bloodied, crooked, barely there—pulled at the corner of Luca’s mouth. It felt wrong, his face stiff and swollen, but it came anyway. Not because he was fine.

Because she was standing.

Alive.

A thousand questions tried to rise—How are you here? Are you hurt? Why do you look at me like that? What was that? Where was I?—but he pushed them all down. There would be time. If there was time.

He just looked at her.

At the way her hands struck the barrier again and again.

At the way her voice broke when she said his name.

At the care written so nakedly on her face that it made his chest ache worse than the crucible ever had.

For one stolen moment—

He forgot the pain.

Then the mountain spoke.

“He is alive,” Durgan Blackvein’s voice thundered across the arena, cold and absolute, carrying no surprise—only confirmation. “And conscious.”

Luca’s smile didn’t fade.

“Continue the hammers.”

The order fell like an executioner’s blade.

Chains screamed.

The air collapsed inward.

The one hundred and first hammer descended.

It struck.

Not gently.

Not hesitantly.

Mercilessly.

The impact ripped through Luca’s body like a divine verdict, crushing what little structure had held together after the hundredth strike. His spine arched violently, ribs imploding further as magma surged up in answer, flooding wounds that had never been allowed to close.

Blood burst from his mouth in a violent spray.

His vision exploded into white.

“Aaaa—!!”

The sound tore itself out of him without permission.

At the barrier—

“Nooooo!!”

Aurelia screamed as she slammed both palms against the rune-wall again, desperation raw and unfiltered, her voice shredding as she shook the barrier like it might yield to grief alone.

“Stop! Please—stop!!”

The hammers rose again.

And Luca—still conscious—still aware—

Was dragged back into the crucible.

As the mountain prepared to strike him once more.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep