Chapter 117: New Arrival

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: New Arrival

...FOREST.

Theon’s eyes widened.

"Wait..."

His voice was low, barely above a whisper as he looked deeper into the fog, his gaze penetrating the mist as if searching for something he desperately hoped he wouldn’t find.

The realization settled heavily inside him, a weight that pressed down on his already exhausted body.

They had been fighting inside the Ancient Forest this entire time.

The same roar echoed from somewhere in the distance.

ROOOOOOOOOAAAAAAR!

This time, the sound was even more terrifying as it carried something that the first roar had lacked—awareness. Intelligence. The sound of a predator that had scented it’s prey.

Theon stood completely still.

His eyes turned toward the mountains.

Something was there and it was watching. But I looks very enormous that it made the entire forest tremble with its presence.

Ifrith suddenly looked toward the mountains as well.

His expression changed—the rage that had filled his face moments earlier replaced by something far more serious. Caution. Perhaps even fear.

He stared into the distance, his ancient eyes piercing through the fog as if it were nothing.

For a moment, he said nothing.

Then his voice came quietly, almost reverently.

"That..."

Theon looked toward him, his heart pounding in his chest.

Ifrith continued staring at the mountains, his expression remaining serious, his body tense with something that might have been recognition.

"An Ancient True Primordial Frost Dragon."

The words settled over the battlefield like a death sentence.

Theon didn’t respond.

He simply stared toward the mountains at the source of the overwhelming mana, the presence that had made even Ifrith an—ancient and powerful being in his own right—speak with something approaching reverence.

The fog remained thick but the overwhelming mana continued to fill the forest.

Theon had believed the battle was over and thought he could finally rest.

He had believed that defeating Asmodeus meant safety.

But the roar had made one thing clear.

It wasn’t over.

Not yet.

The forest had one more threat waiting for them.

And this time...

It was A True Primordial Frost Dragon.

Theon’s hands clenched into fists at his sides.

He looked at Lyra, at the fear on her face, at the way she had begun to tremble. He looked at the others—at Ifrith’s grim expression, at Lazaria’s wide eyes, at Silver tense posture, at Seraphina’s pale features.

They had survived one impossible battle.

Now they were facing another.

But this time, Theon was not sure if he had anything left to give.

His body was broken and his mana was depleted. His sword, though sheathed, felt heavier than it ever had before. He had given everything he had—every ounce of strength, every drop of power, every fragment of his being—to defeat Asmodeus.

There was nothing left.

And yet, as he looked toward the mountains, as he felt the overwhelming mana pressing against his senses, as he heard the echoes of that terrible roar fading into the fog...

Theon knew he would have to fight again because there was no other choice.

He would fight because Lyra was counting on him and because the beast could go berserk and kill countless lives.

Even if it killed him.

*No*, he thought, his jaw tightening with determination. *Not today.*

He took a step forward, his legs screaming in protest, his body begging for rest but he ignored them both.

"Whatever overwhelming power you have I will face it and send you back to slumber" he said in a determined voice. And Silver screamed out saying "That’s a Primodial dragon,you would die if you fought that beast" she said in a loud voice then Lyra held her back and said

"That was who he had always been the type to always help the weak when they needed it but this was a lot bigger than him I just hope he survives it"

Lara’s words still hung in the air like frost on a windowpane—present, lingering, impossible to ignore.

Theon did not answer immediately.

His jaw tightened as his gaze shifted toward Ifrith, searching for something—reassurance, perhaps, or confirmation of what they both already sensed.

The primordial demon stood several meters away, his expression unusually serious. Around him, the forest had become a battlefield of ice, shattered stone, dark mana, and flames that licked at the frozen ground with desperate hunger.

Then Theon felt it.

Something was coming.

The air itself seemed to change—growing heavier, thicker, as though the world itself was holding its breath. His eyes narrowed and every instinct screamed at him to move, to act and to prepare.

He slowly turned toward the cave.

The darkness inside it seemed deeper than before. Not merely the absence of light—but something alive and watching. Something that had been there this whole time.

For several seconds, nothing moved.

Then footsteps echoed from within.

One.

Then another.

Then dozens.

The sound was wrong. Not the steady rhythm of the living, but something broken—a macabre symphony of shuffling, dragging, stumbling steps.

Figures began emerging from the cave.

Theon stared.

They were people or what remained of them.

Their bodies were covered in crystallized black mana that pulsed like infected veins beneath their skin. Their skin had lost all color, taking on a gray, waxy pallor that spoke of death long past. Their eyes—empty, hollow sockets that somehow still moved—stared forward with nothing behind them. No thought. No feeling. No soul.

Their movements were stiff and unnatural, like marionettes controlled by invisible strings.

Some were soldiers, their armor rusted and broken, weapons still clutched in decaying hands.

Some looked like villagers—simple folk who had likely been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Others wore clothing that clearly belonged to people who had been dead for years. Decades, perhaps. The fabric was little more than rags, held together by the dark mana that animated their corpses.

They were not alive.

Theon could feel it.

There was no heartbeat. No natural flow of mana. Nothing resembling a living soul.

They were corpses being moved by something else that had no right to disturb their rest.

Theon’s expression hardened, his features becoming stone.

"Necromancy..."

The word escaped his lips like a curse. Like a prayer for the dead.

The un-dead continued walking. Unseeing. Unfeeling and Unstoppable.

A cold anger settled inside his chest—not the hot, reckless fury of youth, but something deeper. The righteous wrath of one who understood the sacredness of death, and the violation of forcing souls back into bodies that should have been allowed to decay in peace.

"Asmodeus..."

His fingers curled into fists, nails biting into his palms hard enough to draw blood.

"Why can’t you just let them rest?"

The undead suddenly rushed forward, moving with a speed that belied their decayed forms.

Ifrith’s expression changed, his primordial senses screaming warnings.

"Theon!"

One of the corpses swung a massive crystallized arm toward Theon’s head with enough force to shatter stone.

Theon stepped aside with the calm precision of someone who had faced death countless times and learned to dance with it.

The attack crashed into the ground.

BOOM!

Ice and black mana exploded across the forest floor, sending shards of frozen earth in every direction.

Theon glanced at the corpse—a former soldier, judging by the tattered remains of his uniform.

Then another undead attacked.

He ducked beneath its arm, feeling the displaced air ruffle his hair.

A third came from behind.

He jumped over it, using its shoulders as a springboard.

His eyes flickered with something—recognition, perhaps, or realization.

Something was different.

He could feel it in his bones, in his blood, in the very core of his being.

The pressure that had been weighing down on his body earlier was gone.

The restraints. The restrictions. The invisible chains that had prevented him from using certain abilities.

They had disappeared.

Theon slowly raised his hand, palm facing the sky.

A familiar rumble answered from above.

Thunder rolled across the clouds like the growl of some ancient beast awakening from slumber.

A massive shadow descended.

FWOOM!

Fen landed beside Theon, the impact sending cracks racing through the frozen ground it’s eyes burned with power—lightning arcing between his fur, his presence alone enough to make the lesser undead hesitate.

Theon looked at him. "Fen."

Fen lowered his head in deference. "Yes, Master."

"Purify these undead."

The command was simple and absolute.

Theon looked toward Ifrith, his expression softening slightly—a commander acknowledging his allies.

"And work with Ifrith. Stabilize everything here."

Fen glanced at the battlefield, assessing the situation with ancient, calculating eyes.

Then back at Theon.

"Understood."

Lightning erupted around his body, a storm given form and purpose.

At the same time, Ifrith stepped forward, his primordial power radiating from him in waves.

"Leave the rest to us."

Theon nodded.

Then he heard a small voice behind him—fragile, trembling, but trying so desperately to be brave.

"Big brother..."

Theon turned.

Lyra stood there, her hands pressed tightly against her chest as if trying to hold her breaking heart together. Her eyes trembled with unshed tears, her lower lip quivering despite her best efforts to appear strong.

"Theon..."

He smiled.

It was a small smile—tired, pained, but genuine. The smile of someone who would move mountains if it meant protecting the ones he loved.

But it was enough.

"Don’t worry."

He walked toward her, each step measured and deliberate. When he reached her, he placed a hand gently on her head, his touch warm despite the cold that surrounded them.

"I’ll come back alive."

Lyra’s fingers tightened around her clothes, knuckles whitening with the effort of holding back her tears.

"You promise?"

Theon nodded, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering certainty.

"I promise."

A little farther away, silver stood on a stone platform overlooking the battlefield. Her silver hair caught the frozen light, making her look almost ethereal—a guardian spirit watching over the chaos below.

Seraphina was beside her, her face pale as she stared toward the enormous presence moving through the forest. The trees bent away from it as if even they feared its power.

"That dragon..."

She swallowed hard, her throat dry.

"I recogn—"

Silver placed a hand on her shoulder, the touch grounding her before fear could take hold.

"Don’t worry."

Seraphina looked at her, searching for the certainty she so desperately needed.

Silver smiled calmly, her confidence unshaken.

"He’ll survive."

Seraphina hesitated.

Then she nodded, drawing strength from Silver unwavering faith and hoping Theon survives.