Chapter 28: The Sorcerer's Awakening—The Breath of the Red Dragon!

Yes, Joseph saw it. He saw it all.

In the instant those two orc barbarians raised their giant axes, a scorching fireball slammed into them, blasting away half the bodies of these powerful orcs—foes that even he, a formal mage, would have struggled to handle.

And that searing inferno had come from young Gret.

"Gret, was this... your doing?"

Teacher Joseph, in a state of immense shock, picked up his glasses and hastily put them on, not even noticing they were crooked.

Had this child not been complaining to him just hours ago about his inability to grasp arcane formulas or construct the most basic spell models?

"Gret, have you learned magic?"

The moment he asked, Joseph felt the question was absurd. The power of that flame spell far exceeded the upper limit of what he, as a teacher, could ever cast. Those were two orc barbarians! Either one of them possessed strength no less than his own as a mediocre first-circle low-level mage.

"Teacher... I... I don't know." Little Gret looked at his own hands in a daze.

Crimson sparks still lingered at his fingertips. In that very moment, under the stimulus of intense emotion, he had indeed felt pure magic power erupt from his veins. The scorching energy had surged according to his will, slamming into the orcs. He even remembered instinctively chanting a line in the Draconic tongue.

Yet, no knowledge had flowed through his mind. This was clearly not magic his teacher had ever taught him. His casting had felt as if it followed intuition and instinct. Without any excess thought, directing this magical force felt as natural to him as breathing or drinking water.

"Have I become a mage?"

"But this is not at all what the teacher described."

Little Gret stared blankly at his tender hands, from which sparks drifted and wisps of smoke rose.

Just as the boy was lost in confusion, the beast-like shrieks of the orcs interrupted his thoughts:

"What? There’s a human mage here too?"

"He killed our companions!"

Up ahead, Haug and the other orcs had discovered the gruesome fate of their kin. They saw their companions lying on the ground, mangled and unconscious, and the two charred corpses that were nothing but halves. Beside them stood Joseph, wearing glasses and robes, in the standard attire of a mage.

"That bespectacled middle-aged human is a mage! He killed Gro and Modo!"

"Finish him! Avenge our brothers!"

"He's all alone, let's charge together..."

Haug rallied the orcs, lunging toward the frozen Joseph and the little boy behind him.

*No, no, I didn't do it...* Joseph shivered, turning to his student in terror for help: "Gret, Gret! Can you cast a spell with the same power as before?"

Clearly, for some reason, this student was now a spellcaster far more powerful than he was.

"The same power as before? I don't think I can..." Little Gret looked at his hands, dazed, and shook his head.

"What? You can only cast a spell of that power once? But there are even more orcs coming now!"

Joseph looked ahead in panic. A large group of orcs was charging, wielding short spears and battle axes, emitting primal roars: "Kill the human mage! Avenge our companions!"

Haug wore a savage grin, revealing sharp fangs stained with bits of animal flesh. Amidst the flames of the Blood-Scar Canyon, he had never had the chance to face a mage head-on. Now, Haug realized this might be the only chance in his life to truly kill a human mage!

"Great Gruumsh be above, the orc gods be above."

The orcs roared as they charged, singing off-key war songs.

At this very moment, the massive commotion caused by the orc attack had awakened the villagers. Young, able-bodied men and women emerged from their homes, clutching hoes, sickles, pitchforks, and axes, preparing to face the oncoming orcs.

This was what the humans of the Eldoren surface villages had done year after year for centuries. They forged walls with their own blood and flesh to resist the inhuman, fantastical monsters, guarding their families and their village. Only the luckiest of elders lived past fifty to become the village’s famed centenarians.

"Fight them to the death!"

"Don't let them kill a single child before the reinforcements from the mages arrive!"

"Little Gret, you're here too? Son, what are you standing there for? Get behind us quickly!"

"..."

Little Gret stood rooted to the spot, feeling the scorching magic surging through his veins. Ahead were the orcs charging with roars; behind were the villagers determined to fight to the death.

"Teacher, what I meant was..."

Little Gret’s eyes flooded with a brilliant, scorching light. Illusory dragon scales began to emerge on the surface of the boy's skin.

"It's unlikely that I can keep the power at the level of that last strike..."

"Because I feel as if the magic surging in my body is..."

The orc Haug roared as he charged. The powerful warrior, who only had his right arm, suddenly widened his eyes. A searing red light illuminated his face. His pupils reflected the crimson glow and the phantom image of a great dragon.

Suddenly, Haug recalled the stories told by his tribal high priest about the distant past.

"Before the elves became the masters of this continent, dragons ruled the earth and the sky."

"And among all common dragons, the two most powerful are the Gold Dragon of the metallic kin and the Red Dragon of the chromatic kin."

"When these two dragons open their maws, scorching flames swallow everything..."

Crimson.

Red fire shot into the sky, illuminating the entire Rolling Stone Village, lighting up the pitch-black night, and turning the darkness into day.

"Teacher, I feel that the magic surging in my body is... far beyond the level of that strike. I can't control it at all..."

...

High above, in the Emperor of Arcanum's bedchamber, Arian watched the projection on the water's surface, gazing at the brilliantly blooming flower of flame.

"Stronger than the Gret who awakened his sorcerer magic nine years later in the original history..."

...

When little Gret finally came to his senses, everyone was looking at him.

The charred orc corpses strewn across the ground were emitting a foul stench. This included the most vicious-looking one-armed orc and those that had been locked in combat with the undead... Every single orc that had invaded the village was dead.

The villagers gazed blankly at little Gret, who stood in the center of the clearing, wreathed in crimson light and roaring flames, looking like a god descended to earth.