“I’ll help you, Field Collector!”
When the old miner rushed forward, swinging his pickaxe at the orc, Roland was truly startled.
She immediately shouted, “What are you doing! Get back!”
This battle wasn’t something ordinary people could interfere in. Just a touch from an orc’s weapon would mean grave injury or death. If anyone was killed, it could very well affect her actions.
But the pick had already pierced the orc’s arm, making it howl in pain and fling its arm violently. The old miner, along with his pick, was slammed heavily to the ground. With a gurgle, blood and bluish entrails spilled from his mouth.
Seeing the orc ready to kill the old miner, Roland couldn’t spare a thought for defense. She hastily freed her hand and hurled a Fireball Spell at it. Successfully drawing the orc’s attention back to herself, she quickly reinforced her barrier.
Other miners charged up as well, raising their picks and smashing at the orc—eyes, jaw, elbows, knees, even its genitals—all became their targets.
The leading orc captain suffered the most. Over twenty desperate people harried it ceaselessly, leaving it too busy fending them off to deal with Grem.
Grem seized the opportunity and quickly broke through the exposed defense, his longsword stabbing into muscle and severing the orc’s tendons.
“You damnable rats!” The orc roared skyward, its remaining right hand sweeping the greatsword in a wide arc. Several miners were sliced in half at the waist, blood spraying four or five meters high.
Grem touched the blood splashed on his face, stunned for a moment, but soon, a surge of furious rage overwhelmed him.
Even if these people didn’t mean as much as Roland, they were still those he ought to protect—especially since Roland valued them so highly.
“Orc! In the name of a knight, I swear I will cut off your head and hang it atop the Arcane Mine!”
His longsword seemed to sense its master’s will, humming in response. Grem, too, gave up defense entirely, pouring all his speed into striking fatal blows.
Everything happening on the mining grounds was seen by Roland.
She saw Grem fighting for his life, saw the miners risking death to help. Clearly, they could have turned away from this battle, yet each chose to lend a hand.
With all this, was there any reason left for her to hesitate?
Evidently not.
“Since everyone is trying so hard, I should do what a lord ought to do.”
With the time everyone bought for her, Roland retreated to the rear of the battlefield and poured all her remaining mana into a scroll.
Very soon, the explosive spell that contained nearly all her magic was ready. Feeling the scorching heat radiating from the scroll, she shouted toward the front, “Everyone, clear the area! I’m about to unleash a wide-area attack spell!”
Upon hearing this, the miners immediately dragged their wounded comrades away, scattering in all directions. Yet Grem, eyes bloodshot, remained locked in a deadly clash with the orc captain.
Roland knew that if she didn’t seize this chance, she’d never be able to wipe out the gathered orcs in one blow. Resolute, she cast the spell at a spot some distance away from Grem.
As the spell activated, the scroll ignited in midair. Roland hurled it upward, and as its material burned away, the now-unbound circular magic array expanded dozens of times its original size. At the center of the array, a silent, dark-red orb of light appeared, suspended above everyone’s heads like a god wielding a mighty hammer about to strike, or a dying star bursting into one last moment of beauty.
Everyone was mesmerized by the brilliant magic. They watched as its light grew ever brighter and felt the air heat up rapidly.
So-called explosive magic was simple enough that even beginners could grasp its principle at a glance. All it took was constructing an unstable magical circuit, compressing mana, and setting a collapse threshold so it would detonate precisely as intended.
But for all its simplicity, such a spell unleashed astonishing destructive power—obliterating everything in its path like autumn winds sweeping fallen leaves. Not even magic barriers could withstand it, for within the explosion, mana only served to fuel the blaze.
Roland extended her hand, palm open and aimed directly at the spell array. She didn’t recite any dramatic lines—just whispered softly, “Show me your worth, Explosive Magic.”
She clenched her fist, and in that instant, there seemed to come an inaudible sound of shattering.
The magical array in the sky ignited like a rocket’s engines, the entire structure plunging toward self-destruction.
There was no deafening roar—only a blinding flash devoured the world, turning the orcs and the very air on the ground into silent silhouettes.
Then, a wild ring of orange-red and gold fire expanded outward at incredible speed, tumbling and rolling, engulfing all the silhouettes entirely.
The shockwave followed, not as wind, but as a visible transparent wall, mixed with wild magical currents. It tore across the ground, ripping up stones, grass, and even the very air itself.
When the firelight faded, what remained was a smooth, scorched shallow crater, as if glassed by extreme heat.
Within the pit, the air still shimmered with heat, and wisps of blue smoke didn’t drift upward, but spiraled eerily inward toward the crater’s center.
Along the edge, faint dark-red magical veins flickered like blood vessels before finally dimming out.
The orc corpses were already burned to nothing—only drifting, faintly visible white ash lingered in the air. Yet, the orc captain who’d kept away from the blast center survived, his skin merely scorched in places.
The miners were stunned by this magic, forgetting all else. Even the surviving orc, just escaped with its life, was stricken with terror. Had it not dodged Grem, its fate would have been no better than choking on bone ash.
Seeing the moment was ripe, Roland knew this was her best chance to reveal her identity.
She removed her felt cap, untied her hair and let it fall freely like a silver river in daylight. Wiping the dust from her face with her sleeve, she turned to all the miners and spoke slowly:
“I have witnessed your lives, your courage—all of it.”
“Now, in the name of the next Baron Ackerman, I declare: every labor contract you signed is hereby void. From this day on, you no longer need to work ten full years before reuniting with your families. For all miners who have contracted Mana Erosion from mining, I will provide compensation.”
“I, Roland von Ackerman, swear to the Goddess of Hope—I will completely reform this mine. Whether it’s the work environment, living conditions, or any other reasonable demand, I will see them all fulfilled.”
“All those brave souls who died to the orcs, I will have their names inscribed on a monument, so that everyone knows they were here and strove—they will not be forgotten.”
“As for those barbaric races who dared invade this mine, given time, they will suffer retribution. I will stain the monument with their blood to comfort the souls above.”
“That is all I wished to say to you. And one more thing—an apology.”
“I’m sorry. I came too late.”