Machivel allowed himself a brief smile before focusing entirely on the battle.

The room filled with the sounds of clashing metal, roaring flames, and the relentless surge of energy as the two men fought side by side.

Gran charged into the fray, his flaming sword cutting through two more Demonfire Candles in quick succession.

Their bodies disintegrated under the purplish energy, leaving only faint traces of ash.

Meanwhile, Machivel targeted another group, his hands moving in precise patterns as rings of fire erupted around them.

As the battle wore on, the toll on both men became increasingly apparent.

Their movements slowed, their breathing grew heavier, and the heat of the room seemed to press down on them like an invisible weight.

Gran slashed through another Candle, then stepped back, wiping sweat from his brow.

"Fifteen down. What’s the count now?"

"Twenty-five total," Machivel replied, his voice steady but strained.

He cast another spell, taking out three more Candles in a single burst.

"We’re holding them off, but it’s taking too much out of us. This can’t keep up."

Gran glanced at him, his expression serious.

"You find anything yet? Any clue on how to get out of here?"

"Not yet," Machivel admitted, scanning the room again as he deflected another fiery attack.

"But I’m working on it. There has to be something—a weak point in the magic, a hidden trigger. A room like this can’t be a dead end."

Gran chuckled grimly.

"Let’s hope you’re right. I don’t plan on dying in here."

"Neither do I," Machivel said, his tone resolute.

"Just keep them off me while I figure this out."

Gran nodded, stepping forward to meet the next wave.

"Don’t worry—I’ve got your back."

The battle raged on, the two men fighting with everything they had, determined to survive and find a way out of the deadly trap.

-

Gran, who was saved by Machivel knew that he needed to be careful.

Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.

Demonfire Candles are enemies in front of his eyes but there are enemies who are not in front of his eyes and capable of casting magic spells that can kill him in instant.

It wasn’t often that Gran felt indebted to anyone, but this was an exception he couldn’t ignore.

As he regained his composure, his sharp eyes scanned the remaining Demonfire Candles.

Gran gripped his sword tighter, determination flaring in his chest. He couldn’t afford to hold back any longer.

He closed his eyes for a brief moment, drawing in a deep, steadying breath. Energy surged through him, flowing into his blade.

The purplish flames that had coated his weapon before now burned even brighter, pulsing in rhythm with his heartbeat.

Without warning, Gran launched himself forward, his movements swift and precise.

The sheer speed of his advance was almost feline, his body cutting through the air like a cheetah in full sprint.

As he moved, he whispered a phrase under his breath.

"Seven Beam Slash."

With a single swing of his sword, seven fiery beams erupted from its edge, each streaking through the air like a comet.

The beams glowed with a fiery brilliance, their heat palpable even to Machivel, who stood a safe distance away.

“That looks great and powerful.” Machivel commented within as saw the beams.

The beams arced toward their targets, each one zeroing in on a Demonfire Candle.

The creatures barely had time to react before they were obliterated, their forms dispersing into bursts of ash and embers.

The precision of the attack was undeniable—Gran’s technique left no room for resistance.

As the last of the seven beams struck its target, the room fell momentarily silent.

The walls, still glowing with their ominous hues, seemed to pulsate in response to the sudden elimination of the Demonfire Candles.

Gran stood at the center of it all, his sword still glowing faintly from the residual energy of his attack.

Machivel, who had been holding off another group of Candles, paused to take in the scene.

He raised an eyebrow, his expression a mix of surprise and admiration.

"New tricks, I see," he remarked,

Gran allowed himself a small smile

“This technique is one of my gifts from Lord Sylas,"

"It’s part of a set—goes from one beam all the way up to fifteen. Seven Beam Slash is just the middle tier."

Machivel nodded thoughtfully, his analytical mind already working through the implications of Gran’s statement. "And the other techniques?" he asked, curious but careful not to pry too deeply.

Gran’s smile widened slightly, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

"I’ve got two sets of techniques, but I don’t use them much. They’re... situational. Let’s just say they come with a cost."

Machivel didn’t press further, understanding that some things were better left unsaid. Instead, he turned his attention back to their immediate predicament.

"Impressive as that was, it doesn’t change the fact that we’re still stuck here," he said, his tone shifting back to its usual seriousness.

"And there’s no guarantee we’ve seen the last of these things."

Gran nodded, his expression sobering.

"Agreed. But at least we’ve bought ourselves a moment to breathe."

The two men stood side by side, their eyes scanning the room for any sign of the next wave.

"I’ll keep an eye on the surroundings," Machivel said, his voice low but firm.

"You recover your strength. If another wave comes, we’ll need you at full capacity."

Gran sheathed his sword temporarily, though he kept his hand on the hilt.

"Just don’t get yourself killed while you’re playing lookout," he replied, a hint of his usual humor returning.

Machivel smirked, his eyes already scanning the room for any potential exits or clues.

"Don’t worry about me. I’m not planning on dying here either”