Chapter Thirty: Reaping What One Has Sown

Following the scent on the conical hat, the Fire Salamander found a treehouse. Gazing in its direction, the reflection of the hat could be seen in the anger burning within its eyes.

The King of Fire Salamanders was a mutant among its kind. In addition to its original shape, two long horns erupted from its head—one exuding icy cold, the other blazing with fire.

Its head resembled that of a crocodile, and at its jaws had grown two pincers that served as weapons. Its body was ten times larger than that of an ordinary fire salamander; its tail alone stretched a full nine meters.

Its defenses were even more astonishing. Especially when entering its ice form, the scales on its body would freeze over automatically, slipping into a defensive mode and forming a thick armor. At that point, not only would swords and blades prove useless, even explosives could not harm it in the slightest.

With a roar, the Fire Salamander King spat a torrent of flames toward the treehouse. The trees in its path were incinerated, and the heatwave swept forward with a howling fury.

The white-haired man’s pupils reflected the approaching blaze. He leapt from the bed, pouncing to the floor and pinning down the brown bear beside him. A thick column of fire punched through the treehouse overhead, burning a gaping hole straight through. Everything in its path was reduced to ash. Even the cabinet holding the journal was engulfed in flames.

A wooden beam, set ablaze from above, snapped and crashed down. Ba Mu stood frozen below, staring blankly at the pile of ashes before him, his face stunned and vacant.

The white-haired man lunged, knocking Ba Mu aside as the burning beam crashed onto his shoulder, the pain making him grit his teeth.

He had scarcely caught his breath when another blast of fire came roaring in.

Ba Mu, cradling the ashes in his hands, was overwhelmed with grief, making no move to dodge. The journal that held his father’s memories had been reduced to scattered debris.

This time, the white-haired man raised his long sword, intercepting the attack. The sword’s edge flared with vibrant energy, forming a crimson aura like a protective shield before him.

The flames raged like a dragon of fire, while the aura of his sword coalesced into a dragon of white. The two dragons clashed, wrestling for dominance.

The moment he took the brunt of the flames, an immense force was unleashed, sending a violent gale outwards that shattered the surrounding trees and carved a massive circular clearing into the forest below.

His wounds yet unhealed, the white-haired man blocked the assault with his energy, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. The wound at his waist had split open anew, and fresh blood seeped from beneath the bandages.

Straining to hold his ground, the white-haired man’s face grew grayer by the moment—he would not last much longer. Not far off, the true instigator of this battle stood watching coldly from the sidelines.

A little while longer, and the white-haired man’s energy waned, his aura’s white dragon slowly being pushed back. The Fire Salamander showed no sign of relenting, continuing its furious assault.

As his strength ebbed away, the salamander spat a fireball, aiming to finish the fight. The white-haired man could barely dodge, but the brown bear behind him would be struck. Gritting his teeth, he raised his sword and took the blast head-on, the force flinging him from the wreckage.

The moment the fireball struck, he felt as if submerged in molten lava, a shockwave hurling him through the hole in the treehouse, out into the open. He crashed hard into a tree, gouging a deep crater before coming to a stop, his body charred and smoking. If not for the sword’s protection, he might have been torn apart.

Seeing the white-haired man unconscious, the Fire Salamander turned to leave, only to feel a sudden itch at its leg. Looking down, Ba Mu clung to its limb, tears streaming down his face as he bit down with all his might.

The salamander’s hide was tough, but Ba Mu’s jaw was locked around a chunk of flesh, blood trickling between his teeth—whose blood it was, he no longer knew.

Kicking out several times, the salamander could not shake Ba Mu loose; no matter how violently it thrashed, he would not let go. Growing angry, the beast swung its tail in fury.

Ba Mu was knocked flying, rolling across the ground, but with a burst of effort, he sprang forward again, latching onto the salamander’s leg, biting the same spot as before.

This time, the salamander felt pain—a large piece of flesh was torn away, making it bellow in agony. Ba Mu released his bite and began pounding the wound with his head, causing the beast to stagger back in pain.

Another tail swipe sent Ba Mu crashing to the ground. The salamander turned to go, but had barely taken a few steps before Ba Mu struggled upright once more.

“It’s not… not over yet…”

Ba Mu swayed unsteadily, his body covered in wounds; his left eye was swollen shut, leaving only a narrow slit. He could not forgive the salamander king for destroying his cherished memories.

From the distant hollow, the white-haired man, moved by Ba Mu’s tenacity, wept silently. He tried to move, but found he could not.

The Fire Salamander halted, as if moved by Ba Mu’s resolve, and prepared to settle the battle with a head-on charge. Ba Mu too backed up, claws grinding into the earth.

They set their distance, then charged at each other with all their might. The first collision left them both bleeding from their heads, neither yielding.

They staggered back, then crashed together a second time. This time, Ba Mu let out a hoarse, desperate roar, and the Fire Salamander bellowed in turn—the scene froze in that moment.

The white-haired man’s eyes were red with tears; he could not bear to watch further. After a heavy thud, Ba Mu lay flat on the ground, head bloodied, mouth agape, eyes rolled back.

On the other side, the salamander collapsed, its eyes lifeless, the scales on its brow shattered, blood streaming down to stain its vision crimson.

Seeing both combatants grievously wounded, a stout figure who had been hiding all along emerged from behind a tree. He walked straight to the white-haired man, laughing madly as he came.

The white-haired man heard footsteps and slowly raised his head, seeing that the fat man from the three-person team—the one whose hand he had crippled—was not dead after all. The fat man approached, short knife in hand.

“That dumb salamander is so easy to trick. If it hadn’t helped me, I wouldn’t have been able to kill you!”

The one-eyed fat man stopped, opened a bag slung over his shoulder, and drew out two objects—the severed heads of his two former companions.

With deranged satisfaction, he placed the heads on the ground, intent on having them witness him kill the white-haired man with his own hands.

He raised the short knife, aiming for the white-haired man’s heart.

But as he lifted the blade, the Fire Salamander King, seeing the bite mark left by the little salamander on his wrist, understood everything at last—it had been used.

Summoning its last ounce of strength, it raised its head and spat a fireball at the fat man, seeking to atone for its mistake.

The fat man gripped his knife with both hands, driving it toward the white-haired man's chest. But just as the blade was about to fall, a fireball burned a gaping hole through his back.

Eyes wide with disbelief, the knife slid from his grasp and plunged into the snow as his body pitched forward, sprawling lifeless on the ground.