The river village erupted into chaos.
Croaks and guttural chants shook the air as the frog tribe surged from every direction—hundreds of bodies leaping off stilted houses and wading through the shallows. Spears glinted with jagged stone tips, arrows hissed from vine-strung bows, and tongues lashed out like whips, trying to drag Airen down into the water.
Airen didn't move at first. His sword rested loosely in his hand, aura humming faintly across his body. His cold eyes swept the horde as if he were counting cattle, not enemies.
The first tongue lashed toward him, thick and wet, coiling around his arm like a rope.
Snap.
With one jerk, he ripped the frog off its perch and slammed it into the ground, bones crunching as the body split into cubic fragments of blood and slime.
Another lunged with a spear. Airen's blade flicked lazily—shhhk!—and the frog split in half, its remains collapsing into the river with a splash.
Dozens more swarmed.
Tongues whipped, arrows rained, crude spells of mud and water surged toward him. The frogs' magic was weak—balls of sticky mud meant to slow him, thin streams of water meant to trip his footing. Against anyone else, it might have worked. Against him, it was a nuisance.
Airen's expression darkened, irritation flashing across his face.
He moved.
In a blur, he swung upward. The pressure of his strike alone shredded three incoming frogs, their bodies bursting apart before the blade even touched them. He stepped forward, boot crushing another's skull into the mud, then snapped his sword sideways, decapitating a spear-wielder mid-charge.
The frogs croaked louder, trying to smother him with sheer numbers.
Then—fwip!
An arrow whistled past, grazing his cheek. His eyes narrowed.
The archers.
Another arrow came. This time, Airen snatched it from the air with two fingers. His grip tightened until the shaft cracked slightly. His gaze lifted, locking onto the archer who had loosed it—perched on a wooden platform above.
With one casual flick of his wrist—thunk!
The arrow launched back like a bolt of lightning. It drilled straight through the frog's skull, pinning its head to the wall behind. The corpse slumped, lifeless.
The entire line of archers froze, their croaking war cries cut short. The frenzy in their wide eyes shattered, replaced by trembling fear.
Airen's lips curled into a faint, mocking smile. "Annoying pests."
From that moment, their rain of arrows faltered. The once-relentless barrage became hesitant, broken—fear had poisoned their aim.
But the frogs on the ground still surged. One after another, they leapt, lunged, screamed. And one after another, Airen cut them down.
His sword danced in silver arcs, splitting tongues mid-flight, severing spears in half, and carving through bodies as though he were harvesting grain. His fists and boots struck with equal brutality—one frog's jaw shattered beneath a punch, another's chest collapsed inward under his kick, sending the body flying into the crowd like a cannonball.
Minutes passed, but to the frogs it felt like an eternity of slaughter.
By the time the dust settled, the riverbank was painted with blood. More than a hundred frogs lay crushed, sliced, and broken at Airen's feet.
He exhaled once, calmly brushing dirt from his shoulder, as though this massacre had been no more effort than a casual walk.
And then—the croaking ceased.
Every frog still standing froze, their bodies stiff, their bulbous eyes trembling as they all turned toward the river's center.
From the largest house, carved with glowing frog runes, a new sound emerged—deep, guttural, commanding.
Thump.
Thump.
Thump.
The water rippled as ten massive shapes appeared, stomping forward in unison.
They were frogs, but unlike the rest. Their torsos were swollen with cubic muscle, shoulders broad as boulders, veins bulging across slick green skin. Each of them stood over two and a half meters tall, their eyes glowing faintly crimson, webbed hands gripping weapons of sharpened stone and bone. The air thickened as they advanced—these were the elite guards.
And behind them, the river parted.
Carried on a heavy wooden palanquin supported by four more frogs, the Frog Chief emerged.
He was not humanoid like his kin. His body was bloated, enormous, more frog than man—a true monster. His skin sagged and rippled with slime, his mouth wide and lipless, his yellow eyes gleaming with cruel intelligence. Gold ornaments hung from his neck and wrists, clinking with each shift of his massive body.
The palanquin swayed under his weight as he croaked deeply, his voice echoing across the river like thunder.
Airen tilted his head, lips curving into a sharp grin.
"So… the chief finally shows himself."
The air shifted the moment the Frog Chief arrived.
The trembling croaks of the horde grew louder, courage flickering faintly in their yellow eyes as they looked to their ruler.
But Airen didn't let them have it.
He bent down, picked up a crude stone spear from the ground, and with a casual motion infused it with his mana. The weapon hummed, glowing faintly white as cracks of light spread across its shaft.
With one smooth throw—
FWOOOSH!
The spear split the air like lightning, cutting a silver streak across the battlefield.
Thump.
The elite guard at the front staggered. His crimson eyes went wide as the spear pierced straight through his cubic chest, blowing a hole the size of a melon in his torso. For a heartbeat, silence. Then the hulking body collapsed into the mud, lifeless.
Airen rolled his wrist, smirking faintly. "Tch. I was expecting more."
The frogs froze. Every croak, every hiss, every step halted. Even the archers on the platforms above trembled.
Did he just… kill an elite guard in one move?
The Chief's yellow eyes narrowed, his lipless mouth curling into something between a sneer and a croak. His deep voice rumbled like thunder:
"Such… impudent behavior in my presence."
The water at his sides churned violently. With a flick of his slimy, jewel-laden hand, the river rose upward, twisting into a massive funnel. A roaring tornado of water spun into existence, dragging in air, mud, and even broken pieces of the stilt houses.
[Tier 3 Magic Detected.]
The water vortex swallowed Airen whole, his body yanked into the violent spiral. The frogs erupted in croaks of triumph, their courage returning.
But inside the vortex—Airen's eyes gleamed.
"I'm a Tier 3 magician too," he muttered, aura crackling around him. "So I can do something like this."
He raised both hands, mana circuits flaring white-hot through his body. Wind surged, bending the air itself into a cyclone.
Fwooooshhh!
Another tornado formed—this one of pure air. It twisted violently around him, colliding against the watery maelstrom that sought to crush him.
The two forces slammed into each other.
BOOOOM!
The clash shook the entire river village. Water burst outward in violent waves, smashing through houses on stilts. Roofs shattered, wooden walls cracked apart, and dozens of frog-people were swept away in the chaos. The river churned wildly as if a storm had descended upon it.
The shockwaves carried far, toppling weaker structures, snapping bridges like twigs, and tossing frogs screaming into the depths.
By the time the clash settled, half the riverside village lay in ruins. The frogs that had cheered moments ago now croaked in terror, retreating from the broken floodwaters.
The Chief's eyes widened, his body shifting uncomfortably on his palanquin. "You… you too are a magician." His croaking voice carried disbelief, even a hint of unease.
Yet still, he did not rise. He sat upon his throne of wood, slime dripping from his fat body, as if refusing to lower himself.
Instead, he extended one hand lazily, croaking out a command:
"Elite guards… kill him."
The remaining nine hulking frog warriors stepped forward in unison, muscles bulging with renewed fury. The Chief raised his cracked, slimy hand again and croaked an incantation.
A surge of green energy pulsed into them.
Their muscles swelled grotesquely, veins bulging across their bodies like writhing worms. Their eyes turned blood-red, webbed hands trembling as their aura surged unnaturally. They let out guttural roars, their croaks turning into beastly bellows.
Shhhk!
In their hands, weapons appeared—massive spears and jagged greatswords, forged crudely but radiating killing intent.
Airen's gaze sharpened. His eyes lingered not on the weapons, but on the faint silver bands glimmering around the elites' thick fingers.
"…Spatial rings." His lips curved faintly. "So that's where they pulled those from."
His grip on his sword tightened. His aura flared again, black hair whipping in the damp wind.
The true battle for the sixth floor had begun.