Infinite Mana Exorcist
Chapter 49: Ashjaw vs Asher

Chapter 49: Ashjaw vs Asher

Fey stood atop Ashjaw, gritting his teeth as he watched the mighty dragon inhale deeply, its throat swelling with an ominous glow. Flames danced in the depths of its maw, preparing to be unleashed in a single, devastating blast.

His mind raced, analyzing every possible means of escape, every conceivable way to avoid the fiery doom about to befall him. Yet, no solution presented itself. He was an aggressive swordsman, one who had always relied on overwhelming force rather than defensive tactics. Blocking such an attack was beyond his skill.

There was nothing left to do but hope.

Damn... I haven’t... I’m not done yet...

The thought barely formed before Ashjaw’s mouth gaped wide, and in the next instant, golden flames erupted forth, consuming everything in their wake. The inferno devoured the room, swallowing pillars and shattering the ceiling with its sheer intensity. The roaring flames drowned out all sound—no screams, no cries for mercy—just the deafening collapse of the battlefield itself.

Fey should have died.

And yet, as the blinding light dimmed, his consciousness persisted. His vision cleared, revealing the world beyond the fire’s reach.

His breath caught.

He was... alive.

But how?

The question lingered in his mind as his body trembled with confusion. He hadn’t moved. He hadn’t evaded. The last thing he remembered was being utterly trapped in the dragon’s blazing fury.

"You are lucky to have me with you."

The voice came from above.

Fey snapped his head up, and there he saw him—Logan, standing before him, his face shadowed against the receding embers.

"Logan...?" Fey’s voice came out hoarse, disbelief thick in his tone.

Logan was alive.

Fey forced himself upright, his body aching as he took in his savior’s state. Logan looked utterly drained—his chest heaved with heavy breaths, and his clothes were tattered and singed. He had clearly taken a beating, yet somehow, he had survived and pulled Fey from the inferno as well. One detail stood out starkly—his boots were missing.

"How did you do it?" Fey asked, admiration flickering in his weary eyes.

Logan let out a small, knowing smirk. "Well, I’m an alchemist. Let’s end it with that."

His answer was vague, but there was no time for explanations. The battle was far from over.

In truth, Logan’s survival had been no miracle. He had planned ahead, dropping several enchanted charms in the previous room precisely for moments like this. He hadn’t expected to need them so soon, but when the flames came, his teleportation spell activated at the last second, whisking both him and Fey away. It had cost him dearly, draining nearly all of his remaining energy.

But they were alive.

That had to count for something.

Yet, before relief could settle, a chilling sound cut through the aftermath of destruction.

A deep, guttural sniff.

Both Fey and Logan turned their heads in unison.

Ashjaw was still standing, looming over them like a monstrous god of war. The dragon’s piercing eyes narrowed as it inhaled once more, this time not to prepare another attack, but to scent the air.

Something had changed.

"You are still alive and—" Ashjaw’s voice rumbled, but he suddenly froze. A grunt of confusion escaped him, his expression twisting with something bordering on disbelief. "How do you possess so much Mana?"

The words sent a chill down Fey’s spine.

They weren’t directed at him.

Nor at Logan.

Both men turned their heads, following Ashjaw’s gaze.

And there they stood.

Two figures, emerging from the ruins of battle.

Asher and Malvarick.

A strange energy radiated from Asher’s body, a deep crimson aura swirling like living tendrils of power. It was an energy Fey recognized all too well.

{Demonic Mana in use}

"You hurt my crew," Asher’s voice was eerily calm, a deadly promise woven between each syllable. His eyes locked onto the war dragon, burning with unshakable resolve. "For that, I’ll kill you."

Ashjaw scoffed, a guttural sound of arrogance and amusement. "Don’t get too cocky, human."

With that, the dragon spread his enormous wings and with a single mighty flap, he propelled himself forward, his jaw gaping wide to tear Asher apart.

Fangs bared.

Death imminent.

But Asher didn’t move.

Instead, his Mana cloak surged.

The swirling red energy expanded, taking on a monstrous form—a massive spectral entity that lashed out with clawed hands. In an instant, the crimson force wrapped itself around Ashjaw’s wings, locking them in place mid-air.

The dragon roared in outrage.

"What...?!"

Ashjaw struggled, his body thrashing violently, but the energy held firm. It didn’t just restrain him—it was crushing him.

"Impossible!" the dragon bellowed. "How can a mere human hold me?!"

Yet, no matter how fiercely he fought, he could not break free.

Fey felt his breath hitch. He had seen Asher fight before, but this... this was something else entirely.

Logan exhaled a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. "So this is the cloak of the devil... It’s unbelievable..."

Asher tilted his head slightly, as if studying the trapped beast with detached curiosity. Then, with a sigh, he shook his head.

"So this is the mighty Ashjaw?" His voice was almost disappointed. "How pathetic."

With a simple motion, Asher dropped one hand into his pocket.

And the crimson tendrils tightened.

Ripping.

Ashjaw’s shriek tore through the battlefield as his wings were pulled in opposite directions. The sound of flesh tearing, of bones snapping under unbearable strain, echoed through the air.

Then—

FWOOOM!

Ashjaw crashed to the ground, his enormous form quivering as blood pooled beneath his shattered wings.

"You... you...!" Ashjaw’s voice trembled with pain, but he forced himself to rise. His rage boiled over, overriding his agony. He opened his maw once more, summoning a boiling ball of fire, hotter and more condensed than anything before.

A last act of vengeance.

He spat it toward Asher and his team.

But it was useless.

Before it could reach them, Asher’s red energy surged once again, blasting forward and obliterating the fireball in mid-air.

The explosion sent a thousand flickering embers scattering into the night.

Yet, Asher was already moving.

With a single step, he vanished—only to reappear in front of the dragon in a flash.

In the blink of an eye, his sword was drawn.

"Ahhhhhh!"

With a battle cry, Asher drove his blade forward, crimson energy pouring into it, turning it into a weapon of pure destruction.

The steel pierced through the dragon’s skull, embedding deep into its cranium.

KIEEUK!

Ashjaw let out a final, piercing shriek—his massive body convulsing, his limbs twitching—before the light in his eyes faded.

And then, silence.

The war dragon collapsed, lifeless.

{You have killed an ancient dragon}

{Rewards have been given accordingly}

{Ding!}

{Effect of using skill will initiate now}

{Goodnight player}

{Twenty health points have been taken}

{30/50 HP left}

Asher staggered.

He clenched his fists, trying to fight the overwhelming exhaustion that suddenly took hold of him. His vision blurred. His legs gave way.

No... not yet...

But his body did not listen.

Darkness claimed him.

Asher collapsed face-first onto the battlefield, the world slipping away into nothingness.