Since the passing of the Great War of Ragnarok, if one were to speak of the Golden Age of the underground in Svartalfheim, one must mention the kingdom of Gullheimr-Undirdjúpr. However, as the era of the seven powerful Dragon Slayer brothers arrived, this legendary kingdom was conquered and transformed into two new realms: Drekabani and Sterkburin, both inheriting the arrogant bloodline of those very Dragon Slayers.
Yet, the flames of war in Svartalfheim erupted abruptly with an invasion by the new king of Dvergar's Holdfast—the oldest and most secluded kingdom. He led his army to crush Drekabani until it was utterly destroyed. Death arrived in a form no one expected, for prior to this, both sides had lived in peace, without a trace of conflict that would lead to such bloodshed.
By now, there is likely no Dwarf in all of Svartalfheim who does not know the name of "Stálmar, the Wolf King of Dvergar's Holdfast." This moniker arose because those who witnessed him remarked that his appearance resembled a wolf, particularly his pointed ears, which were distinctly different from those of ordinary Dwarves.
It is a twist of fate that the Kingdom of Sterkburin, ruled by the Afbarahants clan, sent forth a general named "Breideyr," a name meaning "Big Ears." How would the confrontation between these two Dwarven kingdoms unfold? Whose ears would ultimately prevail?
Looking back to the past, ever since the Eastern Dwarven kingdom of ósigrheimr discovered the secret of taming and training dragons, their warfare changed completely. They shifted from infantry reliant on heavy crossbows to fighting atop dragons—both land-dwelling and aerial. They often branded the warriors from the far West, like those of Dvergar's Holdfast, as weak, backward forces with no venom to rival them.
At the 15th Fortress of the underground capital Grnnstjarna, the heart of Sterkburin, Breideyr and his advisors gazed upon the encroaching army of Dvergar's Holdfast.
"Look at those far-western Dwarves. They don't have even a single dragon," Breideyr scoffed immediately. "If Drekabani hadn't been careless enough to let their army inside the capital walls from the start, how could mere manpower and crossbows withstand Drekabani's dragon riders?"
Breideyr's advisors murmured in agreement, their voices blending into a chorus of affirmation.
"Help me look. Where is that Dwarf Wolf King? I'll send a squadron of flying dragons to roast him right now," Breideyr continued his amusement at the enemy's expense.
The advisors moved about, scanning for the enemy leader as commanded.
Suddenly, a massive gust of wind accompanied by a thick curtain of mist swept in, mysteriously covering the area of the 15th Fortress. In the underground realms, wind is rare enough, but wind accompanied by mist was an anomaly beyond expectation.
Breideyr, being a general of some standing, saw this abnormality and hesitated no longer. He bellowed, "Launch the aerial dragon squadron! Now!" Dozens of flying dragons soared into the cavernous sky, heading out to destroy the opposing army.
But the mist only grew thicker with time, especially around the 15th Fortress, causing Breideyr's paranoia and anxiety to multiply.
"Send out the order! The ground dragon units are to form battle lines as trained. Attack immediately upon sighting the enemy! No need to wait for further orders!"
"Understood!" A unit commander acknowledged and rushed to execute the general's command.
The mist around the fortress became so dense that vision blurred in every direction. Now, the eyes of the mighty general were useless; only his unusually large ears served as his radar to gauge the battle.
Flap... Flap... Flap... The heavy sound of beating wings echoed from above, cutting through the mist and drawing closer to Breideyr's command post.
"Who rides that dragon?! State your name and rank immediately!" Breideyr shouted. Amidst his panic, he comforted himself that the western enemies could not possibly possess dragons. The sound of wings must belong to his own messenger returning with news.
However... silence was the only answer. The beating of wings continued its steady, chilling rhythm. It came so close that Breideyr felt the wind carrying the dampness of the mist against his face.
"I order you to state your name and affiliation!" The Big-Eared General cursed in rage. His demeanor turned ferocious. He wasted no more time, signaling the snipers around him to fire their crossbows in the direction of the sound to protect himself and his men.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Dozens of steel bolts pierced the air into the pale mist.
"Ouch!" A woman's sharp cry echoed from the void. Suddenly, the thick mist began to swirl and vanish mysteriously, revealing what lay behind it...
Breideyr nearly stopped breathing. What appeared before him was not his aerial dragon unit, but a herd of three purple-black magic horses—Nightmares—hovering just above the ground at eye level, mere steps from his command platform. Upon one of them sat a woman, wounded by an arrow grazing her shoulder. She stared at him with eyes full of fury.
The three witches were Frónza, Angria, and another in black with red hair covering the upper part of her face. It was Angria who had been struck by the crossbow bolt on her arm, causing the magic that manipulated the mist to falter.
"Hey!" Breideyr cried out in terror. He scrambled backward disgracefully, forcing his personal guards to rush in and surround him for protection.
Meanwhile, officers on four ground dragons stationed behind him saw their commander threatened. They urged their giant mounts to charge the three witches immediately. The heavy footsteps of the giant reptiles shook the stone floor of the fortress.
The three witches on their magic steeds, who had been hovering, forced their mounts to fold their wings and land softly but powerfully on the fortress floor. As soon as their hooves touched the stone, the three horses lunged toward Breideyr in unison.
The four ground dragons, handpicked for officers, were not just strong or obedient; they were "mobile infernos" ready to burn everything at their masters' will.
As they entered combat range, the dragons deftly allowed their riders to retreat behind them before stretching their thick necks and inhaling deeply...
"Burn them!" The command echoed.
But... as the order ended, instead of hellfire erupting from their maws, the ferocious dragons froze instantly. Their bodies stiffened as if cursed to stone. Their eyes, once furious, turned vacant and unnaturally calm.
The Dwarf officers on their backs looked on in panic and chaos. They yanked the reins and shouted orders repeatedly, but the giant beasts did not twitch.
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All of this was the work of the woman in the black dress and red hair riding in the center... She was "Bjarka," the Dragon Witch!
The truth unknown to the Dwarves was that throughout the time the nine Unicorn Witches had easily conquered lands from bloodthirsty dragons, it was not merely due to strength or destructive magic, but because Bjarka was there to control them. However, in this world, there existed "Giant Dragons," upon which her magic had no effect.
With the four dragons neutralized by Bjarka's power, the path to slaughter was wide open. Angria, burning with the fire of rage, did not hesitate. She spurred her magic steed to dash forward like lightning. Her only target was General Breideyr, who was running for his life in panic.
Angria waved her hand, casting a secret spell. In an instant, the air around her manifested thousands of "Red Leaves" spreading like rain. But these were no gentle leaves; each was sharp and strong as a poisoned blade. The guards attempting to shield Breideyr were sliced through their steel armor, falling to the ground like autumn leaves.
Amidst the screams of agony from General Breideyr, who clutched his tattered ear as warm blood gushed through his fingers, death approached in the form of the dark steed Angria rode, intent on ending his life.
"BOOM!!!"
A massive explosion erupted between the executioner and the victim. Mysterious energy, packed with pure magical power, slammed into both the Dwarf and Angria's steed, sending them flying in opposite directions. The Witch of Rage slid across the stone floor in a heap.
Amidst the fading smoke appeared the figure of a woman in a pitch-black robe, elegant and imposing. She wore a cloak that completely hid her face beneath a tall witch's hat adorned with ten precious magic gems, each glowing like a star in the dark night.
Sigyn (or known as Sydra) stepped out to face her disciples with eyes full of mercy mixed with reproach.
"Stop this at once." Sigyn's voice was commanding, as if every soul in the Dwarf capital heard it simultaneously. She paused briefly. "Why must you slaughter these Dwarves so mercilessly?"
"Finally... Master appears," Frónza spoke with an indifferent tone. She waved her hand to dismiss her magic steed into thin air, knowing that when facing the woman with the strongest magic in history, being on her own feet and fully prepared was the wisest choice.
"Frónza... what on earth are you doing?" Sigyn scolded her head disciple without reservation.
"Master, you do not need to cooperate with us. Just do not stand in our way, and that will be enough. We have an agreement with the High Elves," Frónza stated her demands bluntly.
Sigyn froze for a moment, her heart trembling with confusion. She had just returned from concluding an agreement with the Elves to slay the God Magni. Who would have thought that at the same time, the disciples she raised with her own hands were making secret deals with the same power faction behind her back!
"Frónza, what did you agree upon with the High Elves!?" Sigyn demanded, her voice strained with shock.
"Master need not be involv—" Frónza could not finish her sentence.
"Untora!"
The sound of a sacred explosion spell roared from behind Frónza. Massive destructive power surged through the air toward Sigyn like lightning. The perpetrator of this audacious attack was Angria, who had just risen from her earlier injury, her eyes red with uncontrollable rage.
However... this explosion spell was a technique Sigyn herself had invented and refined! Who in the universe could be more expert in the art of explosions than the Primordial Witch herself?
Sigyn did not dodge. Instead, she swept her hand and cast the same spell in return within a split second.
"Untora!"
"BOOOMMM!"
The two polar explosion energies clashed violently, shaking the underground earth. The massive air pressure caused the fortress to tremble as if it would collapse. But because the power of Sigyn's spell was far superior, it sent Angria flying backward for the second time.
Sigyn looked past the disciple in front of her to Bjarka, who was still casting spells to suppress the dragons into killing the Dwarf warriors until the command center had nearly become a graveyard.
She spoke in a calm but deep voice. "Bjarka is here... Grimora, you must be hiding in the shadows as well."
As she finished speaking, a woman in a black robe similar to Bjarka's appeared from the illusion. However, her face was visibly more withered by time. "Master Sydra, always so beautiful... You are correct. I am here too."
Sigyn could guess Grimora was present because Bjarka was her direct student. Grimora, the Witch of Illusions, was Sigyn's second disciple.
"I saw thick mist covering the area earlier. So, Mistyra, my eldest disciple, must be cooperating with you as well."
"Both Mistyra and Hj?rdí are at the front lines dealing with the Dwarf warriors there," Grimora answered, as her rank was higher than Frónza (the fourth disciple). The other two mentioned were Mistyra, the Witch of Poison Mist (1st Disciple), and Hj?rdí, the Witch of Storms (3rd Disciple).
Sigyn suppressed the rage in her heart and reiterated her original ideology. "Have you all forgotten my instructions?... I brought you across from Midgard to build a home, not to wage war. We took lands from dragons to live alongside Dwarves, not to hunt down the owners of the land!"
As the first Valkyrie created by Odin's hand, Sigyn could not act against the will of the gods, who decreed the Dwarves as the owners of Svartalfheim.
Suddenly, Frónza's harsh voice cut in. "We are simply ensuring the Western Dwarves take possession of this entire land... that is all."
"And if I order you to abandon this mad plan right now?" Sigyn declared with a firm voice.
"Then... we will have to 'change your mind,' Master," Grimora replied on behalf of the four witches.
"You... will change my mind?" Sigyn smiled sadly.
"Though I truly do not wish to do this, it is necessary... We will do everything to change Master's mind," Grimora insisted, her manner appearing regretful yet resolute.
"Do I have to wait for Mistyra and Hj?rdí to return from the front lines before you start changing my mind?"
"No. The four of us will suffice to change you." Grimora finished her sentence and walked decisively toward her teacher.
Following Grimora's words, Sigyn swept her gaze around. She found her two disciples and two grand-disciples moving to stand in a line, ready to confront her with the very magic they had learned from her own hands!
"Untora!"
It was still Angria, the Witch of Rage, who struck first.
Sigyn extended her left hand and released the sacred spell.
"Untora!"
In the blink of an eye, Grimora, Frónza, and Bjarka refused to let the opportunity slip. They cast the sacred spell almost in unison.
"Untora! Untora! Untora!"
To an outsider, the outcome would seem obvious. Even if Sigyn could cast the great explosion spell with one hand effortlessly, she had only two hands and one body. How could she withstand the explosive power crashing down from four witches simultaneously?
But! Over hundreds and thousands of years, Sigyn was the one who birthed the Untora spell with her sweat and soul until it became one of the greatest spells in the universe. Awake or asleep, this spell swirled in her every thought and breath until it fused with her body.
She did not merely cast it to explode at will; she mastered it to the point of casting it to "not explode," containing the energy, and casting the same spell over the same point again and again. To this day, she could stack the Great Explosion Spell up to five layers! The result was not just a simple explosion, but a source of power thousands of times more violent... a power she named... "Ultra Untora!"
At this point, certain defeat shifted sides. Though the four witches had never heard the name "Ultra Untora" in their lives, the aura of power radiating from it shook their very souls. With their experience, they realized instantly that the supreme magic before them had enough power to obliterate a god or anything in the universe.
Angria screamed in uncontrollable terror. Bjarka stood frozen like a statue. Frónza felt all her strength drain away in the face of her master's true power. Only Grimora stared at her teacher's face with a look of infatuated admiration... as if witnessing the pinnacle of the art she had pursued all her life.
Sigyn had only to move her fingertip to release this massive magical particle, and the four traitorous disciples before her would be disintegrated without even ash remaining...
But in the split second before destruction occurred, Sigyn's heart recalled the hundreds and thousands of years past. These four women were not just disciples; she viewed them as "heirs" inheriting her will. Though they were stubborn and sought a different path, that was the instinct of growth. As for herself... she had lived too long. Long enough to see the Great God Odin perish. Long enough to see the one she hated most die before her eyes. What was left for her to cling to in this twisted world?
Instead of unleashing the destructive power outward, Sigyn chose a path no one expected. She swept her hands, gathering the "Ultra Untora" into herself, using her own body as a vessel to receive the violent explosive power rushing in from her four disciples simultaneously. The power, sealed in five stacked layers, vibrated to its limit before exploding from within her own body!
"BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!"
A blinding light drowned out everything. The massive explosion shook the core of the world, destroying the underground kingdom of Sterkburin until more than half of it was pulverized. The purple-gold magical flames burned continuously for thirteen days and thirteen nights.
Every living being in Svartalfheim remembers this catastrophe as the handiwork of the cruel Wolf King Stálmar of Dvergar's Holdfast. Only a few witches know the truth.
Chapter 31, which means it’s time for something truly Epic from your favorite eccentric author!
"Untora" just yet. For those curious about the lore, I created this magic term with the meaning of "Dangerous" in mind—drawing inspiration from the prefix "Un-" (meaning "No" or "Not," as in "No safety").
"Ultra Untora." We’ll be staying with this Tier 9 magic for a few more chapters, so please bear with me!