I Reincarnated to Another World as a Woman-Chapter 222: Table Turned

Theo is waiting for an opening, just a tiny crack that will give him one opportunity to attack.

Just one. I need just one.

But it’s as if the King knows exactly what he’s planning. It doesn’t give him a break.

The rain of arrows doesn’t stop. Not even for a heartbeat. And now Theo can sense the change. The arrows are no longer just arrows. They are slowly transforming, stretching into spear-like shapes, heavier, denser, sharper.

Each hit against his shield sends a violent tremor through him. He feels it deep in his chest, like how a powerful sound from a speaker can vibrate straight into the heart. Not pain, not exactly. Pressure. Impact. Relentless force.

Each hit grows heavier than the last.

Theo grits his teeth and reinforces his shield, adding layer after layer after layer. Light folds over itself, compacting, thickening, forming a barrier that hums under the constant assault.

Time stretches.

At some point, he realizes his breathing has changed. It is steadier now. More controlled. His mana is still draining, but not as violently as before.

Theo notices it.

Ah.

Is the King getting tired? Getting weaker?

A slow smirk pulls at his lips.

About damn time.

He focuses beyond the shield, eyes locked on the massive body of the King, standing roughly a hundred meters away. He is right. The barrage has thinned. Still dangerous, still lethal, but no longer endless.

Theo gathers his Light and shapes it deliberately, carefully, into a sword. Pure, sharp, humming with restrained power.

One strike will be enough.

He doesn’t rush.

He waits.

Eyes never leaving the King.

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A few moments later.

Theo’s eyes sharpen.

His instincts scream.

Here it is!

He doesn’t hesitate.

Theo releases the Light sword he has been forming, launching it forward with everything he has. It shoots out like a bullet, tearing through the thinning green mist, leaving a sharp trail of brilliance in its wake.

Less than a second passes.

The Light sword strikes true.

It pierces straight into the King’s mouth.

The impact is violent.

The King lets out a deafening roar that reverberates through Theo’s mind, shaking the dungeon itself. Its massive body staggers backward, legs scraping against the ground as it thrashes, snapping its head violently from side to side, desperately trying to dislodge the Light sword embedded in its mouth.

Theo exhales sharply.

A smile breaks across his face.

"I did it!"

He scans his surroundings and sees that the green mist is almost non-existent. Theo immediately drops the layered shields around him. Maintaining them is draining too much mana, and now he has momentum. Instead, he redirects his focus.

Light gathers again.

One sword becomes two.

Two become four.

More Light swords take shape around him, floating in the air, humming softly, perfectly balanced and waiting for his command.

Theo takes a step forward.

Then another.

Slow. Measured. Careful.

His eyes never leave the King, which is still flailing wildly, its movements frantic and disorganized as it struggles against the Light sword lodged in its mouth.

Theo smirks again, confidence creeping back in despite the fear still clawing at the edges of his mind.

"You can’t snap your mouth now, can you?" he mutters, voice low and sharp.

"That noise is so annoying."

He steps closer, careful not to rush, not to give the King any opening.

"I actually want to talk with you more," Theo says quietly. His voice is steady now, even though his heart is still pounding. "I need to know why you’re not stepping out of the dungeon when you clearly can."

He tilts his head slightly, eyes never leaving the massive form before him.

"You used the word obediently," Theo continues. "Does that mean someone ordered you to stay here?"

He exhales slowly and takes another step closer, Light swords hovering at his back like silent sentinels.

"I have so many questions," he admits. "How can you talk? What exactly is the dungeon? Why is mana so abundant here, but nonexistent outside?"

His jaw tightens. "Do you know the Dungeon King that looks like a minotaur? Do you know about the experiment?"

The King’s presence shifts, the green mist around it clearing.

Theo takes a deep breath, steadying himself.

"Like I said," he murmurs, almost regretful, "so many questions."

Then his eyes harden.

"But unfortunately," Theo says coldly, "you won’t be able to answer."

He flicks his wrist.

At once, all the Light swords shoot forward.

They slam into the Dungeon King in a blinding cascade of white brilliance, piercing scales, striking with relentless precision.

"The table has turned."

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Arthur pants lightly, chest rising and falling faster than he wants it to. He wipes the sweat from his forehead with the back of his palm, then looks at the stone gate again.

Unchanged.

Still inert. Still trapping Thea inside.

He exhales sharply and looks away, jaw tightening. The warmth inside him, the familiar presence of his Fire, is usually grounding. Comforting. Like a steady pulse reminding him that he is alive and capable.

Right now, it feels suffocating.

Too much. Too close. Pressing against his ribs, his lungs, his thoughts.

Arthur closes his eyes for a moment, trying to slow his breathing, trying to calm his mind. He knows better than anyone that his emotions bleed straight into his Fire. Panic feeds it. Fear sharpens it.

And right now, his mind is a mess.

Strange... his thoughts spiral.

How can I be out of mana when I feel my Fire this strong?

Can I call it forth?

Where is it getting its mana from?

The questions pile up, unwanted, intrusive.

Arthur scoffs under his breath.

Great job, Arthur. Thinking about useless things when your sister is fighting for her life.

The warmth inside him flares again, more insistent this time. It crawls up his spine, settles in his chest, tempts him. Just let it out. Just a little. Just enough to breathe.

Arthur swallows hard.

He knows exactly how that would end.

People screaming.

Bodies burned.

Collateral damage he would never forgive himself for.

He lowers his gaze to his right palm.

It’s glowing.

Faintly, but it’s there.

Arthur’s breath hitches.

Shit! I’m losing control.

The realization sends a sharp spike of panic straight into his brain. And his brain, traitorous as ever, sends the signal right back to his Fire.

Go. Rebel. You’re almost free.

The warmth surges.

His heart pounds harder. Faster.

A vicious cycle.

Arthur clenches both fists so tightly his nails bite into his skin. He plants his feet, shoulders rigid, eyes squeezed shut, pouring every ounce of his will into containment.

Then—

Coolness.

Sudden. Startling.

Something cold approaching from behind him, cutting through the heat like water against flame.

Before Arthur can even turn his head, an arm slips around his neck, firm but careful, and a cool palm settles against his chest.

The effect is immediate.

His Fire sputters.

Arthur can almost see it, the image flashing vividly in his mind. Flames shrinking. Smoke curling upward. The sound of a fire dying, not violently, but gently.

His breath stutters.

The suffocating warmth retreats, just enough for him to breathe again.