SSS Talent: From Trash to Tyrant-Chapter 423: The Fall of the Thal’zar [XXXVII]

Chapter 423: Chapter 423: The Fall of the Thal’zar [XXXVII]

They had landed.

The courtyard floor beneath them was fractured from the impact, stone split in uneven lines radiating outward from where Trafalgar’s boots had struck. The space Pipin had carved with blue fire still burned in a rough circle around them, flames rising just high enough to form a temporary barrier. It was not wide, not secure, but it gave them a moment.

A narrow pocket of survival in the middle of a sea of void.

The creatures encircling them did not advance immediately. The blue fire kept them at distance, but it was not the only thing holding them back. Their distorted forms shifted and twitched along the edge of the flames, claws scraping against scorched stone, yet none were the first to cross.

They felt it.

The pressure.

Trafalgar’s black armor stood out against the burning light, polished plates reflecting blue flickers in cold, distorted fragments. It was not merely protective gear. It radiated presence. The void creatures reacted to it instinctively, the same way lesser predators reacted when something higher in the chain entered their territory.

Fear moved through them like a ripple.

Trafalgar slowly released Aubrelle from his hold and stepped half a pace forward, placing himself between her and the surrounding swarm. His sword lowered at his side, ready but steady.

"Are you alright?" he asked, voice even.

Aubrelle straightened without hesitation. She adjusted the bandage covering her eyes, tightening it slightly as if recalibrating her focus rather than her vision.

"I’m fine. Thanks to you," she replied.

A brief pause followed as Pipin circled above, granting her sight through his perspective.

"I’m seeing through Pipin..." she added quietly. "I don’t like it."

Around them, the flames continued to burn, and beyond that fragile wall, hundreds—perhaps thousands—of void creatures waited.

Pipin climbed higher into the smoke-filled air, wings cutting through drifting ash as his dark-blue flames dimmed to a controlled burn. From above, his vision expanded across the courtyard and into the fractured streets beyond the castle walls, and through him, Aubrelle saw everything.

The chaos was not contained to their landing point.

Beastkin fought in scattered clusters near broken staircases. Lycans held brief defensive pockets before being forced back step by step. Humans and elves struggled to maintain formations that no longer existed as formations at all, reduced to small groups trying to survive rather than coordinate. This was not a unified defense line.

They were not the only ones who had fallen into this section of the battlefield. Several units had been cut off when the collapse above split the inner wing apart, and now they were fighting in isolation, surrounded on all sides.

The lines were broken.

Bodies were already piling up.

Some were dragged back by surviving allies. Others were left where they fell, immediately swallowed by advancing void creatures. The rhythm of combat had lost structure. It was no longer about holding ground. It was about delaying the inevitable.

Trafalgar watched through Aubrelle’s brief descriptions and the subtle changes in her posture as Pipin adjusted position. His expression did not change, but something tightened beneath the surface.

Contained anger.

The heirs were secured above, protected for now. But with the intelligent void creature still active and the rifts continuing to open, that security was fragile. If the defense collapsed here and pressure shifted upward again, the heirs would become targets.

If they died, House Thal’zar would fall.

And the leverage he intended to gain from saving them would vanish with them.

He did not feel personal attachment.

It was calculation.

’All I can do now is trust Garrika, Lysandra, Arthur... and the others.’

They were strong. Each of them capable of holding their own in direct combat. The problem was not individual strength.

It was volume.

Across the courtyard’s edges, rifts continued to tear open. They did not slow. They did not flicker or weaken. Each one split the air and expelled more void creatures into the already overwhelmed field. The openings pulsed, then widened again, disgorging fresh bodies without pause.

The pressure did not lessen. It increased each second.

Trafalgar exhaled slowly, grounding himself before the next wave closed in.

"Stay focused, Aubrelle."

His tone was steady, neither rushed nor raised, but firm enough to cut through the distant screams and the low, constant rumble of void creatures shifting beyond the flames.

"Let Pipin and your stag cover you. Don’t overextend."

He kept his gaze forward as he spoke, tracking the nearest rift as it pulsed again at the edge of the courtyard.

"We hold until reinforcements arrive."

Aubrelle tilted her head slightly, listening through Pipin’s vantage as he circled higher.

"Reinforcements?" she asked.

"Yes," Trafalgar replied. "Everyone wants the honor of securing the heirs. Word will spread fast. They’ll come."

He adjusted his grip on his sword, the black steel catching blue reflections from the burning ground.

"But until they do, we endure."

Aubrelle gave a small nod. "Understood."

She paused for a fraction of a second, focusing again through Pipin’s vision.

"There are others fighting in the swarm," she added. "Beastkin units near the western breach. A human squad trying to regroup near the collapsed tower."

Her voice lowered slightly.

"We’re not alone."

Trafalgar’s eyes remained forward, but his posture shifted subtly as another cluster of void creatures pressed closer to the burning perimeter.

"I know."

The flames began to thin at the edges.

Trafalgar stepped forward without waiting for them to collapse completely, Maledicta resting naturally in his hand as if it had always belonged there. He did not need to activate anything. His strength was already present.

[Primordial Body] pulsed steadily within him, drawing ambient mana three times faster than normal without effort. His reserves refilled almost as quickly as he spent them, the resistance to burnout allowing him to push harder than anyone else on the field.

[Riftborn Feast] was already active, already scaling. Every Rift creature he had slain had left a permanent mark. The growth was small each time, almost imperceptible, but it accumulated.

[Sword Insight] sharpened his perception, allowing him to read movement before it completed.

[Morgain Blade] amplified every Morgain-style technique he used.

He didn’t need to trigger them. They were part of him.

’If this is going to become a war of numbers... then I’ll use their numbers against them.’

He tightened his grip slightly, feeling the lingering effect of the potion Valttair had given him earlier. His mana pool remained high, far higher than it should have been after continuous combat. It hadn’t faded yet.

That meant he could spend.

He stepped through the dying wall of flame.

Void creatures lunged immediately, as if the invisible threshold had finally been crossed. Trafalgar met them head-on.