This is the worst, El thought.
He glanced at the distant castle. Sure enough, the banquet that had been ablaze with light just moments ago was now shrouded in a deathly silence, swallowed up in darkness.
Has it come to this?
Did they make a move over there as well… But isn’t the Demon Cult allied with the Second Prince? What gives them the nerve to do this? Or have these lunatics betrayed him?
While Taiwen was trying to persuade Aurelia, El didn’t just stand around waiting like a fool for the CG loading bar to fill; his mind was racing, rapidly analyzing the situation on the field.
Their opponents were three Demon Cult masters, while their side consisted of Aurelia, El himself, and Ivena lurking in the shadows.
Truth be told, El wasn’t confident at all. He’d rarely seen Ivena fight—only knew she was strong, and that Wald held her in high regard.
As for Aurelia—El wasn’t the sentimental type, and now was certainly not the time for, “You run, don’t worry about me.” In her place, he’d risk his life to protect her too.
He also didn’t know Aurelia’s true capabilities. She’d become a Master-level Alchemist in just a month, and alchemists generally had the weakest combat ability among all professions.
Taiwen, that strange Death Knight, seemed nearly unkillable… Even before joining the Demon Cult, he’d already been the renowned “Withered Knight” for years, slaying countless enemies in the fight against the orc invaders—a rare expert across the whole continent.
He glanced at the nearby Red Dragon, as large as a small hill, embers seemingly flickering with every breath.
The “Demon Dragon” Ude, a traitor to the Aesoria Dragon Court, had survived under the strongest on the continent—the Black Duke. That alone spoke volumes of his power.
As for that hunched, black-robed figure… El couldn’t read him at all, but the pressure he exuded was anything but ordinary.
In the depths of the darkness, Taiwen’s knight’s sword traced a perfect arc. Moonlight gleamed on its blade, reflecting a murderous chill.
El’s thoughts snapped back to reality. He immediately picked up the “White Rose” Aurelia had just given him, summoned his Virtual Spirit Body, and began preparing his magic.
“Excuse me.”
With those words, Taiwen melted into the shadows.
“El, be careful. He’s making his move,” Aurelia said.
She retrieved a longsword from the light screen, ruthlessly slashed her floor-length gown, and refashioned it into combat attire, revealing her flawless white legs.
At some point, Taiwen’s figure split in two, then four… until dozens of black-robed men wielding knight’s swords appeared.
They charged at El like arrows, slicing through the night wind with shrill whistles.
El unleashed the magic he’d prepared.
“Frost Nova,” a mid-tier spell—its strength dependent on the user.
Unstoppable waves of ice elements froze the black-robed figures’ legs. Those closest were encased in ice entirely, immobilized.
With abundant magic to fuel it, El elevated this control spell to a high-tier level.
But their reaction was swift. Exquisite swordsmanship slashed through the ice, and they quickly regained their mobility.
But that brief moment was all he needed.
Streams of golden light shot from behind Aurelia, blasting the figures to pieces.
Before they could catch their breath, new “Taiwen” kept forming in the darkness—seven or eight more black-robed men rushed at them.
“Damn it, what the hell are these things!” El cursed.
Yet even as he cursed, his keen insight spotted something unusual.
“Frost Nova” only affected the “Taiwen” physically. Normally, in such extreme cold, a living creature’s movements would be hindered—such was a biological response.
But these figures weren’t. Coupled with what El had seen through the Arcane Eye, it was clear—they weren’t physical entities, but constructs of dark sorcery.
El believed that every spell must involve a soul. So as long as he found and destroyed Taiwen’s true body in battle, the rest would collapse.
The Red Dragon didn’t rush in recklessly. He remained vigilant, watching for unexpected developments. His molten gold, vertical pupils observed the fight, ready to block El if he tried to escape.
Additionally, Taiwen had said that the Grand Duke of the West had done him a favor. If possible, they should avoid harming the young lady.
Ude agreed—after all, who knew what deadly Alchemical Armament that young lady might pull from her treasury.
The best plan was to let Taiwen exhaust the two’s stamina; given the leader’s emphasis on this operation, rashness wasn’t an option.
The battle raged on. Magic surged. El unleashed dozens of Arcane Missiles, their violet trails dazzling in the night.
The shadowy figures closed in fast. The house-shattering Arcane Missiles were slashed apart like eggs by their swords.
Though Taiwen’s clones’ battle aura was weak, only at the silver level, they all inherited Taiwen’s swordsmanship—Master-Level Swordsmanship.
The world had only one evaluation for Master-level professionals: “The pinnacle of mortal skill.” As a knight, Taiwen especially excelled at killing. His combat experience was vast; every clone was a huge threat.
Aurelia’s hands never paused—shadows were blasted apart by streams of light, but new ones kept emerging.
Her suppressive firepower kept the clones from closing in, but magic was finite. This couldn’t last.
She exchanged a glance with El, then reached into the light screen and drew out a Gold-Plated Sword—its blood groove crimson, and its splendor unmatched.
A conceptual weapon—“Radiant Sun.”
The instant the sword appeared, the night seemed to flee as from a wild beast. The area turned bright as day.
El sensed the fire element around them spike sharply. He swiftly constructed spell formulas—one after another, destructive magic units formed under his power.
“No… That’s…” several “Taiwen” murmured at once.
“Fireball”—a high-tier spell, requiring the caster to be at least of gold rank. Everyone knew this spell. It symbolized destruction, the power of the mage.
A single standard Fireball could destroy an entire street—a street wide enough for six carriages to drive side by side.
On the battlefield, such a spell could shatter a small army’s morale and cause heavy casualties. That was why mages were called “war machines”—their magic was simply too powerful.
The shadows had no time to dodge. They formed up, trying to pool all their battle aura to block the spell.
But now, the Fireball—amplified by “Radiant Sun”—was so intense that even El, as the caster, was nearly burned by the surging fire element.
Blinding light. A deafening explosion. Scorching shockwaves whipped across El’s face.
The black-robed figures had vanished without a trace. On the lawn, a massive crater remained; the blast’s scars stretched hundreds of meters, as if to annihilate everything.
El adhered to his mentor Anthony’s creed: Magic is not a tool for slaughter, but a treasure to advance civilization and seek truth.
But Anthony had also quietly told him, “You don’t have to use deadly spells, but you must know them. Mages should love peace—but that doesn’t mean they should be sheep led to slaughter.”
A round of applause rang out—Taiwen emerged from the shadows once again.
“As expected of the Sage’s disciple—your mastery of magic is astounding. And your skills? You’re better than some knights… yet our intelligence never mentioned this…”
“There’s a lot you don’t know! But soon, you’ll find out…” El sneered.
His fighting skills had been trained by Ivena; until now, he’d never had a chance to use them.
After that last battle, he’d figured out Taiwen’s weakness.
Now, it was time to counterattack. He thought.