As soon as the words fell, the Black-robed Mage and El simultaneously unleashed their magic.
The two had the same idea. The earlier conversation was nothing more than a buffer; in secret, their spell formations had already begun.
Fire elements gathered as a massive orange-red magic circle took shape in front of El. The wild, surging mana caused everyone present to turn pale. Fireball Spell—he actually cast it in such a short time…
Madman. Did he not realize this spell could destroy the entire opera house?
Darian shouted, “Use every skill you’ve got, now!”
Compared to El, the others’ spellcasting abilities were much weaker. As the duke’s son, he barely managed to form half an Ice Barrier in that short time. Quite a few nobles were so terrified they couldn’t even move.
Most of the cultists were “mudlegs” with no knowledge of magic. Many among them had gained powerful mana through blood sacrifice, but didn’t know how to wield it; their conversion rate was abysmally low.
Mana was like gunpowder—El could control its explosion, the nobles on the field could barely light a fire, and the cultists just used it to physically “smash” people.
Master Warrior Royas frowned tightly. This was trouble.
What use was a Master-level warrior? Even a titled knight wouldn’t dare take a Fireball Spell head-on. Mages had long casting intervals and fragile bodies, but in exchange, their destructive power far surpassed others at their level.
That was why El had been so shocked when he saw Vita cleave through a Fireball Spell.
At the very least, protect those nobles as much as possible, he thought.
The weakened Fireball Spell still retained its momentum. Just as it was about to explode, a giant figure burst up from underground and wrapped itself around the fireball.
Boom.
The figure was blown to pieces; a couple of unlucky cultists were engulfed by the fire element and didn’t even have time to scream.
An evil, ominous aura spread out. As the smoke cleared, El saw that the one who blocked the Fireball Spell was a massive blue-flame skeleton. “He summoned an undead creature,” El assessed.
Of course, he hadn’t expected to succeed in just one move.
Soon, a second spell began to form.
But everyone present realized—they could not let this madman cast another spell.
All the Black-robed figures charged at El, vicious as hyenas.
“Aren’t you even scared?” El griped inwardly.
He had just cast a spell that could destroy the opera house…
“No one’s an idiot, El. Even wild dogs know how to bare their fangs and howl—they won’t show weakness to their enemies.” The demon’s words echoed.
To die fighting.
Running was truly the path to death. If they killed El, perhaps there was still a glimmer of hope.
“But it’s not just your imagination. Because of the ‘blood sacrifice,’ ‘Lust’ uses this ritual to influence her followers, making her subordinates willingly…”
“What’s wrong, are you scared now?” He sneered.
“Those people? They’re not enough.” El thought to himself.
These days, the demon cult had turned his peaceful life upside down; he’d been holding back a bellyful of rage with nowhere to vent.
Now, not only had he regained his magic, but he also had the White Rose Aurelia gave him. That was like having two full mana potions. El dared say he’d never fought so lavishly before.
Several Arcane Missiles shot out, and a few cultists were hit—blood mist bursting forth on the spot.
El laughed, “I feel better than ever.”
Vita stood in front of him, holding the Regis Family’s ancestral longsword. The sword spirit possessed it, radiating a greenish glow.
It was the first time she’d killed someone… The cultist before her was sliced clean in half by her sword, as easily as cutting through tofu.
Organs spilled everywhere, blood splattering her black robe.
Shouldn’t have cut there… so disgusting.
And yet, unexpectedly, Vita’s heart barely rippled. Maybe because she sensed the terrifying malice inside the cultists, Vita simply treated them like practice dummies.
She was scared and confused—but all that would have to wait until after the battle. With the “Glass Sword Heart,” she forced all her focus onto the fight.
Vita shifted left. An Arcane Missile skimmed her shoulder, hitting a cultist who was trying to sneak up on her.
Her lips curled up—satisfaction blooming inside.
Like comrades who had fought side by side for years, the two needed no time to sync up; perfect understanding flowed naturally.
If this continued, it wouldn’t end well, Royas thought.
He hadn’t stepped in precisely because he feared the two might turn their terrifying power against the nobles; he’d been observing from the back.
Now, it seemed they had no intention of harming the nobles…
The Black-robed Mage—no, “Black-robed Sorcerer”—was onstage casting spells, summoning one undead creature after another.
A Golden-level Knight, a headless horseman, charged at El and the others, bolstered by the sorcerer’s surging mana. “Go, Eric, crush them for me!” the Black-robed Sorcerer roared.
Under the Death Steed’s hooves, blue flames blazed—each step thundered as if to bring down the opera house.
Can’t spare a hand for this now… El frowned, reaching inside his collar to touch a necklace beneath his robe. Shield of the Sky… should he use it?
But in just a moment’s hesitation, a jade-green arrow obliterated the headless knight and Death Steed in one go.
The arrow surged forward, demolishing the stage behind them.
“Cough, cough…” The Black-robed Sorcerer crawled out of the collapsed stage, choking on swirling dust.
He glanced toward the opera house’s main doors, wariness glinting in his eyes.
Another expert? Royas hefted his two-meter greatsword, shifting his stance, battle aura swirling.
“Sorry I’m late, Young Master.”
The powerful gust unleashed by the arrow had blown back Ivena’s hood, revealing her breathtaking face.
Vita suddenly felt a pang of sourness.
Hmph, what’s so special? One day, I’ll be even stronger than you.
“Whew, Ivena, your timing’s perfect,” El exhaled in relief.
“I’m gone for just a bit and Young Master makes such a mess again. Really keeps people on their toes.” Ivena shot El a look.
“Sorry…” El mumbled weakly.
“The Knight Order is on its way—they’ll be here soon. All we have to do is hold out,” she said, shifting her gaze to the distant sorcerer.
No helping it. The mess El made could only be cleaned up by her.
Royas looked at the now-excited Black-robed Sorcerer beside him and couldn’t help but rub his forehead.
As expected, someone normal like me will never understand the logic of cultists.
Suddenly, the Black-robed Sorcerer shouted across, “Hey, mage over there! You’re El Regis, aren’t you?”
He used an interrogative form, but his tone was absolutely certain.
He’d read the reports Taiwen had sent back… a highly skilled, dangerous figure—a true elf. That arrow had clinched it for him.
El Regis? The name stunned everyone present, but they quickly recovered.
After all, given the situation now, no matter who the Black-robed person was, things couldn’t get much worse.
El froze, clueless about what the cultist was thinking.
“Hahahaha… Has fate led you before me?”
He burst out laughing, mad to the extreme.
Right after Taiwen’s operation, the Demon Cult Leader had issued a new mission to his lieutenants concerning El.
“If you encounter El Regis, do your utmost to enrage him… or, well, if you can, kill him. That’s fine too.”
However, the Leader hadn’t really expected much.
Many of the Demon Cult’s lieutenants didn’t actually believe in demons. As renowned powerhouses, they often had their own pride.
But the Black-robed Sorcerer was different—his devotion to the Leader was almost fanatical. To him, this was the perfect chance to prove his worth.
As El watched in shock, the Black-robed Sorcerer ignited his own soul; the aura about him grew even stronger.
“El Regis, I will offer you to my master,” he declared.