Round 31: Magic

This definitely isn’t Mishima’s troops, thought 47. A force like this could easily fight its way through those thugs several times. Their killing intent wasn’t even as fierce as that of Blood Axe. Blood Axe’s killing intent was chaotic, like that of a beast perpetually enraged—dangerous, powerful, but lacking discipline. Perhaps the most terrifying thing was that Blood Axe didn’t need discipline at all.

47 suddenly felt a sense of melancholy. He would never be able to confront Blood Axe, which gave him a sense of regret. He looked at the silver-armored soldiers, who carried enchanted swords and shields, approaching silently in a semicircle. 47’s jaw split open, and his scorpion-tail-like tongue stretched out to lick his nose. If a human did this, it would be ridiculous, but in that moment, the killing intent was as thick as unthinned blood.

Agus’s elite guard! Moriel’s expression also changed. It seemed the Agus noble with Mishima was far more powerful than she had imagined—enough to command elite guards! Although Agus was a nation ruled by mages, that didn’t mean they lacked skilled warriors. To prove their strength and escape their inferior status, these warriors trained harder and more brutally, engaging in slaughter…

47 glanced at Moriel and saw no sign of her intending to retreat. Or perhaps it was too late to retreat now.
“I’ll deal with them. You’d better go in, find the spellbook, and run.”
Moriel nodded and disappeared into the dark doorway.
“Watch my clothes, friends. I’m going to need them for a while.” 47 stood awkwardly, let out a human-like sigh, and drew his sword.

Four sword flashes like streaks of light intersected, quickly turning into eight, then sixteen—clearly, they didn’t realize 47’s value and thought it wouldn’t matter if they chopped him to pieces.

After a flurry of sharp metallic clashes, 47 still stood at the door. His robe was torn in several places, his body bore clear cuts, with the deepest wound on his throat. If he were human, that alone would have killed him.

But 47 seemed unharmed. He gripped his sword with both hands, a cruel smile on his face.

The four swordsmen attacked simultaneously again. This time, they shielded themselves with their shields, pressing forward like a wall. 47 swung his sword horizontally, creating only a long trail of sparks. Two swordsmen thrust their swords, locking them with his, while the other two slashed in a cross pattern, seemingly aiming to sever 47’s head in one strike—

47 threw away his sword. He grabbed the two swords aimed at his neck with both hands, stepped forward, and charged into the shield wall like a runaway bull.

The four swordsmen staggered back and steadied their formation.

47 failed to seize their weapons and instead suffered two deep wounds on his hands, his fingers almost severed. Yet he still grinned cruelly, sticking out his tongue, a drop of blood sliding off its blade-like tip.

Moriel climbed up the dark stairs. She had already checked and found no deadly ambushes, but the uneasy feeling grew stronger.

The second floor was a large hall surrounded by densely packed bookshelves. A person sat at the desk in the center, leisurely flipping through the spellbook Moriel had obtained in the mage tower, with a bright flame burning above it to provide light.

Moriel stopped in her tracks. “You must have expected me to come and waste a second-tier spell slot on the Immortal Flame. Should I call you foolish or arrogant?”

The man raised his head. He wore a white robe similar to Minejima’s, but the emblem was a falcon outlined in simple lines: “Light—light illuminates the earth and gives life to all things. We ought to revere light above all else, especially when it only costs us a little effort.”

Idiot. Moriel frowned, deeply disdainful of the behavior of these noble mages.

A swordsman propped himself up on his long sword for a while before finally falling. With his head tilted, blood gushed from the cracks in his shoulder guard. His well-trained heart pumped out large amounts of blood with each beat, watering the ground like a stream.

Three remained. Forty-seven bent down to pick up the long sword on the ground—an unknown energy and excitement filled his body, as if two extra engines had suddenly been added.

The remaining three swordsmen did not retreat, not even glancing at their fallen comrade. They began to move around, swinging their swords at incredible speeds, seemingly determined to wear Forty-seven down gradually.

“My name is Fairjens,” said the mage in white, smoothing the pages of his book as he stepped out from behind the desk with graceful movements. “I am a mage of the Augus Empire’s Mage Council… I come with good intentions, hoping to have an open and honest conversation with you, beautiful Miss Moriel. Here, I would like to offer my sincere apologies to my superior, Count O’Sullivan, for any harm he may have already caused you… I believe we can resolve this dispute in a more peaceful way!”

At this moment, Fairjens resembled a diplomat rather than a mage.

“Oh? I think the guys downstairs have a different opinion,” Moriel said sarcastically, faintly hearing the intense sounds of sword clashes downstairs.

“Oh… as long as we reach an agreement, who do they matter?” Fairjens smiled. “Miss Moriel, I can sense your extraordinary talent and abilities… In ten years, no, perhaps five, you’ll be able to create your own constructs. Why cling to something that doesn’t belong to you? Moreover, we’re not taking your belongings unjustly—we’ll pay a fair price… And in the world of mages, I believe few things are more precious than the friendship of an Augus mage.”

Moriel sneered as magic began to gather around her. “That sounds nice, but it’s not a reason for you to break into my home, mess everything up, take my things, and touch them with your filthy hands!”

“What a pity,” Fairjens said, his gaze sharpening. “Then prepare to face the wrath of an Augus mage!”

A swordsman raised his sword to strike, but 47, held back by the other two, seemed unable to dodge. He raised his left hand as if to block, but a whip-like chain blade suddenly shot out from his palm, yanking the swordsman’s head and neck forward—the sound of a broken neck was clearly audible, and soon his head was separated from his body. The other two swordsmen stepped back, their faces beneath half-helmets showing signs of tension for the first time. The gleaming chain blade writhed like a venomous snake, its surface covered with countless tiny serrations that moved rapidly, emitting a hissing sound full of murderous intent. The chain blade slowly retracted into its holder. 47 stepped forward toward his opponents, his black robe fluttering in the wind. There were two more left. Fierzens recited spells slowly, while Moriel, though puzzled by her confidence, waved her wand and fired a magic projectile first. A faint glow of magical protection appeared around Fierzens; she calmly watched Moriel’s projectile hit her and vanish without a trace. Miniature spell sequencing? This fourth-level spell could store two spells below second level and release them instantly when needed. Moriel had always wanted to learn it but never found a way. It seemed Fierzens had cast a shield spell on herself, and the other must be mage armor… Moriel prepared to cast another spell but gave up helplessly after seeing another flash of magic light around Fierzens. She recognized that spell and seemed to have no solution—Fierzens’ miniature spell-ineffective barrier could completely block any spells from first to third level, and Moriel didn’t have any attacks above third level! “Though I know prophecy mages aren’t good at close combat, you’re really weak, aren’t you?” Fierzens sneered, waving her arm and reciting a spell. Magical energy, along with a small amount of dried spider silk, burst from her hand, and in an instant, the room was covered in sticky webs. Moriel dodged one web spanning the room but got stuck by more. “The duration of the miniature spell-ineffective barrier is short,” Fierzens said with a smile, “but it seems enough to deal with you.” Fierzens stepped into the web zone, unharmed by the magic. She slowly approached. “Do you know what my only fifth-level spell is prepared for?” Her expression suddenly became extremely lewd.