Before the alchemist and his followers stood only three enemies, yet they could feel the powerful aura emanating from them. Sensing the imminent danger, they quickly formed a defensive triangle, with the alchemist positioned at the back, the shield-bearer at the front, and the longsword-wielder flanking the shield-bearer. Their strategy was simple: the shield-bearer would draw the enemies' attention while the alchemist and the swordsman attacked from the side and rear.

However, their plan was quickly thrown into disarray as all three enemies bypassed the shield-bearer and rushed straight at the alchemist! The shield-bearer tried to catch up, but their speed was overwhelming. His heart raced as he realized that these foes were not just quick—they must all be Rank 5 warriors, enhanced by wind magic.

The alchemist, however, remained calm. With a swift motion, he grabbed three vials from his belt and downed them in one gulp. Just as the enemies closed the gap, mere meters away, the alchemist launched himself forward like a rocket, laughing as their attacks missed him completely. As he retreated, he shook another vial and tossed it behind him. One of the attackers, acting on instinct, sliced the vial in half, releasing a green cloud that quickly enveloped all three of them.

"Poison gas!" one of them shouted as they leaped out of the cloud. But just as one of them thought he had escaped death, a sword came out of nowhere and cleanly sliced off the top half of his skull.

"Brother!" the remaining two screamed in rage, charging at the enemies. The shield-bearer, glowing with blue energy, threw himself between them and the swordsman. One of the attackers managed to thrust his sword into the shield-bearer's stomach, laughing cruelly, thinking he had scored a fatal blow. But in the next moment, the shield-bearer slammed his shield into the attacker's face, sending him flying backward and causing him to drop his sword.

With a determined expression, the shield-bearer pulled the sword out of his stomach and, to the horror of his enemies, they watched as the wound rapidly closed, leaving not even a scratch behind.

…

In the final section, the city watch soldiers were locked in intense one-on-one duels. Unbeknownst to them, a hidden enemy armed with a Rank 5 crossbow lay in wait. He observed the scene from his vantage point, preferring not to engage directly. After all, ranged combat was his specialty.

He meticulously infused his crossbow bolts with magic, ready to unleash them at the opportune moment. The first shot would be crucial—once the enemy realized a sniper was targeting them, they would be on high alert. With a soft pft, he released the bolt, which curved through the air and struck a soldier in the foot, causing him to stumble. The momentary loss of balance was all it took for the soldier to be killed by an opponent.

The sniper smiled to himself. Disrupting the enemy's rhythm without them realizing he was there was exactly his plan. He loaded another bolt and fired at a second soldier. Puchi—the bolt hit its mark, embedding itself in the soldier's thigh, rendering him unable to block the next attack. Another soldier fell.

"Too easy," the sniper thought smugly. "Once we finish off these fools, we'll take care of the others from behind."

But suddenly, he sensed danger and quickly sidestepped. A spear slammed into the ground where he had just been standing, piercing deep into the stone. Before he could react, another spear followed, then another, forcing him to retreat behind a pillar.

Peeking out cautiously, he saw Baron Stapler standing on the wall, a sack full of spears at his side. The baron looked nervous, but his strength was undeniable. In the next instant, the baron hurled a spear with such force that it shattered the pillar the sniper was hiding behind.

The sniper fired back and ducked to the side, but the baron wasn't done. He leaped from the wall, hurling multiple spears in rapid succession at the enemies engaged with the city watch. In a flash, the tides turned—their numbers now favored the defenders, and the odds of victory had shifted dramatically in their favor.

As Baron Stapler landed, he wobbled unsteadily on his feet. In the heat of battle, he had heroically leaped from the wall but had forgotten to use magic to cushion his fall. Just as he regained his balance, another crossbow bolt was fired at him. He tried to dodge, but it was too late—the bolt struck him in the abdomen.

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The Baron cried out in pain and began to sprint towards the center of the room. He had done enough; it was time to retreat to safety. But just as he thought he was out of danger, an arrow struck him in the back of the head, and he was sent crashing forward.

Tem watched from the wall, observing the scene unfold. She had received instructions from the priest: let the Baron fall, as long as it could be done discreetly. After all, it was better not to owe him anything than to be in his debt.

The archer felt a surge of satisfaction. He had taken down Baron Stapler, the one who had caused him so much trouble. Now, it was time to finish off the rest of the weaklings. But in the very next moment, his triumph turned to horror as he saw a massive fireball hurtling toward him. It was the last thing he ever saw.

In the meantime, outside the manor, a solitary figure was perched on the roof, weaving a spell. A red armband adorned their arm as they sat with their hands pressed against the tiles, channeling magic continuously into the spell. The person on the roof appeared unfazed by the effort of maintaining the incantation, occasionally whistling a tune. Whether this was out of good spirits or sheer boredom was unclear.

At that moment, they were whistling yet another tune when they noticed an escort approaching the manor. The soldiers were clad in silver armor that gleamed in the torchlight, which they carried as night had already fallen. Golden embellishments adorned their armor, giving the impression that they had been dispatched by a god himself. Leading the formation was a middle-aged man with a short military haircut. It was evident that reinforcements had arrived.

"It's time to disappear," the figure murmured to themselves. "A pity that my harvest wasn't as plentiful as I'd hoped."

Just as they prepared to end the spell and retreat, the middle-aged man leaped ahead, landing on the roof with a sword drawn and pointing it directly at the figure. "How dare you wield such magic in the presence of the Church of Light! Die, fiend!" he roared.

But just as the person halted his spell to defend against the impending attack, the entire building beneath them began to tremble.

…

A few minutes earlier, within the manor, all the battles were still raging. The Runner was locked in an intense duel with the priest. The priest seemed to have the upper hand, having already killed all the lower-ranked attackers of Rank 4, and only one opponent remained. Given that this opponent was significantly weaker than himself, the priest believed the battle was as good as won.

The Runner prepared for another attack. The priest had already devised a plan to deliver the final blow. At the next strike, he would use the surrounding rocks to form a shield around his entire arm, blocking the Runner's attack and trapping his weapon. With his other hand, he would drive a stone spear into the Runner, should he attempt to retrieve his weapon. This strategy required perfect timing, as the priest did not want to alert his foe—everything had to happen in the final moment.

The Runner was only a few meters away. "Just one more second," the priest thought. But then, something unexpected happened.

The Runner's speed suddenly increased dramatically—far beyond what a Rank 5 mage should possess. The priest's eyes widened in shock. He had been deceived! The opponent before him wasn't a Rank 5 mage; he was a Rank 6 mage who had been hiding his true power since the battle began.

The priest tried to dodge at the last moment, but it was too late.

With one swift stroke, the Runner severed the priest's arm from his body. A searing pain shot through him, but he knew he had to act quickly as his opponent was already preparing the next strike.

Stomping his feet on the ground, the priest sent tiles flying into the air, propelling himself backward. In his panic to escape death, he ripped pieces of the previously created walls from the ground and attempted to collapse them onto his enemy.

The Runner dodged the falling debris, clicking his tongue in frustration as he retreated. His perfect plan had only half-succeeded. No one knew that he had reached Rank 6 a year ago—not even his own subordinates. He had intended to use the element of surprise to eliminate the priest in one strike. But all he had managed to do was sever an arm.

The priest was filled with fury. In his rage, the staff he held in his remaining hand began to glow, releasing a massive surge of magic.

The pillars of the main hall, where they were fighting, along with parts of the floor and ceiling, dislodged and began swirling around the priest like a vortex. With a roar, the priest hurled all the accumulated stones at his enemy.

The Runner was shocked by the sight of such powerful magic but refused to give up, dodging the incoming projectiles as he advanced.

He managed to evade the larger stones until smaller pieces began striking various parts of his body. More followed, and he was eventually thrown backward by the force of the impact.

The onslaught of stones seemed endless, and the Runner, now injured, realized that his chances of victory were nearly nonexistent. Yet, the barrage continued, and soon the entire manor began to tremble.

The priest halted his attack as he felt the tremors, and the Runner seized the opportunity to escape. Only now, with the imminent threat of death gone, did the priest drink a healing potion and assess his surroundings.

His colossal use of magic had damaged the entire structure of the building, initiating a collapse. The priest considered fleeing but then thought of the elixir still in the possession of the alchemist and of his subordinate, Tem.

In the next moment, he concentrated all his magic on the collapsing room, shouting, "All fights must end! Fall back to the center of the room!" as he desperately tried to slow the process of the building's collapse.