Minutes passed, each one ticking closer to the inevitable clash. The soldiers responsible for maintaining the barrier used this precious time to regenerate their mana and mentally prepare for the battle ahead.

The battle plan was straightforward yet strategic. The protective dome was mentally divided into four quadrants. In one, the priest would hold his ground, providing magical support. The second quadrant was reserved for the alchemist and his loyal followers, guarding their precious elixir. The third would be the domain of the city guard captain, leading his soldiers with tactical precision. The fourth quadrant housed the rest of the city's guards, ready to defend their positions. Tem and the Baron, acting as wild cards, would move freely across the battlefield, providing assistance wherever the defense seemed weakest. At the center of this arrangement, the manor's servants, who had little combat capability, huddled together, protected by the more experienced fighters surrounding them.

However, all parties understood that in the chaos of battle, plans could quickly unravel. If the situation became dire, each person had the freedom to break ranks and fight independently, creating confusion among the attackers, who might mistakenly believe someone was attempting to escape with the elixir.

Finally, the moment arrived. The priest approached his staff, and as soon as his fingers wrapped around it, the intruders launched their attack.

But the barrier held firm. The attackers, expecting the protective dome to crumble, found themselves rebounding off its surface, some even burning their hands as they tried to force their way through. For three agonizing seconds, the barrier stood strong, catching the attackers off guard. Then, just as confusion set in among the intruders, the city guards dropped the barrier and unsheathed their weapons.

In that fleeting moment of disarray, the defenders struck. Swords flashed as they charged forward, while spells that had been carefully prepared were unleashed in a devastating barrage. The coordinated assault was brutally effective—more than a third of the attackers fell instantly, caught off guard and overwhelmed.

However, the defenders knew better than to be lulled into a false sense of victory. Many of the fallen were merely Rank 4 combatants, sent in as cannon fodder to exhaust the defenders' resources. It was a calculated move by the attackers—sacrifice the weak to wear down the strong. And now, with the first wave decimated, the true challenge would begin as the more powerful enemies prepared to strike back.

…

The priest slammed his staff into the ground, causing stone walls to erupt from the floor, dividing the hall into four distinct sections. This strategy was meant to protect the non-combatants in the center and prevent the enemies from flanking them. Moreover, the walls provided a tactical advantage, allowing allies to launch surprise attacks from the shadows once they had dealt with their immediate foes.

Before the priest stood ten enemies, all wearing hoods that obscured their faces. However, one of them he recognized instantly—the man wielding a crimson sickle.

"You must be 'The Runner,'" the priest said, his voice cold and steady.

The man with the sickle chuckled darkly. "Ku... Ku... Ku... So, you know me."

"I recognized you the moment you entered the room. A man with a crimson sickle, responsible for slaughtering the church's servants and leaving only a head behind. It will be a pleasure to kill you," the priest replied, a grim determination in his eyes.

"Ku... Ku... Ku... The feeling is mutual," The Runner sneered before lunging forward with terrifying speed. His sickle clashed with the priest's staff, sending sparks flying through the air. As The Runner retreated, the priest unleashed a barrage of stone projectiles. The Runner deflected several with his sickle, while his comrades blocked the rest.

Suddenly, fireballs rained down from the stone walls. Unbeknownst to the attackers, Tem had silently scaled the walls and was now attacking from above. Several enemies were caught off guard, their screams filling the room as they fell, writhing in agony. Seizing the opportunity, the priest conjured stone spikes from the ground, impaling the fallen enemies. In an instant, four of his opponents were dead, leaving only six remaining—at least one of whom was a Rank 5 mage.

Stolen novel; please report.

"This should be easy," the priest thought, confident in his Tier 6 power. He was prepared to eliminate the rest and rejoin his allies.

Yet, a sense of dread washed over him. Something dark and sinister was in the air—an ominous force he couldn't ignore. He needed to act quickly, for he was certain that a forbidden magic was being prepared, a magic that the church had outlawed and hunted across the continent: soul magic.

Meanwhile, the city guard captain found himself surrounded by eight enemies. Wielding a saber in each hand, he moved like a whirlwind, cutting through his opponents with blinding speed. His body moved like the wind itself, his agility enhanced by wind magic, allowing him to reach speeds that even Tier 6 mages would struggle to keep up with. He slashed one enemy's throat and swiftly moved on to the next. After dispatching three foes, his advance was halted by a towering figure—a man who stood 2.3 meters tall, broad and imposing like a bear.

The giant of a man had reinforced his body with magic, making his skin as tough as steel. No ordinary blade could harm him.

The captain withdrew, wrenching his saber free from the giant's grasp.

"Hua Hua Hua... A snack before the main course," the giant laughed, his voice a deep rumble. He lunged at the captain, smashing his fists into the ground with such force that a crater formed, sending shockwaves through the surrounding area.

The captain leaped, using the wall as a springboard to launch himself at the giant's back, aiming to drive his saber into it. But the blade bounced off the man's reinforced skin. The giant spun around, grabbing the captain by his torso.

In a swift maneuver, the captain shed his upper garments, leaving him shirtless. His defined, lean muscles were taut with tension.

Suddenly, his body began to glow red, and steam rose from his skin. He had activated a berserker ability, trading his remaining speed for a surge in raw power.

He charged at the giant, who instinctively grabbed his weapons. But the giant recoiled in shock as he felt the blades bite into his hands. He looked down to see one-centimeter-deep cuts in his palms, already starting to heal.

"Hua Hua Hua... A real fight at last. This is going to be fun," the giant laughed, his excitement evident as he prepared for the battle to escalate.

…

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.

"Shit, it's a healing tank!" the remaining brother shouted, his voice tinged with panic and frustration. The iron rule was always to kill the healer first, as a healer who remained alive could mend the wounds of their allies, prolonging the battle unnecessarily.

But what do you do when that healer not only has the power to heal but also wields a shield and powerful protective magic? It was like fighting against a wall that could repair itself.

"Completely unfair," the brother thought, as his gaze darted between the Alchemist, the Shieldbearer, and the Swordsman. His hands trembled slightly, not out of fear, but from the crushing realization that they were holding the weaker hand in this fight.

The Alchemist, noticing the desperate flicker in his opponent's eyes, couldn't help but smirk. The superiority of their formation and the unexpected turn of events weighed heavily on their enemies. It was only a matter of time before the last of them would fall.