After we had dispatched the final fiend, our group pressed forward on our journey. Eryn and a few others bombarded Lana and me with questions, trying to unravel the mystery of our presence. Petr quickly intervened, reminding everyone of the paramount importance of our immediate survival over satisfying curiosity. We all agreed, and without further ado, continued on our path. Lana and I followed the adventurers, she astride a spectral steed.

Petr, surveying our surroundings, finally spoke, “This seems like a good place to stop for now.” We halted our march midway along a mountainous trail, just shy of a taut suspension bridge spanning a gaping chasm. Petr's judgment seemed strategic; the bridge would act as a natural choke point, giving us an advantage if we needed to escape quickly or mount a defense.

"I am Petr, of the adventuring kin from Vindaris. We were summoned to rescue the maiden from ruthless marauders," he declared.

Lana could not hide her triumphant cry, “I knew it!”

Petr took it upon himself to enlighten me about his troupe’s circumstances, with the precision of a scholar. Judging by his bow, quiver, and gear, I deduced his role was that of a ranger. His composure and intelligence reminded me of seasoned academicians.

Petr’s words corroborated my speculations, and Lana seemed on the brink of tears, pure relief washing over her.

As he was about to continue, I interrupted him. “Hold on… Just give me a moment, please!”

Consistent with my initial appraisal, Petr emerged as the most inquisitive of the lot. He had held back his curiosity before, but now it was palpable that he was poised to flood me with questions.

"What do you wish to say?" Petr inquired.

"My situation is a bit complicated. So before you ask your questions, might I request a moment to explain my circumstances? My name is Emberus Blazeus Xandros, and I am a wielder of arcane arts—a Mage."

"A... Mage?"

Barely had I completed my introduction before I was met with a wave of skepticism from the adventurers. Eryn’s scrutinizing gaze was particularly piercing. She was a radiant beauty, blond and blue-eyed, with an aura of immense passion. But I chose to disregard their suspicious glances and proceeded with my explanation.

I told them of my origins in a far-off land and of an unfortunate magical mishap that had catapulted me into the neighboring mountains. I outlined my tale succinctly: my capture by brigands, my struggle against them, my rescue of Lana, and my current mission to deliver her to her presumed father in Maridal.

"If you aim to spin tales, you might wish to practice more," Eryn retorted, her expression tinged with disdain. "Your narrative lacks credibility."

Lana whispered to me in explanation, "Miss Eryn is of noble lineage. It would be prudent not to incite her ire."

Indeed, in my former role as a seasoned employee at a large corporation, I had had my share of encounters with strong-willed women. Regardless of her striking beauty, I reassured myself that I should be able to maintain my composure under her words. At least, that was the pep talk I gave myself. If I were genuinely self-assured, I might not have needed such internal discourse in the first place.

"In all sincerity," Petr began, "I must entertain the possibility that you are the black weaver leading the bandits, and that you absconded with Lana upon the sight of the impending daemon horde."

While Petr's suspicion was evident, he did not exude the same level of animosity as Eryn.

"I comprehend the implausibility of my tale," I admitted, "yet Lana can attest to my truthfulness…”

"He speaks the truth!" Lana chimed in.

"As for the bandits' weaver," I pressed on, "his remains are right there."

The adventurers fell into a stunned silence as I indicated Karyon's statue, which was being hauled by the sprite porter, seemingly oblivious to the rest of its surroundings.

"I had been meaning to question that…"

"I can discern a statue and a bag…but how do they hover in mid-air?"

The first to voice their bewilderment were the two warriors, David and Greg. They were wholly engrossed by the levitating objects. On the other hand, the red-haired woman, Vaness, appeared least bothered by the sight, preferring instead to maintain vigilance over our environment.

"Nevertheless, your intervention saved us and ensured our victory over the fiends," Petr resumed. "For that, I am deeply grateful." He dipped his head in a gesture of respect toward me.

"I appreciate it! It was only my duty."

"In truth, we owe you a debt for our lives."

Both Greg and David echoed Petr's sentiments with their own words of gratitude.

"I suppose I must acknowledge, your intervention was beneficial," Eryn added, with a hint of reluctance.

While the extent of Petr and the others' faith in my account remained uncertain, I had, at the very least, seemingly won a modicum of their trust.

"Well, you see... Lana asked me to, so..." I attempted to justify.

"Mister Ember is extraordinary! He commands magic!" Lana interjected yet again.

In my former profession in sales within the States, one often encountered excessive deference. My own experience mirrored this. However, never before had I been lauded for preserving lives. I found myself flustered! At a loss for words, I was grateful when Lana stepped in. Regrettably, her words seemed to grate on Eryn.

"Weavers bereft of mana are impossibilities!" Eryn declared, her voice rising as though she could no longer contain her vexation.

Devoid of mana, I pondered. Karyon had asserted something quite similar. What implications did that bear?

"In relation to that, I have some inquiries. Are the Weavers of Dravus capable of perceiving mana?"

To be clear, if I employed the appropriate incantation, I should have been capable of detecting mana as well. However, according to the rules of T&T, mana was not a prerequisite for spellcasting.

"Certainly we can!" Eryn retorted, her tone sharp.

"But isn't it weaving that's causing the statue and bag to levitate?" questioned the cleric, Philip. Despite his formidable armor, shield, and mace, the young man exuded an air of casual tranquility.

"Well..." Eryn began, but was swiftly cut off.

"Wait," Vaness interjected in a hushed tone. "More fiends approach."

"There's a horde of them!"

"Curselings, netherhulks, and even a Dreadbeast..."

We had positioned ourselves in a locale not far from the path, where fewer trees granted a broader perspective.

The vista on such a crisp day was invigorating, spanning all the way to the horizon, with the rolling foothills in sight and a road bisecting the landscape east and west into the distant reaches.

The predicament, however, was that the valley several tens of meters beneath was teeming with an onslaught of marching fiends. Concealed behind rocks and foliage, we gazed upon the marching horde below. Fortuitously—if there was any fortune to be found in our dire straits—it didn't appear the fiends sought us out.

The most ubiquitous among the fiends were curselings, and for every score of them, there was a netherhulk. Furthermore, a third kind stood out the most: a Dreadbeast, a colossal fiend swaying to and fro, its size comparable to an elephant. Its squat, sturdy legs, corpulent body, and lengthy arms, coupled with a snout and tusks reminiscent of a boar, bore a striking similarity to the trolls of T&T lore.

As far as my gaze could reach, there was only one Dreadbeast. However, its sheer size was such that it almost dominated the valley below, brandishing a club assembled from several logs bound together. One was certainly more than adequate.

The valley was blanketed in forest, obscuring a clear view of the entire horde, but it seemed probable that their numbers reached into the hundreds.

"But truly, these creatures make goblins, ogres, and trolls seem endearing in comparison..." I peered through my Monoscopic Lens, a magical artifact that, as its name implied, functioned akin to a telescope. Merely observing them had already induced a sheen of anxious perspiration.

These were fiends, not T&T creatures. While they could be encapsulated within the terms of such monsters, they were fundamentally distinct. They were devoid of the sensation of being mere common, low-intelligence fodder created solely for the slaughter by adventurers.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

The fiends were a visceral crimson, as if they had bathed in sanguine gore, their features indistinguishable except for those glowing, wrath-infused, golden eyes. As I observed them through my Monoscopic Lens, I could feel their simmering loathing for humanity, their insatiable yearning to kill. It was as if I finally grasped why Lana and the bandits recoiled in terror at my ogres. These beasts were far more akin to demons than living beings.

Yet, it was clearly an army, not a mere swarm this time. There was a hierarchy within their ranks. They marched in formation. As long as they aren't provoked by the sight of a human, it seems they are capable of coordination, I mused, scrutinizing a netherhulk borne by curselings on a pallet at the epicenter of the march, whom I surmised to be their commander.

"If they proceed through the valley, they'll eventually emerge from the forest," David murmured. "Are they preparing to besiege Maridal?"

Lana appeared petrified.

"If we expedite our journey, we might reach Maridal before them," Petr proposed. "At the very least, we can alert them."

"But even if we arrive in time to sound the warning, there won't be sufficient time to evacuate," Philip countered. "Wouldn't it be more prudent to head to the Adamant Fortress to call for reinforcements?"

Even if we manage to accomplish either of those feats, who could prevail against such an army? I pondered, listening to Petr and David's deliberations.

"Once we emerge from the forest's cover, we ought to split into two parties. Regardless of our plan, haste is paramount."

"Er... Umm..." Should I remain here, rooted in inaction? I wondered.

In the past couple of days, I had encountered some semblance of battle, but I had never truly strategized. I had been simply acting on instinct. This time, however, a clear choice was before me. I had to decide whether I would enter the fray.

It wasn't a matter of my ability to make a difference. The query was more akin to, "Is it morally right for me to intervene?" I held firm confidence in my ability to obliterate the entire army single-handedly, but it felt akin to cheating, and that wasn't the sole issue. I was yet to discern the reason the Almighty had transported me to Dravus. If I eradicated the fiend army, there was a possibility that my actions could trigger a larger catastrophe.

Was I poised on the brink of discharging some metaphorical firearm? What if, in Dravus, it was the fiends, not humans, who were the rightful inheritors of the land? This was a common trope in fantasy narratives.

Even if none of the aforementioned were issues, it was highly probable that conducting such a monumental act would irrevocably alter my standing in Dravus. Even if the outcome was me being lauded as a hero, that was far from my desire, and my potential shift in status was just as likely to be detrimental as beneficial. I could be charged with executing a forbidden art or branded a heretic. All these were plausible scenarios.

Was this army genuinely poised to assault Maridal? There was no evidence. Shouldn't our first course of action be attempting to reason with the fiends rather than obliterating them? (I confess, by the end of my mental discourse, I was delving into the realm of the ridiculous.)

I was apprehensive of the uncertainty the future might hold. This is not a game. I am not Emberus Blazeus Xandros. Emberus Blazeus Xandros might be an Archmage who has thwarted global calamities multiple times, but I am an ordinary forty-year-old human, accustomed to a tranquil nation where conflicts are resolved through dialogue, not warfare.

A person such as myself needed a potent rationale to intervene.

"Um... What are the expected casualties?" I ventured to ask.

"Pardon?"

"If these fiends assault the village, what extent of damage or casualties do you anticipate?"

"Do you not see the sheer multitude down there?!" Greg's anger was palpable. "There's even a Dreadbeast! If they reach the village, it will be a massacre!"

"No..." Lana glanced from one adventurer to the next, silently pleading for someone to counter Greg's grim prediction, but they all evaded her gaze.

"Master Ember... My father is in Maridal..." Lana's voice was laced with anxiety as she tugged at my sleeve.

Just earlier today, I reflected, and I fought solely because Lana requested it. But this time, I must claim this decision as my own and shoulder the responsibility, irrespective of any future regrets.

"Don't worry," I assured her hastily. "I will take action." I didn't want to wait for her to beseech me to save her father. I didn't want to provide myself the chance to use her plea as a justification. This time, I was taking a stand of my own accord.

"You'll take action? What do you propose?" Petr queried.

"Given the potent spells you've cast, isn't your mana depleted?" Eryn asked, skepticism apparent in her tone.

Both Petr and Eryn regarded me with a measure of distrust, but as I mentally prepared myself for the impending task, I lacked the mental bandwidth to respond to them.

"Alright, it's time," I announced, giving my face a resolute smack with both hands. My focus turned to the invisible magical shield encasing me. This shield was the product of a spell I'd cast while Lana and I were making our exit from the bandit's lair: Fly.

Supported by this magical shield, my body began to levitate.

"What?! He... He's ascending?! He's actually flying!" The adventurers' exclaims echoed from below.

A sense of unease threatened to creep in, a vivid recollection of the gut-wrenching nausea from my pegasus ride, but I promptly pushed it aside. This was no time for succumbing to the maladies of the air.

A shiver ran down my spine as I peered downwards. This was my first instance of unsupported flight, a far more terrifying experience than riding the pegasus. The magical shield seemed to be mitigating the effects of wind and air pressure, yet the lack of solid ground beneath my feet was an undeniable psychological challenge.

"This is going to be perilous, so I advise you all to leave this vicinity and seek shelter. I'll handle the fiends," I declared.

"Hey! What are you... Hold on!"

"Master Ember!"

With a dose of apprehension, I pursued the fiend army. The Fly spell permitted a maximum speed of thirty miles per hour, which brought me to the forefront of the march within a matter of minutes.

"In the wake of this incantation, a nonmagical barricade of solid stone materializes at a location of my choosing within range. The wall is half a foot in thickness and is composed of ten panels, each spanning 15 feet by 15 feet. Each panel must connect with at least one other panel. Alternatively, I can create panels of 15 feet by 30 feet that are merely 3 inches thick... Wall of Stone."

"Gree?!"

"Gyaiie?!"

The incantation triggered the rise of an immense stone barrier from the valley floor. Choosing the narrowest part of the valley, the wall effectively thwarted the forward march of the fiends.

I then descended, alighting atop the wall.

Before setting out to obliterate them, I felt an urge to scrutinize these dread beings up close. Yes, I could execute the spells from a safe, unseen distance, but I grappled with the notion of annihilating such a multitude of living entities without any interaction. As improbable as it seemed, there remained a sliver of a chance for mutual comprehension.

From the fiends' standpoint, a colossal stone barricade had materialized out of thin air. Their initial reactions were understandably those of shock and bewilderment. However, the sight of a human figure atop the wall swiftly refocused their attention... and their rage. The valley resounded with the cacophony of their ear-splitting roars.

"Kshaaaa!"

"Gya, gya-ga!"

"Gruooo! Gu-gaa!"

The curselings and netherhulks frothed at the mouth, gnashing their teeth in fury. Their murky, golden eyes blazed with a hatred that was directed solely at me.

"Yeah... I don't foresee fruitful negotiations."

The truth had been a long time in the acceptance, but I finally came to terms with the reality that these fiends were mankind's sworn adversaries. Reconciliation was a lost cause.

"Gyah! Gyaah!"

From deeper within their ranks, a storm of arrows, loosed by curseling archers under the commanding netherhulk's order, hurtled towards me. Their madness didn't prevent them from acting as a strategic force - and that fact made them all the more terrifying. However, before any of the thick, ebony arrows could reach me, they were sent spiraling off-course. My gratitude went out to the second preventative spell I had cast earlier: Protection from Arrows.

"Scraa!"

"Hrggh!"

Once the netherhulk realized that his hurlings were ineffectual, he made a broad sweep of his limb, commanding an instantaneous charge from the grotesque mob dwelling in the hollow. They propelled themselves, scrambling over their comrades with cold iron and chipped axes brandished, each eager to be the first to land a strike. Their assault was frantic; the barrier they were charging would not withstand a minute of this onslaught — yet, of course, I was not inclined to stand by and watch.

"Gyarr?!"

With a powerful leap, I took my leave from the sturdy ramparts, returning to my aerial vantage. They launched another volley of arrows and axes in my direction, their efforts, however, proved futile.

"In a strange way...this is somewhat liberating," I murmured to myself.

Being the object of such intense enmity wasn't exactly comfortable. My throat was dry as a desert, and a sheen of cold sweat clung to me. Nevertheless, now, I bore no internal conflict about the course of action I was to take.

Once I reached the apex of my ascent, high enough to gaze upon the full scope of the blight below, I steadied myself in the sky. My resolve was set: to obliterate the monstrous multitude filling that valley — swiftly and without mercy. Not a soul would have the chance to flee.

So then, the question remained: which spell was best suited for this endeavor?

Within the realm of T&T, an array of destructive spells is available. From the humble beginnings of a Firebolt cantrip, the portfolio expands to include more potent spells, such as the Arcane Bullet of the first rank, the third rank's Fireball and Lightning Bolt, a fourth rank Blizzard, and at the peak, the ninth rank Meteor Shower. Naturally, one spell towers above the rest in its sheer destructive potential.

"With this incantation, scorching spheres of inferno hurtle towards four distinct locations within my sight. These globes of flame navigate deftly around corners, each dealing a savage combination of 20d6 fire and 20d6 bludgeoning damage. Any creature unlucky enough to find itself in the vicinity of multiple fiery impacts is still affected only once."

In my mind's eye, I rattled an inordinate number of six-sided dice, setting the magnitude of the upcoming devastation. As the numbers settled, an eruption of volatile energy far exceeding that of the previously unleashed Fireball surged forth into existence.

"Meteor Shower!"

Four brilliant streaks cleaved the azure sky, their deadly descent targeting the grotesque valley teeming with abominations. Upon contact, the direct targets of these celestial missiles were flung asunder, their forms torn like fragments of a punctured balloon. The ensuing detonations occupied every inch of the valley. They reduced flesh to charred remnants. With no path for escape except upwards, shockwaves carried morsels of charred flesh and shattered bone into the air.

Even after the primary onslaught, long after any sign of life had been extinguished, aftershocks of energy persisted, shaking the valley to its core; the earth itself heaved as if a mighty tidal wave had rolled through the landscape.

"Wha-what?! Incredible!"

First, the concussive force of the explosion slammed into me, swiftly followed by the thunderous roar that seemed to reverberate through my very being. Despite my safety within the protective envelope conjured by Fly, and the distance I had put between myself and the blast's epicenter, I felt as inconsequential as a leaf caught in a tempest. If the fiends had screamed in their final moments, their cries were swallowed by the overwhelming cacophony of the blast.

"By God...!"

The spectacle brought to mind an old image I once glimpsed in a broadcast, the detonation of a nuclear weapon.

I raised both hands, shielding my face as I squinted towards the valley, attempting to discern the aftermath through the swirling veil of smoke, fire, and dislodged earth. The details were elusive, but one fact was unequivocally clear: none of the monstrous horde, whether curseling, netherhulk, or dreadbeast, remained in any shape that was identifiable beyond formless masses of charred meat and ash. The very landscape had been rewritten.

I had wielded Meteor Shower in the simulated environment of a game, obliterating castles and clusters of adversaries, but until witnessing its effects firsthand, I had never truly grasped its devastating magnitude.

Floating there, I was besieged by tremors. The potency of my abilities as a Level 20 Archmage in the realm of Dravus seemed terrifyingly akin to possessing the control over nuclear weaponry.