Gerald raised one of his arms with eyes closed. With bated breath, he drew out the power from within as he began to chant.

“Elek Lite Hok!”

Suddenly, the air condensed as electricity cackled between his fingers. Pure violent white light shone as the zig zags of electrified power accumulated.

Exhaling, he released the might of lightning through the air, aiming towards a tower in the distance.

BOOM!

An explosive sound like thunder rang through the air, as the plasma of electricity raced across the land at a near instantaneous speed. The cause of the lightning, Gerald, stared at its path with a hopeful expression, yearning to witness an explosion of fire among his enemies.

However, reality was not kind towards the powerful magician.

As soon as it left his hands, the bolt of electricity raced not towards the domineering tower of the enemy military, but rather one of the unusual poles of silver surrounding it. Its endpoint attached itself to one of the lateral rods of the pole, sparking and cackling as it fed its energy to it.

No matter how much Gerald tried to will it away, the lightning ignored his pleas and continued striking the pole with full intensity.

After a few seconds, the electric arc dissipated like a dream, leaving behind an exhausted and mortified Gerald in the process.

Damn, what kind of sorcery did these fucking simpletons come up with?!

It was the first time Gerald had ever seen something other than magic redirect his mighty lightning. As one of the Kingdom’s most prized magicians, he was near invincible on the battlefield and never failed to accurately hit his target. He would usually see his strikes of electricity rest upon his enemies instantly from distances of afar, yet today he was humbled as the magic he was most proud of was reduced to nothing in front of a thin stick of silver.

As he replenished his mana, he looked around with an expression of dismay. He saw many warriors, fighters, and magicians all around, charging and expressing the highest peak of talent and magic. Yet, each time they tried nearing the walls, the smell of smoke and the sound of thunder and fire rained throughout, toppling over invincible fortresses of power and sinking them to their humanity as the light of life left their eyes.

This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

Blood and guts spilled over the snowy fields, painting the pure white with bright gory red. Their numbers continued to dwindle as more projectiles came from the walls in rapid succession from the iron pipes that were strewn about. Screams of agony rose about as the the grim reaper made its rounds against the kingdom’s army.

Are we not even going to break through the walls?! Dear God, what devil is the Kingdom fighting against?

As Gerald pondered the question, suddenly, a hot blazing pain seared through his right shoulder. Immediately, the proud magician winced in agony as his head turned towards the injury.

Horror filled his face as he recognized that his right arm was no longer there.

“AHHHHHHHH!!!!!”

Gerald joined in the battlefield’s chorus of screams as the agony of losing an arm melted his head. He dropped to his knees and strained his eyes back towards the tower he aimed at, focusing on one particular man whose iron pipe was aimed right at him.

Rage fired in his eyes as he recognized the source of his injury, and the ultimate enemy they were tasked to beat.

The powerless prince…

Never in his wildest dreams would Gerald imagine one of the Kingdom’s most powerful armies would be at the mercy of this weak man, one whose powerlessness was a running joke back in the capital. He had decades of experience beating the world’s strongest with an unquenchable desire to increase his strength. To imagine this weak prince being the one to bring him to his knees and spit at the face of his power was an insult to both the magician’s pride and common sense.

Yet here he was, on his knees, and cruelly injured.

The magician opened his mouth, preparing to shout out a series of curses to the man overcoming the world’s common sense of power, but was unable to do so as he was hit with another stab of searing hot pain on his body.

However, this time, it came from his head.

Aghast, the mighty and powerful magician saw the world growing dimmer. Blood gushed down his forehead, its sticky red tinting his eyes. In the distance, he hazily recognized a sneer from the weak prince’s face. In that moment, his pride wanted to whip that arrogant expression off that weaklings face and remind him of who he was without those devilish weapons.

However, death did not discriminate against the weak nor the strong. All living things inevitably fell in front of the grim reaper of life. Even the mightiest of magicians were bound to the fundamental laws of death when faced with a fatal injury to the head.

In the next moment, Gerald fell forward as blackness overcame his vision. His desire to rise up to the pinnacle of magicians and become the absolute strongest would never become a reality. All his battle experience, victories, and future aspirations were nothing in the face of the bullet lodged in his brain.

Before Gerald knew it, he could think no more, as the cold grip of death took hold of him.