The last of the charging beasts fell under the swift, relentless assault of the legionaries, their bodies hitting the earth with a final, resounding thud. Rifi and the commander helping, dispatching the tier 6 beasts that remained—each striking with the precision and experience honed through their relentless training and battles. Within minutes, the ground before the clan’s walls lay littered with the twisted forms of the fallen, their corrupted energy slowly dissipating into the air.
The walls, though battered, stood resolute, their foundation reinforced by the formidable mana of the Aemiliania Clan. Rifi knew these weren’t just ordinary barricades; these walls were imbued with mana strong enough to withstand the assaults of blue-core even green-core mages. The beasts had managed little more than to throw themselves against its surface in a futile bid for destruction. But the goal of the mages controling them hadn’t been to breach these walls; it had been to wear down the defenders, draining their mana reserves and fraying their spirits before the real assault began.
Now, with the field cleared of beasts, the enemy began their final preparations. Across the horizon, Rifi felt the oppressive weight of powerful mana signatures gathering, pressing against him like a rising storm. The enemy made no attempt to mask their strength; it was a deliberate display, a show of raw power. Eight red-core mages radiated an intense aura that prickled against Rifi’s senses like the edge of a blade. Among them stood the scarred battlemage he’d fought previously, his presence exuding a cold, familiar malice.
This wasn’t merely a mercenary raid—it was something larger, far more organized. Rifi scanned the amassed forces. Nearly a thousand strong, an intimidating number for any front line, they stood well-armed and primed for battle. And though the defenders at the clan’s walls matched that number, most of the Legion’s forces were too low-ranked to withstand what was coming. Only a few hundred at best could stand a chance against the incoming wave.
Rifi’s gaze settled on the Commander of the Aemiliania Clan, a man who held himself with a dignified calm despite the storm about to break.
“Commander, I didn’t catch your name,” Rifi said, casting a glance sideways.
The commander inclined his head in acknowledgment. “It’s Elias.”
Rifi nodded thoughtfully. “An honor, Commander Elias. I’m Rifi.” He paused, the weight of the situation sinking in further. “We’ll need everyone below purple core to fall back slightly. Keep them just within range for support, but out of harm’s direct path.”
A quick nod from Elias set his nearby centurions into action, relaying orders to reposition the troops. Elias exhaled, his sharp gaze sweeping across his legionaries as they moved to new positions. The tension was thick, but a quiet resolve settled between the two leaders as they braced for the onslaught.
“So, Rifi,” Elias ventured, his tone deceptively casual, “how many times have you found yourself in a situation like this?”
Rifi’s mouth quirked into a half-smile. “Like this? Never, but I had my share of life and death battles.. Though, I can’t say I’m used to staring down this many red-core mages at once.”
Elias huffed a low laugh. “I suppose it’s not every day a battlemage finds himself outnumbered on the defensive. I trust you’ve got a few tricks left?”
Rifi shrugged, though his gaze was deadly serious. “Let’s just say I’ve always managed to leave the field in one piece. Mostly.” His eyes drifted back to the enemy line, narrowing as he noted their final preparations. “They’re aiming to shatter us with sheer power. All those red cores, forcing their way through our defenses—it’ll feel like a storm breaking against a cliff. If we can keep them at a distance, we stand a chance.”
“Wise words,” Elias replied, his voice steady as his gaze lingered on the distant enemy lines. “I’ll see that we put them to good use. But tell me, Rifi—why are you here? If the enemy has enough strength to show up in force at my clan’s doorstep, I can’t imagine the Western Encampment is faring much better.”
“True enough,” Rifi acknowledged. “The western front’s holding, but only just. The enemy’s focus isn’t there, though; they’ve set their sights on your clan’s mana vein. If they take it, Hepestus loses more than just territory—we lose one of our most crucial resources. That’s why I’m here, and reinforcements are on their way from the western encampment. We just have to hold this position long enough to keep the enemy from taking what they’re after.”
A glint of determination flashed across Elias’s face. He nodded, and his voice softened, a flicker of resolve surfacing. “Then we hold,” he said, almost to himself. “These are not days I’d hoped to see again. My people deserve peace, and I’d hoped to give them that. But if the enemy thirsts for our blood,” he said, his gaze steely, “we’ll make sure it’s theirs that stains these grounds."
Rifi met his gaze, respect evident in his eyes. “Your people have a strong leader, Elias. With that resolve, we might just stand a chance.”
A warning horn sounded from the walls, sharp and urgent, echoing across the quieted field. The enemy was on the move, their formation advancing with chilling precision. As the first fireballs and jagged shards of ice streaked through the air, Rifi gripped his swords, his body sparking with energy.
“I’ll try to keep the red-cores occupied,” he told Elias. “Keep your line tight, and don’t let up.”
Elias nodded, his voice ringing with command as he turned to his troops. “Hold the line!” he roared.
Counter-spells clashed against incoming magic, igniting the air with bursts of fire, shards of ice, and sprays of earth. Fragments of energy and debris filled the air, a haze of dust and elemental residue spreading so thick it would have blinded anyone without the mana sense of a trained mage.
In the next heartbeat, Elias barely registered Rifi’s presence as he vanished from his side—a streak of crackling lightning darting into the thick of the enemy. Moments later, cries erupted within the swirling dust, sharp and brief.
Rifi had intercepted the advancing soldiers, his intention clear: he would keep the enemy’s strongest far from his comrades, buying precious moments and saving as many lives as he could.
His blades gleamed as they struck, the first green-core mage falling before Rifi’s feet even touched the ground. He was already moving, his movements fluid and relentless. In less than a breath, his sword had found its mark again, piercing the chest of another soldier, striking with lethal precision.
A third fell, his wide, startled eyes catching only a glimpse of Rifi before his life was taken, his head severed by a merciless strike.
‘Only three,’ Rifi thought with a flicker of frustration, but his reflection was cut short as the enemy’s red-core mages converged on him, charging with deadly intent.
A barrage of spells tore through the air toward Rifi. He twisted and weaved through them, each movement as precise as it was fast, slipping past blasts of fire, spikes of ice, and jagged shards of rock. The enemy red-core mages rushed toward him, drawn in by their overconfidence in their numerical superiority.
‘Morons,’ Rifi thought. ‘Big mistake.’
As another round of earth spikes erupted from beneath him, Rifi sidestepped, his lightning mana surging to its fullest. In a flash, he propelled himself toward one of the approaching red cores with a speed that defied comprehension. His sword, humming as it cracked with dense lightning, cleaved through the air and struck the enemy’s chest. A lethal surge of mana coursed through the mercenary’s body, extinguishing his life in an instant. Rifi leapt back just as a fresh onslaught of spells screamed past him, narrowly missing their mark.
The scarred battlemage pushed forward, his expression twisted with irritation as he barked orders. “Idiots! Keep your distance! Circle him!”
More spells arced toward Rifi, forcing him into evasive maneuvers as the enemy mages encircled him, their intent clear.
The scarred battlemage’s eyes gleamed with a dark satisfaction. He stepped forward, his voice dripping with malice. “I told you before, battlemage—this time, you won’t leave here alive.”
Rifi didn’t bother with a reply; his swords would speak for him. He knew he was in a tight spot. The scarred battlemage wasn’t giving him the slightest edge this time—he’d came at Rifi with four spellbound allies, determined to see Rifi fall once and for all. Three now remained after Rifi’s initial strike, but the advantage was still theirs.
Rifi cast a fleeting thought toward Elias and his legionaries, hoping they could withstand the relentless assault from the three remaining spellbound.
The enemy kept their distance, encircling him with calculated precision. 'A pain he survived our last encounter,' Rifi thought, frustration simmering under his calm resolve. 'Now they know my strengths.'
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The red-core mages attacked in perfect coordination—one unleashed a storm of ice shards that sliced through the air, another launched compressed blasts of wind, while a third summoned pillars of fire that erupted from the ground in searing columns. The scarred battlemage charged in intermittently, hurling daggers with pinpoint accuracy before retreating, clearly respecting Rifi’s speed and deadly reach. Rifi twisted and dodged, his movements blurring with impossible agility, but even his honed reflexes couldn’t catch everything.
He deflected the most lethal spells aimed for his vital spots, his blades a storm of motion. But a fireball slipped past his guard, crashing into his side with explosive force. His defensive non-element mana absorbed part of the impact, but it wasn’t enough to stop a spellbound-level attack. The blow sent him skidding across the blood-soaked ground, pain searing through his fractured ribs as his armor bore a deep, blackened scar. The intense heat left burns across his side where the flames had breached his defenses, and his vision blurred momentarily. Still, he forced himself back to his feet, breath ragged but determined. Stopping wasn’t an option—if he faltered now, they were all lost.
Emboldened by their success, the spellbound mages grew careless, advancing with a barrage of spells as they closed in, eager to finish him off.
The scarred battlemage noticed their recklessness. "You fools, stay—" he began, but it was too late.
Rifi was already moving. Ignoring his injuries, he flooded his mana pathaways with lightning mana, filling his channels to the limit, pushing every muscle fiber to its peak. He surged forward, becoming a streak of crackling energy as he closed the distance to the nearest spellbound. The mage barely had time to react, lifting his sword in a desperate attempt to block, but his defenses met nothing but air. In a flash, Rifi was behind him, his blade piercing through the mage’s chest in a fatal strike.
Another barrage of spells hurtled toward Rifi, forcing him to brace himself. Weakened by the relentless attacks, his movements lost their usual speed as the surge of lightning mana began to numb his body. He managed to deflect most of the oncoming spells but couldn’t evade them entirely. The scarred mercenary seized the opportunity, closing in with brutal precision, forcing Rifi into a close-quarters melee. Their blades clashed in a blur of steel, their strikes inhumanly swift, but this time, Rifi was barely keeping up. A red-hot blade sliced into his right arm, deep enough to render it useless for the moment, before Rifi managed to make some distance between himself and the scarred battlemage.
The enemy mages tightened their encirclement, weaving a deadly net of spells around him. Every swing and parry felt heavier as his muscles screamed in protest. Rifi’s vision began to narrow, his focus reduced to a tunnel of flashing light and shadows. Somewhere in the distance, Elias’s voice boomed with orders, but to Rifi, it was just an echo, lost in the fierce struggle to stay alive.
Blood seeped from fresh cuts, staining his battered armor and darkening the earth below. Each breath was a struggle, his body bruised and battered, yet he clung to life with every ounce of will he had left. His thoughts circled back to the promises he had yet to keep, and he steeled himself with the determination not to give in, not yet.
On the edge of consciousness, he centered his mind, his every strike echoing with the silent pleas of those he fought to protect. The words, Please live... and FELIS SILVESTRIS, looped through his mind, infusing him with a fierce clarity.
Then, he felt it—a powerful presence approaching the battlefield. A faint smirk touched his lips, the spark of hope rekindling his spirit.
Heh, that fiery ass finally made it.
The air shimmered with heat as Kaelin charged into the chaos, a powerful wave of fiery mana radiating outward. Flames erupted in a blazing wall, forcing the encroaching red-cores to recoil with shouts of surprise. Kaelin’s arrival shifted the battlefield, and he didn’t hesitate, diving straight into melee with the scarred battlemage. Relief washed over Rifi, his heart pounding with renewed strength.
“Took you long enough!” Rifi shouted, his voice rough but defiant.
Kaelin grinned, but his smile faltered as he took in Rifi’s battered state. Rifi’s left arm hung limp, his armor slick with blood, evidence of the brutal fight he’d been waging alone.
“Looks like you could use a break,” Kaelin said, his tone serious. “Go fall back. I’ll keep this one occupied.”
Before Rifi could respond, the scarred mercenary scowled, muttering under his breath, “Not again…” His voice barely audible, he reached into his pocket, pulling out a dark, pulsing object, which he tossed into his mouth and swallowed.
The two remaining spellbounds shot each other alarmed looks, clearly familiar with what was about to happen. The air around the scarred battlemage began to pulse with an ominous, expanding energy, crackling and warping the ground beneath him. With wary glances toward Kaelin and the blazing wall of flames, they stepped back, instinctively putting distance between themselves and the scarred battlemage, who was now radiating a frightening amount of mana.
One of the spellbounds took a step back, his voice barely a whisper. “He’s… he’s gone mad.”
The other nodded, unable to tear his gaze from the surging mana surrounding the scarred mercenary. Without another word, they both turned and retreated, unwilling to stay within reach of what was quickly becoming a volatile and deadly force.
Instantly, a surge of power exploded from the scarred battlemage, his cry of agony rippling through the battlefield as his mana spiked to a terrifying level. The air around him pulsed, thick with an energy almost unbearable, his pressure now surpassing the level of an orange core mage. The force was like a shockwave, nearly matching the fearsome aura Rifi had once felt from the City Lord himself, who stood at the peak of the yellow core.
"I’ll make sure you both meet your end today,” he spat, his voice laced with a raw, frenzied edge.
“Damn it,” Kaelin muttered, the reality of their predicament settling in. His eyes widened, flicking to Rifi as he braced himself. “This just got complicated…”
Rifi’s gaze hardened, his body screaming with exhaustion, yet he managed to push through the pain. “Stay sharp!” he called, his voice cutting through the chaos. “We take him down together!”
With a roar, the scarred battlemage launched himself forward, his feet carving scorching trails of magma across the ground as his fire-element mana propelled him with blinding speed. Kaelin braced himself for impact, raising his weapon just in time to meet the attack, but the sheer force behind each strike sent tremors through his arms.
Each clash tore another maddening shriek from the scarred battlemage, his voice growing more unhinged with every strike. Kaelin staggered under the relentless blows, his boots digging deep furrows into the ground as he struggled to hold his ground.
Rifi, catching his breath from a safe distance, could see the strain etched on Kaelin’s face, each impact reflecting the force of his opponent’s unstable fury. Rifi’s own muscles screamed in protest, exhaustion clawing at him, but he knew he couldn’t stand by any longer—not when Kaelin faced this frenzied assault alone. They needed to end this quickly.
Rifi tried to flank the scarred battlemage mid-clash with Kaelin, hoping to catch him off guard. But the scarred battlemage's reflexes, even through his madness, remained sharp. He parried Rifi's sword with a savage twist, then launched a brutal kick charged with searing fire mana. The impact sent Rifi flying backward, slamming him against the scorched earth. His already battered armor buckled, a gaping hole exposing melted, charred flesh and cracked ribs beneath. Rifi gasped, blood splattering from his lips as he struggled to breathe. He was barely able to stand.
The scarred battlemage seemed ready to finish him off, his wild eyes flickering with murderous intent—until Kaelin’s sword arced toward him again, forcing him to turn and defend.
Enraged shrieks escaped his mouth as he hammered Kaelin with such relentless fury that each block drove Kaelin deeper into the ground. Kaelin grunted under the strain, barely able to keep the maddened battlemage at bay.
Summoning his fire mana with all his remaining strength, Kaelin created an enormous fire wall between them, heat rippling through the air. Even from twenty meters away, Rifi could feel the searing intensity. But with an unhinged grin, the scarred battlemage threw up his own shield of fire and surged forward, passing through Kaelin's wall unscathed.
“Damn it,” Rifi muttered, eyes wide as he watched Kaelin struggle. He hadn’t known Kaelin long, but watching him stand alone against this relentless foe stirred something deep and familiar—a haunting reminder of the past, of battles where allies had fallen, and he’d been left powerless.
‘I thought I’d grown stronger. I thought... this time I’d be able to protect them…’ The painful memories flooded his mind, despair clawing at his resolve.
Kaelin’s gaze caught his own. Then, as if in defiance of their fate, Kaelin sent a sudden surge of heat in Rifi’s direction—a signal.
In that split second, Rifi understood. Coughing blood but filled with renewed determination, he pushed every last reserve of mana into his pathways, surging his body with dense lightning energy until his muscles throbbed, barely able to contain the power.
As Rifi’s figure blurred with speed, Kaelin acted. Letting go of his sword, he shifted his grip to divert the battlemage’s weapon just enough so that it missed his heart by inches, piercing his shoulder instead. Kaelin gritted his teeth, his fire mana flaring as he held the blade just short of his heart. The two forces clashed, their mana surging and repelling each other in a deadly tug-of-war.
The scarred battlemage’s eyes widened, caught between satisfaction at having “pinned” Kaelin and confusion as to why his blade hadn’t finished the job. But Kaelin’s fiery mana held, keeping the scarred battlemage’s mana in check, even as his own mana reserves rapidly drained. He wouldnt be able to hold for much longer, the mana of the scarred battlemage was much more potent.
In that crucial moment, Rifi became a streak of lightning, blood trailing behind him as he pushed his injured body beyond its limits. Each footfall sent sparks across the ground, lightning snapping at his heels as he closed the gap. His vision blurred, his mind swimming, yet he held on to a single, unbreakable focus.
Rifi's form blurred behind the scarred battlemage, the sheer speed catching the battlemage off guard in his final, deadly distraction with Kaelin. Rifi’s sword plunged into the mercenary’s neck, angling straight through to his heart. A burst of lightning surged through the scarred battlemage’s body, a final, deadly pulse that left him jerking in place.
The scarred battlemage let out a final shriek of rage and pain before his eyes glazed over, the madness fading into emptiness.
The scarred battlemage’s lifeless form slumped to the ground, his body still crackling with the residual lightning mana Rifi had forced through him. Rifi’s knees buckled, and he fell beside his fallen enemy, each ragged breath more difficult than the last.
Kaelin’s voice cut through the haze, a faint lifeline keeping him grounded. “Stay with me, Rifi!” he shouted, his own face pale from the battle’s toll. Kaelin moved to Rifi’s side, gripping his shoulder tightly, feeling the tremor in his friend’s frame as blood seeped from countless wounds.
Rifi’s eyes met Kaelin’s, a faint, weary smile curving his lips despite the agony. “Didn’t… let him win…” he whispered, his voice barely rising over the rush of his own blood pounding in his ears. Instinctively, his mana began to work, weaving through his veins, stemming the bleeding, and coaxing life back into his ravaged body.
But the effort was too much. His vision blurred as darkness swept over him, Kaelin’s voice fading to a distant echo as he slipped from consciousness, surrendering to the depths of exhaustion.