Seemed like Lithma and the scarred man also had the same thoughts, as they also moved up to pincer the new arrival. This mercenary was level 38, one of the highest in the initial group. Except for the cutlass, the man also tucked a big gray staff diagonally on his back. This one was even cockier than the last. A smirk lingered on his face when he used the left arm, wrapped by a plain brown leather bracer, to deflect Zalanir’s bolts with ease.

  Lithma performed a direct thrust aiming low at the man’s right thigh, which Zalanir knew would be followed up by a sweep. He had seen this attack a couple of times during the sparring. Thus, he pre-emptively fired off a two-pronged attack of metal and air bolts at the would-be upper body when the enemy dodged.

  Things didn’t work out the way he had envisioned. The opponent just parried the thrust as if it were the most natural move to do. The sweep thus became an upward slash, and the mercenary squatted instead of jumping to avoid the attack. And it wasn’t just a normal squat. He rolled forward when the spear was still in its swing arch and slit Lithma’s stomach.

  The actions happened so fast that when the scarred man came over with his sword attack, the enemy was already back on his legs and was comfortable exchanging blow for blow.

  Zalanir’s heart sank. He was triggered by the cruel death of the warrior, but he still maintained his analytical mind. Agonizing over the last failed smash wouldn’t do anything good for his next forehand. His old coach had drilled this lesson deep into his brain. Review time would come later. No need to do it right in the middle of the action.

  This enemy appeared to be stronger and was more experienced than the last, while his group also suffered the loss of a tank. This swung the victory chance massively in the favor of the adversary.

  The three of them held on, but as time passed, accumulated wounds had started to weigh them down. Zalanir was under assault twice, which he only managed to break out of the predicament thanks to timely interventions from Lithma. Zalanir had no way of knowing how much damage his group-mates had suffered, but each of the assaults did more than one-fifth of his total health. Sitting at under 40% on his health bar wasn’t a good sign at the moment.

  None of their attacks had worked so far, as the enemy’s parry was top-notch. From magical bolts to sword slashes to spear thrusts, the cheeky mercenary just had an answer for everything. He wasn’t outright strong or anything, but those last-moment interceptions with his cutlass prevented him from taking any damage.

  Being locked in a pseudo-stalemate — they were losing out gradually, but was kinda fine in the short-term — for now, Zalanir let his attention wander off a little to the surrounding fights. Maybe others would finish their respective enemies and would come to their aid. The smoke on the back was already gone, and every fighter was either lying on the ground or engaged in combat. It was hard to see the whole arena, but within a radius of 25-30 meters around his spot, three other fights were also in similar situations where neither party had the upper-hand.

  A particular fight got Zalanir’s attention because one of the fighters was the man who had defeated him yesterday. He was moving and hanging around at the back, not really engaging in the combat, but Zalanir knew that the guy was just waiting for his moment to unleash his crazy assault. That nonchalant attitude had got him once already, so it would be stupid to—

  Wait. What if …

  Zalanir moved around slowly while still firing bolts at the enemy. He angled it so that he and the two mercenaries were on a line. The distance between him and the second one was about the length of a tennis court. He would prefer it to be shorter, but this would still do. Now, all he needed to do was wait for the perfect moment to strike, which was easy, and truck the mercenary with his bolts, which wasn’t an easy feat to pull off.

  He tested three bolts, launching them a bit further away from his hand to get a feel for the motion. It didn’t seem that hard, as he got it in the right and comfortable place on the second try already. Now he could conjure and shoot the bolt as if he struck a forehand. Nice to have this feeling back again.

  The opportunity came when the faraway mercenary showed his back to Zalanir, while the one who had been giving his group trouble just deflected a chop from the scarred man. Loading his legs, Zalanir coiled his body, then let the swirling momentum carry his body to power a forehand down the line. The topspin was excellent, the contact point was dead in the middle of the racket, and his body took off into the air. The bolt (the ball) flew past the first mercenary’s shoulder without any reaction from him and hit right on the neck of the target. Zalanir used an air bolt for this one to avoid detection, and it worked just as he envisioned.

  The second mercenary in that instant turned over and fixed his eyes on Zalanir. How did he figure out the attacker so quickly? He had no idea. But nothing mattered. He hit a clean winner, capturing the attention of everyone involved. That was enough to spring the normal-looking man into action.

  Zalanir hoped that his little scheme worked out, because the first mercenary was obviously pissed by his actions and was already halfway to his spot. His hastily erected barrier got destroyed by a slam from the wooden staff. To his surprise, a second later, a horizontal gash cut his chest open. Blood spurted out like a dam being broken and thus unable to hold back the flood.

  Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

  Where the heck did that attack from the staff come from? It was still tucked on the man’s back?

  Landing on his back on the ground, Zalanir saw his health bar flickering. This was bad. He was down to sub-20% now. In that moment of desperation, Zalanir formed a barrier between himself and the mercenary, and then rolled to the side. His nose crashed onto the floor, shooting itch and pain into his mind. Soldiering on, Zalanir hurled back a bolt and pushed against the ground to stand up.

  Somehow, he had created enough distance that he could take a deep breath now. A second ago, he had heard the opponent’s groans, but wasn’t he alone now? Lithma and the scarred man were coming from behind and would engage the mercenary in a short moment, but where did that groan come from? Did anyone sneakily help him out? Maybe, but he doubted it. Or … did his bolt manage to catch him off guard?

  It was a sound bolt. That was the only one he could make because he wasn’t aiming at anything. Sound was the only thing he could grab when rolling, because his ears did it instead of his imaginative hands. The sound bolt was useless against the last mercenary, so why did it work now?

  Trying again, Zalanir shot a sound variant attack, and watched on with interest. The bastard only caught onto it at the last moment, but wasn’t quick enough to avoid a hit. No physical signal at the contact point, but the man did let out a groan again and fumbled his swing, causing him to fail the parry against a sword cut.

  “Finally, a clean hit,” the scar man laughed like a maniac.

  It did stagger him. Zalanir murmured.

  Zalanir reverted back to firing earth and air bolts. A discovery like this shouldn’t be used regularly, lest the opponent get the hang of it or raise his guard. It could be a lifesaver for him in dicey situations. He needed to be extra careful now, because his health was b—

  Pulling a red potion out from his belt, Zalanir drank it immediately. He almost forgot about this gift from the midget bookmaker. The liquid was tasteless. It didn’t even go down to his belly either. After passing through his throat, the liquid just vanished. However, he could tell that something was touching and bouncing up and down in his veins. The deep laceration on his chest closed at an astonishing rate. Blood stopped to ooze out, and scales established themselves fast.

  The same phenomenon applied to every single wound he had as well. He could now breathe in and out through his nose without pain again. And the most important. His health bar was back to nearly full, no longer flickering every second.

  I need to get my hands on this potion again. It’s so good.

  His health getting refilled didn’t change the fact that they were still partially dominated by the mercenary, but it allowed him to take more chances again, especially in dragging out the fight. There was positivity from the other fight, so holding on was top priority.

  Zalanir sometimes even went forward to help alleviate some of the pressure from his other two fight-mates. He didn’t know whether they had drunk their own potion or not, but just in case.

  After about twenty minutes, help finally came their way. A guy wielding a greatsword replaced Zalanir in the melee circle while the nonchalant man wandered behind Zalanir.

  “Continue wearing him down. We will go in ten.”

  Nodding at the man’s remark, Zalanir left him alone. Even though they were on the same side, he didn’t feel comfortable being close, especially not when the man went all in with the crazy attacks. Better to stay out of the firing line.

  Nine minutes. Zalanir dropped to the floor after getting an elbow to the chest, but managed to tumble away.

  Seven minutes. The scarred man’s sword was broken after colliding with the mercenary’s staff. Seemed like a skill because the staff swung directly from his back on its own, not by the mercenary’s hands.

  Six minutes. The scarred man found a stick lying nearby and resumed his attack.

  Three minutes. The new guy with the greatsword scored a heavy hit, cutting open the mercenary’s breastplate.

  One minute. The mercenary kicked Lithma away while under assault from Zalanir’s bolts in the back and the two melee fighters on the flank.

  When it was go time, Zalanir erected a window-shaped barrier between him and the mercenary and pressed in with all of his force. The energy plane rammed into the opponent, or to be exact, the man’s left elbow as he used that to block the attack. But that moment of attention was enough. Zalanir lingered on the spot for two more seconds until a whirlwind of gashes, stabs, and prods entered the picture.

  Just a moment before stepping back, Zalanir gifted the cocky bastard a combination of back-to-back sound bolts and wished him a wonderful time for all the work he had done.

  Zalanir had missed what had happened to the mercenary facing the original group the crazy man was in, but now, when chilling on the side watching the onslaught, he found it was even more disgusting than what he went through yesterday. The nonchalant dude was replaced by a savage, feral monster who dashed and jumped all over the place, attacking with the dual blades (no longer knives) from angles that were hard to fathom. Like, who attacked the stomach with a backward stab by sliding under the groin, in between the opponent’s legs? Who would fake a point-blank slash in the back just to secure a kick on the right knee that somehow five attacks later was drenched in blood by continuous cuts? What kind of mastery and skills did he get?

  A mental note: never mess around with this man. He might not be a friend, but never an enemy.

  The domination ended with the man slicing off both of the mercenary’s arms high near the shoulder joints, and a diagonally cut square in the face.

  Shivers ran down Zalanir’s spine. Vomit was already midway up his throat when he forcefully swallowed it down. He couldn’t puke now, especially when their battlefield — no, the whole open arena — became dead silent. All eyes were on their spot.

  “You! What’s your name?” One of the four men that Vitius went to visit earlier asked. His voice wasn’t powered by any magic tricks. Just a rough voice with medium volume. But when even a flap of wings couldn’t be heard, the voice easily carried itself.

  “Yar-Pattler.” In a similar manner, the man named Yar-Pattler stated his name while standing straight like a bonsai tree planting its roots on top of a cliff, unwavering under the scrutiny of thousands of eyes.

  “From now on, you are one of us!”