Chapter 143: The Great Battle (Part 2)

  "Everyone, be careful." Just as Axsis pulled out a scroll, several elven mages who sensed the magic fluctuations all shouted loudly. Though they didn’t know what scroll it was, the massive, strange magic fluctuation was no less potent than the Hellfire from before. "Everyone, shoot that mage down now!"

  This shout drew everyone’s attention. The hundreds of archers around them immediately aimed at Axsis. The thieves guarding him gripped their large shields tightly, hiding their entire bodies behind them without daring to expose even a hair. Six large shields instantly formed an impenetrable circular wall, enclosing Axsis securely within.

  Unfortunately, no arrows struck their shields. Elves had no habit of shooting at shields. These shields, designed to defend against cavalry and archers, were indeed large—door-sized—but unlike doors, they weren’t solid rectangles. To facilitate driving them into the ground against cavalry charges, the bottom tapered into a triangular point. This shape made it impossible to fit them together seamlessly.

  The six thieves let out screams like slaughtered pigs. No part of their bodies was injured, but their feet were riddled with arrows.

  The six thieves collapsed instantly amid their screams. It wasn’t for lack of willpower—their feet could no longer support them. The muscles and tendons inside had been severed by the arrows. Wherever they could aim, the elven archers shot at the points where tendons connected to bone.

  Axsis collapsed too, with over a dozen arrows piercing his feet. Fortunately, the thieves in front had blocked him, preventing him from being completely crippled.

  As he fell, Axsis still managed to unroll the scroll in his hand.

  The scroll glowed. Magic power surged forth like a tide, flooding the surrounding air. Then, with a poof, the scroll disintegrated into countless fragments. Everyone felt a ripple wash over their bodies and faces. Many thieves and elves clutched their heads and crouched down, bracing for the anticipated massive explosion or other terrifying effects from the scroll.

  But nothing happened. No explosion, not even a flicker of light or sound. The scroll’s only contribution to the battle seemed to be a brief pause caused by surprise.

  The elven archers froze for a moment before resuming their shots. In an instant, dozens more arrows flew from their bows. But these arrows, which should have sliced through the air, now drifted like weightless paper, flying feebly for a short distance before plummeting to the ground.

  The elves were stunned. Someone immediately nocked another arrow and fired. But the loosed arrows still flew sluggishly, dropping after covering little distance. The elves frantically checked their bows and arrows. The bows remained taut as new, the arrows intact. Nothing seemed amiss, yet every arrow lost its range mid-flight.

  The sparrow-sized hornets buzzing in the air, stinging thieves into howls of agony, also began dropping one by one with fluttering sounds. Their wings still beat, but no matter how hard they flapped, they couldn’t gain speed or lift their bodies. In the blink of an eye, except for the unicorns charging into the thief ranks and the venomous insects summoned by the elven mages on the ground, almost nothing else could harm the thieves.

  "The art of magic..." Axsis groaned from the ground. Though a dozen arrows still pierced his shins, causing sweat to pour down his twisted face, he couldn’t help but murmur. But under the spell’s effect, his voice sounded oddly muffled, as if cotton were stuffed in his throat.

  This was an original magic not found in the air magic system. This large-scale air magic had a range nearly unreachable by any other spell, and its effect was unique. It had no destructive power, nor did it affect any person or object—only the air.

  Axsis didn’t know exactly how it affected the air, or even why air possessed such properties. He only knew from the scroll’s description and the feel of the magic fluctuations that after using the scroll, the surrounding air’s vibrations would thicken and gain a strange viscosity. The faster an object moved in such air, the greater the resistance and adhesion it encountered. In other words, within this spell’s range, all ranged attacks would become ineffective.

  Sylka’s face, however, lacked Axsis’s rapture. From the moment he acquired these scrolls, his calculations had been constantly shifting, but all changes revolved around the scrolls. Initially, he had planned to use the scrolls for a surprise attack with the eight recruits, but subsequent events forced him to change his plans. The man’s arrogance had been unbearable, so he decided to let the group distract the elves alone while he attacked from another flank, using the scrolls to wipe out the assembled elves in one blow. But for some reason, the elves hadn’t been drawn to the other battle. His planned ambush had devolved into this direct confrontation. The elves’ combat prowess and reaction had made him completely abandon the idea of occupying Tulalion. Crucially, he had to use the scrolls here and now.

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  These scrolls were his true ace—his justification for daring to plan Tulalion’s occupation. Even if the attack failed, they would suffice for escape. But using them so early, so quickly, signaled that his operation should soon conclude. Forget seeking the item the client requested; even his original plan to eliminate the man while reaping the benefits had to be abandoned.

  The elves didn’t panic. By now, twenty to thirty elven mages had gathered around the thieves. The mages focused on chanting spells. Grass on the ground grew wildly, instantly transforming into thorny vines that entangled and strangled a thief.

  More and larger venomous insects emerged from the grass and trees. These creatures grew more active as the mages’ chants continued and more mages arrived. They swarmed toward the thieves as if seeing a feast after decades, emitting strange, excited squeaks.

  The thieves had always been wary of these obviously deadly insects, daring not to be bitten, but now they were overwhelmed. One thief was finally bitten on the sole of his foot by a huge, blue-green centipede and let out a scream. It wasn’t pain—it was terror. His leg instantly went numb, and anyone seeing their own leg swell to the size of their waist like inflating would scream like that.

  A quick-witted companion beside him swung his broad cleaver, instantly hacking off the leg, which no longer looked like a leg. Blood splattered. But the blood wasn’t just red—it carried the same blue-green hue as the centipede.

  This colorful, vibrant blood sprayed onto the helping companion’s hand, who immediately let out a scream more piercing than the bitten man’s. Blisters erupted on his hand, as if it had just been plunged into boiling water.

  The elven mages’ chanting never ceased. Ten or so trees began to stir under the magic, about to transform into giant The Withered Wood Wardens. Meanwhile, more unicorns galloped toward them. These horned horses were even harder to deal with than lions or tigers—requiring at least ten thieves to handle one. The brief respite the thieves had gained from the scroll vanished in an instant.

  But at that moment, Axsis, still on the ground, took out the second scroll at Sylka’s signal.

  If the first scroll had only startled the elven mages, this one filled them with terror. The massive magic fluctuation, containing decay, darkness, and destruction, instinctively repulsed and frightened them. Two elven mages shouted, "Everyone, fall back for now!"

  But the air, thickened by the first scroll, slowed all the elves’ movements. Before they could run far, this scroll was unrolled.

  In Axsis’s hand, the scroll seemed to transform into a strange Klein’s Bottle, or a magic fountain. Black waves of magic continuously spewed and overflowed from it. This black wave spread rapidly across the ground, instantly coating everything within a hundred-meter radius in black.

  The venomous insects, frenzied as if on aphrodisiacs, stinging thieves into howls, stiffened and dropped the moment they touched the black ripples, shrinking back to their original forms before turning to ash. Even the trees just becoming The Withered Wood Wardens began to wither immediately. Elves who touched the black ripples collapsed in agony, groaning as they weakly crawled forward, trying desperately to escape the black expanse.

  The elven mages suffered the most. Only five or six could barely chant spells, enveloping themselves in a green magical glow, but they still staggered unsteadily. Most simply vomited blood and convulsed on the ground. The power within the black ripples was completely antithetical to their innate attributes. It directly shredded the magic power within their bodies.

  Only the unicorns could still endure, but they grew restless on the black ground, striving to break through the encircling thieves and charge outward.

  Under the black ripples, the grass on the ground visibly withered. All life slowly withered and decayed in the blackness.

  The thieves also felt unwell—their chests and abdomens churned as if they’d drunk gutter water, their minds foggy as if stuffed with rotten meat. But compared to the elves, they were full of vigor. The black ripples had little effect on ordinary humans, and the thieves had taken precautions under Sylka’s orders. Before breaching the barrier, each thief had tied a small piece of rotten meat to their stomach and swallowed another piece.

  Sylka was the most energetic. A red battle aura radiated from him, unaffected in the black domain. Though he’d known these scrolls were specifically designed to counter elves, he never imagined their effects would be so good, so fast—not just immediate, but immediately profitable. The elves littering the ground were wealth. He roared at his thieves, "Capture them! Quick! Grab the pretty ones!"

  The thieves swarmed forward, pouncing on the elves covering the ground. Each carried ropes prepared in advance. They grabbed any female elf on the ground and bound her hand and foot.

  "Dark Necromancy... these are servants sent by the forces of darkness..." An elven elder standing at the edge of the black domain created by the scroll trembled, watching helplessly at the scene within. More and more elves gathered outside the domain, but they could only glare futilely at the sight. The scroll affecting air had a massive range, making shooting impossible. Casting spells also had no effect within the dark domain. The elder turned to an elf and said, "Quickly, bring the holy relic and Elder Luya here."

  "Faster! Two of you to one is enough." Sylka watched the elves densely gathering outside the black domain, secretly alarmed. But as long as the magic held, they had nothing to fear. The scroll affecting arrows had a range sufficient for them to create distance. With the black domain as a barrier, other elves would need effort to pursue. At worst, losing half their men as a rear guard would allow them to escape with dozens of beautiful elven women.

  Sylka didn’t capture elves himself. Instead, wielding his greatsword, he strode to an elven mage who could barely move and swung his blade down. The mage screamed as his deformed body and splattered brains flew through the air.

  The elves outside let out a collective gasp. Many wept. Watching their kin being captured and beaten like livestock, their brains splattering, while they stood powerless outside, was deeply traumatic for the elves’ simple hearts.

  Sylka had no time to show interest in their cries. He turned and hacked another half-dead elven mage into mincemeat. These were threats during escape. He shouted at Axsis, "How long can this magic hold?"

  "At most three hours. The effect will definitely weaken continuously." Axsis still lay on the ground, clutching the scroll, its black magic light still shimmering. Under the black glow, he looked like a frost-bitten eggplant. "But I don’t know how long I can sustain it."

  Hearing "three hours," Sylka secretly sighed in relief. He raised his greatsword and slew two more elven mages, then said to Axsis, "Just hold on. As long as you sustain this scroll, I won’t abandon you. You’ll get your money."

  As Sylka, greatsword in hand, covered in blood and brains, walked toward the next mage, the elves’ shouts and cries outside rose in a chorus. At the same time, a loud roar echoed: "Stop!"

  Though the altered air made the voice sound strange, the killing intent and authority within it were clearly beyond what elves could possess. Sylka looked up—and the greatsword he raised froze mid-swing.

  Figures continued to sprint toward them. Besides elves, there were actually several humans. Sylka recognized them clearly, which shocked him—so much so that he almost thought it was an elven illusion.