Chapter 144: The Great Battle (Part 3)

  Ethan sensed the heavy Necromancy aura ahead and knew Sylka must have used that scroll. It was one he had co-created with Sedros, and to achieve such an imposing effect, he had spent two full days meditating and infusing his not-so-pure Necromancy, along with using many extremely precious magical items, including a small piece of Magical Jade. But it seemed the cost was worthwhile.

  "That's... Necromancy?" Old Bill on the werewolf's shoulder also sensed the magic fluctuations ahead. If the werewolf hadn't supported him, he would have nearly fallen and been half-killed. The druid transformed into a werewolf also howled—whether from sensing the magic fluctuation that opposed his nature or because Old Bill had grabbed a handful of his fur.

  Sylka still stood holding his greatsword stupidly, watching those who should have been fighting the elves to the death running toward them, accompanied by other elves. This scene even left his mind briefly blank. Though the face was completely different from before, he wasn't surprised—what surprised him was that after revealing this face, he could still lead the other four through the elves. Though some elves looked at him with astonishment, seeing the elder running alongside them, none stepped forward to stop them.

  Though the air's strange viscosity prevented fast running, Sylka's hesitation gave Ethan enough time to charge into the black magic domain. The white battle aura flashing on him as he entered continued Sylka's astonishment. The druid took only one step before screaming and hastily retreating. Only Hilton and Jessica, though two steps slower, followed Ethan into the domain.

  Seeing Sylka's incredulous gaze and expression, before he could speak, Ethan spoke first. A powerful, rhythmic, deliberate voice enunciated each word outward, clearly audible to the surrounding elves: "I apologize. I was undercover. I was actually lurking among you. I am the elves' friend, here to help them deal with you."

  The astonishment on Sylka's face slowly turned to anger, which accumulated and finally became a smile. He laughed loudly. In the viscous air, the laughter sounded like a hippopotamus in heat. "Undercover? Friend? Are you playing me? Good, good, good... Fuck you..." He laughed fiercely and suddenly stomped on the belly of the elven mage on the ground. The sound of abdominal rupture and the mage's piercing scream distorted in the air, mixing with his laughter like ghosts wailing.

  Amidst this terrifying laughter comparable to Behemoth's, Sylka's red battle aura flared up. He charged forward. His greatsword, carrying sounds of tearing, crushing, and breaking air, thrust toward Ethan. Simultaneously, the red battle aura grew redder, like wearing armor made of blood. The massive muscles accumulated on his huge frame, and his face—already fierce—now twisted by killing intent and rage, making him look inhuman.

  The sword was long, the blade short. Though this strike seemed clumsy, it was more effective and lethal than any display of great skill. No matter how he dodged, he'd be touched or grazed by this sword under its imposing force. He hadn't forgotten that even a glancing blow from this battle-aura-infused sword couldn't be completely defended against even with Radiant Battleplate's toughness.

  No options left. Ethan could only raise his blade to block horizontally. Blade and sword tip collided, producing an impact sound like an explosion in the altered air. Even the elves outside could feel the shockwave from the collision.

  Ethan's body was thrown backward like a stone. If not for the thickened air, he might have flown straight out of the black magic domain.

  The muscles and bones in both hands felt like they would explode. Ethan was shaken. He had actually actively retreated to deflect the force, but even so, he couldn't completely neutralize this sword's power. The gap in their strength was truly too great.

  Sylka let out another beast-like roar, stepped forward again, and thrust with the same strike. This sword brought a rumbling sound like muffled thunder, completely sealing Ethan's dodging room. Even in skill, this thief leader's experience honed over decades of killing and battle was incomparable to Ethan. The timing, angle, and power of this strike were all first-rate.

  Another hard collision. Ethan retreated again. He could barely hold his blade. Though he might have had an advantage in speed and agility, speed was useless in this magic-altered air. With hundreds of elves watching, it was best not to use Necromancy recklessly, so he had no choice but to block. Only now did he discover this creature—more animal than animal, more beast than beast—was truly formidable. He was a beast of battle and slaughter.

  A beast never reveals its full strength until the critical moment. Once endangered or enraged, it erupts with twelve times its combat power. Now was the moment Sylka the beast was enraged—thoroughly enraged by this inexplicable betrayal falling from the sky. And now, in this environment where magic had solidified the air, was the perfect place for this beast to run wild.

  "Haha, weren't you playing me all along? Didn't you want me to stop? Why are you running? How can I stop if you run?" Sylka stepped toward Ethan, incidentally stomping on the head of a female elven archer still struggling to crawl outside. The female elf's face—rarely beautiful even by human standards—along with her skull and beautiful hair was crushed into pulp under his foot.

  Hilton and Jessica, catching up, saw the situation was dire and immediately charged at Sylka.

  "Hahaha... Are you undercover too? Never expected so many undercover agents." Sylka's smile and voice were like a madman who had just eaten human flesh. He swung his greatsword, bringing rumbling winds as he swept toward them. In this air, only his tremendous strength could counteract the air's viscosity. Only this greatsword could maintain its normal speed.

  Hilton and Jessica dared not block; they knew they couldn't withstand it. They could only dodge.

  But in this air, already dizzy from the surrounding Necromancy, they couldn't dodge completely. At least not fully. Hilton had to press his punch swords against his arms, attempting to deflect at an angle. Frankly, his skill and judgment were indeed first-rate, but he still couldn't deflect the force—it was simply too great.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  The two fine steel punch swords weren't thin by any means; Hilton had used them to sever countless arms, legs, and heads. But now, under the graze of that greatsword, they seemed like two pieces of glass, embedding themselves in Hilton's arms. Hilton let out a scream that should have been like a slaughtered pig but sounded like a pig being killed under a blanket—not because of the fragments, but because the bones inside were now similar to those fragments.

  With Hilton blocking her, Jessica was only grazed on the shoulder by the greatsword. The not-sharp blade edge tore away flesh and blood due to the tremendous force. Simultaneously, her two blue short swords flew out.

  Even in this environment specifically designed to stop arrows, at such close range, these two short swords should have hit their target. But they only left two thin blood trails on Sylka's chest and abdomen. Beneath the blood-red battle aura were muscles like granite fortresses. Leaving even these two blood trails already demonstrated how exceptionally sharp those short swords were.

  The blood seeping from the wounds was blue. Sylka froze. Then he suddenly roared loudly, his blood-red battle aura flaring. Two blue arrows of blood immediately sprayed from the wounds, then gradually turned red.

  Jessica didn't take this opportunity to attack; the thought didn't even seem to occur to her as she turned and fled immediately. She knew best that even an elephant couldn't last long under that toxin. Yet Sylka had forced the poison out. This proved he was at least much stronger than an elephant.

  Hilton also scrambled away. Their role was now complete. By this time, Ethan had recovered his breath, darted into Sylka's greatsword range, and swung his blade.

  Sylka timely parried with a downward chop. Ethan dodged sideways at the last moment, his blade only weakly cutting a gash on Sylka's arm.

  Sylka let out a scream like a castrated ox. This wound was little larger than those two highly toxic ones from before, not even shedding a drop of blood, only appearing slightly grayish. But Sylka's reaction was much more intense—even the red battle aura on him seemed to dim for a moment.

  After separating, the two immediately lunged at each other again, but this time without those massive collisions. Having entered Sylka's greatsword range, Ethan no longer blocked, only dodging slightly to move vital organs away while desperately stabbing, hacking, and chopping at Sylka with his blade. Sylka, however, became cautious—even when clearly having an opportunity to tear off an arm, he was unwilling to let that blade strike him forcefully again.

  While the leaders fought dazzlingly, others weren't idle. Hilton and Jessica, having escaped the black domain, had their injuries immediately treated by several elven mages. The elves' healing spells were no less effective than white magic.

  Axsis was maintaining the black magic domain with the scroll, unable to spare hands for casting spells. Old Bill now seemed like the only one capable of attacking from outside. He had been waving that strange duster-like staff, shouting at Sylka several times from afar, but Sylka remained unharmed, still swinging his greatsword vigorously. Instead, the surrounding elves watched, jumping and dancing, casting strange glances at him.

  Old Bill couldn't bear the embarrassment and finally shifted his target to other thieves binding elves. Again, he waved his staff several times, then pointed at a thief and shouted. This time, the effect was immediate—the thief's body trembled, blood gushed from his mouth, nose, and ears, his eyeballs nearly popped out, and he slowly collapsed.

  Old Bill immediately shifted his target to the next thief. After another bout of waving and shouting, another thief collapsed, bleeding from all orifices. "Soul Strike"—this obscure magic had no effect on those with strong willpower, especially those with deeply ingrained obsessions in their souls, but ordinary people had no defense against it. Thieves with scattered minds, no faith, and no will were perfect targets—almost one strike per kill. But there were still over two hundred thieves. Even letting Old Bill slowly pick them off would exhaust his arms and voice.

  But the thieves obviously weren't so compliant. No one knew if the feather staff's next target would be themselves. Thieves who had finished binding elven captives dared not step out of the black domain to deal with the old man, so several drew hand crossbows and walked toward Ethan, who was fiercely battling Sylka. The elves' arrows earlier had provided proof. In this air, though ranged weapons couldn't reach far, shooting a few meters was still possible. And it didn't require great lethality—just needed to create some distraction for that opponent.

  This idea was certainly fine. But when those few thieves approached, it was Sylka who roared at them, shouting at those wanting to help: "All of you, get the hell away from here."

  But before the thieves could retreat, Ethan simultaneously flipped backward out of the circle, shouting: "Just in time." He casually stabbed his blade into a thief's body.

  The thief's body trembled as it rapidly withered. The other few thieves didn't even fire their crossbow bolts, turning and fleeing.

  Sylka roared and charged forward. But Ethan ignored him, dropping the corpse that now resembled an empty sack, turning to chase another thief. The blade, now coated with coagulated blood, stabbed into this thief's body.

  Watching the second thief's body deform even faster, the blade seemed to emit a strong "sucking" sound. Sylka stopped, no longer pursuing Ethan. He remembered clearly how that blade in the basement had severed two huge magical elements in one strike.

  Ethan withdrew his blade; the blood on it directly coalesced into a giant blade shape. Redder than Sylka's battle aura—this was fresh, seemingly pulsing blood and life.

  Sylka stood still, glaring fiercely at the blade and its wielder, his eyes seeming to drip blood.

  The elves outside the black domain were the most astonished. Almost all gasped in unison. The already thick air was now filled with this heavy scent of blood, as if everyone were in a giant pool of blood, breathing blood. Many elves vomited.

  "Such heavy evil aura. Everyone, make way." A voice, still clear and crisp despite the heavy air, came through. The elves, who had formed a tight circle outside, immediately opened a gap. From the direction of the elven city's center, two exceptionally beautiful female elves were running, led by other elves. Each held an item emitting light.

  "It's Elder Luya and Patrol Kaelin!" Many elves cheered.

  Of the two female elves, the one in elder's attire was Luya. Even among these many elves, her appearance and figure were incomparably beautiful. In her hand was the Leaves of the World Tree, radiating endless greenness and vitality.

  The other female elf beside Luya was taller and sturdier than Luya and the other elves. Even her originally delicate and refined elven face carried firmness and heroism. In her hand was a pitch-black giant bow emitting a faint black glow.

  Seeing the scene in the field—the black Necromancy domain, the horrific ground littered with elven corpses, and the two confronting figures reeking of heavy blood—they both gasped in astonishment. Especially the one called Kaelin—her eyes nearly split with rage. She stood firm, planted her feet, and drew the black great bow.

  Elven bows are usually simple, mostly wooden with little decoration. But this bow, clearly much larger than others, didn't seem to be made of wood. The pitch-black bow body emitted a strange luster, with many tiny magic runes arranged on it. The two ends met at straight angles toward the center, then indented at the grip. The bowstring didn't seem to be attached but was integral to the bow body. The entire bow emitted a faint magical aura, but this seemed different from ordinary magical equipment.

  The patrolwoman drew the bow but didn't nock an arrow. A faint green light lit up on her. Sweat beaded on her forehead, the muscles and veins on her hands bulged, but the bow was only half-drawn.

  But half-drawn was enough.

  Sylka and Ethan in the field had no time to notice this. Sylka's battle aura had intensified to its limit, his muscles swelling so much he looked like a muscular mutant.

  Ethan took a deep breath of the bloody air, leaped up, raised the eerie blood-red great blade, and bit out two words at Sylka: "Die."

  He dared leap into the air because he had sufficient confidence in this strike. This full-power downward strike from above would leave the opponent with no room to dodge or evade. He raised his blade and swung down. A giant swath of blood-red energy transformed into a ribbon, slashing toward Sylka.

  But at that moment, his body suddenly trembled. Without thinking, relying only on instinct, his body changed its movement. The originally unstoppable strike wasn't delivered but was instead pulled back beside his face.

  A louder, more forceful impact than the previous blade collision echoed. An imperceptible green light suddenly appeared, fiercely striking the blade Ethan had just raised to protect his face. The blood-red energy coalesced on the blade was shattered by this green light, turning into a sky of bloody rain.

  The blade flew from his hand, and his body rolled limply, knocked sideways by the blow, falling to the ground motionless.

  Sylka, who had been fully on guard, froze for only a moment before immediately charging toward the fallen Ethan, raising his greatsword high, laughing maniacally and roaring: "It's you who will die."