Frantically scanning his surroundings, Leo knew he had only seconds to act. His body remained stiff from the paralytic, but his hand—his last moveable part—scraped the ground, fingers desperately feeling for something, anything. Suddenly, his fingertips brushed against something sharp: broken glass.
In front of him, Aline stood, ready to claim his victory. Leo was nothing more than prey to him now, his body moments away from being harvested for the dark shape-shifting magic that Arkarr had bestowed upon him. Aline’s eyes gleamed with anticipation, but in the next instant, disbelief overtook his expression.
With a sharp, desperate motion, Leo stabbed the shard of glass into his own palm. Pain exploded in his hand, but it did what he needed—shattered the paralytic’s grip on him. His nerves screamed, but Leo forced his body to respond, rolling away and putting five meters of distance between himself and Aline. Glancing back at the wall he had been against moments before, he saw it was marred by the impact of the shadow ball.
Blood dripped from Leo’s hand as he clenched his jaw against the pain, the crimson drops staining the ground beneath him. Aline’s eyes widened, stunned by what he had just witnessed.
“You impaled yourself to escape paralysis? Are you insane?” Aline barked, his voice filled with incredulity and disgust.
Leo, panting and clutching his bleeding hand, locked eyes with his enemy. “Guess I am,” he muttered through gritted teeth, but there was a sharp edge of defiance in his voice. Leo’s hand clasped his sword, invoking its healing magic. The stiffness from the paralysis ebbed away, and the wounds on his back and hand began to mend. Aline, quick to adapt, summoned a shadowy appendage from the wall behind Leo, while his clone charged forward. Leo remained stoic, and as the shadow hand and clone converged on him, they were repelled by an invisible barrier.
Undeterred, Aline launched an acid ball with one hand and directed the clone to attack again. Leo rose to his feet, his sword emanating a brilliant golden hue. The clone dissipated into nothingness, and the acid ball splashed harmlessly against yet another shield Leo had conjured.
Aline’s voice pierced the air with urgency, “That’s four of your shields gone; only one remains.” His scream echoed, a stark reminder of the dwindling defenses.
Leo, however, seemed unfazed, his attention inward as he meticulously crafted a strategy. The thought raced through his mind, ‘My mana reserves are nearly depleted; this is my final gambit. Failure is not an option, if I fail I’ll probably die.’
As Aline prepared to launch another acid ball, his posture dripping with confidence, Leo remained calm. Without a flicker of hesitation, Leo raised his hand, palm open, pointing directly at his opponent. The gesture was deliberate, almost casual, as though he was unconcerned by the dangerous ball of acid forming in Aline’s grasp.
Aline’s lips curled into a mocking smirk, his confidence bolstered by the short distance now between them. He thought he had Leo trapped, the gap closed too tight for escape.
“Have you forgotten?” Aline sneered, his voice dripping with condescension. “Your items are useless here.”
His fingers drifted towards the ring on his hand, ready to unleash its nullifying magic once again. Leo, however, didn’t flinch. He stood firm, his eyes locked on Aline, his face unreadable. Then, in a low voice, calm and steady, Leo spoke two words that cut through the air like a blade.
“False power.”
In that single moment, Aline’s ring flickered and then failed entirely, its magic suddenly extinguished. The confident smirk on Aline’s face vanished, replaced with shock as he glanced down at the now-useless ring. His mind raced, trying to comprehend how Leo had rendered his most prized magical tool inert.
Leo didn’t waste a second. Seizing the opening, he swiftly conjured two blazing fire orbs, their heat crackling in the air as he hurled them with deadly precision towards Aline.
Aline’s shock melted into a sneer as he quickly regained his composure. “Never underestimate me, child,” he spat, his voice thick with disdain. His reflexes, honed from years of combat, kicked in immediately. With a swift motion, he countered by launching two acid orbs of his own, sending them hurtling towards Leo’s fiery projectiles.
The two forces collided in midair, and the resulting explosion was deafening. Flames and acid mixed violently, creating a thick cloud of dust and smoke that obscured the battlefield. For a brief moment, everything was shrouded in chaos, the thick veil of dust rendering both fighters invisible to one another.
Then, from the heart of that chaos, something else emerged.
A third inferno—a larger, more vicious fireball—surged through the dust, aimed directly at Aline’s head. Leo had planned this moment, anticipating Aline’s counter and biding his time. The fireball raced forward with lethal intent, a streak of searing heat cutting through the veil of dust.
But Aline was no ordinary combatant. As an E-rank, his reactions were lightning-fast. With barely a fraction of a second to spare, he conjured one final acid orb, the green liquid forming instantly in his palm. He flung it at the incoming fireball, and just as the two forces met, another explosion rocked the air.
Aline let out a cold, mirthless laugh as the aftermath settled around them. “It seems your fire orbs have been exhausted as well,”.
Emerging from the settling dust, a silhouette charged forward with relentless determination. Aline tired to use his shadow clone but the light of the sword didn’t let him. His magical items, too, were rendered inert, leaving him defenseless. The events unfolded in mere seconds, too rapid for Aline to fully grasp the gravity of his predicament. In a reflexive response, he hurled an acid orb at Leo, striking and shattering Leo’s final shield. Rage consumed Aline.
“You insufferable brat,” Aline hissed venomously, his voice seething with hatred.
With a fluid, predatory motion, Aline lunged forward, his dagger glinting in the dim light as he aimed for Leo’s chest. Metal rang sharply through the air as his dagger met the edge of Leo’s sword, the clash of steel halting the attack. Sparks flew from the impact, and the two stood locked in a brief struggle, their blades pressed against one another. Aline snarled, pushing forward with all his strength, determined to overpower his younger opponent.
Leo, though feeling the pressure of Aline’s brute force, held his ground. In his right hand, he gripped his sword tightly, muscles straining under the effort of keeping Aline at bay. But his left hand was free, and with a focused, deliberate movement, he raised it, eyes narrowing as he concentrated.
In the palm of his outstretched hand, a sphere of flames materialized—hot, bright, and swirling with raw power.
Aline’s eyes widened in shock. He had seen Leo use multiple fireballs already, and this one shouldn’t have been possible. “How?” he gasped, disbelief etched across his face. “You’ve used all your fireballs.”
Leo didn’t immediately respond, his expression unreadable for a moment. Then, a sly grin tugged at the corners of his lips, a glint of mischief flashing in his eyes. “The last one wasn’t a fireball,” he said, his tone almost playful. “It was a ball of light.”
Aline’s confusion deepened as he struggled to comprehend the trickery at play. His mind raced, and then the realization hit him—he had been deceived.
“And I am an illusionist,” Leo added, his voice low but triumphant. The fireball flickered ominously in his hand, the truth of Leo’s words dawning on Aline as the battlefield shifted from brute force to one of clever manipulation. The fireball erupted from Leo’s hand, striking Aline with force enough to send him reeling backward. Such a blast had the potential to wound even a C-ranked if struck directly at close range. Consequently, Aline was left clinging to life, prostrate and vulnerable as Leo advanced once more.
In a swift and precise strike, Leo’s sword came down upon Aline’s hand, severing his index finger along with the one adorned with the ring. Aline’s scream of agony pierced the air. Leo, mounting Aline’s back, clasped his hands together and secured them with specialized handcuffs. Despite the successful capture, Leo’s anger seethed within him; he contemplated delivering a final, fatal blow. As he positioned the sword at Aline’s neck, a distant voice interrupted the tense moment.
“Captain?” The inquiry came from Aldred, his tone laced with concern.
The sound of his name snapped Leo out of his reverie. His gaze fell upon the sword he held, a tool that had nearly claimed a life.
‘Damn this negative effect, I almost killed him.’
With a sigh of regret for the close call, he disengaged the weapon’s glowing blade and returned it to its sheath.
“I’m alright,” Leo assured, his voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through him.If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Aldred approached, his eyes scanning the aftermath of the skirmish, piecing together the narrative of battle. “Captain, where is Edric?” he inquired, a hint of urgency in his voice.
Leo felt a bead of sweat trail down his temple. “I’ve teleport him to the association,” he replied, hoping to allay any immediate concerns.
A glint of metal caught Aldred’s attention, and he stooped to retrieve a fallen dagger. “A dagger…” he murmured, examining the weapon with a mix of curiosity and awe.
“Keep watch over him until reinforcements arrive,” Leo instructed, nodding towards the incapacitated foe. “He’s severely wounded and unlikely to flee, but should he attempt anything, that dagger will ensure he remains subdued. It possesses an enchantment capable of paralysis.”
Aldred’s eyes widened, clearly unaccustomed to handling such enchanted artifacts. “Where are you going, sir?” he asked as Leo prepared to depart.
Leo recalled a line from the ‘Magic Intermediate’ book, a section detailing the minimal requirements for shapeshifting—a mere fragment of flesh. The possibility that the young girl they sought might still be alive ignited a spark of hope within him.
“I must search for someone,” Leo stated with newfound resolve. Without another word, he broke into a sprint.
…
Suspended high above the battlefield, Faleria and the five captains stood, their eyes fixed on the A-ranker before them. Despite their combined might, the prospect of victory seemed daunting.
The man before them stood with an air of nonchalance, almost inviting their assault with his stoic silence.
“I shall lead the charge,” Gerhard communicated through telepathy after a moment’s contemplation.
Gerhard, a B+ Elementalist on the cusp of ascending to A- rank, wielded a staff imbued with a focus-enhancing enchantment. This staff was essential, counteracting the focus-draining side effect of his magical rope that granted him the power of flight. With a commanding raise of his staff, flames coalesced before him, swiftly morphing into a fiery phoenix that dove towards their foe. The A-ranker, with a mere whisper of ‘ice’, conjured a chilling enchantment that materialized a wall of ice, halting the phoenix’s advance with ease. The icy barrier shattered, revealing Edmond, who soared behind it with two golden wings aglow, unleashing the full extent of his power in a coordinated strike with Gerhard. His sword radiated with a brilliant light, contrasting the dark tendrils that began to coil around the A-ranker’s blade.
Suddenly, Nora joined the aerial fray—her silver hair streaming behind her and her frosted sword shimmering in the sunlight as she flew through the sky. She moved with precision, her blade crackling with icy energy as she closed the distance to the A-ranker. The A-ranker remained undeterred. With a swift motion, his sword split into twin blades—one wreathed in shadow to meet Edmond’s radiant light, the other ablaze to clash against the freezing cold of Nora’s weapon.
The clash in mid-air was nothing short of cataclysmic. As their swords collided with full force, a massive shockwave exploded outward, rippling through the sky like the boom of thunder. The sheer force of their strike displaced the air around them, sending a gust strong enough to bend the clouds below and scatter the birds fleeing from the impact. The force even sent small trails of wind racing down towards the ground far beneath them.
Edmond’s light-infused sword sparked against the A-ranker’s shadowy blade, while Nora’s frost-covered weapon met the searing heat of his flaming sword. Ice hissed and melted into vapor where it clashed with fire, sending plumes of steam spiraling through the air. For a moment, it seemed like their combined assault would overpower him—two Paladins striking with perfect synchronization against a single opponent.
But the A-ranker remained unfazed, his strength seemingly limitless. Even in the air, where gravity had no purchase, he held his ground with ease. The shockwave dispersed, yet he stood as an immovable force, parrying their strikes with graceful, lethal efficiency.
As the battle raged in the sky, another threat loomed from above. Emma descended swiftly from a higher altitude, her body angled for a perfect strike. Her right hand glowed with an intense golden light, transforming into a massive, radiant fist—a testament to her skill as a Paladin specializing in hand-to-hand combat. With a roar of determination, she aimed directly for the A-ranker’s exposed back.
But just as Emma’s golden fist was about to connect, the A-ranker vanished, dissolving into thin air with a sudden, unnatural speed. A split second later, he reappeared high above them, inverted and floating upside down as if the sky was his domain. His casual posture was a stark contrast to the ferocity of the battle, his gaze now focused on the clouds above rather than his enemies below.
"Do all of you Paladin captains resort to hostility without reason?" he asked, his voice cold but laced with mockery. The question echoed eerily in the vast sky, a taunt that carried on the wind as his inverted form hung above them, seemingly untouchable.
Edmond, taking the lead, responded with a mix of indignation and resolve. “An intruder of A-rank power breaches our city, and you expect a cordial invitation for tea?”
The A-ranker’s eyebrow arched in feigned surprise. “Oh, how impolite of me. My apologies. I am Kenneth Randall,” he introduced himself with a courteous nod.
Edmond maintained his combative posture, unswayed by the introduction. “And what, Mr. Randall, is the purpose of your uninvited visit?”
Kenneth’s expression turned serious, his smile fading into a businesslike demeanor. “I seek a particular artifact from your church. Hand it over willingly, and I assure you, no harm will come to anyone.”
Edmond’s stance hardened, his voice resolute. “That is something we cannot concede.”
Kenneth’s smile returned, a knowing glint in his eye. “As expected. Then let us not prolong this encounter any further.”
Kenneth’s presence unleashed an overwhelming aura, so potent that it compelled each of the captains to unleash their full power in response. With a grand gesture, Kenneth spread his arms wide. From the heavens descended five pristine white chairs, carved from stone, followed by a platform upon which they rested. The atmosphere thrummed with the palpable pulsations of mana.
Edmond’s eyes widened with recognition. Among the captains, only he and one other had witnessed such a spectacle before. It was a domain, a space conjured by those of A rank or higher, a personal dimension they could call upon in dire times. Yet, for an A-ranker to summon their domain into the physical realm was unheard of; such a feat was reserved for those of A3 rank or greater. For below this rank their only option was to trick the person into their domain were they are like gods. Was he an A3 and above?
Gerhard, the only other captain who had seen a domain, shared Edmond’s look of shock and anxiety. If Kenneth truly stood among the ranks of A3, their chances of victory were slim. Last time, they had been mere spectators; now, they faced the daunting task of combating this formidable enemy.
Upon the chairs sat five figures, each a mirror image of Kenneth, adding to the surreal nature of the scene.
Kenneth’s voice carried a mocking tone as he addressed the imbalance of their numbers. “Six against one hardly seems fair. Let’s even the odds, shall we? Six against six.”
As the figures rose from their seats, Kenneth declared, “They are each enchanted with a fragment of my essence.”
A surge of mana radiated from the six Kenneths, a force so intense it could extinguish the life of anyone below D rank with its sheer power.
“Cirnath!” Edmond’s cry cut through the tension, a call to action in the face of overwhelming odds.
“I know” Cirnath, thrust his hand skyward, conjuring a vast magical circle that shimmered beneath him. A luminous platform, crafted from pure light, unfurled across the city’s expanse, shielding it from the impending mana storm. The wave of mana crashed against the barrier, dissipating upon impact. Cirnath, drenched in perspiration, had expended a staggering eighty percent of his mana reserves. With urgency, he retrieved a mana potion from his satchel and consumed it, replenishing his dwindling energy.
Kenneth, with an air of anticipation, declared, “Now that our stage is set, shall we commence?” No sooner had he spoken than the five clones surged forward in a relentless charge. Cirnath, a priest whose role was to bolster his allies, watched as the four captains and Faleria sprang into action to confront the onslaught. Meanwhile, the true Kenneth remained a passive spectator, observing the fray with keen interest.
Edmond engaged one of the clones, his sword cloaked in a veil of shadows. Kenneth’s own blade was a magic item, a magical artifact capable of morphing into any form. Empowered by the wilder’s enchantment, it adapted to any situation, rendering Kenneth’s defense impenetrable and his offense precise. To Edmond and Nora, it presented itself as a sword; to Faleria and Emma, a gauntlet; and to Gerhard, a staff.
From his vantage point, Cirnath wove a tapestry of buff spells, bolstering his comrades with a myriad of enhancements. Though the clones paled in comparison to Kenneth’s true might, they still posed a formidable challenge to those of B rank.
To the left, Gerhard found himself locked in a relentless magical duel, each of his attacks effortlessly countered by the enchanter before him. His opponent moved with chilling precision, manipulating the elements with nothing more than a whisper of enchantment. Gerhard’s fireballs fizzled into steam against sudden walls of ice; his conjured tornadoes unraveled by opposing gusts. Yet Gerhard, poised at the edge of A-rank mastery, would not falter so easily. Unlike many mages, he could cast multiple spells simultaneously, a rarity among even the most skilled. With a flourish of his staff, he summoned five stones that floated above him, igniting into blazing spheres of molten magma. As he prepared to conjure a storm, Emma''s urgent voice cut through the din of battle, sharp with warning: "Gerhard, be careful!"
The momentary distraction was enough. Gerhard barely turned in time to see another of Kenneth''s clones springing at him from the side, its blade aimed for his heart. Realization hit swiftly—the real Kenneth’s assault on Emma had freed one of the clones. Worse still, the enchanter had cast "Vibrations," an enchantment that severed their telepathic link, leaving the captains isolated in the chaos.
With no time to strategize, Gerhard snapped the five molten stones into a defensive formation, drawing them together into a heated shield. The clone’s blade glanced off the superheated surface with a screech. Gerhard then glimpsed a far graver threat—his own clone advancing on Cirnath, the priest. Still recovering from an earlier spell, Cirnath stood defenseless, ripe for an easy kill.
Kenneth’s smile was one of triumph, his eyes glinting as his blade drew nearer to Cirnath. But the victory he anticipated never arrived. Just as his sword was about to pierce the priest, a flash of silver cut through the battlefield—Edmond’s blade. Edmond had teleported with perfect timing, his glove allowing him to intercept the strike and deliver a killing blow to the clone.
Across the battlefield, the clone dueling with Edmond faltered, its movements staggering. Edmond wasted no time. He spun on his heel and cast his eyes toward the clone near Gerhard. With a decisive gesture, he whispered a single word, "Dispel."
The ice surrounding the clone’s weapon dissolved instantly, and as it reached for the molten barrier, its hand plunged into the scorching magma. Gerhard seized the moment. Raising his staff high, his mana surged wildly, and five swirling portals erupted around the clone.
“Chains of Hell,” he whispered, his voice low but reverberating with power.
From each portal shot forth chains wreathed in fire, coiling around the clone with the speed of a serpent’s strike. Ten chains per portal bound the creature in a blazing sphere of searing heat. Gerhard grabbed the lead chain and pulled with all his might, causing the inferno to constrict violently. The clone barely had time to scream before it was incinerated, obliterated by the crushing force.
For a moment, victory seemed at hand. Gerhard let out a breath, his body pulsing with the thrill of triumph—until a scream, raw and agonized, ripped through the air. Both he and Edmond turned, their faces draining of color as they saw Faleria plummeting to the ground below, a savage wound carved across her chest, her blood spilling into the sky.
Their moment of victory had been shattered.