Chapter 401: Sorcerer?

CH401 Sorcerer?

***

Ten Fury soldiers charged headlong into the remaining militia ranks.

Even though the militia force had been reduced to its elite (class-0) fighters and barely ten Bronze-rankers (Class 1)—all under the command of their Silver-ranked deputy commander—they still couldn’t bring down a single Fury soldier.

Each Fury soldier was an Intermediate-rank soldier, armed and armoured with equipment far superior to anything in Barnsil. Their technique, footwork and discipline also outstripped the militia by leagues.

Though they cut down only a few militia members in the opening exchange, they achieved their true goal—drawing attention and buying precious seconds for the spellcasters behind them.

"Pull back now."

Alex’s voice echoed crisply through their comms earpiece artefacts.

Without hesitation, the Fury soldiers disengaged.

[Slow]! [Weak Joints]! [Blindness]!

Mordor’s trio of hexes descended like a curse-laden fog, causing sluggishness and disorientation to grip the militia.

The sudden disruption opened a clean gap for the Fury soldiers to withdraw safely.

The moment distance was secured, the spellcasters struck.

[Mana Ball]! [Icicle Barrage]! [Ice Breath]!

Zora’s [Icicle Barrage] arrived first—dozens of ice projectiles whistling through the night. The Silver-ranked deputy commander surged forward, Bronze-rankers clustering behind him as they intercepted the barrage with coordinated strikes.

The icicles shattered, spraying razor-sharp frost and a chilling mist across the battlefield.

Fen’s [Ice Breath] followed immediately, the wolf’s frosty breath curling around the scattered chill. In an instant, the frost coalesced, freezing the feet and lower legs of scores of militia in place.

Then Alex’s spell landed.

A compact orb of violent mana exploded in the midst of the immobilised soldiers.

Alex had intentionally abandoned the fiery [Fireball] variant; the flash of a fire explosion could catch the eye of sentries atop the fortress walls.

Even heavily overcharged, Mana Ball was still a Grade 1 spell.

It tore through the weaker militia members, shredding their formation, but it lacked the sheer destructive force to outright kill the Silver-ranked deputy commander nor his Bronze-ranked subordinates.

His elite militia, however, were another story entirely.

While the professional Bronze and Silver ranks managed to shield themselves with their defensive Aura coatings, the elite militia—though stronger than ordinary humans but still fundamentally unawakened—stood no chance.

Between Zora’s barrage and Fen’s frost, they were already faltering.

Alex’s Mana Ball simply tore through what remained of their resistance, ripping bodies apart with a blast violent mana.

Yet the deputy commander and his remaining subordinates had no time to mourn their fallen.

As the dust of Alex’s spell dispersed, the Fury soldiers were already upon them.

Now it was their turn to dominate.

Ten Intermediate-rank Fury soldiers descended on the Silver-ranked deputy commander and his eight Bronze-ranked officers.

There was no suspense.

The Furies cut them down with clinical precision—focusing first on the deputy commander, overwhelming him with coordinated attacks before turning as one to finish the remaining Bronze ranks in swift, brutal succession.

"Stay still, you rats!"

At that exact moment, Alex’s other team arrived—dragging Captain Kunut and his four remaining Silver-ranked officers into the clearing.

The five Verdantian officers watched, helpless, as the last of their elite militia and Bronze ranks were slaughtered before their eyes.

Then, as though on cue, Alex’s followers halted their retreat and turned crisply to face the final five militia leaders.

Captain Kunut shifted his gaze towards Alex. Behind Alex, Eleanor’s hands glowed softly as she cycled healing and recovery spells, restoring every expedition member to peak condition.

The Gold-rank captain’s expression darkened.

Realisation—grim and bitter—dawned over him.

"You’re... sorcerers!" he spat, teeth grinding.

’Sorcerers? Is that what mages are called here?’ Alex wondered, mildly amused.

"You’re a sorcerer—and this is the coward’s game you play?! Where is your pride?!"

Captain Kunut raged, voice sharp with indignation.

’Are mages in this world prideful fools?’ Alex mused again.

He shook his head, eyes focusing on the captain.

Even cornered, bloodied, and outmatched, the man clearly had no intention of surrendering.

So, Alex gave the order.

"Finish him."

Swsssh!

Silver—who had been waiting patiently within the shadows—released her arrow.

It streaked through the darkness like a silver comet, flying straight for Captain Kunut.

The Gold-rank captain instinctively roused his Aura and swung to parry—a fatal mistake.

The force behind Silver’s shot punched straight through his defence, pierced cleanly into his chest, and buried itself in his heart.

Captain Kunut—the militia’s pillar—collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, dead before he hit the ground.

Not to be outdone, Kavakan, Mogal and Havel moved the very next heartbeat.

Kavakan roared, hurling one of his twin axes.

The weapon spun wildly through the air, struck a Silver-rank square in the skull—splitting his head cleanly in half—before embedding itself deep into the ground behind him.

Mogal’s fists blurred. Rapid-fire air punches slammed into another Silver ranker, pulverising bone and flesh with each compressed strike.

Click.

A gentle sound, almost delicate.

Havel’s sword vanished from its sheath.

A breath later, the head of a third Silver rank rolled across the dirt.

The last remaining Silver rank dropped onto his backside as the broken corpses of his comrades toppled around him.

He pissed himself.

"P-Please... don’t kill me. Please! Don’t kill me!" he begged, addressing Alex with frantic desperation.

But Alex only shook his head.

"I already gave you a chance," he replied calmly. "And you spat on it."

The man had been the loudest to reject Alex’s offer... and the loudest to curse him.

Perhaps, if he had held his tongue, Captain Kunut might have read the situation better. But it was too late for what-ifs.

"Kill him."

Alex delivered his final verdict.

Kavakan’s grin widened.

His remaining axe rose skyward—then came down in a brutal arc, ending the man’s life in one clean, ruthless stroke.

With that, the militia camp was completely wiped out.

But the night was far from over.

The expedition slowly turned their eyes toward the looming shadow of the fortress—their true target.

Whistle!

Alex whistled sharply.

Dread, leading the expedition group’s horses, thundered into the camp. One by one, the group mounted up.

Galloping through the outskirts of lower Barnsil, they rode under the cover of darkness—towards the fortress.

****