The battlefield was a cacophony of sounds—screams, the ringing of steel against steel, and the guttural cries of goblins that cut through the air like a blade. Nemir’s sword felt heavy in his grip, each swing sending jolts up his arm as it carved through flesh and bone.

  Yet he’d never felt stronger.

  The Stormbreaker Greatsword reaped a life with each strike, the blade crackling with lightning as it did so. While his armor—the gleaming silver plate that could have been a family heirloom for most, the one his friend had so casually gifted to him—protected him from retaliation.

  [Guardian’s Fortitude] was not an enchantment he’d heard off before, but at this moment, he didn’t know how he’d lived without it for so long.

  Nemir was a bulwark, firm and unyielding. Standing against the tide that threatened to overwhelm them. Nothing—and no one—would move him. Not unless he wanted it.

  While he held the line, he could hear the frantic shouts of adventurers around him—men and women, doing all in their power to hold their weapons steady. Their movements were disjointed, unaccustomed to fighting with anyone other than their teams. And against this tide, it was clear who would falter first.

  “Nem, left!” he heard Omi call out from behind, and without so much as glancing in the direction, he struck.

  His sword cleaved through a goblin’s skull, its muscles spasming as lightning scorched its brain.

  Looking around, Nemir couldn’t feel his anxiety rising. His team was doing amazing, they were carving through the seemingly endless enemies like a sickle through wheat, but not everyone could say the same.

  Nemir’s arms were starting to ache, each swing taking just the slightest bit more effort. The weight of battle was something he was accustomed too, but it had come quicker than he’d hoped.

  Guildmistress Quinea had tasked them with being the linchpin in the assembled Iron-rank’s formation. Yet there were hundreds of goblins, and only five of them.

  I hope they’re quick, he thought, his gauntleted fist cracking a leaping goblin across the face before an arrow pierced its throat.

  There wasn’t even enough time to shoot a grateful glance towards Silvia before another monster appeared in front of him. So Nemir moved, and he fought, and he killed.

  He could see the Silver-ranks in the center of their formation, their Aura’s illuminating the air around them as the sound of crashing steel and breaking bones echoed through the clearing.

  Nemir wanted nothing more than to join them, to test out his newfound strength against worthwhile opponents, but he knew he couldn’t do that. His task was to hold their flanks, to stop them from being overrun, nothing more.

  Name: Namir Al’kalat

  Title: 4th Heir (Count)

  Body: Iron V [15 Levels]

  Skills: [Rending Cleave] (Adept), [Sweeping Slash] (Adept), [Relentless Assault] (Adept),

  [Deflect] (Adept), [Battle Roar] (Initiate), [Earthshatter] (Initiate),

  [Battle Trance] (Initiate), [Overpowering Strike] (Initiate), [Unyielding Wall] (Initiate)

  Core: N/A

  Level: 15

  Strength: 60

  Dexterity: 30

  Vitality: 31

  Intelligence: 2

  Willpower: 2

  Focus: 15

  I wouldn’t mind a few more points in Vitality right about now, he thought, deflecting a thrust aimed at his stomach, cleaving another goblins body in half.

  The battle had been going on for less than ten minutes, and he could already feel the fatigue creeping up on him. He’d been using his skills liberally, forcing himself to fight at the peak of his capabilities. But even that wasn’t enough to save everyone.

  Off to the side, a spearman was getting overwhelmed, and their opponents took notice. They rushed at the tired adventurer—barely a man grown—and an errant thrust took him in the knee.

  An anguished scream tore from his throat and Nemir pushed his body to its limit, letting out a [Battle Roar] that stunned the monsters followed by an [Earthshatter]. It took barely a few seconds to clear them all, yet even that was too slow.

  He forced himself to look at the glazed eyes of the man lying beneath his feet, a dagger thrust through his chest.

  It wasn’t the first death of the day, and it wouldn’t be the last.

  Nemir memorized the man’s features, vowing to learn his name when the battle was won. The same vow he’d made far too many times already.

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  But there was nothing more he could do right now. All that was left was to move, to fight, and to kill.

  .

  .

  .

  Huon was afraid. Afraid for himself, afraid for his brother, and afraid for his master.

  Yet he couldn’t let it show. He couldn’t let that looming specter of death slow him down. Each spell that flew towards them was a battle in and off itself. And while they weren’t winning, they weren’t losing either.

  Huon couldn’t see his master, but he knew he was off to the side, trading spells with the Warlock. Each one intended to kill.

  The [Blizzard] fought against the [Dust Storm] with furious intensity, threatening destruction if either got too close. [Ice Spear]’s were absorbed by risen Earth, and [Dust Blade]’s were deflected by gusts of chilled Wind.

  Even though Huon trusted his master, it was hard not to keep glancing at the maelstrom of death. A single mistake from either of the two powerhouses would spell the end for their forces. Be it shamans or mages.

  “Focus!” mage Velora bellowed, raising a wall of Water to defend against a [Firebolt]. “Hold the line! Do not let them threaten our troops!”

  Huon’s heart beat rapidly in his chest, his hands clammy. This was nothing like the spars he loved. There was no strategy, no artistry. Just pure chaos.

  The goblin shamans were just a stone’s throw away. Their scarred skin and beady eyes visible in the few moments when spells weren’t flying.

  “Brother, below!” Tion shouted, his [Water Whip]’s slicing a [Firebolt] from the air.

  Huon nodded, his instincts kicking in. [Stone Sense] activated and he pushed his perception as far as it could go, piercing through the ground and across the divide between their forces. He sensed something moving rapidly towards their position. Without thinking, he clamped down on the earth around it, smothering the spell before it could reach them.

  A shaman snarled in frustration somewhere further away, but even though he’d successfully prevented the attack, Huon didn’t feel like he'd accomplished much.

  Each spell they deflected was soon replaced by another. Like an endless avalanche. They were evenly matched against their opponents, but Huon knew it wouldn’t stay that way for long.

  There were only nine of them, while the shamans numbered more than a dozen. They were tasked with holding the line until their elites dealt with the real threats. Quinea and the Warchief, Tremil and the Warlock, and finally, Jamis and the apprentice.

  I’m using too much mana, Huon realized. If I keep on like this, I have another ten minutes in me. And after that…

  He didn't want to think about it. That way lay doubt and hesitation. All he could do was trust in the plan.

  Sending another [Rock Shot] at the shamans, Huon glanced towards the camp and the towering tent in the middle. He could see the golden glow of the Guildmistress Aura, and a little ways away, there was the telltale sign of a mage duel in progress.

  I just hope they’re quick, he thought and refocused on the task at hand.

  .

  .

  .

  A dome of Earth erupted from the ground, rising rapidly to intercept Rowan’s [Fireball]. It exploded with a loud boom, shaking the ground and rustling the nearby tents. Yet the apprentice’s shield stood unaffected.

  Strangely, seeing this, he felt a calm wash over him. He’d done everything he could to prepare for this upcoming battle. His reserves were full and his spells were ready. Now all that was left to do was perform.

  He’s a Yellow-core mage, so his spells are naturally going to pack a punch. But I doubt he’s going to have a lot of them this soon.

  Quinea’s reports said that the apprentice was at the peak of Orange, meaning he couldn’t have had the time to master all that many of them.

  His mana pool for Dust is going to be small. He’s going to try and use it to get a killing blow in.

  Just as he thought that, a [Rock Shot] flew towards him, almost faster than the eye could follow. Rowan threw himself out of the way, [Tailwind] giving him just barely enough speed to successfully dodge.

  Conserve your mana, he told himself. Use your speed.

  Rushing to the side, Rowan started casting [Firebolt]'s, pushing [Iron Will] as far as it could go. Both of his hands worked rapidly, throwing out spell after spell, forcing the apprentice to keep his shield up.

  I’ll need a Wind spell to get through that dome. Fire isn’t going to cut it.

  But to do that, he’d need to get close. Something he’d rather avoid when fighting a Dust mage.

  Suddenly, a loud screech interrupted his thoughts and Rowan was reminded that they were in the middle of a warcamp. Looking up, he was greeted by the sight of a goblin throwing itself off a tent, its spear pointed downwards—straight at him.

  [Tailwind] and his inherent Dexterity were more than enough to dodge out of the way, but doing that would have led to other problems. Mainly, being overwhelmed by sheer numbers. The last thing Rowan wanted was to give the apprentice time to cast while he dealt with the lesser goblins closing in.

  Holding [Tailwind] was quickly draining his lackluster Wind reserves, and on top of that it was slowing down his other castings. Making a decision, Rowan dropped the spell and replaced it with a [Burning Whip], smashing the falling goblin out of the air.

  The monster howled in pain as the fiery appendage wrapped around its leg, throwing it straight at the apprentice. It impacted the stone dome with a sickening crunch, its neck breaking, cutting off the screams.

  His opponent didn’t seem to care in the slightest. Eight spikes grew from its dome, each one stronger than Rowan’s [Firebolt]. It launched them at him with frightening speed and he was forced to erect a [Fire Shield].

  He crouched down and made himself as small as possible, lowering the cost as far as it could go. Mana churned throughout his body as a blanket of flame appeared in front of him. Three [Earth Spike]’s hit it moments later, and Rowan grunted from the force of the impact.

  Even at a distance, a Yellow-core mage’s Intent was inherently stronger. It had a weight behind it that his skill barely matched. There were ways to get around that, but they came at a cost.

  A dull thud came from behind him and Rowan glanced back, seeing a goblin with a hole in its chest.

  The apprentice had no regard for its companions, seemingly only caring about dealing with the threat in front of it, no matter the collateral damage.

  Feeling the earth rumbling beneath his feet, Rowan jumped to the side, dodging an attack from below. A tentacle pierced through the ground right where he stood just moments ago, whirling towards him.

  His [Burning Whip] met it, clashing with the apprentice's spell as it tried to get a hold of him. And for the first time since the fight began, Rowan came out ahead.

  He’d mastered that spell to a degree few at his level could hope to match. It wrapped around the tentacle of Earth and squeezed, easily extinguishing the goblin’s Intent.

  A frustrated snarl was his response, and he answered it with a [Fireball].

  The spell erupted against the earthen dome, the explosion strong enough to blow away the tents around them and loud enough to deafen.

  But it also had an unintended consequence. One that caused Rowan’s eyes to widen in alarm.

  It kicked up the dust covering the sun-baked earth. Dust the apprentice could control.

  His hand twitched as he prepared to cast an empowered [Gust], but he stopped himself. He’d need his Wind mana later, and if he used it right now, the dome protecting the apprentice might as well be made of adamant.

  So instead, he quickly cast a [Fire Shield] again, covering his whole body just as the Dust started swirling ominously around him.

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