Niccolev kept his gaze on the ratfolk spellcaster moving through the crowd. The mere sight filled him with concern. What disturbed her was not the burning red eyes or the way his fur stood on end, but the power he obviously carried within himself.
Niccolev's senses, tuned to perceive magical emanations, could see that the being was charged with magical energy. She herself was well versed in the arcane arts to understand that there was something deeply supernatural about this ratfolk. No ordinary living creature should be able to wield or contain such power without suffering the consequences. An ordinary individual would have to be blown to pieces by the tremendous energy churning inside his body.
"How could he have acquired such power?" Niccolev wondered. Most of the individuals that existed had a level between 1 to 5; only the most talented, outstanding, or those who manage to accumulate enough experience would be able to overcome the level 5 barrier. Heroes, for example, had a level that was around level 10.
Perhaps the ratfolk power the ratfolk was manifesting wasn't his own power. His slurred speech and jerky jerky movements undoubtedly suggested that something was wrong with his body; possibly consumed large amounts of manastone to achieve a level of mana similar to a level 10 wizard. The way his whiskers twitched and the way he shook his head suggested that he was in the terminal phase of some deadly addiction; of that, there was no doubt. The way she had nonchalantly annihilated all who did not answer her questions satisfactorily clearly confirmed the suspicion.
He could have tried to cast a counterspell, but she didn't even try. Niccolev was certain that she would lose any magical duel with this wererat, and that attracting her attention would have fatal consequences. Though she somehow managed to stop the ratfolk spellcaster, her black-armored footmen filled the hall. If the ratfolk uttered a single word, she would surely be torn to pieces with those cruel weapons.
Niccolev had done nothing and half a dozen people had died. She admired what the obese human had done, the way the madman had defied the ratfolk before he died.
The doctor in him was appalled that she had done nothing to prevent such loss of life. Then it was Emilia herself who was in danger, willing to give her life to save those of her subjects. Niccolev would intervene if the ratfolk attacked again. There would be no more magical murders if she could stop them.
The spellcaster consumed substances to reach level 10 artificially; Niccolev was a true level 10, with all that that implied.
♦ ♦ ♦
"I won't do anything like that." Emilia declared with a trembling voice. "I would rather die than order my soldiers to surrender to you disgusting vermin."
"Stupid breeding bitch; that's exactly what you're going to do. If you defy me…!" Dhalthar said, raising one forepaw as magical energy manifested around it, menacing.
The breeding female flinched slightly, but she neither moved nor opened her mouth. Dhalthar wondered if there was a way around this cul-de-sac. He mentally cursed himself for never learning a mind manipulation spell.
Perhaps if he ordered some of the humans to be tortured before her eyes, he would weaken her. Dhalthar's experiments had led him to believe that such a course of action often worked. Yes, that would do!
Then, somewhere in the ballroom, he felt the slow gathering of magical energies. It wasn't Ratfolk magical energies at all; he should be the only spellcaster. He too heard footsteps running towards him, and he turned his head to see where they were coming from.
"Well, well, what do we have here?" said a harsh voice, rasping like two rocks rubbed against each other, and it plunged into Dhalthar's heart like a knife. "Looks like we've arrived just in time to kill a few rats."
Dhalthar suppressed the urge to secrete the musk of fear, for he knew that voice, harsh and hard as flinty! The Black Magician jerked his head to the side, just to confirm his worst fears, and he saw they were true. Standing at the entrance to the room were the dark armored warrior Frey and the fearsome Elysia, and behind them was a seething mass of human soldiers.
♦ ♦ ♦
Dhalthar let out a bellow of frustration and anger. He reached deep into his corrupted soul and unleashed all of his deadly power against enemies in a single mighty bolt.
Elysia braced herself to jump to the side as she saw the midnight black bolt form around the Black Magician's foreleg. The nimbus of evil magic power that encircled the ratman's head was so bright that it was nearly impossible to look at.
Frey remained where he was, undaunted, seemingly completely unruffled by the huge bolt of destructive power that was suddenly hurled straight at him.
There was a tremendous flash and a crash, as the rumbling noise of thunder cracked overhead and the smell of burning metal filled the air. Elysia was dimly aware that two bolts of energy had shot from the Black Magician's paw, one aimed at her and the other at Frey. She closed her eyes and awaited the death that she did not doubt that she would befall her.
But instead of the expected burst of incredible pain, she felt nothing more than a soft tingle on her skin, as the fur on her tail began to stand on end. She opened her eyes and saw that she was surrounded by a field of golden energy. Long lines of the color of gold ran from the aura that surrounded her to the hands of Doctor Niccolev, in whose eyes the effort she had to make was evident. Although she was grateful that the doctor had saved her life, she knew that she would not be able to hold out for long against the storm of magical power that surrounded them.
On the other hand, Frey stood firmly and threateningly, it seemed as if he had not received any damage. Elysia was surprised by the great resistance to magic that the dark hero had.
"Is that the best you can do?" Frey bellowed. "Rat man, your life is over!"
The dark hero charged through the halo of lightning energy, and Elysia went after him.
♦ ♦ ♦
"Nope! Nope!" thought the Black Magician Dhalthar, panicked as he saw his two enemies running towards him.
This was not happening! How was it possible? How could that pair appear to thwart his plans at the hour of his triumph? What evil deity was protecting them and keeping them alive so that they would interfere with their plans again and again?
He bared his fangs with a grimace and continued to hurl destructive spells at the spinning golden shield that loomed between the female Elysia and the destruction. He could already feel himself beginning to sag under the relentless pressure of his magical energy.
But the dark warrior was a different case, his apparent resistance to magic seemed limitless. No matter how much magical power Dhalthar used, the dark warrior's defenses would not budge, it was as if Frey himself was a miniature anti-magic field. But it was impossible to maintain an anti-magic field indefinitely, it had to have a limit. A limit that Dhalthar would discover and overcome.
Unfortunately, he wasn't giving in fast enough. With the speed with which the female and the armored warrior closed the gap between them, they would catch up with Dhalthar before he could tear the flesh from their bones. He growled an imprecation and held back the spell, knowing that more than magic was needed then.
"Hurry! Hurry!" he ordered the elite warriors from him. "Kill them! Now! Now!"
With visible reluctance, the elite warriors advanced to attack. They had heard of that couple. Tales of the destruction they had wrought among the ratfolks were legend to the army ravaging Bergheim, and their very presence was demoralizing to Dhalthar's soldiers.
The way the dark warrior decapitated the experienced group leader as if he were a mere pup did little to boost their morale, nor did they find much encouragement from the howling tide of angry humans that flooded the ballroom. Dhalthar felt that the morale of his troops was about to collapse.
Quickly weighing the odds of victory, he saw that his moment had passed and triumph had slipped from his grasp.
The time had come to calculate his chances of survival. He realized that if he left while his soldiers slowed their pursuit, he would have a chance to get to the toilet. Once there, he could use the spy gem to open a door back to the sewers.
Of course, since his power had waned then, he wouldn't have the strength to hold the portal open for all of his warriors to pass through. In fact, he doubted more than one lone ratfolk could pass through it.
However, he knew that the legend of the great Black Magician Dhalthar must be preserved. He would return another time to take revenge.
"Forward, my brave elite warriors, towards the inevitable victory!" Dhalthar yelled before turning and running with all his might. He didn't need his spellcaste intuition to know that the slaughter he left behind would be carried out by only one side and would prove ruthless.