"Tsk, they flee so quickly."
Caesar's dragon fangs still bore the embers of flames, his involvement with the solar elemental power now a practiced skill, consuming little of his vitality. Without impairing his combat capabilities, he could unleash two or three more of such destructive dragon breaths, each more potent than a standard Red Dragon's exhalation.
However, the adversary was a nimble High Paladin, unlike the mindless Blazebull - large magical creatures incapable of pre-empting attacks. Caesar had never intended to slay the formidable High Paladin with a single breath; such expectations were fanciful. His goal was to repel the foe, to induce wariness of his devastating breath and prevent them from pestering him persistently like glue.
In the blink of an eye, with Zephyr's gaze burning furiously upon him, the mighty dragon shifted his target. Propelled by his wings, he tore through the human ranks, now charging at the spellcasters with ferocious intent.
Caesar recognized where this battle's fulcrum lay - the spellcasters must die!
The army mages, quick to respond, hurled a barrage of lower and fewer middle-tier spells, causing Caesar enough pain that he gritted his fangs, scales shattered by the onslaught. Though lower-tier spells were generally manageable, a multitude could inflict torment. Caesar's magical resistance was only marginally superior to a juvenile Red Dragon's, and the damage from these middle-tier spells was on par with the slashes of Zephyr's magical greatsword.
Eschewing further use of his powerful breath, Caesar knew that while it favored targets of immense size, indiscriminately striking all, spellcasters proved more elusive than brawny warriors. Though aerial magic was hampered by an aerial lock, spellcasters could still manipulate mana to open fissures, casting group levitation spells to dodge the dreadful breaths.
If his attacks missed, he'd merely waste energy.
Crimson elemental radiance flickered across his form as the golden glow subsided to reveal a formidable, crimson dragon, its deep red scales radiant with an incandescent sheen.
Sixth-Ring Spell: Fire Resistance Halo!
Sixth-Ring Spell: Exploding Fireball!
Sixth-Ring Spell: Flame Wall!
...
Masterful command over fire elements permitted Caesar to condense spells requiring extensive incantations into seemingly spontaneous eruptions of power. His Red Dragon's vast magical reserves were ample for a full volley of Sixth-Ring pyrokinetic spells.
Unlike breath weapons, spells wielded through mental command far surpassed in flexibility. They locked onto targets more reliably, for few creatures could preempt attacks through sheer instinct, as the Ferocious White Tiger did.
Confronted with the Red Dragon Mage's counterassault, the magical practitioners paled spectacularly.
"This is preposterous!"
To think a dragon, a being not particularly affectionate towards spellcasting, achieved instant casting of middle-tier spells was staggering to these mages who'd dedicated decades to arcane research.
Outmatched, the spellcasters lacked the time for defences as formidable spells loomed imminently.
Amidst shields forcibly conjured by the lower-tier practitioners, an elder mage versed in protective sorcery launched a Fifth-Ring spell: Magical Defense Field!
An intangible shield rose up, cobbling the mages' mana together just long enough to stave off the onslaught of potent spells.
But time was scarce, and a repeat performance impossible.
Could a single Fifth-Ring spell withstand this myriad of middle-ring spells?
The answer was a resolute no.
In the prime material world, pyrokinetic magic was dominant for its destructive prowess and lethality, unrivalled among combat disciplines.
Boom!
Bathed in a volley of fiery spells, the heat wave initially stalled by the Magical Defense Field blossomed into a spectacular inferno.
Caught off-guard, nearly all the low-tier spellcasters perished.
Had it not been for the Fifth-Ring shield providing a moment's respite, even the middle-tier mages would've hardly survived the conflagration. Their magical equipment was now utterly spent.
Magic could spawn marvels, yet equally obliterate them.
As his comrades were decimated around him, Zephyr's closest ally, a Westward diviner named Rels, perished, devoid of any sufficient protective measures.
"The accursed wyrm!"
Driven to the brink, Zephyr's composure spiraled into fury, helpless as Caesar decimated his legion and slew a dear friend, his own prowess seemingly futile.
Determination now surfaced.
If he harbored any dread of the dragon's fiery maw, he, and his entire cohort, would succumb to Karl Mountains, a grave littered with beasts.
In a rush, the power of the Holy Light ignited upon him, no longer discernibly human, transformed into a remorseless slaughter machine. This esoteric technique imparted by Duke Cassius had aided him time and again, steering him back to the precipice of victory. However, Zephyr failed to notice the Holy Light's luster waning, interwoven with shadow, fading into a delicate grey.
"Resorting to desperation, are we?" Caesar opted not to slay the remaining mages, his gaze fixated instead on the sole exalted creature, the High Paladin at the zenith of Eighth-Ring existence. Suddenly, a malevolent scent caught his attention, a sharp tang unique to draconic keenness, an aroma unbefitting pure Holy Light.
Elsewhere, bereft of magical support, Zephyr's six lieutenants, each a Sixth-Ring human warrior, swiftly buckled under the coordinated assaults of Sylvana and the Ferocious White Tiger, bleeding and beleaguered.
Before reaching the legendary echelon, human warriors, sans spellcasters, generally succumbed to larger creatures despite equal standing. The tale differed for rare melee prodigies in grand magical empires, but such talent seldom graced the lesser battlefields.
In auxiliary skirmishes, the monstrous legion, aided by the fire lizards' onslaught, gradually gained supremacy, the tide seemingly turned in their favor.