Moments earlier, on the Sea of Mist.
A burly man gripped his longsword tightly, poised to strike down on Laud, but at the critical moment, the blade hesitated mid-air. His once fierce expression turned to one of deep conflict as he cautiously asked, "Mr. Laud, do I really have to cut it?"
"Stop dawdling and do it!" Crippled Laud snarled through gritted teeth, thrusting his right hand forward, revealing a conspicuous flame mark on the back.
As he gave the order, a pang of dread shot through him, but he knew there was no other choice.
From the outset, he had little faith in the bold and reckless rescue plan of a certain sorcerer. So, when the chaos erupted in Port Town, and the meticulously crafted plan unraveled before it even began, Laud immediately deduced that the sorcerers left in the town were as good as dead.
Thus, without hesitation, he seized the opportunity amidst the turmoil, gathered his men, and fled.
The Church, having focused all its efforts on Lynn and his companions, had left them an opening. They easily commandeered a ship, loaded it with whatever valuables they could carry, and made their escape from the port.
Laud's only lingering fear was the flame mark on his hand. If that sorcerer realized he had fled in the face of danger, he might drag Laud to hell with him in his final moments.
Not well-versed in magic, Laud's only solution was to cut off the marked hand.
The muscular man's hand trembled, unable to bring the blade down. Laud, growing increasingly anxious, finally snatched the sword from him. He couldn't bear the hesitation any longer—he would do it himself!
"Boss, a signal! There's a signal!"
A sailor at the bow shouted, snapping Laud's attention skyward. A fireball had risen from the port, exploding in the night sky.
Laud was surprised. He had assumed that the cunning and ruthless sorcerer was surely dead. Yet, against all odds, the sorcerer had returned to the port.
He turned to his first mate, who was peering through an alchemical lens.
"I see a lot of Black Armored Guards—they're all mobilized. Archbishop Anciluq is there too! The sorcerers seem to be surrounded…" the first mate stammered, swallowing hard.
Laud quickly understood—they had been chased to this point. Without hesitation, he ordered, "Fire a volley of flaming arrows as planned, then we set sail across the sea!"
Since the sorcerer had managed to lure Anciluq and his forces to the designated spot, Laud decided to assist from a distance with a volley of arrows. But docking to offer direct support? That was out of the question.
He didn't believe there was anything the sorcerers could do in such a dire situation.
It wasn't as if one of them could suddenly become a Grand Sorcerer and wipe out thousands of elite guards with a few spells, right?
That would be beyond absurd.
Over three hundred sailors and guards quickly wrapped arrows in oil-soaked cloth, lit them, and fired in a high arc toward the distant port. Accuracy didn't matter; the sorcerer's only command was to hit the port.
Laud barely glanced at the archers, his attention focused on the sword in his hand.
To cut or not to cut…
How much should be cut…
A matter worth deep contemplation.
Just as Laud resolved to act, the ship suddenly lurched violently. A deafening roar filled the air, followed by a massive shockwave that sent him tumbling to the base of the mast, his head slamming into a crossbeam.
His head buzzing, clothes soaked from the waves, Laud struggled to sit up, clutching his bruised side. He turned to the first mate and asked, "What happened? Did we hit a storm?"
But the first mate, dazed, was staring blankly at the port, muttering, "It's over… It's all over…"
"What do you mean, over?" Laud frowned in frustration.
Could it be that the battle at the port was already decided, and the sorcerers were wiped out?
Laud turned to look and gasped at the sight before him.
It wasn't the sorcerers who were finished—it was the entire port!
A colossal cloud of dust billowed into the sky, the once-dark night now illuminated by a brilliant red glow as if something had torn the heavens apart.
The once-thriving port was now a smoldering ruin, thick smoke rising from the devastation. The heat waves turned the sky red, and a dense rain of fire fell from the enormous dust cloud, creating a hellish scene.
Laud swallowed hard, his legs trembling. Even from a distance, he understood that neither the Black Armored Guards nor the Church's priests stood a chance against such overwhelming power.
Could he have misjudged? Was that sorcerer truly a hidden Grand Sorcerer all along?
The spell he had casually referred to as "fireworks" was, in reality, a force of terrifying destruction… Laud wiped the cold sweat from his brow. The destruction of an entire port city was the most "spectacular" display he had ever witnessed.
"Mr. Laud, should we turn back now?" A sailor asked nervously, his voice trembling.
Before Laud could respond, a dazzling beam of death shot from the port, striking the sea just a hundred meters away, sending a towering wave crashing against the ship. The vessel shook violently again, and Laud jumped to his feet, shouting in terror.
"Return! Set sail back immediately!"
The sailors scrambled to adjust the sails, altering the course without delay.
To them, it was clear: this was a direct warning from the sorcerer.
If they didn't turn back now, the next spell would undoubtedly strike the ship itself!
Laud, his legs still shaky, hastily changed into more presentable clothes and forced a genial smile onto his face, preparing to greet the fearsome sorcerer. The idea of cutting off his hand was now completely forgotten.
Nearby, the burly man tugged at the ropes, relieved that he hadn't gone through with the amputation. Otherwise, the next one to be killed might have been him!