As he gripped Alan's staff-sword tightly, a mocking glint flashed in the steward's eyes.
Just a mere tier-iron mage, daring to challenge him—how bold!
But before he could even finish the thought, Alan unexpectedly released the sword and delivered a powerful punch.
The strike, heavy and thunderous, caught the steward by surprise, landing directly on his eye socket. Pain seared through him, causing him to stagger backward.
Seeing his attack succeed, Alan's eyes shone brightly with the light of his soul, like twin lanterns.
As the steward reeled from the blow, struggling to regain his footing, he realized his legs were sinking.
The ground beneath him had turned into a dark swamp, pulling him down.
A misty fog spread around, confusing his senses.
A magus!?
The realization hit the steward hard.
No wonder Alan had so readily abandoned his staff-sword; he was a magus at heart, using the sword merely as a distraction.
Just as he processed this, a surge of killing intent welled up inside him.
A young magus held boundless potential, and if an enemy, he had to be eliminated at all costs—everyone knew this.
But as his murderous thoughts arose, scorching flames ignited around him, spreading quickly in the gusting wind.
The fire touched the thick dust on the ground, triggering an explosive blaze that surged skyward, enveloping the steward in a sea of flames.
Breathing heavily, Alan leaned on his staff-sword, watching the steward consumed by the raging fire.
Thanks to the black-robed woman's guidance, he had recently been experimenting with combining elements.
Now, using wind to fan the flames and relying on the dense dust from earth elements, he created a small dust explosion that could turn trees to charcoal—his most powerful move so far.
Under Alan's gaze, the steward, who had been caught off guard and thrown into a defensive position, was now charred black.
Cracks spread across his earth-element shell as black smoke billowed from his body.
Yet, even through the charred shell, a vigorous life force radiated.
Boom!
With a loud crack, the dirt surrounding the steward shattered, revealing his blistered and scalded skin, covered with red blisters the size of walnuts.
Though he had managed to summon earth elements just in time to defend himself, the burns were so severe that the pain nearly drove him insane.
The air on his raw, burned skin intensified the searing agony, and he couldn't help but scream. Bloodshot eyes fixed on Alan, he let out a deranged laugh.
"I deal with crafty old bastards every day, but I get outsmarted by you, kid!"
"You've used up all your tricks, haven't you? Now it's my turn!"
With that, he charged toward Alan like a wild bull, clouds of dust rising around him.
He closed the gap with alarming speed.
Alan knew that earth-element mages were notoriously resilient, but he hadn't expected the steward to be this tough.
His vision swam from fatigue, but he tightened his grip on his staff-sword and swung.
Clang!
The steward's earth-covered arms blocked the blow like sturdy horns.
Sparks flew as Alan was sent flying, blood spurting as he crashed to the ground.
The power gap was undeniable—the steward, a half-step tier-gold mage, held an overwhelming advantage.
After dealing such a heavy blow, the steward prepared to press his attack.
But suddenly, something flew from the carriage, heading straight for him.
Learning from Alan's prior tricks, he clenched his fist and smashed it mid-air, only to realize too late that the object was a potion bottle.
As it shattered, black liquid vaporized into a corrosive mist, enveloping him.
The toxic fumes corroded both the earth-element armor on his skin and his exposed flesh, causing smoke to rise and emit a stinging odor.
His already scalded skin now felt as if it were being torn off, exposing red muscle and white bone beneath.
Observing the scene, Alan immediately understood that Isabella had used a potent poison.
She had a natural talent for potions and frequently experimented with unusual concoctions.
The half-step tier-gold mage had underestimated them again, sustaining a second severe injury.
Seeing the steward's moment of vulnerability, Alan readied himself to strike.
But before he could act, the steward, nearly driven mad by pain, fixed his gaze on the carriage and lunged forward.
"Damn it!"
A bandit with no qualms, the steward hadn't expected to suffer so much here.
The poison coursing through him brought unimaginable agony, and he needed the antidote immediately.
Moving at alarming speed, the steward shattered the carriage in one blow. He seized Isabella by the throat, his eyes bulging with fury.
"Where's the antidote?"
Isabella's face turned pale with fear, rendered speechless by the terrifying sight.
When she didn't answer, the steward tightened his grip, her skin turning purple as her breathing slowed.
Her eyes rolled back as she neared unconsciousness.
"Let go of my sister!"
Alan, in a frenzy, charged forward, his staff-sword blazing with mana.
He unleashed a brilliant slash, the blade gleaming with a radiance so intense it seemed capable of piercing through iron and stone.
The steward, his face twisted with rage, pulled Isabella in front of him as a human shield, earth elements swirling around him, making him look like a small giant.
His malicious grin revealed his intent to make the siblings suffer as he had.
But just as Alan's sword light neared Isabella, it split into five pure white beams, forming three smaller, forearm-length swords that spiraled around and struck the steward.
Clang!
The three light swords struck the steward, paralyzing him momentarily and knocking him backward, releasing his grip on Isabella, who began to fall.
Alan surged forward, catching his sister mid-air.
Spotting the dark bruises around her neck, a surge of murderous intent overwhelmed him.
The three light swords embedded in the steward's earth-element shell split once again, forming six swords in total.
With each increase in the number of swords, the power of the Light Sword Spell grew significantly.
This was a unique, visualized magic skill the black-robed woman had taught Alan, with the strength of each blade increasing with their quantity.
In his duel with William, Alan had only barely managed to form one light sword.
His battle with Alice and the black-robed woman's guidance had pushed him to three.
Now, seeing his sister hurt, Alan's fury and killing intent reached such heights that his soul surged.
Six light swords carried far more power than three, and the previously impenetrable earth elements around the steward were now riddled with six bloody gashes.