"No matter what, kill him first! Then we'll pillage Ironblood City! How dare they kill a knight of Barton Kingdom! Who gave them the courage?"
"Clearly, we haven't instilled enough fear in these Plantagenet dogs. This time, they'll learn terror—the kind that leaves a mark of reverence deep in their hearts forever!"
With merciless laughter, several mage captains at the front of the Barton Kingdom's legion charged faster toward Alan, who stood alone at the city gate.
Closer.
And closer still.
When they were about three hundred meters from Alan, the leading group of mage archers squinted, drew their bows, and infused their mana into their arrows before releasing them, each one aimed directly at Alan.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Hundreds of black arrows shot through the air, leaving long magical trails, descending like a rainstorm upon Alan's position.
The archers raised their bows and cheered loudly, as if hunters had easily caught their prey.
Other mages watched coldly, eager to see Alan pierced like a pincushion, reveling in the thought of his blood feeding their twisted thirst for violence.
But as their cheers echoed, they suddenly noticed the arrows slowing, as if an invisible force were hindering their speed.
"Wind? Where did this wind come from?"
Several archers squinted, sensing something amiss.
Though the arrows, infused with spiraling magic, were like fired rockets, they broke through the fierce gusts, closing in on Alan again.
Three meters!
The closest arrow was only three meters from Alan, its slicing sound reaching his ears, every blood-red marking on the shaft visible.
Knowing the wind wouldn't completely block the arrows, Alan's spirit surged, and he swung his sword in a swift arc.
Fiery light shot from the blade, turning the area in front of him into a blazing inferno.
Most of the arrows disintegrated into black ash before they even touched the fire.
The few that retained power and reached Alan were stopped by a sturdy wall of earth that he raised with a stomp, blocking the last of the arrows.
"What the…? He blocked them?"
"How is that possible? He's only tier-iron! Even a mid-tier bronze mage couldn't withstand this kind of attack!"
The Barton archers' faces went rigid, disbelief lacing their voices.
"Wind element! Fire element! Earth element! He's using all these elements so effortlessly—he must be a magus!"
"Yes, that has to be it! He must be a magus; otherwise, this would be impossible!"
"Wait, even if he is a magus, records don't show them being this strong, do they?"
The advancing Barton army erupted in alarm.
"Charge! With talent like his, he can't be allowed to live. He's a threat we can't leave unchecked!" one squad leader commanded coldly.
But just as he finished, his eyes widened as he realized that, instead of weakening, Alan's aura was surging stronger!
"An unyielding [Battle Spirit]! What? He's a magus; how does he have [Battle Spirit]?"
"Even we berserkers don't have that. Why him?"
The squad leader's face darkened. This revelation only fueled their bloodlust.
Those who grasp [Battle Spirit] are top talents in any kingdom.
Alan's genius seemed almost supernatural—magus and a [Battle Spirit] wielder.
It brought back memories of an unstoppable nightmare.
"Doesn't he remind you of that… slaughter envoy?"
Hearing the term "slaughter envoy," a chill ran down everyone's spine.
The mere mention of that name conjured memories of the battlefield, where their forces had fallen like leaves under that killer's blade. That strength left a lasting psychological scar.
Their charge suddenly halted, their expressions marked by fear and unease as if they were seeing a ghost.
Surprised, Alan noticed the Barton army stop just one hundred meters from him.
With their wind-speed enhancements, they could have reached him in seconds.
But they had stopped.
"Did my performance intimidate them?" Alan wondered briefly before dismissing the thought. Though occasionally vain, he knew the ruthless Sacred Battle Legion wouldn't hesitate simply because of his display.
So, why had they stopped?
Alan scanned the crowd and followed their gaze, his eyes landing on a figure nearby.
The figure rode a blood-red spellbeast, exuding a predatory aura.
One look, and Alan felt the scent of blood in the air. The figure seemed to radiate an instinct for killing, etched deep into their being.
Raising his gaze, Alan saw a woman's face, cold and unfeeling, like a mask of ice.
His first impression was that of intense cold—not just the chill of a killer but a frigid aloofness.
And then he recognized her.
The Third Princess of Plantagenet Kingdom!
Renowned alongside Duke Alice as a national hero, she was infamous for her indifference toward others and ruthless treatment of enemies.
Rumor had it that she had joined the battlefield at age ten, earning great merit along the kingdom's borders. She was considered a pillar of Plantagenet Kingdom.
Alan realized now why Barton's forces had suddenly retreated.
While Barton Kingdom was strong and domineering, the Third Princess had crushed them several times, slaughtering nearly a thousand of their forces.
She had carved out a fearsome reputation on the battlefield.
Although the Sacred Battle Legion had the advantage in numbers, being a thousand strong, the sight of the Third Princess had made them hesitate.
As she drew nearer, they withdrew in fear, as if she were the reaper herself.
"Retreat!"
A horn sounded, and the Sacred Battle Legion of Barton Kingdom retreated, no longer the intimidating force they had seemed moments earlier, now more like a pack of frightened dogs.
Watching the retreating army, Alan exhaled.
If they had fought to the death, he would have eventually succumbed to exhaustion; his strength wasn't enough to take on the entire legion. But he had no regrets.
Sometimes, it's about dignity!
Why let Barton Kingdom's forces oppress them on their own soil?
Alan knew that if he hadn't taken a stand, his spirit would have suffered, and he might have been haunted by regret.
Now, with Barton Kingdom's Sacred Battle Legion in retreat, Alan felt his mind power growing stronger. With the right staff, he might soon reach the tier-bronze level!
Just then, the Third Princess arrived before him, her blood-chilling aura washing over him. Her cold gaze softened slightly as she looked Alan over, seeming impressed.
Even in the face of certain death, Alan hadn't retreated; his [Battle Spirit] had flared like a volcano. She had felt it even from a distance.
"What's your name?" she asked coolly.
"Alan," he replied steadily, bowing slightly. "Greetings, Princess."
Alan's calm response surprised the Third Princess, as her intimidating aura usually left so-called heroes stammering or unable to meet her eyes.
"Why did you step forward alone to defend against Barton Kingdom's legion? Given your current strength, it was practically a death sentence."