*Shing.*
Angus finally made his move, his sword flashing with a white light as he struck toward Baron Wilson like a venomous snake.
*Slash.*
A gleaming white arc sliced through Wilson's black armor, cutting a deep gash that oozed bright red blood. Wilson staggered back, feeling the wound and narrowing his eyes at Angus. His armor, forged from the toughest materials over three years, was almost impenetrable, resistant to most weapons. It had enabled him to hold his ground against Quero and Reylo, two third-level Light Swordsmen.
But now, Angus's attack had pierced it, leaving Wilson feeling the threat of death—something he hadn't felt since the brutal days on the "Slaughterhouse" battlefield. Angus's strength reminded him of those elite warriors who bordered on the power of fourth-level Elemental Swordsmen.
Between third and fourth level lies a vast gulf. A third-level Elemental Swordsman can't compare to a fourth-level one, which marks the step into the realm of mid-level Elemental Swordsmen.
Angus, Wilson realized, was near the peak of the third level, dangerously close to the fourth. Even with his formidable armor and innate strength, Wilson knew it would be difficult to face such a powerful opponent.
"It seems today may be my end… but tell me, why is the church targeting me?" Wilson licked his dry lips, his face twisted with grim determination. He had long realized that these weren't bandits; they were agents of the Church of Light.
Holding his sword with both hands, Angus said flatly, "Even if I told you, it wouldn't matter… Quero, Reylo, let's finish this."
Though Angus was stronger than Wilson, he didn't underestimate him, calling Quero and Reylo to ensure the victory.
*Boom.*
Suddenly, a loud explosion shook the field as fiery flames burst out, filling the air with the acrid smell of charred flesh.
"What's going on?" Angus frowned, glancing toward the source of the explosion.
***
"Explode," Merlin whispered. As he spoke, two fireballs detonated mid-air, less than half a meter from the nearest bandit.
Despite their small size, Merlin's fireballs packed tremendous heat. They were formed by densely compressed fire elements, capable of melting iron armor on impact. When they exploded, the fire scattered with deadly effect.
The bandits charging toward him had no time to react. The blast blew them back, including the two second-level Light Swordsmen leading the charge. Unprepared, they were flung to the ground, their chances of survival slim.
The unexpected eruption stunned many, but Merlin's gaze turned to where Baron Wilson was fighting. With three third-level Light Swordsmen surrounding his father, the situation looked dire, so he started moving toward Wilson.
"Heretic! A heretic from the Black Moon Kingdom!" someone shouted in panic, realizing Merlin's identity.
"Blasphemous heretic!" yelled a second-level Light Swordsman, who surged forward, his sword glowing with intense white light as he charged at Merlin from behind.
"Fireball!" Without turning, Merlin sensed the attack and released another fireball. The fiery orb shot behind him.
*Shing.*
The fireball moved too quickly to dodge. In an instant, it smashed into the swordsman's chest, melting through his armor and leaving a smoldering hole. The Light Swordsman collapsed to the ground, black smoke rising from his chest.
"I can use the Large Fireball now," Merlin noted, seeing the gray bar in his mind turn red, indicating he was ready to unleash his most powerful attack.
Through his recent meditations, Merlin's mental strength had increased, allowing him to control fire spells with greater precision. The speed and intensity of his fireballs had improved significantly.
After killing the second-level Light Swordsman, Merlin surveyed the battlefield. Terror spread across the faces of the surrounding bandits, and none dared approach him.
Heretics were believed to be ruthless, wielding dark and unholy powers. Seeing Merlin cast powerful spells firsthand, the bandits were overwhelmed with fear, hesitant to advance.
Merlin had single-handedly halted the advance of thousands of bandits, and his confidence surged. For the first time, he felt truly powerful.
"Wielders of magic are the true masters of power," he thought, recalling a line from Old Etta's magical notes about mages' potential.
With no one blocking his path, Merlin quickly reached Wilson, supporting his injured father while casting a calm gaze at the three masked men.
"Father, leave them to me," he said softly.
"A mage… I didn't expect to encounter one here," Angus said, his tone tinged with regret. "Even if you're only an entry-level mage, a well-placed archer could easily take you down. Unfortunately, we didn't bring any with us."