The Night Before the March
Azrael sat inside his tent, illuminated only by the dim glow of a single mana-infused lantern. The scent of parchment, steel, and dried blood lingered in the air—a reminder of the battles fought and the ones yet to come. His body, wrapped in bandages from toe to neck, still ached, but the pain had dulled significantly compared to two days ago. His golden eyes remained sharp, calculating.
The Abyssal Crown System had been silent for most of the night, waiting. Now, as he sat alone, it finally responded.
[System Shop – Opened]
Azrael's gaze flickered over the options. The war was far from over, and his body was not at full strength. If he wanted to finish this, he needed to ensure he was in peak condition.
[Elixir of Health – 25,000 System Points]
A miraculous potion that can heal even near-death injuries, restoring the body to its optimal state.
Azrael didn't hesitate.
[Purchase Confirmed]
A small, crystalline vial filled with a golden liquid materialized in front of him. Without wasting a second, he uncorked it and drank.
A wave of warmth surged through his veins. His muscles tightened, his wounds rapidly stitched themselves back together, and the dull ache faded into nothingness. Within moments, it was as if the injuries had never existed.
Azrael flexed his fingers, testing his movement. Perfect.
But he didn't remove the bandages.
Let them think I'm still injured. Let them grow overconfident.
His gaze shifted back to the System Shop. Strength alone wasn't enough. He needed an ace.
[Berserk Potion – 100,000 System Points]
A potion that increases all stats by +500 for one hour. However, the side effect is complete exhaustion, resulting in unconsciousness for up to two days. (Regeneration-based individuals recover faster.)
Azrael considered it.
One hour of absolute power… At the cost of 12 hours of unconsciousness.
He smirked. A fair trade.
[Purchase Confirmed]
A dark-red vial appeared in his hands, the liquid inside swirling violently as if barely contained. Azrael placed it inside his coat. It wasn't something to be wasted. He would use it only when the moment demanded it.
He exhaled, closing the System Shop. Tomorrow, they marched.
---
The March to War
At the break of dawn, the Kaelthorne army moved.
Azrael led the march, his Abyssal Coat billowing behind him. His golden eyes gleamed, unwavering, as he rode at the head of the army. Beside him, Orin rode with a steady presence, his Aura burning like an unseen flame.
Behind them, 5,000 Kaelthorne knights, their armor polished and ready for war. Each one above or at Aura Level 8 and Mana Cycle 7, warriors far beyond ordinary soldiers.
Further back, 3,000 mercenaries, hardened fighters who had survived countless battles. Some grumbled, some laughed, but all knew today's fight would either make them rich—or end them.
At the rear, 400 Elite mages marched, their staffs crackling with stored energy. Some whispered spells under their breath, layering the army with protective enchantments, while others carried scrolls capable of devastating destruction.
The earth trembled beneath their collective steps.
A low whistle came from Orin. "Marching with this much firepower almost makes me feel bad for them."
Azrael smirked. "Then you're far too soft, Orin."
Orin chuckled. "That's why I said 'almost.'"
Despite the confidence in their ranks, Azrael remained cautious.
Something felt off.
He could feel a shift in the mana around them. It was faint, almost imperceptible, but it was there.
As they neared the enemy base, he stopped.
Orin noticed immediately. "Something wrong?"
Azrael narrowed his eyes.
A presence. A powerful one.
He closed his eyes and focused. The world around him slowed as he extended his senses, feeling the flow of mana in the distance.
Then he sensed it.
"…Mana Cycle 9."
His grip tightened on Necrilith.
Orin's expression darkened. "You're sure?"
Azrael nodded. "He's with Sherlock and Normon."
Orin let out a low breath. "Tch. That's a problem."
A Mana Cycle 9 Mage was no joke. While Normon and Sherlock were monstrous in close combat, a high-level mage could turn the battlefield into a living hell with large-scale destruction spells.
Azrael's eyes gleamed.
So they had an ace of their own.
He smirked.
Good. A real challenge.
Orin looked at him. "What's the plan?"
Azrael's smirk widened slightly. "We keep marching."
Orin grinned. "Hah. Just what I wanted to hear."
The Kaelthorne army resumed their advance.
The battle was near. And this time, they were coming for blood.
---
End of Chapter 41