Chapter 44: The Apprentice's Gambit

  "It's over... it's all over!" Ethan's voice finally betrayed an undeniable panic. "That's no ordinary shield... it refills with even stronger magic the moment it shatters, and the overflowing impact force becomes a weapon!"

  "To wound him, we'd have to exhaust his magic... but even all of us combined can't possibly outmatch Archmage Harrog!"

  "This thing is no Archmage anymore!" Wolf wiped a streak of blood from his lips, his sword-wielding hand still steady. "He's become a monster, yet he still has so many ways to protect himself. Are all you mages so afraid of death?"

  He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva and straightened up. The monster lunged again, sword and claw sparking violently in the gloom.

  Wolf fought and retreated, no longer launching heavy blows. Until he found a countermeasure, he had to conserve his strength and magic.

  "Mr. Wolf," Mary suddenly spoke, "what if we knock him off the top of the tower?"

  "Useless," Wolf parried a direct thrust, his arm numb from the impact. "If our previous attacks couldn't break his shield, falling wouldn't kill him either. Our sled dogs and snow wolf are below; encountering him in the complex terrain outside would only make things worse."

  He gritted his teeth, forcing the monster back a step. "He must have expended some energy in the last fight—we can't give him time to recover. We have to finish him here!"

  "But where can we find a source of magic more immense than an Archmage's?" Ethan's voice was tinged with despair. "A method to drain his magic in one blow... it simply doesn't exist!"

  Mary, however, looked up, her eyes flickering with a sudden realization, then surprise.

  "Mr. Wolf," her voice was clear, cutting through the din, "please cooperate with us for one more attack. I think I have a way."

  Wolf didn't turn back, nor did he ask any questions.

  He simply uttered a single word:

  "Good."

  The eerie glow in his eyes intensified dramatically.

  The apprentice whispered a few hurried words into her mentor's ear. Ethan's expression shifted several times, and finally, he took a deep breath and looked up.

  "I need some time... this is Archmage Harrog's work, after all. I can't guarantee I can break it."

  "But this is our best option, isn't it?" Mary's voice was soft but held an unshakeable resolve. "Mentor, it's worth a try."

  "...Alright." Ethan no longer hesitated. He handed his staff to Mary. "You lead."

  Mary, a mix of apprehension and fear, solemnly accepted the staff and nodded earnestly.

  Wolf glanced at the master and apprentice from the corner of his eye, asking nothing further. He exhaled slowly, then swung his greatsword, forcefully pushing the lunging monster back several steps.

  "It seems today," he grinned, a bloody smile spreading across his face, his eyes glinting like blades, "my mercenary record will gain another entry: 'Slew an Archmage.'"

  He took a deep breath—

  Martial arts, in essence, were another form of magic. Warriors honed the simplest spells through countless trials, engraving them into their flesh, transforming them into instinct.

  Thus, truly executed martial arts were often more ferocious and precise than their original magical counterparts.

  The greatsword hummed, radiating a chilling aura.

  The monster lunged again. This time, Wolf didn't retreat but advanced, his body rooted like iron. His blade met the monster's claws head-on!

  Clang—!!!

  The deafening crash almost tore the air. Their forces were evenly matched, yet Wolf suddenly smiled. He stomped his heel, shattering the stone beneath, and used the momentum to pivot, unleashing a second strike with even greater force!

  The monster, its old strength depleted and new strength not yet formed, could only meet the blow directly.

  A white shield appeared as expected, and a violent recoil slammed into Wolf's body, making his bones hum. But he grinned even wider, using the force to send the monster flying, then pursued it like a shadow.

  The third strike, its power amplified once more!

  The sword sang like a dragon, and the shield's surface flickered wildly, emitting a clear, strained sound. A terrifying counter-shock exploded, tearing Wolf's tiger's mouth, and the greatsword flew from his grasp—

  Just as he intended.

  He leaped, catching the hilt in mid-air, flipping his body, and with his full weight and the force of his descent, he crashed down!

  This strike's power was no less than the ice cone Ethan had just charged. The shield flickered erratically, as if it would shatter any moment.

  "Cough—!"

  But at that moment, Wolf coughed up a mouthful of fresh blood. The unreleased recoil accumulated and surged within him. He converted it into fuel for his next strike, even as it tore at his own flesh and blood.

  "Then let me see..." He wiped away the blood, tightened his grip on the sword, and charged again at the figure shrouded in eerie light.

  "How much magic your frail body can truly store!"

  Meanwhile, Ethan and Mary had rushed to the center of the Mage Tower—the colossal crystal suspended beneath the dome, silent as an inverted iceberg.

  It was, in fact, a massive magic-storage crystal!

  The magic contained within it was enough to make any Archmage pale.

  And now, their task was to break the original owner's restrictions and seize control of its power.

  Ethan's eyes glowed with a faint blue aura, his hands hovering as if searching for the teeth of a key in an invisible lock. His breathing was steady, his expression focused, and the patterns of magic slowly unfolded in his vision, like a door revealing itself.

  Mary, gripping her staff, closed her eyes.

  In the apprentice's mind, countless pieces of knowledge began to flow—the suppression of spells, the combination of elements, the essence of structure, the nature of magic... She was like someone flipping through a book she knew by heart but had never truly opened.

  The staff pulsed with a warm, firm rhythm.

  When she opened her eyes again, there was no longer any fear! Only an indelible determination.

  Magic began to gather at the tip of her staff.

  The crystal had long since lost its master's control. For an academic mage like Ethan, who was proficient in theory, using its power was not overly difficult. He quickly found the broken thread of authority.

  "Mary, are you ready?"

  "Ready, Mentor!"

  "Good," Ethan's voice was calm. "You construct the spell; I will guide the magic to you."

  In an instant, visible particles of light flowed from the depths of the crystal, like a star river drawn by an unseen force, surging towards Mary's staff. The thin barrier that had perpetually surrounded the tower began to flicker erratically.

  Power—a vast, heart-stopping power—was coalescing before her.

  Mary did not waver, nor was she overcome with ecstasy. She clearly sensed her connection to this power and understood that she had to wield it now, not be consumed by it.

  She pointed her staff steadily at the twisted figure still entangled with Wolf in the distance.

  Her will spread out like a net, communicating with the restless elements in space. Magic pried open a gateway to the elemental plane for her, and fierce, violent entities were cautiously drawn into reality, then woven into the form she desired with her mental reins—

  Archmage Harrog, in his lifetime, was skilled in water magic. Whatever he had become now, his resistance to water and ice must be deeply ingrained.

  And that shield was an absolute defense constructed of pure magic.

  So Mary chose fire.

  The most violent, the most brutal, the most destructive—

  Fire.

  Then the young girl chanted an ancient incantation in a loud voice:

  "Blazing, blazing, crimson light, restless spirit of vitality. Once again, I entrust my name.

  My name is Mary Valentine. I am the bowstring, I am the source, I am the measure that proclaims the hour of destruction!

  By the light that sears eyelids, by the heat that burns marrow, this body is a 'brief' sun, this strike is an 'unavoidable' fall!

  Behold! This brilliance that tears through the sky! Listen! This ultimate echo of all things evaporating!

  Burn! Pierce! Destroy!

  The concept of fire—burning from ancient times to eternity!

  Here, pierce the sky!

  —Flame Arrow: Coronal Iris!"

  Wolf felt the rapidly expanding, terrifying energy behind him. He gritted his teeth, his greatsword once again striking the monster's shield with full force, using the recoil to leap back. He knelt, leaning on his sword, gasping for breath, then turned his head towards Mary, a bloody grin on his face:

  "Every time I see you mages chant these incantations... I can't help but wonder, don't you feel embarrassed when you say them yourselves?"

  Then, what entered Wolf's eyes was the instant of a legend's creation.

  The young girl stood beneath the dome, her arms trembling from the immense pressure, yet gripping her staff as if wielding divine punishment. Before the tip of her staff was not merely a "magic orb," but a nascent sun: its edges spewed scorching, blood-red coronal flares, its core so incandescent it was impossible to look at directly, and the surrounding air, intensely heated, twisted violently, emitting a humming wail. The light imprinted her once-tender figure onto the ancient stone wall, like an ancient deity awakening.

  The next moment—

  That was not a "beam of light."

  It was a torrent of light, a wrath of heat, an entire river of celestial flame torn from the sky. The instant it erupted, all shadows on the tower's summit vanished, leaving only pure white and gold. The air ignited, emitting a piercing shriek like thousands of shattered glass pieces. The immense energy overloaded the capacity of space, causing Wolf to feel the ground beneath his feet not shaking, but melting and sinking.

  The monster let out a shriek that was not of this life, but rather seemed to be squeezed from countless shattered timelines. It tried to escape, but a flash in Mary's eyes caused ice to erupt from the ground, instantly freezing the monster's limbs. This instantaneous restraint could only last for a breath, but for that rainbow light, a breath was long enough.

  The shield appeared, instantly covered in spiderweb-like cracks. The rings flickered madly, trying to squeeze out every last bit of magic to replenish it. However, the colossal magic-storage crystal at the top of the tower emitted a deep resonance, and a more primal, more immense torrent of magic surged along Mary's connection to the crystal, giving her flame light a life and will of its own—it wasn't merely impacting, it was devouring.

  "Crash!"

  The first ring exploded into crystal dust.

  The shield reformed, its cracks deeper, its light flickering like a candle in the wind.

  This time, no new magic surged forth.

  In the reflection of Wolf's constricted pupils, he saw the stream of light engulf the fragile barrier, like lava consuming thin ice. Next, it was the monster's twisted torso—its robes instantly vaporized, its withered muscles and bones sublimated directly in the extreme light and heat. There was no burning process, only a complete obliteration from solid to void, then to a wisp of charred residue.

  The crimson pillar of light pierced through the monster's remains, its momentum unchecked, shooting straight out of the tower's summit, tearing a long-lasting, searing scar across the dim sky, as if the sky itself had been branded.

  The stream of light gradually faded.

  The top of the tower fell into a near-vacuum of silence. Dust slowly drifted down, each particle gilded with a golden-red afterglow.

  The monster... or rather, the last remnants of Archmage Harrog Bernardo left in this world, lay motionless in the center of a high-temperature melted crater with glassy edges, only its charred lower half remaining.

  "Clang."

  Mary's staff slipped from her utterly exhausted hands, clattering to the ground. Her knees buckled, and she fell forward, bracing herself with her hands. In her violent coughing, each gasp carried scalding white steam.

  In the distance, Ethan slowly slid down the wall to the ground, his face as pale as paper, as if even the strength to breathe had been drained from him. He simply stared at the remnants of the battle, his eyes vacant.

  Wolf, leaning on his greatsword, shakily stood up.

  Just as he was about to speak, a rusty, metallic heat surged up his throat—he turned his head and coughed out a large mouthful of clotted blood. The dark red splattered onto the still faintly glowing, high-temperature melted ground, emitting a soft "sizzle" and quickly rising into a pungent, bloody smoke.

  He raised his arm, forcefully wiping the blood from the corner of his mouth with his tattered sleeve, but he couldn't wipe away the wild, burning smile that bloomed on his face.

  He tilted his head back, gazing at the sky above the tower, still tinged with a crimson hue from the tearing flame. A suppressed tremor of laughter began deep in his chest, growing louder and louder, finally transforming into a hoarse but hearty laugh that echoed across the silent tower summit.