Translator: CinderTL
"Damn it!"
Ellis cursed under his breath, Holland's words flashing through his mind.
"Could this guy really be Rudolph's descendant? No, that's not right."
He stared intently at his opponent's face, which had almost completely lost its human features, his brow furrowing.
"When Rudolph unleashed his full power, his body never mutated like this. This looks more like... a Bloodline Aberration. It seems..."
After narrowly dodging another fierce slash, the solemn expression on Ellis's face suddenly vanished, replaced by a hint of mockery.
"He doesn't have a trace of the Dragon Bloodline in him."
Realizing this, Ellis flicked his wrist. In an instant, several blurred phantoms coalesced around him.
These phantoms rapidly solidified, transforming into perfect clones of himself—down to the last scar.
The next moment, the clones scattered, surrounding Graham at the center.
As magic surged, each clone unleashed a completely different spell.
For the first time in the battle, Graham's lightning-fast reflexes were brought to a halt.
Just as the spells in several of Ellis's hands were nearly complete, he suddenly swung his sharp sword toward one of the figures.
But...
The blade cut through empty air, meeting no resistance, and crashed heavily to the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust.
Immediately, several spells crackling with cold negative energy slammed into the spot where Graham stood.
Boom!
Amid the deafening explosion, wild magic elements rampaged across the open space like untamed beasts.
"Just as I thought..."
A faint smirk played on Ellis's lips as he hovered in the air.
"Like those pathetic sorcerers, trading their sanity for strength... truly... foolish!"
Having confirmed his judgment, just as he was preparing to repeat his tactic and end the battle decisively, his pupils suddenly contracted.
In an instant, he felt himself precisely targeted by several icy gazes that felt as tangible as physical objects.
"Really..."
Watching several figures rapidly approaching in the distance, Ellis let out a long sigh.
"There are simply too many annoying insects. In that case..."
Ellis cupped his palm, and the eight-sided die that opened the treasury instantly materialized in his hand.
"Schmidt, I trust you won't mind... if your life's work helps me stay away from this pointless conflict?"
Before the words had even faded, the die's surface began to spin wildly, as if alive, as magic surged into it.
As if a key were being inserted into a lock, the central spire of the city—which had been gradually falling silent due to damage to its magic array—suddenly reawakened.
Though it no longer drew ambient magic elements from the air, the magical fluctuations emanating from the tower were now even more vast and majestic than before.
With the spire's revival, the magitech construct army, which had been frozen in place, resumed its march. Their numbers...
had multiplied severalfold.
They clashed violently with Reggie's forces and the approaching reinforcements.
"Hahahaha! Amusing, truly amusing!"
Witnessing this chaotic spectacle, Ellis toyed with Graham using a clone one last time before, still unsatisfied, he retrieved the sheepskin scroll, still stained with the wails of souls.
"In that case... let this farce become even more violent."
As he murmured a low incantation, the wailing souls on the parchment seemed to break free from their bindings and scatter wildly.
Finally...
They silently vanished into the corpses of fallen soldiers, the blood-dried remains in the ruins, and the shattered wreckage of magitech constructs.
The war between the transcendent professionals of the River Domain Nations and the Lich had already begun.
The sky itself seemed to tear apart.
The flames of spells and the shadows of negative energy clashed and exploded wildly above the ruins, staining the fractured clouds in grotesque hues of crimson and foul, murky green.
Each impact shook the earth. The roars of battle were no longer isolated thunderclaps but coalesced into an unending, all-consuming symphony of destruction.
Below, a churning sea of death raged.
The soldiers of the River Domain Nations shattered like waves against a reef, pulverized by the cold, metallic tide of magitech constructs.
Iron fists crashed down, reducing flesh and armor to dust.
Energy beams from the construct arrays seared the ground, leaving behind scorched trenches and soldiers instantly vaporized.
Yet this was merely the first wave.
Deep within the ruins, beings driven by desecrated souls stirred.
Ancient corpses dragged their decaying limbs, shattered magitech construct remnants twisted and reformed, and fallen soldiers rose with hollow eyes.
They coalesced into a more putrid, more frenzied sea of death, emitting inhuman shrieks as they indiscriminately charged any living thing.
The battle between the living and the magitech constructs hadn't yet ceased when they were immediately swept into a desperate melee against the undead.
The light from the spire shone like a cold lighthouse, illuminating this inferno.
Countless figures struggled, roared, and perished in the storm of blood, fire, steel, and magic.
The battlefield had become a colossal meat grinder, greedily devouring everything and transforming the entire city into a gladiatorial arena for gods and demons to battle.
The scene was as grand as the apocalypse's arrival, as violent as the heavens and earth collapsing.
"We can't let this continue!"
Roland swung his Mithril Longsword, reducing an attacking undead to a shower of embers, then turned and roared desperately toward Reggie.
"Instructor Reggie!"
"Argh!"
With a deafening roar, Reggie struggled to dismantle a massive magitech construct into a pile of scrap metal. The heavy body crashed to the ground beside Roland, who roared back in response.
"Roland! Do you have a plan?"
Even though they were standing close, their shouts were barely audible amidst the clamor of the battlefield.
"Look there!"
Roland split a smaller magitech construct blocking their path with a single sword strike.
As metal fragments flew in all directions, he pointed at the spire that still radiated immense magical energy, standing tall like a lighthouse amid the chaos.
"That's the core of this city!"
"I don't know how the Lich managed to reactivate the High Tower, but..."
Roland's sharp gaze swept across the battlefield, locking onto the gaunt figure that remained effortlessly composed despite being besieged by several transcendent professionals.
He could clearly sense the vast magic converging in the High Tower, being precisely siphoned through invisible conduits and transformed into a surging torrent that continuously flowed into the Lich's body.
This was precisely the key to the Lich's ability to fight against overwhelming odds.
The power of a spellcaster stemmed from their mastery of a vast array of cunning and unpredictable spells.
However, casting these spells required immense magical energy.
Once this energy was depleted or its flow was disrupted, spellcasting would falter or fail entirely.
This was an unavoidable weakness for all spellcasters.
But now, under the High Tower's endless infusion of magic, the Lich seemed to possess an inexhaustible source. He conjured powerful spells with effortless ease, squandering them with abandon.
This left the transcendent professionals besieging him unable to pose any substantial threat, even with their exceptional skills temporarily keeping them safe.
With this realization, Roland raised his voice again, his voice piercing through the clang of metal and the hiss of energy beams.
"If we can destroy that High Tower! At least these damned iron hulks will be crippled! More importantly..."
"The Lich's source of power will be severed, and his strength will be greatly diminished!"
(End of the Chapter)
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