Stark raised his staff, sparks of mana dancing at the tip.
A single spell and he could wipe out the players who had ambushed him.
"Wait!" one of them shouted. The panic in his voice cut through the tension. "T-This is… Oblivion!"
The others froze. They looked at Stark, then at their leader, then back again.
"Holy shit."
"You've gotta be kidding me."
"Just our luck..."
Their fear was written all over their faces.
It didn't take Stark long to figure out what they were.
They were nothing more than opportunists, player killers.
The ruined city was the perfect place for them, too.
The [Lives Loss Rate] here was slightly higher than the novice towns, which meant every death was worth more.
For vultures like these, that was reason enough to camp the roads and strike anyone unlucky enough to wander by.
But their luck had run out.
They had picked the wrong target.
Stark's expression turned cold. He didn't waste his breath on threats.
Storm of Lightning!
