Half of the troll soldiers had already fallen before Leylin's destruction, their bodies strewn across the battlefield like shattered weapons and fallen leaves.
The air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and the crackle of broken magic, a grim testament to the ferocity of the clash. The remaining trolls, battered and bloodied, fought with desperate ferocity, their roars echoing through the chaos.
Leylin surveyed the scene with a cold, calculating gaze. The trolls, suffering heavy casualties, began to shift their attack tactics. They spread out, surrounding the mage wielding potent arcane magic.
"Kill him!" shouted the troll witch doctor, who wore a necklace of elven ears on his chest.
The troll language was long and noisy, but Leylin's spellcasting remained unchanged. No matter how the trolls charged, the arcane orbs would always appear before them, decimating them within the process.
Never had the trolls suffer such heavy casualties against a lone mage, so they chose to charge forward with all their might. No matter how great the losses, they were determined to take the mage's life in one fell swoop.
Leylin countered back by continuing casting his spells. With a swift gesture, he invoked [Flame Strike], the air around him igniting with searing flames that roared like a inferno, engulfing the trolls in a blistering wall of fire.
The monstrous creatures howled in agony, their thick hides burning and charring under the relentless assault. Leylin followed up immediately with [Blast Wave], a deafening shockwave of raw magical energy that rippled outward, burning everything within its path.
But Leylin was not done. As the mobs twisted and staggered, he shifted his focus to those too far to reach with close-range spells.
With pinpoint accuracy, he launched [Arcane Missile]—a series of glittering, deadly projectiles streaking through the air. Each missile exploded upon impact, unleashing explosive bursts of energy that obliterated trolls hiding behind cover or retreating from the chaos.
The battlefield was a maelstrom of destruction. Fires raged and debris flew as Leylin's relentless assault carved a path of devastation through the troll ranks.
The air shimmered with chaotic magic, and the ground trembled beneath the force of his spells. Every cast was a calculated strike, wiping out groups with surgical precision and leaving behind a scorched, battered landscape.
The trolls, overwhelmed and disorganized, faltered under the relentless barrage. Their numbers dwindled rapidly, the once formidable force reduced to scattered remnants, cowering or fleeing from the storm of Leylin's relentless magic.
In the midst of this chaos, Leylin's expression remained cold and focused. His spells continued to rain down, a tempest of arcane fury that promised either victory or utter annihilation for those caught within its deadly embrace.
Their eyes blazed with a savage red glow as their bodies swelled with newfound muscle, veins bulging and muscles rippling beneath their thick, hide-like skins. They charged forward with deafening roars, weapons swinging wildly, their movements erratic yet driven by relentless fury.
The air around them crackled with raw, unhinged energy, a primal storm of chaos.
But Leylin, relentless and unyielding, met their fury with unflinching resolve. His spells continued to rain down in a torrential storm of destruction. [Flame Strike] and [Blast Wave] erupted simultaneously, igniting and shattering everything in their path.
[Arcane Missile] streaked through the air like deadly comets, exploding in bursts of destructive energy, tearing through flesh and bone with brutal efficiency.
The battlefield descended into a horrific tableau of carnage. Bodies of trolls—some missing limbs, others burned beyond recognition—lay scattered everywhere, their twisted forms testament to Leylin's merciless assault.
Blood flowed like a raging river, pooling in the craters and trenches carved into the earth. The ground was slick and crimson, a gruesome mosaic of fallen foes.
Despite their increased ferocity and monstrous strength, the trolls could not stand against Leylin's relentless onslaught. Their wild, primal attacks only served to feed his magic, each strike providing him with more power and opportunity to strike back harder.
Leylin moved like a force of nature, a master of destruction amid the chaos. His face remained stoic, a cold expression of unwavering focus. The battlefield was his canvas, and he painted it with waves of fiery death and arcane explosions.
As the rain of spells continued, the tide of battle turned more decisively in his favor. The remaining trolls, battered and broken, began to falter under the unyielding storm of destruction.
The river of blood grew wider, merging into a crimson flood that washed over the shattered remnants of their once-mighty horde.
In that moment, Leylin's massacre was complete—a savage ballet of magic and violence that left nothing unscathed, nothing untouched in its path of annihilation.
A few moments later, the distant sound of marching feet and the flash of armor announced the arrival of reinforcements. A squad of rangers and mages emerged from the forest's edge, their eyes wide with shock as they took in the apocalyptic scene before them.
The battlefield was a nightmare—piles of troll bodies stretched as far as the eye could see, their twisted forms mangled and burned beyond recognition. The stench of charred flesh and blood thickened the air, and some of the new arrivals couldn't suppress their nausea.
Several rangers gagged and turned away, their stomachs roiling at the grisly sight. Even some of the seasoned mages, hardened by countless battles, felt a flicker of unease. One mage, unable to contain his shock, pointed tremblingly with a quivering finger.
"Look!" he gasped; his voice strained with disbelief.
The others turned their gaze to where he indicated, and their eyes widened in awe and disbelief. Amongst the sea of slain trolls, standing unmoved and unbothered, was Leylin.
His figure was stark against the chaos—a calm, cold silhouette of indifference amid the devastation. His expression was unreadable, eyes fixed ahead as if he were examining some invisible target beyond the carnage.
The scene was almost surreal. Leylin, a lone figure of composed restraint, amidst the sprawling chaos of destruction and rain. The sheer contrast stunned the reinforcements into silence, their breaths catching in their throats.
The battlefield seemed to hold its breath as they stared at the mage who had single-handedly wrought such havoc. A certain ranger approached mixed with worry and caution.
Clearly shocked by Leylin's change, she quickly asked, "Leylin, are you okay?"