With multiple magic circles spinning behind him, Alaric precisely regulated the flow of mana feeding his diagram. Each thread of energy was carefully measured; wasting power against an enemy like this would be suicidal.
He knew full well that this would be a battle of attrition. The absurd regeneration of the rank IV silver trolls turned them into living walls.
But that didn't matter.
The important thing was that he had caught his attention.
As long as he kept him busy, the knights could clear the battlefield of rank I and II monsters, creatures that did not possess that cursed ability to regenerate.
Rising barely an inch above the ground, Alaric adjusted his white robe, now splattered with rain, and lunged at the enormous silver troll with a speed uncharacteristic of a conventional mage.
In a matter of seconds, he was within range of the monster.
