Living with a clear conscience was simple enough. The magic town burned, crowds surging through the gatehouse like panicked cattle. Redmane soldiers bellowed through sweat-slicked faces. "Stop shoving!" "Move that gods-damned wagon or I'll carve it open!" "All warriors hold position—defend the perimeter!"
The shouts clawed at his eardrums, but no screams rose above them. Caelid bred fighters like a swamp bred flies. If not for the chaos obscuring friend from foe, they'd have already joined the fray.
Sellia wasn't large—a few thousand souls stampeding through its streets—yet Throne stood out like a knife in honey, moving upstream against the tide. "You! Halt!" A soldier's voice cracked through the din. The swordsman didn't break stride, dissolving into the mob before the man could blink.
He spotted the nomadic merchant who'd sold him out. The man's face drained of blood, mouth hanging open like a gutted fish. Throne flashed him a grin, paced three heartbeats, and vanished in a shower of starlight. Reappeared at Sellia's edge.
Merchants scrambled down the stone steps, arms laden with loot—fools who'd risked death for profit. Throne scaled a lamppost, hauled himself onto a rooftop. His pupils narrowed. Two candelabras burned in the distance.
The town's best-kept secret. Even the merchants didn't know. But Throne did. Light the third, and the mountain mine's seal would shatter. Master Lusat would walk free. "That way?" A rooftop detonated in the distance, splinters raining like black hail.
Primeval Sorcerers clashed with Night Sorcerers near the central spire. Another group torched buildings, choking the streets with smoke. Forcing civilians out? Unlikely. The Primevals weren't that subtle.
He glanced back at the bottlenecked gatehouse. Understood. The enemy was using refugees as a barricade—blocking Redmane reinforcements. This trap had been set long before the Grand Sage even took the field. No need to ponder. Throne moved.
Wind howled, hot as dragon's breath, as he sprinted across rooftops. Sellia's cramped architecture became an advantage—leaping gaps, scaling sloping tiles. Smoke seared his lungs. The clay underfoot scorched through his boots. He used the haze as cover, closing in on the torch-bearing Night Sorcerers.
No warning. Just steel. The swordsman erupted from the smoke. His target dropped the torch, fumbling for a staff—too late. The blade punched through ribs, nailing them to the roof. A twist, a wet wrench, and Throne leveled 'star-frost' at chest height. Released the second Night Sorcery. Unseen Form.
He faded into nothingness. Above, Night Sorcerers spun toward the noise. Saw only a corpse tumbling off the eaves. "Enem—"
The blade took the speaker through the forehead before the syllable ended.
The few people behind them scattered in all directions as if the pot had exploded; their reactions were razor-edged, staves rising as they dodged. A hailstorm of glintstone shards shredded the rooftop—calculated, brutal. Area denial. The only way to flush a ghost. Wood splintered. Tiles vaporized. The barrage turned the structure into kindling.
The firing ceased. The man in front lifted his head just as a gust of wind hissed from below. Pfft. An upward slash tore through his leather armor, cleaving his chest wide open. The half-corpse spun, blood spraying a faint, blurry figure. Throne glanced at the retreating sorcerer and leveled 'Star-Frost' at them. "Night Shard."
The simplest Night Sorcery. Pitch-black magic melted into the night, invisible. Its speed, several times faster than Academy spells, made it nearly impossible to dodge. Bodies convulsed under the barrage. Two crumpled, riddled with holes.
The remaining pair scrambled behind a chimney, listening to the clatter of projectiles battering their cover, eyes wide with shock. "Go! Report it—another Sage has returned!" one hissed. "But who is it?" "I couldn't see, but it's definitely..." Their voices cut off abruptly.
The sorcerer in command looked down. A narrow blade of light jutted from his chest. Night Sorcery lacked raw power, but Throne knew Caria's tricks—brute force could work miracles. Silence followed. The last Night Sorcerer stiffly raised his head to see the enemy crouched atop the chimney.
He wore ornate half-plate armor, grinning with a menacing white smile. "Good evening, everyone." The polite greeting sent shivers down their spines as the monster leapt down, silver sword light expanding in their vision.
The sound of chopping melons and vegetables merged into one. The inn's roof became a slaughterhouse. Mangled corpses tumbled off the eaves. Throne exhaled a puff of white air. Night Sorcery is too useful, but I'm not skilled enough yet. Unseen Form lasts only ten seconds. These sorceries were practically made for me.
A heavily armored knight with superb martial skills lunged forward—even Sellia's sorcerers couldn't parry that. Boom! The roof behind shattered. Throne gripped his sword and turned, relaxing slightly. "Alexander, why aren't you fleeing? What are you doing here?"
The Warrior Jar's voice was thick with confusion. "No one forced their way into the room. Why should I flee?" Right. Almost forgot he's a blockhead. Initially, having Alexander guard the door was to avoid exposing his identity, but now it seemed pointless. Throne felt the other's covetous gaze and glanced at the corpses at his feet.
Warrior Jars grow stronger by consuming flesh, and these were sorcerers rarely seen in the outside world. If Alexander ate too much, would he become a magic warrior? "You can feast tonight." Throne used his sword to toss chunks of flesh into the Pot Person's lid, then turned his head to the left.
Another squad of Night Sorcerers had arrived, drawn by the commotion. A Glintblade Phalanx materialized around him, and he cast Unseen Form, fading into the darkness. "I'll cover you. Handle this squad." Blades of light streaked toward the sorcerers, forcing them to scatter.
Before they could locate the source of the attack, a cyan projectile streaked toward them. Boom—
The dull explosion rang in their ears. The entire roof collapsed. They scrambled to dodge falling tiles as Fire Pots rained down from the breach. Flames engulfed the third floor, screams and shouts blending into chaos.
Then, a round, dark shadow was seen falling through the breach. The Warrior Jar was not afraid of fire, raising its arm to smash the head of a sorcerer trying to crawl up, then clashing its two fists together. "Hmm, a quick snack first!" Throne had completely 'devolved' from a swordsman into a sorcerer, hiding his entire being in the night.
Except for the shimmering magic crests, the enemies didn't even know where he was. The sinister sorcerer and the fierce Warrior Jar—this pair of completely different combinations were like killing machines. The Night Sorcerer squads coming from all directions to intercept them couldn't stop them at all, and they advanced in a straight line toward the highest spire! ... "What's going on?"
The third spire was at the high point of the town. Looking down from here, one could see flashes of magic that vanished in an instant. Campore stood on the roof, holding a short blade shaped like a kukri. With his experience, he could naturally recognize that such intense magic flashes could only be achieved by Glintstone Sorcery. "Another accident."
His expression was uncertain; as someone who hated accidents, the events of today put him in a very bad mood. Looking to the right, the blood-stained Grand Sage was guarding the candelabra with a few Night Sorcerers, their faces showing joy. Magic flashes? Could it be that reinforcements from the Academy have arrived? This seemed like a fantasy, but it gave people some hope.
The rebels held a numerical advantage, and everyone was injured under the surprise attack. "What an unrealistic delusion, but I have no time to waste." Campore chuckled and suddenly snapped his fingers, and a winding silver light struck from behind them. Ding!
The Grand Sage parried it away with a heavy short sword, only to see the blade in the air nimbly bypass it like a long whip, and with a 'pfft', it stabbed into the chest of the sage behind him. This is... Edred widened his eyes, seemingly not feeling the warm blood, only watching the long whip disappear into the darkness, returning to the hand of a slender and tall figure.
He wore a pointed hat, a white cloak and veil, and held a strange crescent-shaped curved blade in his hand. "You actually allowed these people to return to the surface." Edred's hand holding the sword trembled slightly; he was lamenting his own stupidity. The Primeval Sorcerers had clearly been planning this for a long time, waiting for him to reveal a flaw.
He was truly a senile old fool, actually forgetting that Primeval Sorcery had a connection to these things. One, two, three. More and more slender figures walked out of the night, causing the remaining Night Sorcerers to retreat one after another. They were knowledgeable and had already recognized who these people were.
These were visitors from the Eternal City, the Nox Swordsman who had long since vanished into the dust of history. During the prime of the Erdtree, they had fallen underground along with the Eternal City. "Breaking the shackles of the golden order and letting the starry sky return—this was our common wish all along." Campore revealed his true intentions and spread his arms.
"There is no need to hope for hope; now no one can stop me from exploring the path ahead." Click—
As the words fell, a slight sound of tiles made him turn his head, and then he discovered a blurry shadow approaching rapidly. Ding! The kukri blade burst into a shower of sparks, the blades grinding against each other, and a figure emerged from the darkness.
He wore half-plate armor, his whole body leaping in the air, blue eyes staring at the opponent, head tilted slightly. "Then I will stop you!"
Cautious planning, bold slaughter. When Throne decided to strike, even after discovering the suddenly appeared Nox Swordsman, he still lunged forward, and Moonveil went straight for the enemy commander's head. What a fast reaction.
He locked eyes with the kukri blade blocking his sword, caught the flicker of surprise in his enemy's gaze, and drove his boot upward. The kick landed hard. He spun onto the roof, blades whirling in a relentless arc. Whoosh—
Steel flashed, unrelenting, aimed low, always low.
A dozen strikes in, he froze mid-swing, pivoted with Bloodhound's Step, and unleashed Star-Frost. Cyan ripples surged, clashing with the incoming spell. Black comets collided, erratic in their dance, before erupting in a shower of debris. His gaze snapped back—the target had already retreated ten meters. "What are you waiting for!?"
The roar snapped the Grand Sage and the others into action. They were veterans; questions of identity could wait. "Push them back!" Edred barked, leading the charge. Campore hesitated, scanning the chaos. This swordsman wasn't just holding the line—he'd lit a fire under their ragged remnants.
His scattered troops were regrouping, but halfway to him, a roof shattered. A Pot Person's arm shot out, dragging a sorcerer into the depths. The rest froze, then scattered. 'More than one attacker? Where did these reinforcements come from?'
His thoughts churned. The newcomer didn't fit the mold of a sorcerer.
He didn't know they'd only met Throne hours ago, but Campore understood one thing: there was no turning back. "No survivors!" he roared, raising his staff. Purple magic coiled around roof tiles, hurling them at Throne like a chain of meteors. Gravity Magic?
Throne blinked, caught off guard. Before he could dodge, identical projectiles streaked past, shattering the first wave mid-air. Debris rained down. Throne nodded to the Grand Sage, tapped his toes, and slipped back. Swish—
Silver lights snaked through the air, slicing the thick roof open.
The ground vanished beneath Throne's feet. He fell, rolled, and came up in a crouch. Through the dust, two towering figures emerged, whip-like blades in hand.
Swish—
Silver light flashed again, carving the chandelier, the walls, the wooden bed—splitting the Night Sorcerer's bedroom into four pieces. But Throne was already moving, blasting through the wall into the next room. A dining room, dominated by a heavy, rustic table.
He retreated step by step, sticking out his tongue to lick the blood trickling down. Nox Swordsman, huh? Truly living up to their reputation.