With his most costly {Spell} active, Jonn split his strategy—directing one avatar against Uranius’s troop captain while he and the second avatar charged toward the dust and ash-filled battlefield. He left the first avatar and William to finish their primary opponents.

  There were four level 3 mages among the troops hit by the meteor shower a few moments ago. But only Ice, Roulf, and the horses couldn’t handle these men on their own.

  The horses weren’t true combatants, and despite their strength, Ice and Roulf remained at level 2. Their physical prowess made them formidable in close combat, but they were vulnerable to ranged magical attacks.

  I’ve got 20 seconds of mana at most to end this.

  A quick status check revealed Jonn had burned through over half his mana reserves. And now, with [Flame Avatar], it would only speed up this drain. Fortunately, these weren’t ordinary avatars. Following his commands, one leaped skyward, covering 50 meters in a blur before vanishing into the smoky, flame-lit battlefield. The other matched its speed, pursuing Jonn’s recent attacker with [Scorching Whirlwind] already manifesting around it.

  Abandoning the avatar beside William, Jonn charged through the chaos toward the ground zero of his destruction. His boots pounded against the scorched earth as he covered the distance to Acelin’s devastated camp in five rapid heartbeats.

  He burst into a hellscape choked with swirling black dust, where agonized screams pierced the air like banshee wails. Through the haze, his cavalry emerged like dark specters, their weapons rising and falling in a deadly dance as they cut through the surviving enemies. Less than fifty opponents remained standing, many swaying on unsteady legs, their armor dented and blackened, faces masked with blood and terror from the unexpected onslaught.

  The devastation of his initial attack was absolute. Where once stood an organized camp now lay a field of craters, still glowing with ember-like heat. More than half of Acelin’s force had been erased from existence or rendered combat ineffective. Some had simply ceased to exist, their bodies vaporized by the meteors’ impact. Others were strewn across the battlefield in pieces, like broken dolls scattered by a giant’s tantrum.

  The ground had become a grotesque canvas—dismembered limbs and torsos dotted the landscape like macabre flowers in a garden of death.

  Blood painted the scorched earth in dark pools that reflected the flames still burning around them, while fragments of bone and brain matter glistened wetly in the firelight. Amidst the human remains lay the twisted carcasses of horses, their bodies contorted in the last moments of terror.

  Others still clung to life, their broken forms twitching in the dust as they gasped their last breaths. These unfortunate souls could only wait, their fate hanging between a swift execution or a treatment once the battle concluded.

  Through the murk, Jonn’s [Arcane Sight] pierced the veil of night and swirling debris. He didn’t try to find Acelin. His eyes were on the enemy mages!

  Where ordinary eyes would see only darkness punctuated by dancing orange flames and shadowy figures, his enhanced vision carved through the chaos with supernatural clarity.

  The battlefield’s stench assaulted his nostrils—a nauseating cocktail of smoke, charred flesh, and voided bowels that would turn the stomach of any green soldier. He could already imagine some of his less-hardened companions retching at the overwhelming sensory assault, getting sick while still fighting.

  But he was confident in his companions, and through the miasma of death and destruction, Jonn tracked the positions of the enemy mages. He moved toward where Ice and Roulf led the charge, their forms cutting impressive silhouettes against the flickering flames.

  Of the four level 3 mages who had hung back during the initial parley, one had vanished from Jonn’s sight. Escape seemed unlikely—these were roughly matched forces, and victory still hung in the balance for either side. What warrior would flee such odds? No, Jonn concluded grimly, that mage lay somewhere among the dead, perhaps reduced to unrecognizable ash.

  The remaining three painted a clear tactical picture through his [Arcane Sight]: one wounded mage had fallen back, maintaining a defensive stance while weaving support magic for his two companions. These front-line mages engaged in a deadly dance with the village beasts, their forms blurring with motion as they fought.

  Before Jonn could close the distance, his avatar streaked into the fray like a meteor, its fiery form casting wild shadows across the battlefield.

  The avatar, a fiery doppelg?nger of Jonn, streaked towards its prey. Its form, unburdened by flesh and bone, moved with liquid grace, circling behind the enemy mage with uncanny speed.

  In the heartbeat before the mage sensed the danger at his back, the avatar struck. It seamlessly wove [Delusion of Force] with [Air Palm], creating a devastating combo.

  The enemy shuddered, feeling the crushing pressure of what seemed to be Mystic-level power bearing down on him. Panic flared in his eyes as he severed his magical links to his allies, throwing up defenses against what he believed to be a life-ending blow.

  The avatar’s flaming palm materialized, slamming into the mage’s ribcage with a thunderous crack. Orange flames licked hungrily at the man’s clothes as he was launched backward, his body cartwheeling through the air like a ragdoll caught in a cyclone.

  Though not fatal, the attack left the mage in dire straits. He landed in a tangle of smoldering limbs, disoriented and cut off from his companions. Flames danced across his body, threatening to consume him as he struggled to regain his bearings in the chaos.

  Jonn arrived on the scene just as his avatar’s attack concluded, his mana reserves dwindling below a thousand points. He joined Ice and Roulf, completing a triangle that encircled the remaining two level 3 mages.

  Ice, the massive snow wolf, stood his ground despite a tapestry of wounds across his body. Cuts oozed crimson against his white fur, while purple bruises bloomed beneath. His left eye had swollen shut. One paw hung limply, likely fractured, forcing him to balance on three legs like a battle-scarred tripod.

  Roulf, the flaming horned bull, snorted defiantly through flared nostrils. Steam rose from the many gashes that marred his fiery hide. Yet he held firm, his blazing form casting flickering shadows across the blood-soaked ground.

  Together, they formed a triad around their cornered prey; the air crackled with tension as they prepared for the final push.

  The two enemy mages, though still standing, bore the brutal marks of combat. Their armor, once pristine, now hung in tatters, revealing flesh marred by Ice’s razor-sharp claws. Angry red burns, courtesy of Roulf’s fiery horns, crisscrossed their exposed skin like macabre tattoos.

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  Their faces were ashen, drained of color as their mana reserves ebbed dangerously low. The toll of fending off Jonn’s meteor barrage and engaging the fierce beasts was etched in every labored breath they took.

  Jonn’s voice cut through the battlefield’s cacophony, sharp and accusatory. “You shouldn’t have come to the Dayflare Family’s territory! You will pay with your lives for coveting what is not yours!” His words were carefully chosen barbs, designed to misdirect any potential fugitives.

  The enemy mages, oblivious to Jonn’s true identity, visibly flinched at his words. Yet they remained silent, their eyes darting between their opponents, aware that survival now hinged on the next few moments of combat.

  Facing down the flaming bull and the snow wolf had pushed them to their limits. Now, with the addition of what they perceived as the Dayflare’s most formidable mage on this battlefield, desperation radiated from them in palpable waves.

  Surrounded and with retreat cut off, a silent understanding passed between the two men. This would be their last stand, a last-ditch effort to turn the tide or at least go down fighting. A quick glance, a subtle nod—their strategy crystallized in an instant.

  They pivoted with synchronized precision. One squared off against the battered but still imposing animals, while the other locked eyes with Jonn. They gathered their remaining mana, preparing to unleash everything they had left in one climactic assault.

  In a heartbeat, they exploded into action. The mage facing the beasts began weaving complex patterns in the air, his fingers leaving trails of ethereal light as he invoked his most potent {Spell}. Simultaneously, his companion charged at Jonn, his body wreathed in crackling energy as he activated a {Skill} that made the very ground tremble beneath his feet.

  With mere seconds left before his avatars dissipated, Jonn surged forward, his recent mastery level 2 achievement fueling him. He guarded his wand, summoning [Wuthering Fury] instead. The weapon’s presence sent a jolt through his body, amplifying his [Strength], [Wisdom], [Intelligence], and [Dexterity].

  The remnants of [Aegis of the Bronze Dragon] still clung to him like a second skin, its protective aura shimmering faintly over his battle-worn armor. Despite the earlier assault, it stood ready for one last confrontation.

  Through the chaos, Jonn locked eyes with his approaching foe. The enemy mage charged forward, wreathed in a maelstrom of obsidian dust that whirled and snapped like living shadows. Jonn pressed on, determined to bring this combat to its conclusion.

  At three meters’ distance, the enemy’s true power manifested in a breathtaking transformation. Stone erupted from within, engulfing the mage’s form entirely. Where once stood a man now towered a golem of living rock, its proportions swollen to one-and-a-half times its original size. This wasn’t mere illusion or mana construct—the mage had become a sentient monolith, a perfect fusion of human and earth.

  Jonn’s mind raced, recognizing this as an earth-element ability of formidable defensive and offensive potential. Yet he knew victory hinged on a single, decisive strike. He readied his spear, its tip glowing with an ethereal light green as air and mana coalesced along its length.

  Time seemed to slow as the stone behemoth swung a massive fist towards Jonn. With grace, Jonn twisted, the blow whistling past him close enough to feel the displacement of air. In that same fluid motion, he thrust forward, aiming his empowered spear directly at the man’s heart.

  Jonn’s spear met the stone flesh with jarring resistance, its progress agonizingly slow as it inched toward the enemy’s heart. A grating screech, like metal on granite, filled the air as the blade burrowed deeper.

  Though the rocky visage remained impassive, an unearthly howl erupted from the golem’s mouth—a sign of the pain beneath the mineral exterior. Yet even in agony, the stone giant retaliated. Its massive fist swung in a vicious arc, connecting with Jonn’s left ribs.

  Jonn felt as if he’d been struck by a battering ram, the force nearly lifting him off his feet. Only his white-knuckled grip on the spear kept him anchored. A sickening crack accompanied a lance of pain through his side, and Jonn’s cry of anguish pierced the night.

  Ignoring the system’s frantic [Health] warnings, Jonn channeled his pain into persistence. With a primal roar, he threw his weight forward, driving the spear deeper into his foe’s stony heart.

  The opponent could hit Jonn all he wanted. Jonn wouldn’t back down or allow himself to be pushed back!

  Simultaneously, the battle raged on another front. The second mage conjured a mana serpent, its scales shimmering with malevolent energy. From between razor-sharp fangs, it spewed a cloud of noxious purple vapor toward Ice and Roulf.

  The flaming bull took point. His hooves struck sparks as he charged, plunging his horns deep into the earth. In a spectacular display, he reared up, launching a geyser of molten rock straight at the serpent.

  Ice seized the moment, using Roulf’s attack as cover. The wolf circled widely, closing in on the now-exhausted mage. With a bone-chilling howl, Ice leaped, becoming a blur of white fur and gleaming claws.

  The mage had one last trick. As Ice bore down, the man thrust his arm forward. In a flash of golden light, an immaculate shield materialized mere inches from his body.

  Ice’s claws met the shield with a resounding clang. They left shallow furrows in the gleaming surface, but the barrier held firm against the beast’s onslaught.

  Ice crashed to the ground, his broken claws sending shockwaves of pain through his massive frame. His anguished howl echoed across the battlefield, a haunting melody of agony.

  “Die!” The mage’s triumphant roar accompanied the dissolution of his golden shield. A spear materialized in his hands, its point gleaming with murderous intent as he lunged forward.

  In that crystalline moment of peril, as Roulf vanquished the mana serpent and Jonn’s avatars faded like dying embers, Ice’s world shifted. The surrounding chaos seemed to recede, the smoke and dust parting like a veil. Above, the stars blazed with unprecedented clarity, their beauty a stark contrast to the carnage below.

  Ice’s eyes fluttered closed, and suddenly he was among those celestial bodies, bounding from star to star with impossible grace. His corporeal form seemed to evaporate, leaving only a trail of stardust in his wake.

  When his eyes snapped open, Ice’s body radiated an otherworldly green aura, bathing the battlefield in its glow. With a fluidity that defied physics, he found himself astride his opponent’s back, poised to strike.

  Disbelief flashed across Ice’s features as he swept a paw across his enemy’s spine. A guttural “noo” escaped his enemy as his claws—now larger and sharper—sank deep into the mage’s flesh.

  The mage’s scream was primordial, raw—the sound of a soul being torn asunder. “Aaaaaaaaaagh!” His body went limp, collapsing forward like a marionette with cut strings.

  In that instant, the mana serpent disintegrated, wisps of magical energy dissipating before Roulf’s molten onslaught. The light faded from the mage’s eyes as he plummeted, not just to the ground, but into an endless void. The battlefield dissolved around him, replaced by a spiraling maelstrom of icy darkness. All sensation fled—no clash of steel, no scent of blood, no touch of earth. He fell endlessly into the abyss, the last vestiges of his consciousness swallowed by the void.

  “Auu!” Ice’s pained yelp transformed into a thunderous howl that echoed across the battlefield, reverberating through the bones of friends and foes alike.

  A shimmering cocoon of mana enveloped the white beast, its light pulsing in rhythm with Ice’s heartbeat. Before the eyes of the astonished onlookers, Ice’s wounds knitted closed, his strength visibly surging.

  Jonn collapsed to the ground, his spear buried in the heart of his now depetrified foe. Despite his exhaustion and injuries, a triumphant smile spread across his face as he saw Ice’s transformation.

  Level 3! Ice has advanced to level 3!

  The thought blazed through Jonn’s mind like a victory banner. Ice was the first animal from the Eternal Village to achieve such a feat!

  As if nature itself were drawing back the curtain on their grim theater, the dust and smoke dissipated, revealing the full extent of the night’s carnage. The aftermath of Jonn’s meteor assault was laid bare—a landscape transformed into a hellish, pockmarked wasteland, littered with the broken bodies of the fallen.

  The Eternal Village cavalry stood amidst the destruction, some nursing wounds, others virtually untouched, save for the blood of their enemies. Their mounts, too, showed a range of conditions—from the severely injured to those seemingly unfazed by the night’s events. But a count would be needed to determine their exact losses.

  In stark contrast, Acelin’s forces had been obliterated. Beyond the moans of the wounded and dying, only a small pocket of resistance remained—a group of ten individuals huddled at the northern edge of the camp, where the meteor impacts had been less severe.

  William, exhausted but victorious, lay between the two enemy corpses he had dispatched after Jonn’s avatar vanished. His weary smile spoke volumes of his triumph as he gazed across the 120 meters separating him from the main group, his eyes fixed on a portly figure attempting to flee among the survivors.

  Petyr, astride his battle-worn steed, cut an imposing figure despite his blood-and-soot-stained armor. He raised his sword, pointing it at the fleeing man. His voice, hoarse from battle, rang out across the field, “Acelin! It’s over! You’ve lost!”