With his war cry echoing in the air, Phaistos watched his allies charge into battle with renewed determination. The scene instantly transformed into a whirlwind of chaos and violence, the two sides clashing with immense force.
The horned demons and sinister specters, inspired by Phaistos's imposing presence and his trident, hurled themselves at their enemies with devastating ferocity. The goblins, orcs, and trolls retaliated with equal brutality, their weapons clashing in a deafening concert of metal against metal.
But it wasn't just physical might that dominated the battlefield. Both armies also wielded powerful spells and elemental magic to defend and attack. The demons invoked infernal flames that swirled around them, creating circles of fire that engulfed their foes. The specters unleashed bolts of dark magic, paralyzing and weakening the closest enemies.
The goblins, on the other hand, used magical potions and concealment spells to turn invisible and launch surprise attacks. The orcs channeled lightning through their blades, striking with an electrifying force that left their enemies stunned. The trolls, despite their brutish appearance, mastered earth magic, causing localized earthquakes that tripped up the demons.
Phaistos, at the heart of the battle, realized he wasn't controlling his body. His movements were fluid and precise, as if he were following a perfectly choreographed dance. Every strike of the trident was executed with deadly efficiency, every maneuver performed with an almost supernatural precision. He summoned waves of water to repel assailants, creating whirlpools and geysers that disoriented and overwhelmed the enemy.
Despite being caught in this storm of violence and magic, Phaistos remained unflappable. He used his trident to channel aquatic magic, creating walls of water to shield against fiery attacks and extinguish flames threatening his allies. He summoned waves to drench the invisible goblins, revealing their positions and neutralizing them.
At a critical moment, he noticed the orc leader, the one wielding the serrated blade and staff, giving orders to his troops. As he barked his instructions, the orc leader massacred Phaistos's soldiers with ruthless brutality. Each swing of his serrated blade mowed down several lives, and his staff emitted lightning bolts that reduced to ashes those who dared approach. Phaistos felt an irresistible pull toward this enemy leader. As he approached, he realized he hadn't yet decided to enter the combat, but his body moved on its own, obeying a mysterious will.
The epic confrontation between Phaistos and the orc leader began. The two combatants sized each other up, the tension palpable. The orc leader, imposing and menacing, roared and attacked with brutal ferocity. His blows were heavy and powerful, each capable of breaking bones and sending sparks flying when they hit the ground. Phaistos, agile and determined, deftly dodged his attacks, every movement carefully calculated to avoid certain death.
Phaistos's trident gleamed with a bluish light, each strike amplified by aquatic magic. He struck with precision, each point of impact creating splashes of magical water that disoriented the orc. Phaistos felt the magic pulsing through his weapon, fueled by his will and determination. His attacks were fluid and relentless, each aimed at vital points and weaknesses in the orc's armor.
However, the orc leader was not an adversary to be underestimated. Taking advantage of a moment of inattention from Phaistos, he landed a violent blow to his flank, making him stagger. Pain radiated through his body, and he felt blood trickle from the wound. Despite the pain, Phaistos straightened up, determined to continue the fight.
The orc leader, seeing an opportunity, followed up with a series of frenzied attacks. Phaistos dodged as much as he could, but a particularly powerful blow struck his left arm, breaking it upon impact. The pain was unbearable, and he felt his arm become useless. Despite this, he gritted his teeth and continued to fight, wielding his trident with his right arm.
The orc leader, frustrated at not being able to defeat Phaistos quickly, summoned lightning bolts from his staff. The bolts crackled through the air, striking the ground around Phaistos and forcing him to dodge the electrifying discharges. Each strike of Phaistos's trident was punctuated by the lightning bolts that illuminated the scene, adding an extra intensity to the battle.
The battle was intense, the two adversaries exchanging furious blows. Phaistos, despite his injuries, remained focused. He used his trident to parry the orc's attacks and retaliated with precise strikes. Each movement was accompanied by a discharge of aquatic magic, creating splashes of water that disoriented the enemy.
In a moment of rage, the orc leader raised his staff to the sky and summoned a powerful lightning bolt. The bolt descended with terrifying force, aiming directly at Phaistos. Reacting swiftly and determinedly, Phaistos invoked a wall of water with his trident to absorb the impact of the lightning. The magical water absorbed the energy of the bolt, creating an explosion of steam that enveloped both combatants.
In the midst of the fight, the orc leader roared defiantly:
"You think you can defeat me, little man? I will crush you to dust!"
Phaistos, panting but determined, replied:
"You underestimate my determination and skill. I will not let your threats intimidate me!"
The two adversaries exchanged even fiercer blows. The orc leader, frustrated by Phaistos's tenacity, spat:
"You're just an insect! A mere human can't defeat me!"
Phaistos, feeling his rage and determination grow, retorted:
"I am not alone. My friends, my strength, and this trident I wield are my weapons. Prepare to taste defeat!"
The orc sneered at his words and continued:
"Fine! Despite your foolishness, your combat skill is commendable. As is customary among my kind when facing a worthy opponent, I will give you my name so you know who took your life. I am Gorak the Brutal, fifth lord of the Savage Tribes of the East. What is your name, pitiful human?"
At these words, Phaistos grinned broadly and parried an attack from his enemy. He took the opportunity to counterattack with a kick to the orc's face. As he created distance between them, he replied:
"It's pointless to tell you. The dead have no memory."
These words enraged Gorak, who redoubled his efforts to kill Phaistos as quickly as possible. His blows gained in strength and speed, but his technique became less precise and more error-prone.
Finally, with unwavering skill and determination, Phaistos managed to disarm the orc leader. In a fluid motion, he sent the serrated blade flying from his adversary's hands and into the body of a horned demon, preventing the orc from easily retrieving it. Gorak, disarmed and disoriented, tried to get up, but Phaistos pinned him to the ground with a precise thrust of his trident. In one smooth movement, he withdrew the trident from the orc's agonizing body and ended his suffering.
At that moment, as he stood over Gorak, a wave of disgust washed over Phaistos. He felt a deep unease, his mind revolting against the act of killing. The sight of the lifeless orc filled him with unbearable nausea. He realized that, although he had won the victory, the murder was a burden he could not bear.
Unable to endure the sight and feeling of what he had done, Phaistos woke up with a start, his heart pounding, covered in sweat. He sat up in his bed, realizing that the dream had been incredibly realistic. The lessons from the grimoire had come to life in his mind, allowing him to experience them intensely and immersively, but he had also learned something profound about himself. He knew he needed to find a balance between mastery of combat and respect for life.
This event had deeply shaken Phaistos. He couldn't understand what he had just experienced. There was no mention in the grimoire of such a phenomenon. He didn't know if what he had seen was a dream, a premonition, or a hidden feature of the book. Nevertheless, he felt that his understanding of what he had previously read was more tangible.
Unable to fall back asleep due to the events he had just lived through, he decided to meditate on his understanding of the light element until it was time to go to class. Phaistos was still concerned about his mastery of this element after all. He had already grasped the importance it could hold, given the fact that he could wield such an element. He didn't want to waste future opportunities because his talent was too weak.
Without realizing it, he hadn't even thought about continuing to read the manual [Basic Combat Strategies]. What he had just experienced had left a mental imprint that he would need to resolve if he wanted to continue on the path of magic. After all, the various instructors they had already met all exuded the same feeling that the different people from his village who had been to war did. This feeling was one of bloodlust, a certain presence that arose when one had taken a life. His father had it as a former army member. He had thus already understood that a mage's path was inextricably linked to survival.
As his mind mulled over different thoughts without him realizing it, his thoughts faded as he entered a stable and serene meditation process. He began to visualize the gentle sun that tinted his home planet with its light and the impact it had on life.
Time passed without him noticing. Finally, the sun rose on the horizon, bathing his room in a golden light. Phaistos felt calmer, though still disturbed by the night's events. He prepared for his day of classes, donning his attire with determination. Today, he would strive to understand what he had experienced and continue advancing on the path of magic.