Dappled sunlight fell upon the forest floor. Even the midday sun of midsummer was largely depleted after filtering through the exceptionally lush foliage. Within the Demon Domain Forest, even at its edges, it was perpetually chilly and damp.
Over thirty knights moved silently through the woods. Most wore fine half-plate armor and carried gleaming Halberds; about half also had longbows slung on their saddles. This troop was Rogue's "Dragon and Beauty" mercenary group. When they were still over two hundred miles from Cyrus Castle, occupied by the bandits (or mercenaries), Lance, who had some military experience, led them deep into the Demon Domain Forest. After a grueling day's march through the woods, the mercenaries were now less than a hundred miles from their destination. The journey had been smooth, without encountering any ferocious magical beasts, as they were only operating on the forest's edge.
The area around Cyrus Castle was quite hilly, though mostly low-lying ridges. Due to its remote location, poor resources, and Ophirock's deliberate neglect, Cyrus Castle had been occupied for half a year without anyone raising an alarm. The common folk in the surrounding areas, however, suffered for it. But this was all outdated intelligence. In the end, Rogue and his companions had to rely on the map provided by Ophirock for this scouting mission.
In the afternoon, the mercenaries estimated they were within seventy miles of Cyrus Castle, approaching the patrol range of the enemy's cavalry scouts. Lance gave an order, and the mercenaries spread out, advancing slowly in a dispersed formation. Four seasoned mercenaries dismounted and swiftly began scouting ahead.
A rider in black half-plate armor, positioned towards the middle and rear of the column, was Rogue. This fat man, showing no awareness of his supposed role as a Mage, still carried a short battle-axe. The axe followed the Hammer of the War God's consistent style of ornate beauty—its lines were elegant, even delicate-looking. Magic runes were engraved on the back of the axe head, and a rare black crystal was prominently inlaid near the hilt. After first seeing Rogue's getup, the sharp-tongued Franco had remarked, "I don't find the 'Battle-axe Mage' amusing at all."
Most Mages, having buried themselves in magical tomes for years and handled various hazardous substances (most parts of magical beasts being somewhat toxic to humans), possessed poor physical stamina. Wearing heavy armor was an absolute burden. Moreover, metal was proven to significantly hinder mana gathering. Even standing still, a Mage wearing full plate armor would have a spell failure rate exceeding 50%. In combat, this was a matter of life and death. For Rogue, neither was a problem. His Psychic power was excessively vast, making controlling his pitiful amount of Mana effortless. Furthermore, perhaps due to the modifications his body had undergone, Rogue's Psychic power suffered minimal loss when gathering Mana through metal. With his meager Mana reserves, barely enough for third-tier spells, he could probably cast spells even if sealed inside a metal ball.
Ever since entering the Demon Domain Forest, Rogue had often been in a dazed state. In his eyes, his surroundings frequently flattened into two-dimensional pictures, and strange shouts and cries echoed in his ears. Rogue looked around blankly, as if standing before a giant landscape painting. Several times, he had the impulsive urge to puncture this paper-like layer with his axe to see what lay behind. He seemed to see Lance approaching, shouting something at him, but he was like a fish in water, only seeing the mouth moving above the surface without hearing the words.
Rogue shook his head vigorously, as if shattering a mirror. The flat world broke apart. Sound and color returned to reality. "Rogue!! What's wrong with you??" Lance shook him hard. "I'm fine. What's happening?" Rogue felt as exhausted as if he had just... well, spent himself. Lance stared at him for a moment before saying, "We've found traces of the enemy patrol. I think we'd better set an ambush here, capture a few for questioning."
The place where Lance discovered the patrol was only about ten miles from the forest edge. There were clear hoofprints, a mix of old and new. Judging by the number, it was a group of seven or eight. These tracks indicated that a group of similar size frequently used this path; perhaps this very forest trail was beaten out by the patrols.
Dusk approached. The mercenaries rested in the forest overnight after setting their traps. At dawn, Lance posted new scouts to watch from the forest edge while the others continued resting. The group, with their extremely limited military knowledge, didn't really know how to lay an ambush properly. Fortunately, a few of the hired mercenaries were somewhat familiar with the process. Their arrangements gave it a decent semblance of one.
After a night of discussion, Rogue and the others concluded that this patrol might not be so simple; otherwise, the two skilled men they sent out wouldn't have vanished without a trace. But after much deliberation, aside from increasing their vigilance, they couldn't come up with any concrete results.
After a night's rest, Rogue's energy was fully restored. He gently stroked a green ring on his finger, softly chanting an activation spell. A small, inconspicuous globe of light slowly formed and gradually rose into the air. Rogue directed a wisp of his Psychic power into the globe, and it was as if a new field of vision opened before him. As the globe rose steadily, it stabilized about ten meters in the air. This "Wizard Eye" spell wasn't very high-level and had a long duration, making it a convenient scouting tool. But its flaws were equally prominent: the Mage needed to continuously focus attention on it, so during combat, Mages couldn't afford to maintain it. Another drawback was that the spell's fluctuations were easily detected by another Mage, often revealing the caster's position—a frequently fatal threat for a Mage.
A clear birdsong sounded from the forest edge. The mercenaries, sitting on the ground, jumped up and took their ambush positions. Their horses had been left five miles away; cavalry were of little use in the forest. As the steady clip-clop of hooves grew clearer, the noble scoundrels began to sweat. This was different from their usual brawls; this was the real deal. Rogue didn't move, continuing to observe the surroundings through the Wizard Eye—after first comfortably positioning himself high in a thickly-leafed tree.
Six scout cavalrymen slowly made their way down the path. They wore leather armor, carried knightly swords, and patrolled casually, chatting and laughing. It seemed nothing had happened for days. On the chests of their leather armor, there seemed to have been some emblem, now scraped off. Suddenly, Rogue in the tree felt a palpitation, as if a venomous snake in the shadows had fixed its gaze on him. The fat man immediately withdrew the Wizard Eye, closed his eyes, and focused entirely on sensing the surrounding magical fluctuations. With his exceptional Psychic power, Rogue immediately detected a faint source of Mana about two miles away from the mercenaries, stealthily approaching. Given that the Wizard Eye had detected nothing earlier, this Mage had cast Invisibility on himself—at least an intermediate-level Mage.
Rogue was momentarily stumped. Psychic sensing could only determine the general direction; he couldn't pinpoint the location. And "True Sight," which could dispel invisibility, was a fourth-tier spell, beyond his current ability. But there's always a way. After a moment's thought, the fat man grinned sinisterly. Taking advantage of the distance the Mage still had to cover, he quickly consulted with Ete, who was nearest, and then disappeared into the forest with an agility befitting a magical beast.
The patrol knights were leisurely digesting their breakfast, though the forest scenery was rather uninspiring. They weren't too worried about their safety, as an intermediate Mage was covertly protecting them. The straightforward cavalrymen didn't consider the possibility that they might be bait. Their laughter grew louder as they discussed the young, lone village girl they encountered on patrol last month.
Death always comes when least expected. A hail of arrows suddenly flew from the depths of the trees. Twenty short bows and three crossbows all targeted the three cavalrymen at the front. These patrol riders were quite skilled, swiftly deflecting arrows and managing to block a small portion even in their haste. But the first three were still hit by several arrows each and fell from their horses. The three unhorsed riders reacted with astonishing speed, immediately charging into the woods, denying the mercenaries a second volley.
The mercenaries dropped their bows, drew their swords, and closed in for melee. The patrol knights' martial skills were decent, especially one wielding a Greatsword, who was particularly formidable. He maneuvered his horse deftly around two large trees, charging into the midst of three mercenaries who had just drawn their swords. Swinging the Greatsword, he cut down one mercenary, then thrust lightning-fast at a second. The mercenary raised his sword to block; with a clang, his sword was knocked aside. Terrified, he flung up his left arm, using the steel knight's shield on it to protect his heart. The Greatsword's tip scraped against the steel shield, sending out sparks and an ear-piercing screech. The curved shield surface deflected the tip sideways. The mercenary was sent flying by the immense force, the sound of a clean arm fracture accompanying his flight. The Greatsword knight on horseback sneered, twisted his wrist, and dropped the sword point, slashing a deep, bone-revealing gash on the mercenary's thigh, unprotected by plate.
The third mercenary turned and hid behind a tree. The Greatsword knight glanced over, noticed his more ornate armor, immediately abandoned the two wounded mercenaries, and urged his horse in pursuit. That mercenary was Lance. With his life on the line, the heavily encumbered Lance displayed agility rivaling a thief, weaving and dodging through the trees, keeping the knight behind him from closing in.
The other two patrol riders weren't so lucky or skilled. One, while chasing a mercenary on horseback, suddenly found two Halberds swinging down at him from a tree above. Shocked, he threw himself flat against his horse's neck and spurred it forward, the warhorse leaping three meters away, narrowly escaping death. However, another Halberd struck silently from behind, easily splitting the leather armor and nearly cleaving him in two. Lance jumped down lightly from the tree and, without checking the body, quickly moved with his Halberd towards the sounds of fighting. The other patrol rider was surrounded by Ete and five mercenaries. Outnumbered, he was soon struck from behind on the thigh by a mercenary and cut down under a flurry of swords.
After trailing Lance around two more bends, the Greatsword knight, hearing two distant screams, changed his mind. He turned his horse, preparing to flee. His horse suddenly reared; a crossbow bolt was embedded in its rump, throwing the knight from the saddle. Unfazed, he rolled and stood up, finding Lance blocking his path ahead, a bloodied Halberd in hand. Ete appeared behind him, holding a heavy sword. Franco, armed with a crossbow, and Lance, who had just been fleeing for his life, also emerged. The knight's palms sweated, and he cursed inwardly: "Where is that damned Mage?"
The Mage was also in a predicament. After detecting the use of a Wizard Eye, he had cast Invisibility and carefully advanced towards the battlefield. When the sounds of fighting erupted in the distance, he was fortunate to spot a knight in resplendent armor hiding in the woods thirty meters away—someone who looked like a commander. Pleased with his luck, the Mage launched a Lightning Bolt, striking the target squarely. Watching the knight fall, wreathed in tiny electrical sparks, the Mage, now visible, swaggered over. He was confident in his spell's power, especially with a second Lightning Bolt spell prepared as backup.
The knight struggled to his feet. A second Lightning Bolt crossed the distance and struck him again. But this time, the knight didn't fall. Instead, he turned around. Beneath the helmet was only a skull, its deep eye sockets occasionally flickering with pale flames, staring fixedly at the Mage. Horrified, the Mage watched as the skeleton seemed to grin at him. The Mage's mouth went dry, his palms sweaty. Years of combat instinct made him quickly activate an amulet he wore. A white pillar of light rose from his feet and vanished, but an invisible magical force field now enveloped him. The second-tier spell "Mage Armor" was economical, practical, easy to learn, and absolutely essential for a Mage's personal protection while traveling.
Being an intermediate Mage himself yet using an amulet to cast this second-tier spell was primarily to save time for chanting his next spell. On the battlefield, time was a Mage's second life. With equal Mana and the same spell, the one who finished chanting first gained the advantage. Chanting speed varied from person to person—accent, language habits, even one's mood that day could affect a spell's execution. As was widely acknowledged on the continent, a stutterer could never become a Master Mage. But chanting faster wasn't always better. Not only did it increase the failure rate, but higher-level spells often had longer, more tongue-twisting incantations. The fact that many crucial syllables in chants couldn't be shortened was a major challenge. Which syllables could be shortened was often a Mage's greatest secret, not necessarily shared even with their closest disciples.
The Mage's chant completed quickly. A summoning circle appeared on the ground, and in a flash of light, a magical creature slowly took form. Meanwhile, Rogue had stealthily approached from behind and swung his axe at the Mage. Just as the Mage was about to be decapitated, Rogue felt his axe suddenly plunge into a large block of butter, veering uncontrollably to the side. As a rookie who had barely held an axe for a few days, he couldn't yet control a swung axe properly.
Startled, the Mage sidestepped, but the battle-axe still gouged a long gash on his shoulder. Rogue followed up with a kick, changing his favorite groin shot to a sweep. Sure enough, it felt like kicking a pile of cotton. But the powerful kick still sent the Mage flying.
"Roar!" A roar sounded behind Rogue. He turned to see a black panther poised to pounce. "Damn it!" Rogue cursed his luck. Just when he had successfully closed in for melee, rendering the Mage practically helpless, it turned out his Familiar was the rare combat type. And with Rogue having draped his armor over Fengyue, he was only wearing cloth garments, hardly capable of stopping a panther's teeth. "Whoosh!" A Halberd chopped down at the panther from above—it was Fengyue, finally arriving, dragging that cumbersome suit of armor. The black panther swiftly switched targets, pouncing towards Fengyue.
Rogue wiped off a cold sweat and turned with a sinister grin towards the Mage, who was groaning as he climbed to his feet, and charged with his axe. Despite the protection of the Mage Armor, how could the Mage be a match for Rogue's brute strength? Soon, he was bleeding from multiple cuts. After several attempted chants were interrupted, the Mage gritted his teeth and hurled a handful of multi-colored gems at his opponent. This hit Rogue's weak spot. His attacks slowed as he hesitated, wondering if he should pick some up to check their quality. Seizing the opportunity, the Mage scrambled to escape, only to trip headlong over a branch that suddenly rose from the ground. The pain from his numerous wounds flared up simultaneously, and the Mage nearly passed out.
Fengyue was at a disadvantage against the panther; the armor was simply too heavy, and the Halberd wasn't a suitable weapon. For a skeleton with limited strength, knightly equipment wasn't very fitting. Corresponding to the Mage's level, this black panther was quite powerful. Unfortunately, its teeth couldn't penetrate the finely crafted steel armor Rogue had provided. Compared to months ago, Fengyue's bones were now well-proportioned, sturdy, with a柔和亮洁 hue, and the joints between bones were tight and smooth—clearly a top-quality skeleton. In the struggle with the panther, Fengyue had finally managed to land an axe blow at the cost of an exposed leg bone, chopping off half the panther's tail. The panther, in turn, had left several tooth marks and cracks on Fengyue's thigh bone.
Sensing the faint anxiety transmitted from Fengyue's direction, Rogue remembered the situation over there and glanced back. In that moment of distraction, a faint chanting sound came from behind. Rogue whirled around to see a scroll burning in the hands of the sneering Mage, a bowl-sized fireball already before his eyes. Rogue had no choice but to block his face with the axe and throw himself to the ground.
"Boom!" Fierce flames erupted. The black crystal on Rogue's axe hummed softly, and a faintly dark-tinged protective shield enveloped him. However, this shield couldn't completely block the wave of fire. The smell of roasted meat spread through the forest. As for the Mage, already severely wounded, he couldn't withstand the fireball's power and was charred to a crisp.
The black panther returned to its own space. Fengyue, also due to Rogue's severe injuries, returned to the Otherworld. The fragrant-smelling Rogue struggled to get up, only to collapse again. Before losing consciousness, he vowed never to let a beaten dog off the leash again.