Just now was purely an accident—Anser lacked sufficient understanding of Alter Self and used too much force.
The core of Alter Self is replacing Strength with one's spellcasting attribute. After transforming, his claws became natural weapons; each attack was equivalent to a full-power strike from a Fighter with 19 Strength. Their power was beyond question.
Up ahead, Ragna was secretly alarmed as well. She had already noticed earlier that this person's fundamentals were very solid—his climbing and stealth were well executed, clearly the result of professional instruction. He was only lacking in close-quarters combat experience, but casually crushing someone's head with a single move was genuinely terrifying.
'Could he be that Sorcerer from earlier in the day?'
At that moment, a miserable scream came from ahead.
"Enemy attack—!"
The shriek shattered the stillness of the night. Chaos instantly erupted aboard the ship as the cabins opened, lights flared on, and figures crowded into view.
"Frontal assault!"
Ragna halted for a split second, stopped hiding, and launched into a full charge. One heavy impact sent two crew members crashing overboard.
'What a waste.'
Anser sighed inwardly. He swept his gaze around without rushing in, quickly casting Longstrider and Jump on himself.
The Conch had a hull resembling an early galleon, with two aft superstructure decks. The stern was difficult to climb, and most of Ragna's teammates were positioned around the middle-to-rear section of the ship.
All of them were quite formidable. Facing the panicked crew who rushed out in disarray, they practically blocked the exits and slaughtered them—one strike, one kill.
One of them held a rapier, moving with an agile grace like a ballroom dance step, with a faint spell-light shimmer playing over their body.
'No wonder four people dared to board the ship.'
Anser didn't look closely and headed straight for the aftcastle.
A crewman ran into him head-on and, by reflex, slashed out with the longsword in his hand.
Anser stepped in and swung his claws—clang!—the longsword snapped into several pieces. The claws didn't lose momentum and raked across the man's head; half his face and the top of his skull were simply gone, the jagged gap exposing pale brain matter streaked with red.
'Thrilling!'
The feel of melee was completely different from casting at range—more thrilling and more dangerous. Every collision made his blood surge; the sensation was intoxicating.
He sprinted a few steps and leapt up two or three meters onto the aftcastle deck, claws flashing as he ripped two musketeers open from belly to chest.
Blood sprayed, drenching him head to toe. Paired with that "wild" grin on his face, it scared the other gunners into stumbling backward again and again.
Anser didn't notice at all. He charged forward once more, only to hear a rush of wind from behind. His muscles tensed; he twisted his waist and swung his claws in the same motion, but his body reacted too slowly.
Alter Self could only enhance his offensive power—it didn't change his mobility or agility.
Clang—
An invisible force-field shield precisely blocked the blow. The shield shattered in an instant, and the cold gleam struck again, with only a very short interval.
But with that brief obstruction, Anser's claws were already there. His lower body didn't move; he wrenched his shoulder, snapping his right claw backward in a blind strike to the rear. A sudden flare of white-gold radiance lit up on the claw.
Clang. The claws met slight resistance, but their momentum did not diminish. With a tearing shrrk, liquid sprayed everywhere, warm and sticky against his palm.
"Ah—" a suppressed cry of pain came from behind.
[…Conch captain hit, taking 6 slashing damage and 11 radiant damage. Current Hit Points: 26/43…]
Anser turned around. Several meters behind him stood a short figure clad in black leather armor, dual-wielding short swords. A gash nearly a foot long had been torn open across the chest armor, blood pouring out uncontrollably.
"Hoo—"
As the man retreated, he drew a deep breath. A faint airflow rippled around his body; the wound immediately stopped bleeding and scabbed over, and his complexion recovered a bit of color.
"You're not Ragna!" Lamas felt a chill run down his back, lingering fear flooding in.
The moment he came out, he had seen a burly figure carrying a massive axe on his back and intended to seize the chance for a sneak attack. Who would have thought the other party would counter with a single claw, unleashing a "tremendous-force" Divine Smite?
If he hadn't reacted quickly and stepped back in time, that strike would likely have taken off several of his ribs.
Divine Smite, claws, and magical radiance on his body—confusion filled his eyes. Just what the hell was this thing?
Anser didn't answer him. This person could use Second Wind, yet dual-wielded short swords; the combat style was a bit strange.
The dice turned slightly, popping up the target's information:
[Conch Captain, Human, Rogue 4 (Assassin), Fighter 2]
'The real one's here.' He bared his teeth in a grin and charged again.
Lamas's heart tightened, and he chose to avoid the edge of the assault, focusing primarily on evasion.
The two figures crossed paths, "fiercely fighting" for dozens of seconds. His gaze grew stranger and stranger.
'That's it?!'
Anser also felt a bit awkward. He felt as though he were being toyed with—the opponent's reactions were too fast, his footwork exquisite, his close-combat experience rich. Anser couldn't even brush the edge of the man's clothes.
Killing intent flashed in Lamas's eyes as he sought to end this "farce." But a wisp of silvery-white mist flickered past, and his opponent vanished into thin air, reappearing the next instant atop the aftcastle several meters away.
He didn't hesitate. Pushing off with both legs, his body shot forward. The space was cramped, and he was confident the opponent couldn't cast a second spell.
Anser looked down at him from above, Magic Power surging around his body, his expression calm—even as the other man leapt onto the aftcastle in just a few steps, even as that short sword rapidly filled his vision.
"વ્યક્તિગત"
Innate Sorcery + Metamagic: Quickened Spell + Hold Person!
An almost imperceptible magical fluctuation descended in an instant. The short man's body stiffened, veins bulging in his eyes—but it was completely useless.
Thud. The man collapsed at Anser's feet, face smashing into the deck, limbs splayed, prostrate on the ground.
[…Conch captain hit; spell saving throw failed]
Anser didn't hesitate. He lightly brushed the Ring of Spell Storing, the wand nearly pressed against the back of the man's head, as Scorching Ray erupted at point-blank range.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Amid the spine-chilling dull thuds, three consecutive rays of fire detonated against the back of the man's head. There was no blood—only scorched wounds bursting open one after another, belching acrid black smoke that forced Anser to hold his breath.
[…Conch captain hit, taking 37 (critical) fire damage. Current Hit Points: 1/43…]
'He's still not dead after that?'
However, before the combat log finished popping up, the second spell had already activated. After a brief pause, Scorching Ray erupted once more.
The short man suddenly rolled, narrowly avoiding the fatal blow at the critical moment. The three rays of fire grazed past his head and face and struck the deck, burning three black holes with glowing red edges.
Anser took a step back, guarding against a desperate counterattack at death's door.
But the man's gaze was unfocused. That earlier movement had been nothing more than a survival instinct. He staggered forward a few steps, raised his hand, and fired a flare into the air, then collapsed onto the deck again.
Anser frowned and did not approach. From a distance, he fired a Magic Missile.
Bang, bang, bang.
[…Conch captain hit, taking 11 force damage. Critical hit. Target killed. Gained 560 experience points.]
'A distress signal?'
Anser let out a long breath. He had thought the opponent might have some hidden trump card—if victory had slipped away at the last moment, he wouldn't have slept tonight.
Fortunately, the outcome wasn't bad. The opponent had no magic items capable of resisting spell damage; a point-blank Scorching Ray had already left him gravely wounded.
Combat between professionals was like this: as long as it wasn't a pursuit, there was almost never a drawn-out fight lasting dozens of minutes. Life and death could be decided in mere seconds.
Because everyone was fragile and lacked room for error—being off by a little meant being off by a lot.
Luckily, he had Misty Step and Metamagic. Otherwise, it would have been difficult to shake an assassin's close-range pursuit, and the initiative would no longer have been in his hands.
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