A massive explosion of fire magic slammed into the front lines of the Marquis's force. Deep red flames towered into the sky, creating a wall of immense heat. Marquis Sylvestre was thrown back. He turned around, his face deathly pale.
He witnessed a horrific sight. The soldiers who were ready to massacre were now human torches. Agonizing screams shattered the silence of the forest. They ran frantically, their bodies engulfed in fierce flames that would not extinguish by simply rolling on the ground. Within minutes, the soldiers fell, reduced to charred, black remains.
"What... what is this?!" the Marquis screamed, his voice trembling.
He looked toward the villagers. They were no longer standing in silence. Some were chanting spells, while others already held weapons in their hands.
"You misjudged us, Marquis!" Keywiln said, stepping forward through the still-burning embers. "We live on the outskirts of the Death Forest not because we are outcasts, but because we are the only ones capable of containing what lies within it."
Infuriated, the Marquis ordered his remaining troops, including the commander and the two elite knight deputies, to launch an all-out assault. "Attack! Kill them all! They are just village sorcerers!"
War erupted on the Noive Village. The Marquis's forces surged forward with battle cries, but they were like waves crashing against a steel wall. Every sword strike was parried by protective shields, every arrow was diverted by the wind. Conversely, every attack from the villagers, be it fireballs, earthen spears, or bolts of light, hit its mark with deadly precision.
Soldiers fell one by one. Blood soaked the fields. Thanks to healing magic, there were zero casualties on Noive's side. Those who suffered even a scratch were healed instantly from a distance. The villagers fought with perfect coordination, as if war were nothing more than their daily routine.
Noive Village had transformed into a horrific battlefield. Marquis Sylvestre's army, once appearing so mighty and disciplined, was now scattered like trampled tin toys. The villagers moved with a synchronization impossible for common folk; they struck from blind spots, used earth-binding magic to lock down cavalry, and rained destruction upon the enemy lines with devastating spells.
Witnessing his prideful army fall one by one, Marquis Sylvestre began to realize he had stepped into a nest of monsters. Fear began to creep into his heart, not for himself, but for the future of his lineage.
"Tristan! Get into the wagon, quickly!" the Marquis shouted to his son, who was trembling in terror beside him. He turned to his two remaining elite soldiers. "Get my son out of here! Return to the Varda territory! Ensure our bloodline continues. Go now!"
The two soldiers immediately spurred the luxury wagon forward, attempting to break through the smoke of battle toward the forest path. However, for the people of Noive, not a single enemy was permitted to leave with this news.
"Don't let them escape!" a villager cried out.
In an instant, the sky above the wagon shifted colors. Various magics, massive fireballs, sharp wind arrows, and stone spears, pelted the wagon from every direction.
BOOM!
A violent explosion erupted. The luxury wagon, crafted from the finest wood, was blown into tiny splinters. Tristan, who was inside, didn't even have time to scream. He perished instantly alongside his guards in a blaze of fire and dust.
Seeing his only son destroyed before his very eyes, Marquis Sylvestre howled like a wounded wolf. His rage boiled over, extinguishing the last of his sanity. "HOW DARE YOU! HOW DARE YOU KILL MY SON!"
Keywiln, the village chief, stood calmly before him, unsheathing an old sword that looked modest yet radiated a chilling aura. "Are you blind because of your noble status, Marquis? You were the one who led your son to his death by invading our home! Do not forget, this is not your palace ballroom. This is a battlefield!"
The battle fractured into crucial skirmishes. Keywiln surged forward, his blade clashing with Marquis Sylvestre's. The ring of metal echoed sharply amidst the whirring of magic.
Meanwhile, Victor, the Marquis's mage commander, couldn't believe his eyes. He tried to turn the tide, chanting a large-scale fire spell. "Die, you village rats!" he screamed.
However, his attack was intercepted by Sarah, Keyown's wife and Keyzier's mother.
Victor, the Grand Mage of the Varda region, stepped forward with exploding fury. He had seen his comrades and his master's son perish before him. "How dare you! I am a mage who serves the Varda family! You are mere villagers who learn magic like savages!"
Victor raised his silver staff high. He began chanting a long, intricate spell. The air around him swirled violently, creating a massive vortex of fire shaped like a giant phoenix. "Burn everything! Great Inferno Avian!"
The fire bird lunged toward the center of the village, slicing through the air with a temperature capable of melting iron. Sarah stood there with utter composure. She did not run; she did not dodge. She simply stood tall with her hand slightly raised, her palm open.
"City mages always love something loud and blinding!" Sarah said in a chillingly calm tone.
When the fire bird was just meters from her face, Sarah did not cast a counter-spell of equal size. Instead, she manipulated the mana structure around her. With a subtle flick of her finger, she seemed to "stitch" the air itself. The once wild fire bird suddenly froze in mid-air, not because of ice, but because its constituent mana had been "tamed" by Sarah.
Slowly, the giant fire shrank and condensed, finally turning into a tiny fireball the size of a marble, floating at the tip of Sarah's finger. Victor stared wide-eyed, cold sweat pouring down his face. "How... how is it possible for you to break my spell without resistance?"
"Because you treat magic like a weapon, while I treat it like a part of my breath." Sarah replied. "Now, return what you have borrowed from nature."
Sarah flicked the tiny fireball back at Victor. Despite its size, the speed and density of the mana within far surpassed Victor's original magic. It pierced Victor's magical shield as if it were paper, then exploded directly against the commander's chest. Victor's body vanished into ash in the blink of an eye, leaving only his silver staff to clatter onto the ground.