Chapter 22 : Fierce Battle

But Taketori saw through the mechanic at a glance—the mage’s magical shield only appeared when he wasn’t casting spells.

The moment he initiated any action, the shield would vanish.

This was a well-known system in games called “Focused Casting”—a mechanic where the spell’s effect could only be maintained when the caster was entirely focused.

“His shield only activates when he’s not casting!”

The mage’s expression darkened.

He hadn’t expected the most chaotic-looking one in the group to be the first to decipher his magic.

It seemed he’d have to eliminate her first.

At that moment, the archer had already taken aim at him again.

Where did this little girl get such strength and stamina?

And that player with the flail had closed the distance right in front of him.

The flail-wielding warrior shouted, activating a basic warrior skill—Battle Roar—while swinging his weapon toward the fire mage.

The mage let out a cold snort, and in the blink of an eye, his entire figure vanished without a trace.

Invisibility?

No—it was teleportation!

Taketori sensed a searing heat behind her and instinctively rolled forward.

A blast of intense flame exploded where she had just been, scattering sparks that singed her skin with painful stings.

From the beginning until now, the enemy had already used at least four different spells—blinding white mist, conjured flames he could manipulate, a magic shield that blocked ranged attacks, and now instant teleportation.

Each spell was powerful in its own right, and finding a countermeasure for all of them would be no easy feat.

Taketori glanced at her status bar.

The splash damage from the fireball alone had reduced her HP by 37%.

If she had taken a direct hit, she probably would’ve been instantly killed.

Missing his shot, the fire mage now stood behind the players.

Clicking his tongue in frustration, he began chanting again.

A chaotic, red flame began forming in his palm—its searing heat promised to engulf everything before him.

This wasn’t a single spell, but a combination of three—Ignite, Flame Surge, and Intensify Burn.

It was a specialized technique only those with flame affinity, like him—an Infernal Elf—could use.

Even the Arcane Academy didn’t teach this.

Once the spell was complete, the three before him would meet the same fate as those poor mercenaries who had once escorted supplies.

But just before the spell could fully form, darkness suddenly overtook the fire mage’s vision.

A wave of weakness and searing pain surged through his body.

The spell was forcibly interrupted.

The mage’s heart pounded in confusion.

Based on his training at the Arcane Academy, he quickly recognized it—he had been struck by a curse.

But who cast it?

And where were they hiding?

The tower!

He had underestimated them.

He shouldn’t have revealed himself so early—he should’ve used the mist to finish them off first.

The fire mage recovered quickly, but it was already too late.

He could hear the whoosh of an arrow flying straight at him.

In that instant, instead of panicking, he grew calm.

He infused mana into the ring on his left hand.

Fire elemental energy surged, and a burst of red light dispelled the curse.

With practiced ease, he reestablished his elemental shield just in time to block the incoming arrow.

“If I hadn’t been injured fighting those old bastards, I wouldn’t need to rely on artifacts to deal with the likes of you,” he muttered coldly.

The ruby on the ring worn on his left middle finger glowed several times before its light finally dimmed.

He raised a finger and fired a bolt of green energy—instantly piercing the annoying archer’s skull.

At the same time, his other hand moved quickly, retrieving a scroll from his pocket and casting it toward the remaining two.

Second-tier magic—Bewitching Light.

The flail-wielding player felt his vision blur.

Then, as if driven by an unseen force, he began moving on his own—walking straight to the edge of the bridge and leaping off without hesitation.

Taketori was also affected by the spell.

A sharp pain pierced her mind, but she shook it off almost instantly.

As expected.

After all, from the start, she had chosen the transcendent trait “Blood of the Savage”, which granted strong resistance to control-type spells—a choice that was now paying off.

The fire mage’s expression shifted.

He hadn’t expected anyone to resist a second-tier spell.

Reflexively, he began casting Ignite to finish her off for good—but pain flared in his chest.

A crossbow bolt had sunk deep into him.

Taketori tossed aside the small crossbow she’d been hiding for just this moment.

Drawing her short sword, she charged toward the mage, ready to end this once and for all.

But before she could close the distance, a torrent of flames erupted, swallowing her whole.

Having eliminated the last of the visible threats, the fire mage didn’t forget there was still one more transcendent hiding in the tower.

He summoned another wave of white mist to shroud the stone bridge.

The fire mage paused to think.

The enemy in the tower hadn’t shown themselves, meaning they weren’t confident in facing him head-on.

But his injuries were severe.

That damned mercenary had poisoned the bolt.

The longer this dragged on, the worse it was for him.

With that in mind, he cast a spell and hurled a fireball into the tower, then quickly retreated from his current position.

The fireball exploded inside the tower, but the elemental feedback told him it hadn’t hit anyone.

Then a voice echoed from the mist:

“You’re low on mana, aren’t you?”

The fire mage gritted his teeth and remained silent.

The voice’s direction was deceptive.

To conserve mana and avoid giving away his location, he didn’t cast another spell.

“Since this began, you’ve used two white mists, four Ignites, one Intensify Burn, one Flame Surge, one Elemental Shield, one poison arrow spell, and a second-tier magic scroll.”

“Leaving out your dispel and teleportation whose mana costs are unclear, you’ve spent 32 mana points—that’s more than half your total reserves.

Are you sure you still have enough to keep casting?”

The voice kept speaking, each time from a different direction.

The fire mage knew he was being bluffed.

His mana was low, yes—but he still believed he could win this fight.

“I’m a student of the Academy too. Maybe our mentors even know each other.”

A student?

Since when did the Academy accept students who practiced curse magic?

The fire mage didn’t believe a word.

Still, something stirred in him.

He pulled a green potion from his pocket and downed it, speaking again,

“I find that hard to believe. Unless you tell me who your mentor is.”

A moment later, the voice replied again.

“My mentor is the kind-hearted Professor Siswell.

You may have heard the name.”

Siswell?

That famous archmage?

The fire mage was even more skeptical.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have wasted breath on such nonsense—but the moonlight potion needed time to work, so he humored the voice, though his tone was laced with sarcasm.

“Oh, I’ve heard of him, all right. A remarkable mage—if he managed to teach a piece of work like you!”

The voice didn’t flinch and simply continued.

“If we’re both students of the Academy, why must we kill each other? Let’s put aside our grudges and resolve this in a more civilized way…”

“Those people you killed were my companions. But since you struck first, I’m willing to let it go—how about it?”