City of Sin

The Portal Opens(2)

They were supposed to arrive right at Richard’s base, close to the Lighthouse of Time. However, there seemed to be no buildings of any sort nearby. Although Raymond hadn’t expected to land right in Richard’s base, they were much too far from their destination.

On top of that, the locals were ready for him! Not only were they waiting near the portal, they even had a massive 100,000-strong army! He looked around at the chaotic surroundings and could tell that his side was in disarray. Even with a 10:3 difference in numbers his army was supposed to edge out in power, but scattered as they were right now that power could not manifest itself.

Thankfully, they still had the advantage in powerhouses. The twelve saints and eight grand mages he had brought along, all equipped with runes, could easily suppress even Faelor’s sub-legendary experts. Not too far away, one of his saints clad in black armour was cutting a level 18 powerhouse from Faelor in two. This was already the second enemy he had slain.

However, the sight only turned the warriors of the Baruch Kingdom all the more savage. They fought with all they had, trying to drown the enemy with numbers. The saint in black armour sneered as he flung the corpse away with his sword, looking for the next opponent.

It was at this moment that a black-robed youth with a battleaxe appeared in front of him. The man’s appearance was so silent the saint hadn’t even noticed him, the helmet shrouding his face only revealing a pair of jewel-like eyes.

The saint shuddered as a cold gaze seemed to pierce through his heart, roaring off the fear as he struck out preemptively with his sword. He had found Faelor’s experts to be exceptionally weak, even two consecutive fights barely denting his energy reserves. Thus, he had decided to overpower this opponent with brute force as well.

However, this new mysterious enemy raised his shield and deflected the strike. The saint felt as though as he had struck a mountain, just the reflected vibrations blurring his vision as blood started gushing out of his orifices. The huge sword was also sent flying away, its shape distorted.

The mysterious youth swung his own weapon after deflecting the saint’s attack, cleaving his head straight off.

Raymond’s eyes narrowed. This was the first of his saints that had died.

Another saint flew forward, quite evidently excelling in speed as he left a trail of afterimages behind him. However, the youth from Faelor shielded himself once more and charged forward. Somehow managing to grasp the approaching saint’s position, he bashed right into him.

A resounding clap rang through the battlefield as the saint was forced to retreat, standing still in mid-air. His twin daggers were already broken, the blades now piercing his own body. The mysterious man strode forward and waved his left arm, sending his shield into the saint’s chest. The sounds of cracking dictated that this saint would never see Norland again.

Two more saints stepped forward to take him on, but the mysterious youth brandished his axe and shield to tear through anything in his way. As they met each other, the clashing energy obscured one’s vision of the fight.

However, it wasn’t long before the two saints were sent flying with a whoosh, their bodies covered in blood. A golden mask flew away on the other side, leaving behind a glimmering trail through the skies. The mysterious figure was stood in mid-air, the lost mask revealing a bewitching androgynous face. In stark contrast were his long, narrow eyes, filled with an icy madness.

A drop of blood slid down from his fringe, slipping through the bridge of his nose to fall to his lips before he licked it off.

This was Zangru Baruch.

All of the Norland warriors froze for a moment, not daring to come forward. Thunderous roars rang out as warflags emerged on the horizon, their shining golden light illuminating half the sky. These knights were clad in gold and draped in red capes, the momentum of their charge so great it was like an unstoppable wave was engulfing the ground.

At the very centre of the formation was the commander of it all, the champion of Lutheris. It was King Anwod Baruch.

The Norlanders’ morale was crushed in the blink of an eye.

Raymond immediately noticed that something was amiss, pointing at Zangru and yelling, “ALL ELITES ON HIM, HE HAS A DIVINE WEAPON!”

The battle between mages in mid-air was already concluded. The Faelorians were running out of mana, giving those of Norland the upper hand. Hearing Raymond’s orders, six of the eight grand mages turned in Zangru’s direction.

This time Zangru’s face turned pale. He roared as he placed the Wargod’s Shield in front of him, but many spells landed on his body at the same time. Mind Spike, Soul Strike, Confusion, Banishment, Bind, Amber Coffin… Six different control spells landed on his body, all trying to influence his soul. Zangru’s face turned whiter with every spell, to the point that he eventually coughed up some blood. Although he was remarkably powerful, he had only managed to survive the bombardment of six spells due to the divine artefact in his hands. However, he was still severely injured.

Raymond immediately concluded that they would win this battle, no longer glancing at the enemy charging right at him as he instead pointed at Anwod, “Everyone, spear formation. Rune knights, penetrate enemy ranks!”

A warhorn blared through the battlefield as the general behind Raymond tilted his flag in the target direction. All fifty rune knights spurred on their horses, quickly gaining speed. Although there were only fifty of them, the impacts of steel meeting earth could rival the strength of a thousand horses!

The Norland army started to show its might as well, slowly forming into strict rows that shielded the rune knights’ charge. They were being given the opportunity to break through. The rune knights used the chance to accelerate to top speed, slicing into the golden river that was surging towards them like a sharp blade.

The golden knights seemed to be split in two, those directly in the way thrown into the sky alongside their horses. It took mere moments for the blade to pass through the other side of the golden deluge that was the elite might of the Baruch Kingdom, the King himself tossed helplessly to the ground. Blood the same crimson as his cape stained the earth.

Zangru didn’t so much as spare a glance at the scene, uncaring for his father’s death. He continued his relentless charge towards Raymond, having realised that the feeble-looking mage was in fact the leader of the invaders. If he could kill off the commander, the Norlanders’ morale would plummet and organisation would be destroyed.

However, a blinding flash blocked his path as a grey-robed old man appeared before him. A dirty-looking sword seemed right at home in his own seemingly ordinary hands, not having been cleaned in ages. “Those weapons aren’t bad… Pity their user is still a little sapling.”

Zangru’s brows knitted as he spoke for the first time in that battle, “You aren’t much stronger than me, old man. And I don’t see any divine weapons on you.”

The grey-robed man smiled, “I’m strong enough to deal with you. Besides, I’m not alone.” His sword flashed towards Zangru before he even finished his words, forcing the youth to block with his shield in surprise. He was barely able to choose the right position to block, but it had only been accomplished through sheer instinct.

A light tinkle sounded as sword struck shield, the lack of strength astonishing the youth. His eyes narrowed as he moved his shield immediately, blocking another strike. However, it was at this moment that multiple beams of light struck his body once more. Four of the grand mages had continued to focus their spells on him, and the worst part was that these weren’t attack spells that could be blocked by his shield or energy shroud. These curses were synergised with no conflicting natures, achieving maximum effect. Unable to leave the fight with the old man, he could only rely on his great resistance to magic to tank as many spells as he could.

Zangru was eventually left as white as a sheet, his speed drastically reduced. The old man struck his right hand that was holding the axe, leaving a wound as he sent the weapon flying into the sky.

Zangru roared as he swept out with his left hand in retaliation, throwing the shield in the old man’s direction. The shrill whistle turned the man’s expression grim, forcing him to flash several steps away. It wasn’t until he avoided it that he realised what was going on; he’d been had!

The grey-robed man suddenly turned his head around, seeing a red barrier flashing brightly for a moment before the shield broke through the defences of one of the grand mages and sliced him in two. It then arced in mid-air, flying back into Zangru’s hand.

The old man didn’t say another word, unleashing a barrage of attacks in Zangru’s direction.

However, the youth roared again, his black hair falling free as the Wargod’s Helmet flew up this time. He then turned around and escaped, seemingly disappearing into thin air. The old man was left grasping at straws, eventually snorting before he returned to Raymond’s side. He didn’t dare to leave the commander unprotected in this hellish battlefield.