"Damn it! Is he even human or so kind of ghost?!"
After crashing through more than a dozen towering trees, Alan's montum finally ca to a halt. He coughed violently, spitting out several mouthfuls of blood, and then struggled to his feet with the support of his sword.
The mont he rose, the shadowy figure appeared once more, this ti rushing straight at Alan with terrifying speed and precision. Without a word, the figure threw a punch aid squarely at Alan's temple.
It was a ruthless strike, clearly ant to kill. If it connected, Alan would either be crippled for life or killed on the spot. There was no room for rcy in this attack.
Naturally, Alan wasn't about to let himself be slaughtered so easily. Even if he couldn't win, he'd resist with everything he had. If nothing else, he'd make the enemy pay for every drop of blood.
"GET LOST!"
Alan roared with fury, unleashing six elental swords all at once. With the Lun Sancta still clutched in his hand, seven swords in total streaked toward the shadowy figure like a barrage of divine spears.
But then sothing strange happened.
All seven swords passed cleanly through the enemy's body.
There was no blood, no impact—not even the slightest hint of resistance. It was as if the figure were made of mist, not flesh.
Even more baffling, Alan felt nothing through the mana feedback loop—no recoil, no energy disturbance, nothing at all.
There was only one possible explanation: elentalization.
The enemy must have done what the sixth prince of Felice had done earlier—transform parts of his body into elental energy, allowing attacks to pass harmlessly through.
But no… sothing didn't add up.
Alan felt no mana fluctuations in the air—none of the ripples that typically accompanied elental transfiguration. The usual telltale signs were missing.
Then another thought struck him.
What if it wasn't elentalization? What if this figure was simply… too fast?
So fast that he had dodged all seven blades in a single heartbeat, leaving behind only a false illusion of being struck?
If that were true, then this figure's power was beyond terrifying. Could it be that this enemy… was on the level of Legendary Mage Gayle?
Just as the thought ford, the shadowy figure suddenly appeared behind Alan. His hand gently touched Alan's back—an almost casual gesture.
And then—
BOOM!
A violent shockwave surged through Alan's body, sending him flying through the air like a ragdoll. He crashed and tumbled across the ground, rolling over and over until he ca to a battered, blood-soaked stop.
But it didn't end there.
The enemy pressed on, giving Alan no room to recover. In his hand, a new weapon appeared—an elental longsword, forged from raw mana. It looked almost identical to Alan's own conjured swords, except he wielded only one.
Then—
Squelch!
The blade plunged deep into Alan's abdon, skewering him like a piece of at on a spit.
Blood gushed from the wound, and Alan's face twisted in agony. His injuries were now critically severe.
"You bastard!"
With a snarl, Alan gripped the sword impaling him, clenching his teeth through the pain. At the sa ti, he slashed Lun Sancta toward the enemy.
But the shadowy figure vanished.
Gone. Like smoke in the wind.
"DAMN YOU! Where the hell did you go?! Co out and fight , you coward! Hiding your face like a rat!"
Alan shouted in fury, blood bubbling in his mouth, rage overpowering the pain.
And then… sothing terrifying happened.
His shadow—the one cast on the dirt by the pale light—began to distort and twist.
It writhed like a living creature.
Suddenly, a dark figure burst forth from it. Two arms transford into razor-sharp blades and stabbed directly into Alan's body from behind.
"Argh…!"
Alan groaned, his face contorted in sheer pain. His knees buckled, his vision blurred.
In the distance, Claude's expression darkened instantly.
"Hey, did you see that?" Claude growled. "That kind of sinister ambush technique—and that power over shadows—that's definitely a dark mage, isn't it?"
Hols didn't reply. His eyes were glued to the battlefield, unblinking, analyzing every movent.
After a mont, he spoke.
"No. The one attacking Alan… there are actually two enemies."
"One is Bruce—the one we've been wary of all this ti. The other is a dark mage hiding inside Bruce's shadow."
Claude's eyes widened in disbelief.
Hols continued, "My guess is that even Bruce himself didn't know about the dark mage hiding within him. As Bruce engaged Alan, the shadow mage also struck at Alan independently."
"But the dark mage's ambitions don't stop with Alan. He wants Bruce dead too."
"That explains why Bruce keeps moving after every attack. He's not just repositioning—he's escaping."
Claude nodded slowly, processing this information. Then his gaze turned suspicious.
"Wait a second. You're talking like none of this concerns you. Don't you care whether Alan lives or dies? Aren't you supposed to be his sponsor?"
Hols scratched his nose, looking slightly sheepish. "Honestly… I didn't expect Bruce and a dark mage to appear. This is outside my calculations. And even if I wanted to help now… do you really think the two of us could take down either of them?"
Claude fell silent.
Because, deep down, he knew Hols was right.
That dark mage alone was a terrifying unknown—but Bruce?
Even when Bruce was only at tier-gold, he could fight tier-diamond powerhouses to a draw. Now, after years of quiet cultivation and focused training… who knew what terrifying level he'd reached?
Back on the battlefield—
"Ugh…"
After the shadow disappeared, Alan collapsed to the ground. The gaping wounds in his back poured blood without end. His body weakened by the second, and he felt his consciousness begin to slip.
He knew what was happening.
Rapid blood loss.
A common—but lethal—phenonon in battle.
If a person is impaled by a blade or spike, leaving the object inside can slow bleeding temporarily. But if it's removed… the blood gushes out like a fountain, death following close behind.
"I have to… stop the bleeding…"
Despite the agony clouding his mind, Alan gritted his teeth and stayed focused.
He bit down hard on Lun Sancta's hilt—partly to brace against the pain, partly to stop himself from screaming. He wouldn't let Isabella—who was watching—see him at his worst. He had to protect her innocence, even now.
Tearing his shirt into strips, he prepared to bind the wounds on his back and staunch the flow of blood.
But before he could finish, the two enemies appeared again.
Bruce, the silent killer.
And the dark mage who had hidden in his shadow.
Both stared at Alan with cold, rciless eyes.
Their intent was clear: Alan must die.
Alan clenched his jaw. No more hesitation.
If he was going down, he'd drag one of them to hell with him.
He would not die a victim.
But then—
A flash of light.
From afar, a blade streaked through the air, tearing across the battlefield like a shooting star.
Its target? Not Alan.
But the two powerful assassins standing before him.
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