Chapter 211: On The Verge Of Death

The battlefield had escalated beyond a mere fight; what unfolded now was a clash of wills and endurance, a grinding struggle pushing everyone present to their physical, mental, and spiritual limits.

The Guild’s once-mighty structure now leaned at precarious angles like a wounded beast clinging to life.

Dust filled the air, thick and suffocating, intermittently illuminated by flashes of aura and magic, transforming each moment into a chaotic strobe of fire, wind, and lightning.

Amidst this devastation stood Sage, motionless, his staff planted firmly against the fractured ground while magic circles erupted around him in relentless succession. Each one was timed with razor precision to support the Master Knights fighting desperately at the front.

The battle had devolved into a war of attrition, every second stretching out to feel both eternal and fleeting. Sage and the Master Knights clashed relentlessly with catastrophic force.

The difference in rank was undeniable, but it no longer felt like an overwhelming tide. Instead, it became a brutal test of endurance as Sage’s interventions forced the leader to abandon finishing blows, constantly redirecting his focus.

Each time the 5-Star High-Level Knight attempted a killing blow, a spell detonated at the last possible moment, fire lances bursting from beneath him, wind blades slicing across his trajectory, lightning crashing down to disrupt his stance, compelling him to evade rather than execute.

The Master Knights seized every opportunity provided by these disruptions, their blades striking with desperate ferocity, their aura flaring with every ounce of strength they could muster.

The leader began to bleed. A thin trail of red trickled from the corner of his mouth, stark against his dust-streaked skin, a sign that even his formidable defenses were eroding under the relentless coordination of Sage’s magic and the Knights’ attacks.

However, the cost of that resistance was equally brutal. The Master Knights bore the brunt of his retaliations with their bodies. One staggered back, a gash so deep it exposed bone beneath torn flesh, blood pouring down his armor as he struggled to remain upright.

Another coughed violently after a blow to his chest cracked ribs and robbed him of breath. A third was hurled across the battlefield by a single strike, crashing through a collapsed wall before forcing himself upright again, trembling but unyielding.

The audible snap of bones under the pressure of impact, armor splitting open like brittle shells, and blood spraying across the shattered plaza marked the brutal reality of their resistance.

Yet, miraculously, none of them fell. Every time the leader aimed to finish off a downed opponent, Sage intervened. His rhythm of casting became almost superhuman in its consistency.

Magic circles appeared without warning, manifesting precisely where they were needed, between blade and target, beneath the leader’s feet, beside his flank,behind his back, each one erupting into force that disrupted the fatal moment.

Fire slammed into the ground, exploding outward and forcing everyone to scatter. Wind whipped through the air in sharp arcs, deflecting lethal strikes. Lightning struck with explosive fury, disrupting momentum and compelling a strategic retreat.

The effort was tearing Sage apart. His face had grown pale, each breath coming deeper and quicker, scraping through his chest like shards of glass. Blood began to seep from his ears, thin crimson trails running down his jaw, soon followed by darker stains spilling from the corner of his mouth.

His nose bled steadily, droplets landing on the ground beneath his staff as his hands trembled from the strain of channeling more power than his rank was meant to bear. Facing a warrior two ranks above him while trying to maintain a triple cast wasn’t just difficult, it was recklessly self-destructive.

Still, he pressed on without slowing or faltering, determined to keep the cold expression on his face intact.

Behind him, Mina lay still, her chest barely rising and falling, the only sign that life still clung to her battered body. That fragile rhythm anchored him more than anything else.

Each time his focus wavered, he glanced at her, reassuring himself that she was still breathing. Then, he returned to the battle with renewed intensity, forcing his mind to sharpen and his spells to strike with even greater precision.

The clash before him escalated into an almost surreal spectacle, the battlefield transforming into a chaotic stage of violence that felt too intense for the mortal realm.

The leader moved with terrifying speed, his blade flashing through the air in arcs that could cleave stone and air alike. Each strike was strong enough to carve deep trenches into the earth.

The Master Knights countered with everything they had left, their fatigue giving way to instinctive teamwork, blades crossing in flawless sequences, auras flaring in synchronized bursts. The sound of their clashes rolled like thunder across the plaza.

BOOM! BOOM!

Shockwaves flattened anything that remained intact.

Then, the momentum shifted. The leader adapted. He pressed harder, sharpening his movements into something ruthless as he exploited every flicker of fatigue or hesitation in the Knights’ defense.

One Knight was struck with devastating force, sent hurtling into a nearby structure, collapsing a section of the Guild wall. Another was hit on the side, the impact launching him into a crumbling pillar. Three more attempted to converge on him, only to be caught in a sweeping counter that tore through their formation and hurled them backward.

The leader shot forward, his aura blazing as he chained strikes together with chilling precision. One Knight was driven into the ground, leaving a crater that cracked the surrounding stone; another was flung through a collapsing archway.

A third took a direct hit to the chest and was sent crashing into the Guild’s outer wall, which buckled and began to crumble under the weight.

The last two lay amidst the wreckage, their bodies sprawled across the battlefield like discarded dolls. They didn’t move. Whether they were alive or dead was impossible to discern.

Half-buried under debris and dust, they remained still while the structure around them swayed perilously, the Guild building creaking under the strain as if it were on the verge of total collapse.

For a brief moment, the battlefield fell into a chilling silence.

Only four Master Knights were left standing. They appeared pale, their breaths coming in heavy gasps, bodies trembling from fatigue and wounds, armor cracked, blood seeping through torn fabric and metal.

Behind them stood Sage, his breathing ragged, blood trickling from his ears, nose, and mouth. He struggled to keep his mind clear despite the relentless pounding in his skull and the creeping numbness in his limbs.

Their leader wiped the blood from his lip, his expression hardening, irritation mingling with focus to create an edge of determination. This was no longer just a test; it was a conclusion.

With a subtle shift in his stance, he moved. The remaining Knights surged forward to intercept, their blades flashing in desperate arcs as Sage unleashed his magic.

Circles of energy ignited in rapid succession, winds whipped, fires erupted, and lightning struck down. For a moment, the chaos of battle roared back, shockwaves radiating as steel clashed and spells collided with ethereal auras.

But the leader had made his choice. He diverted his attacks.

In one swift motion, he vanished from the center of the fray, reappearing just out of reach. The Knights reacted immediately, turning to pursue him, but Sage sensed the shift even before his eyes confirmed it, the focus had changed.

The leader’s aura surged, propelling him forward with an impossible swiftness, bypassing the frontline entirely. Sage’s eyes widened in realization.

He lifted his staff, magic circles starting to form, but fatigue slowed him, the incessant throbbing in his head disrupting the once-smooth flow of his magic.

But the leader was behind him.

No warning, no sound, just an overwhelming presence. A cold blade flickered into view at the edge of his awareness, aimed precisely at his neck, so close that he could feel the chilling intent against his skin.

The leader’s lips curved into something not quite a smile. It was the expression of a craftsman finally allowed to correct a flaw in his work.

In that moment, time seemed to freeze. The cacophony of battle faded into a distant murmur.

All that existed was Sage, blood trailing down his face, Mina’s fragile breathing behind him, and the leader’s blade, poised to end everything in a single, merciless strike.

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