The Necromancer's Servant

Along with the heatwaves came a faint smell of decay, and the churning hues of the fireball resembled the color of a rotting corpse. Anyone could see that the magic within this fireball was far from being a simple fire spell.

Normally, in the face of the temple knight's anti-magic crystal arrows and the bishop's white magic, even the most terrifying magic could be countered with ease. But this moment was particularly unfortunate, as Welleskay and Adra had just acted. Though this fireball wasn't as fast as an anti-magic arrow, it would still leave no time for them to release another spell or shoot another arrow.

The massive, putrid-smelling fireball was heading straight for Bishop Adra. Others might dodge it, but Adra had no such luxury.

Though Adra and Welleskay could not react, another figure stepped forward—Christian. With a cold snort, he hefted his Ironwing Greatsword and charged toward the fireball. No matter how large or strange it appeared, a fireball was merely an elementary spell, at best containing explosive force or a bit of poison. By slicing through the magical fluctuations and severing its connection, even high-level spells like Thunderclap Bomb would disintegrate. The remainder would simply be harmless fire.

The Ironwing Greatsword turned into a silver streak as it slashed toward the fireball. Infused with holy magic, the blade was ideal for dealing with dark or necromantic spells, cutting through them like a hot knife through butter.

Yet before the silver blade could touch the fireball, it exploded.

Not due to the might of Christian's attack, but because the caster had launched another, smaller, and faster fireball into the first one. The blue-green fireball shattered, scattering into a torrential rain of eerie blue-green flames that poured toward Christian and the temple knights behind him.

It turned out the fireball wasn't immensely explosive; it was merely a vessel of fire that, upon destruction, transformed into a shower of burning rain.

For the temple knights and their white magic armor, ordinary flame spells were nothing but a warm breeze. But this magic, with its sinister color and aura, was entirely different. Christian bore the brunt of the attack. Though his sword could sever magic, it could not shield against it. Unable to dodge, he raised his gauntleted hands to protect his face at the last moment as the blue-green flames struck him like a torrent of water.

The flames hissed and sizzled against the radiant armor, vanishing into faint wisps of smoke. But his chainmail gloves and steel boots melted like ice beneath molten iron. The flames that touched his bare skin ignited with renewed vigor, as though they had found a feast soaked in oil.

Christian let out an anguished scream—a sound so wretched that no one would believe it came from a proud and noble temple knight. The smell of burning flesh, mixed with rot, filled the air.

Yet a temple knight was still a temple knight. Even amidst the searing pain, Christian managed to gather his magic, casting Purification and Healing on himself. The flames flickering across his face were immediately extinguished, leaving behind charred, ruptured skin that looked like burned coal.

He let out a pained Gruttnt and collapsed to the ground. Though the external wounds appeared terrifying, they were not life-threatening. However, his white magic could not fully purge the sinister energy within the flames. It was as though his body had been soaked in oil—though he had wiped away the surface, the residue seeped deeper and deeper. The corrosive magical toxins spread, causing the tissues they touched to wither and decay. If not for his internal aura and white magic suppressing it, Christian would already have become a walking corpse.

The blue-green fire rain continued to spread twenty meters out, covering Adra, Welleskay, and all the temple knights. The scorching, putrid air turned the entire area into a massive oven roasting sewer rats. Everyone felt their lungs burning and their skin festering, yet none of the temple knights moved. The center of this fiery storm was their bishop.

Not moving didn't mean they could resist it, though. More than half the knights were pale, and two or three threw themselves in front of Adra to shield him with their bodies.

The one who cast the fireball, Asa, nearly collapsed. Beside him, Hilton and the others were momentarily stunned with disbelief.

This mutated necromantic fireball had drained Asa of all his magic. His body felt nearly paralyzed. Necromantic magic, for all its nuance, had no place against temple knights clad in holy magic, let alone a bishop who might know more about necromancy than Asa himself. Asa knew that if he attempted something subtle, his spell would be neutralized before it even formed. So he chose the simplest and most direct method.

Simplicity, when executed at the perfect moment, is often the most effective. The necromantic energy in the fireball was so intense that even a fingertip-sized flame could kill a bull. While the temple knights' white magic could suppress it, this was a fireball into which Asa had poured his entire magical reserve. Like Christian, anyone touched by it wouldn't just escape with superficial wounds.

Welleskay roared and summoned his Sacred Guard Shield. A holy white barrier formed on his arm, just large enough to cover himself, Adra, and the knights shielding the bishop. But everyone else—other temple knights and the injured Talice—remained exposed to the malevolent fire. Though they could use white magic, it was clear that these flames were beyond the power of anyone below a bishop to resist.

"By the light of the Lord, grant me the strength and courage to purge this evil!" A shout rang out, and a figure charged directly into the sea of blue-green fire.

"Warrior Jarvis!" Talice and a few knights cried out in alarm. The figure was the young holy warrior, Jarvis.

As he shouted, a blinding white light erupted around him. The radiance grew so intense that his form was engulfed in it, resembling the earth-shaking Purification spell that Adra had used earlier. In that moment, Jarvis became a sun descending upon the mortal realm.

The white light spread outward, colliding with the blue-green flames. There was no deafening explosion, but everyone could feel the two opposing forces clashing, eroding, and dissipating one another. The fire and light vanished into the air, leaving only scattered embers that no longer posed much threat.

When the light faded, Jarvis stumbled as he landed. His magic armor was tattered and full of holes, like something torn from a furnace. Even his clothes and hair bore scorch marks. Yet his body was unscathed. Exhaustion was evident on his face, and his legs wobbled from magical overexertion.

The holy warriors let out a cheer. Even Welleskay looked at Jarvis in disbelief.

Asa, too, stared in shock at the young knight who had nullified his fireball. Their eyes met for a moment. For some reason, Asa felt a strange familiarity, as if something deep within him stirred.

The bishop's face showed the greatest joy, though it only lasted a moment. Christian, barely conscious, collapsed. Adra quickly cast healing magic to aid him. With a command from Welleskay, the temple knights surged forward. It was clear that Asa's magic had been exhausted, and now was their chance.

The charging knights moved cautiously, skirting the battle between Lancelote and Grutt. Neither Asa nor Theodorus dared to get close either.

— Boom! For the thirteenth time, Grutt's fist clashed with Lancelote's sword. Grutt remained unmoving, but Lancelote was knocked back three steps before immediately advancing again.

To observers, the two figures seemed to blur together in a chaotic whirlwind of motion, colliding repeatedly as the battlefield expanded around them. Dust and sparks flew as their strikes tore through the air, each clash of steel and flesh echoing like a battering ram against a gate.

Grutt's attacks were like a mountain—immense, unstoppable, and beyond human limits. Lancelote, by contrast, was like water—soft, evasive, yet relentless and unending.

Initially, Grutt seemed to be stalling Lancelote, while Lancelote sought to break free. But after their fourth clash, both became wholly absorbed in the fight, their bodies and spirits locked in a primal contest.

No one dared interrupt. The temple knights watched with a mix of fear and awe. Even Welleskay refrained from interfering, perhaps knowing it would be futile, or out of respect for their duel.

Meanwhile, Adra focused on purging the toxins from Christian's body. Jarvis and Talice remained by his side, guarding him. The other temple knights had already reached Asa and Theodorus.

Welleskay's target remained unchanged. A golden arrow streaked toward Theodorus, heralding the knights' assault.

Asa gritted his teeth and stepped in front of Theodorus, his blade raised and white aura flaring. He didn't know if he could withstand the golden arrow—an attack that could stagger even Grutt. But he had to try.

Yet the arrow never arrived. A green light flashed, intercepting and splitting the anti-magic arrow in midair.

"Stop, all of you!"

This time, Elder Lloyd's voice was clear, commanding, and filled with authority—perhaps because the thousands of elves surrounding the battlefield had all drawn their bows, their arrows nocked and ready.