"Hey," Old Tony saw the man's face clearly and surprisingly managed to laugh out loud. "Isn't this Jonathan Griffin from the north? At your ripe old age, you came all the way to the capital just for me—I'm honored."
"Your age isn't exactly young either," the old man said, the staff he leaned on gradually glowing. "I want to see just how capable a mage who doubles as the Adventurer's guildmaster really is."
"So," Old Tony roared, "you three teamed up to ambush me?"
He whipped up the wand in his hand, and a bolt of lightning burst from its tip, like thunder striking from the ground up to the sky.
The branching electric serpents hit something in the air, a muffled cough echoed from mid-air, and a scorched smell lingered for a split second before the heavy rain washed it away. Clearly, someone up there had taken a solid hit.
Eddie looked up, only then realizing in horror that there was another mage right above them, hovering in mid-air with a Fly spell. No wonder his uncle had told him to ditch the umbrella—"watch out for dragons in the sky."
The mage in the air had been hidden perfectly, blending almost seamlessly with the stormy clouds, but now he had no choice but to light up his whole body with a defensive magic aura.
"Kid, if you're gonna sneak attack someone, you gotta strike fast," Old Tony laughed. He glanced at the defensive spell in the sky and figured this flying mage was a mid-tier one, maxing out at 3rd-tier spells.
Even though Old Tony was doing his best to look relaxed, he knew the situation was grim. The enemy had two high-tier mages and one mid-tier flyer, while his side only had one high-tier mage and a mage apprentice.
"Eddie, get back," Old Tony ordered. "They're after me."
"No... Uncle, I want to fight by your side..."
Before Eddie could finish, the robed men on both sides of the street and the old man cast their spells at the same time—one side unleashing a swarm of electric serpents, the other a barrage of ice spears. The high-damage attack spells closed in from left and right.
The lightning and ice spears slammed into the defensive magic aura, and the fierce explosion shoved Eddie away, sending him tumbling into the rainwater.
Eddie got to his feet and unleashed two Frost Cones toward the old man, but the slender ice spikes hadn't reached within five paces before the defensive magic twisted them into powder.
Only then did he realize he truly couldn't help in the fight—he'd only drag his uncle down. He suddenly resented his usual laziness. If he'd been more diligent day to day, he wouldn't have left his uncle in this lone-wolf battle now.
Old Tony straightened up amid the ice shards, lifting his hand to hurl an ice spear at the robed man. At the same time, he pulled a scroll from his spatial ring and flung it behind him. The sealed magic within released, raising a solid Crystal Barrier that blocked off the old man.
He charged toward the robed man, calling out to Eddie, "Run! Follow me and break out!"
Countless metal spikes conjured from magic sprouted from the robed man's feet, wriggling toward them like a spiky caterpillar.
Old Tony had to stop in his tracks, using Disintegrate to destroy the dense, razor-sharp metal thorns at his feet. Behind him, cracks bulged in the sturdy crystal barrier, popping and crackling like a melting glacier crumbling. The old man clearly had a counter ready for it.
From above came a low, whispering chant. Old Tony tilted his ear and caught a syllable or two, figuring out that the mage in mid-air was trying to cast a spell with a drawn-out gesture: Spatial Lock.
If he let him complete it, it'd be real trouble. Old Tony raised his wand, firing off a "Silence" to break the chant, then followed up with a 2nd-tier spell Scorpion's Touch that hit right on target.
A shrill scream echoed from the sky, followed by waves of wailing. If the airborne mage hadn't quickly flopped onto a flying carpet, he probably would've crashed down already.
The stronger the spell, the longer the chant it often needed. Young mages loved chasing high-tier magic with bigger power. They didn't realize that in the time it took to build the spell circuit, without teammates shielding them, a combo of low-level spells could take them out.
If it weren't for the other two tying him up, Old Tony would've shot down this floating target practice long ago.
The robed man and the old man on both sides of the street cast spells again, magical energy roaring and sweeping in. Old Tony twisted to counter, the defensive magic aura wrapping his body blocking most of the damage.
Spells zipped back and forth, both sides attacking and defending with skill, explosions and firelight brightening the pitch-black street.
Old Tony looked a bit roughed up from the pincer attack, but thanks to his tough defensive magic aura shielding him, it turned into a deadlock for the moment.
The old man on one side of the street said gravely, "That resistance spell you created yourself is impressive."
"Thanks for the flattery," Old Tony smiled with a touch of self-mockery. "My old adventuring buddies were a pack of reckless thugs who had no clue how to cover a mage, so I had to grind hard on defensive spells."
His voice held a hint of weakness; keeping up the defensive spell while firing back at the two seasoned high-tier mages on either side was draining his mana like crazy, but he pushed through without showing it.
This was the capital—no matter how big the folks trying to off him were, they couldn't bury the truth forever. The racket from high-tier mages slamming spells into each other could echo for miles; the guard knights might already be sloshing through the rain toward them. He just had to hang on until then.
Deep thunder boomed in the sky, lightning ripping through the night, blue electric glow lighting up the few figures on the street and their dire spot. In the howling storm, they were all soaked to the bone—except the old man's gear, which had a water-warding enchantment. The rest looked like drowned rats.
But even then, they clutched their wands and staffs tight, nerves on edge, not letting up for a second.
The robed man and the old man knew they couldn't let this drag on; they advanced, suddenly ramping up the pressure.
Countless incantations whirled, bursts of colorful magic flying everywhere, blasting the street into a pitted mess. Stone slab dust mixed with rainwater, trickling into a muddy stream.
Old Tony gasped for air, the quick drain on his mana and the rain chilling his body making him feel bone-tired. He wasn't some spry young buck anymore.
The spell barrages from left and right never let up, giving him no chance to chug a vitality potion from his spatial ring. He'd dumped most of his mana into the defensive spell—just hold out, stick it a bit longer, and he and his nephew Eddie would be safe!
Damn it! Why haven't the guard knights shown up yet? All those taxes we pay day in and day out—did they just feed them to the pigs? His mind was starting to fog over.
"Uncle! I'll help you!" Eddie stood in the rain, waving his wand and firing off several 1st-tier attack spells. Even though they all got shut down by the enemies' defensive auras, he kept chanting the incantations. His little face was pale, determined to use his thin mana reserves to lighten his uncle's load.
The boy's young cry hit like a thunderclap right in his ear. Old Tony pinched his thigh hard, sharpening his focus a little. He couldn't go down yet! He'd sworn at his brother's grave to raise Eddie into a man!
The robed man and the old man pressed forward step by step through the storm. The old man flung out an ice-blue magic scroll; the gale ripped it open, freezing countless raindrops into ice spikes that formed a swirling vortex of needles hurtling toward them.
Old Tony swung his wand, flames shaping into a round shield to barely hold it off. In the downpour, the frigid ice spikes melted into scalding steam, the vapor wafting like clouds in the air before the storm scattered it instantly.
The old man hurled a second pitch-black scroll, which tumbled away as if swallowed by the inky clouds. Old Tony stared where it vanished, suddenly catching a whiff of something sinister.
In the dark, the scroll broke free of its bindings, a surging antimagic field exploding outward, flooding the whole street like a tidal wave.
In the pounding rain, Old Tony, Eddie, the mage up in the sky, the old man, the robed man—all their defensive magic auras winked out abruptly, like flames snuffed by an unseen deluge.
Old Tony's eyes bulged; he hadn't figured this steady, prudent old foe for having such a reckless streak.
An antimagic field sucks away all magic in the zone except the mana tucked inside mages' bodies, shutting down every spell and turning magic gear into junk.
It was meant as a trick for non-magic fighters to take on mages—using it as a mage was basically a kamikaze move.
But right now, two on one, with no protections up, it was clear as day whose neck was on the line.
The antimagic field only kicks in for a short burst—the window was now or never!
BANG!
Three sure-hit spells erupted at the same time, like beams tearing through the night sky.
Old Tony's body went limp, and he dropped to his knees, a large pool of blood seeping from his abdomen and dripping into the rainwater.
In that split second before, he'd first unleashed an attack spell, shattering one of the robed man's arms, then cast a low-level magic immunity spell to barely deflect the death curse fired by the robed man—but the old man's air needle curse from the other side of the street punched right through his gut.
To chase the fastest casting speed possible, all three had stuck to low-level spells. Old Tony wouldn't drop dead from the curse just yet, but the battle was lost.
His mana and body heat drained out with the blood from his belly, scattering into the icy rainwater. The downpour hammered his back, and the pain curled his body into a ball on the ground.
From both sides of the street, the one-armed robed man and the old man splashed through puddles, closing in step by step.
"Don't hurt my uncle!" Eddie dashed in front of Old Tony, shielding his uncle. He clutched his wand tight, like a warrior gripping a sword in one hand.
"Don't hurt my uncle!" Eddie bellowed again, like a soaked little kitten, teeth bared and fur standing on end.
"Eddie, get away from me." Behind him, Old Tony sprawled on the filth-strewn ground, ordering him weakly.
Eddie didn't move a muscle; he straightened up, his rain-drenched pant legs quivering faintly.
"Eddie, don't disobey me—you've always... been too naughty." Old Tony coughed up a mouthful of blood.
The robed man and the old man turned a deaf ear to Eddie's cries; in the storm, they waded through shallow puddles, drawing nearer to the uncle and nephew.
"Uncle, let me be naughty one last time! After this, I'll do everything you say!"
Branching lightning flickered in the clouds, the electric glow lighting up Eddie's soft, childish face—etched with terror, tears spilling from his eyes and mixing with the rain streaking down his cheeks.
The one-armed robed man halted; from start to finish, he'd done nothing to heal his broken arm, as if it weren't even his.
The eyes beneath his hood fixed on the defiant Eddie, his voice a hoarse rasp, "Little apprentice, don't block my way, or you'll die."
From the sky, the mage sprawled on the flying carpet said, "The employer said no survivors." His voice was venomous and cold, holding a grudge from the hit Old Tony had landed on him.
"Then let's kill them all. Shame about the kid; he reminds me of my grandson," the old man said flatly. "Watch out for Tony Ulea's dying counterattack—a cornered snake bites harder, especially a crafty adventurer."
The three came to a silent understanding. The robed man and the old man on either side of the street, plus the mage in the sky, raised their wands and staffs. Golden light flared, mana linking their casting circuits one after another, golden beams connecting them.
The trio formed a triangular group magic array, with Old Tony sprawled on the ground and Eddie standing straight right in the center.
Once the array took shape, destructive mana would blast them to ash in a flash, washed clean by the rain without a trace—undoubtedly a merciful end.
Eddie gazed up at the brilliant golden glow in the sky, his little face overflowing with despair, but he refused to step back even an inch.
"Cough cough." Old Tony lay like a lump of mud on the ground, hacking up another mouthful of blood.
His voice was thick with blood, mumbled, "I always figured I'd die in some monster's jaws, but I never thought I'd go down to humans. For an adventurer, that's a humiliating way to check out. I once read The Mystery of Magic, picked up some interesting bits..."
"The Mystery of Magic?" The old man, leaning on his golden staff, looked down at him. "You've read that book? The legendary mages from Baharuth who authored it are dead, and the only copy's been lost."
"A friend loaned it to me," Old Tony said, his palm opening flat—he couldn't grip his wand anymore. "From that book, I learned some neat stuff. We always think that high-tier magic, after breaking through a bottleneck, cuts the chanting time way down..."
"Is The Mystery of Magic on you?" The old man cut off Old Tony.
"No, I gave the book back to my friend."
"Is that so?" The old man sneered. "After you're dead, I'll search your spatial ring and find out if you're telling the truth."
Even so, he slightly slowed the flow of mana into the golden array. "What interesting knowledge did you learn?"
Curiosity was the nature of every mage, and the old man was no exception. He was truly curious about what this high-tier mage's last words would be, so he'd give Old Tony a little more time to talk.
"I figured out something interesting. Cough!" Old Tony lay flat on the ground, hacking up another mouthful of blood. "We always thought that higher-tier spells, once you break through a bottleneck, would cut the chanting time way down. But in reality, the chanting time is still tied directly to the spell's power, and for folks with weak talent, it takes even longer."
"Oh." The old man eyed him coldly. "Is that your dying words?"
"However, higher-tier magic," Old Tony went on, "shares some traits with the elves' silent spells—5th-tier magic can be chanted in your mind too!"
He surged up like a striking python! Shoving Eddie to the ground, his arm—that could no longer grip the wand—pointed skyward. In the whipping wind and rain, a spark of white light flared like a flame at the wand's tip.
"OH NO!" The old man's pupils shrank; he ditched his staff, reaching into his spatial ring for something, but it was too late.
5th-Tier Magic: Gods-Binding Thunder Prison!
Countless lightning bolts as thick as fingers shot from the wand's tip, weaving into an impenetrable electric web. Thunder ripped across the whole space, the entire street.
The pouring raindrops turned into perfect conductors for the current, lighting the night as bright as day.
The blinding electric glow faded slowly, and Old Tony collapsed, his wand trailing white smoke. Back in the days when EeDechi lent him The Mystery of Magic, he'd pored over it night and day, throwing every bit of his talent and smarts into it, and only mastered this one 5th-tier spell. But it was enough.
Thud!
Thud!
Thud!
On both sides of the street, two charred corpses tumbled into the rainwater; from the sky dropped another blackened body, smashing into several pieces on the ground. The air hung thick with the stench of burned flesh, untouched by the pounding rain.
Eddie squirmed out from under Old Tony; his uncle had pinned him down hard, shielding him as best he could from the blanket of electricity. He clung tight to Old Tony, and Old Tony hugged him back; in the downpour, the sweet relief of cheating death washed over them.
Old Tony pulled a vitality potion and an energy potion from his spatial ring, mixed them together, and chugged them down with a splash of rainwater.
His mana and stamina crept back slowly; he cast a Cure Wounds on his gut wound, muscles and skin knitting anew, busted organs fixing themselves—for now, he was out of the woods.
"Let's head home." Old Tony ruffled Eddie's hair.
The ground jolted suddenly, then again, like some giant was lumbering toward them from the far end of the street.
Old Tony stared into the murky rain veil, hauling himself up with effort, "Is there a troll loose in the capital?"
The footsteps thundered closer, like an elephant stomping the earth. Old Tony raised his hand and shot out a glowing orb, the ball zipping down the street like a firefly, slamming into a "mountain," then crushed out by a massive hand. Before the light winked out, Old Tony got a good look at the "mountain."
It was a hulking warrior, face hidden behind an iron mask, a blood-red greatsword slung over his shoulder, its blade etched with vicious black patterns crisscrossing like tangled pine needles.
The "mountain" burst through the rain curtain, barreling at them like a charging rhino.
Old Tony's face grew serious; he yanked five adamantine spears from his spatial ring and hurled them to the ground, lifting his wand and muttering an incantation. A warrior rushing head-on like that was just a sitting duck for a mage.
After a bit of a longer chant, the five spears flipped and clustered in the air, searing flames flaring up only to get doused by the rain, forging a razor-sharp spear in a flash.
Empowered by magic, the spear spun with a buzzing whine, BANG! it fired, rocketing at supersonic speed that shattered the sound barrier, carving a trail through the rain as it stabbed toward the "mountain."
4th-Tier Magic: Gods-Slaying Spear! Its power rivaled a massive siege crossbow's army-shattering bolt—a squad of knights clad in adamantine plate mail would get pierced clean through. And it was pure physical damage; anti-magic or magic-immune gear couldn't block it.
The "mountain" raised the blood-patterned giant sword in front, and the "Gods-Slaying Spear" slammed into the broad blade face—and snapped!
"How is that possible!" Old Tony cried out, but the warrior was already charging; he hefted the blood-red giant sword and slashed down, like a mountain swinging a blood-drenched glacier.
"Force Deflection!" Old Tony cast while tumbling clumsily, barely dodging the blow. A mage reduced to wild body dodges—his spot was downright humiliating.
"Uncle, let's take him down together!" Eddie ran to Old Tony's side, clutching his wand tight.
"No, you get out of here now; I've got something to tell you." Old Tony stood up, leaning in to whisper in Eddie's ear.
"I'm not leaving!" In the rain, Eddie shook his head hard.
"Didn't you promise me before? That you'd behave from now on, no more mischief? You've gotta listen now! Finish what I tasked you with!" Old Tony roughly tousled Eddie's drenched hair, bellowing:
"RUN!"
The mountain-like burly warrior barreled in again; Old Tony fired off an Air Blast to shove Eddie a few meters back. His skinny arm gripping the wand bulged with veins as he stubbornly blocked the chopping giant sword with the force deflection spell, the slender wand bending into a curve.
Old Tony flipped upright; he'd been old and frail, but now he roared like a lion, chanting spells.
Electricity sparked icy gleams; he hurled every last drop of mana in his body into a swirling fight with the warrior.
In the boundless rain veil, Eddie wanted to dash back, but Old Tony bellowed at him once more, "RUN! RUN FAST! DON'T LOOK BACK!"
Eddie suddenly understood—his uncle was spent, like a crossbow with no bolts left. But he was holding on, staking his life to pin down this brutal killer, snatching a thread of survival for his nephew.
Old Tony got smashed hard into the wall, mud mixed with blood streaming down it. He slumped sitting there, glancing at Eddie—that bleak look clearly screaming: "Why aren't you running yet?!"
Eddie turned, tears exploding from his eyes. He clenched his jaw, pumping his weak legs soaked by storm and rain, plunging into the pitch-black vast rain curtain, running, running, running without a glance back...