Night had fallen. At the bridgehead, everything was pitch-black; the fractured cross-section was jagged, clearly the result of a collapse. However, beneath the bridge was solid rock and the terrain was high, so the impact was not significant.
On the eastern riverbank in the distance, a breach dozens of meters long could be seen from far away. River water was pouring back in, glittering as it wound southward.
The harbor that had once been expanded from a smuggling dock had already vanished without a trace.
"Over there." Bratt pointed toward the breached embankment.
Under the chaotic lights, a large-scale melee was unfolding—probably several hundred people—shadows overlapping, making it hard to see clearly.
"Let's go."
Anser wrapped his staff in a layer of black cloth so it would not be too eye-catching.
The three of them moved quickly along the riverbank. Over the course of just a few hundred meters, humans and other surface races carrying weapons continuously joined in. They exchanged silent glances and gradually converged together.
The major churches and guilds were no fools. Many had realized the critical nature of this battle—if they lost, the only outcome would be everyone fleeing for their own lives, and such losses would be very hard to bear.
As they neared the battlefield, Anser discovered that this war was more brutal than he had imagined.
The human side formed an arc, blocking the river mouth and the western side of the floodwaters—roughly three to four hundred people. The subterranean creatures were even more numerous, at least five to six hundred. Aside from a small number of goblin-like beings and Duergar, most of them were Kuo-toa.
More than that, fishfolk were constantly surfacing in the river. Instead of following the flood downstream, they were coming ashore to assault the defensive line—clearly someone was directing them from the shadows.
Shouts and the sounds of slaughter rose and fell in waves. Corpses lay piled layer upon layer, and half the river had changed color.
"Brothers, follow me—kill—!"
Another wave of reinforcements arrived from the distance. A bald man at the front let out a furious roar and charged straight into the line. Those around him were influenced by his momentum and surged forward as well.
Anser watched the bald man's back and felt a faint sense of familiarity.
"Do we go?" Bratt was eager to try.
The atmosphere of the battlefield was indeed infectious. Anser felt his blood accelerating, calm yet hot-blooded, his head slightly buzzing.
But he did not act impulsively. After carefully observing the battlefield, he spotted a familiar figure, and his eyes immediately lit up.
"Over here."
The three of them hurried to the middle section of the defensive line. The enemies were most densely packed here, and the line was on the verge of collapse. Holding back this pressure were Rand and Zahir.
As expected of Paladins—you could always find them in the most dangerous places!
Don't be fooled by how high the proportion of Paladins is in games; in reality, Paladins are the rarest of all professional classes. Even the slightest deficiency in will or faith is unacceptable.
Behind the defensive line were collapsed buildings and mudslides everywhere. The ground was uneven, with standing water all around, making it very difficult to move.
They climbed onto a mound of mud and debris formed by the floodwaters. It stood several meters higher than the surrounding area, and from there the battlefield three or four dozen meters away was fully in view.
"Finn, stay here and provide support. We'll move in closer." Anser tossed his backpack aside and began jogging in Rand's direction with short steps.
"Alright." Bratt did not understand his intention, but he still set his pack down, raised his shield, and followed at Anser's side.
Finn recalled the gray hawk, keeping his full attention on Anser's back while remaining alert for any possible ambush.
Anser stopped several meters behind the defensive line. Through the thin wall of people, all he could see were densely packed fishfolk heads—short, ugly, and reeking with a stench that assaulted the nose.
"Isn't this a bit too close?" Bratt braced his shield in front of him to guard against stray arrows.
Anser did not respond. He focused and began casting.
Chromatic Orb—Lightning!
The surroundings were deafeningly loud. The harsh, clashing Dragon tongue was almost impossible to hear. A blue sphere of energy, trailing a short tail, shot forward with a sharp whoosh and slammed into the fishfolk ranks.
Boom—
The energy sphere did not leap, but the lightning arcs it unleashed spread rapidly through the standing water at their feet. Several fishfolk were jolted rigid and collapsed into the water.
Rand was charging near the front and was the closest; some of his fur even stood on end.
He turned around in surprise, only to see Anser waving at him, a mass of magical flame coiling around his palm.
"Zahir!" he shouted, kicking a fishfolk away with one foot as he sprinted toward Anser.
He knew that Anser was not someone unreliable—there had to be something extremely important.
"Sorcery Burst."
Anser fired two consecutive Sorcery Burst—Lightning spells, temporarily sealing the gap left after Rand pulled back. There was no way he would let Zahir bear all the pressure alone.
Rand charged over in a few strides. Before he could say anything, Anser raised his right hand toward him and shouted: "Dragon's Breath!"
Rand's eyes immediately lit up, and he said urgently, "Fire!"
With a sharp smack, their two large hands met. Orange-red magic power flowed along Rand's arm into his body, coiling around his chest and throat. Red light spread as magic surged violently.
It wasn't over yet. Another flash of white light passed by, and faint spirals of magical wind wrapped around Rand's lower body.
"One minute!" Anser raised a single finger.
One Dragon's Breath and one Jump—both could last only one minute.
Dragon's Breath required concentration to maintain. Its power depended on Anser, but Rand had to sense and guide that magic in the manner of spellcasting to complete the breath.
Paladins received professional spellcasting training, so this was not difficult for them.
Rand pressed his lips together, waved his hand, then turned and took a few running steps before leaping. He actually vaulted directly over the crowd, flying more than ten meters and crashing heavily into the fishfolk ranks.
A super jump!
He landed on and crushed a Kuo-toa, and the splashing water formed a thin curtain that briefly blocked the fishfolk's vision.
As the water curtain fell, Rand's figure was revealed. His legs were planted one forward and one back, his body leaning slightly rearward, his chest thrust high—his whole body like a fully drawn bow, primed to fire.
In the next instant, he pitched his upper body forward and snapped his mouth open. Scorching flames roared out, forming a cone-shaped breath six meters long, the red glow painting the night sky like a sunset.
Where the dragon's breath passed, whether fishfolk or goblin-kin, all were left with singed hair and reddened, curled, splitting skin. Wisps of green smoke rose, and a thick stench drifted on the wind, nauseating to the extreme.
The surrounding battlefield fell momentarily silent. Only the subterranean creatures rolled and wailed amid the spreading steam.
[Rand casts Dragon's Breath on a Kuo-toa… The Kuo-toa is hit and takes 11 points of fire damage. Current Hit Point: 8/19…]
[Rand casts Dragon's Breath on a giant crab… The giant crab is hit and takes 9 points of fire damage. Current Hit Point: 5/14…]
A stream of notifications flashed through Anser's mind—at least twenty-plus lines. Dragon's Breath originated from him; as long as these monsters died, he would always be able to get a bit of experience points.
He clenched his fist, the corners of his mouth lifting, his heart flooded with exhilaration.
Fishfolk feared fire and disliked sunlight and dryness. Losing water would make them weak—let alone when their skin had been burned through. Without magical potions, the severely wounded would not survive long.
"So awesome—next time I want to try it too." Bratt was thrilled, his sword and shield clanging against each other nonstop.
It wasn't just him. The people around them also looked excited—not because a few fishfolk had died, but because what a second-circle spell represented was anything but ordinary.
The battle had gone on this long, yet the number of spellcasters involved was pitifully small—mostly clerics. There were almost no wizards. The spells being used were basically cantrips, with the occasional first-circle spell mixed in, and even then they had to hold it in for ages.
Some clerics had not even successfully cast a single spell before their spell slots were exhausted.
If the Weave had not been having problems, just a few wizards would have been enough to turn the tide.
While others were momentarily stunned, Rand clearly remembered what Anser had said—he only had one minute and had to seize every second.
He stabbed a fishfolk that rolled up in front of him with one sword thrust, swept his gaze around, and focused on the southern side.
Stride, run-up, jump—another big leap. He slammed into the densest cluster of monsters again.
After a brief opening, the scorching dragon's breath erupted abruptly.
Vicious flames surged forward in a sweeping wave, scorching everything—truly like a dragon's wrath. The subterranean creatures were terrified and scattered in retreat.
The fiery dragon breath might not be enough to kill them outright, but it could burn their eyes and skin, leaving them in agony and stripping away most of their fighting strength.
Even if they forced themselves to keep fighting, their ruined skin could no longer withstand arrows and blades.
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