As the energy dissipated, the Chuul, Zahir, and the Flaming Fist elite lay either sprawled or curled on the ground, completely motionless. Pieces of shell and armor had fallen away, their skin had turned a dark purple, and thin wisps of black smoke rose from their bodies.
The people around them wore expressions of shock, their bodies stiff, not a single one daring to step forward. With two pillars of the battlefield fallen, the blow to morale was simply too great.
Elite professionals like Zahir were so rare that the entire battlefield could not gather even five of them.
The Kuo-toa Archpriest leaned on his staff, his body hunched, blood flowing from his facial features, his condition clearly poor.
Evidently, the turbulence of the Weave had affected him severely. Even though innate spell-like abilities did not rely on the Weave, they still could not completely escape the influence and interference of the magical environment.
Anser kept a tight expression. After hesitating again and again, he still did not make a move. He admitted that he was afraid—if the Kuo-toa Archpriest still had strength left, rushing in would be nothing but courting death.
He needed to wait for an opportunity.
"Ah—!"
Rand charged over like a madman, knocking countless monsters aside along the way.
At this moment, his heart was filled with regret. He had clearly had the chance to come over and help. Seeing that the battle situation seemed stable, he had gone elsewhere to provide support, failing to arrive in time.
The Kuo-toa Archpriest spread his large mouth into a hoarse, eerie laugh, revealing rows of sharp teeth. His voice was strange and rasping, filled with manic madness.
Was he not also waiting for an opportunity? He had only managed to trick two of them.
Seeing Rand charging toward him, he shook the whiskers on his chin, leapt down from the Chuul, and ran toward the river on his short legs, clearly intending to escape.
As an amphibious creature, leaping into the River Chionthar was like returning home—placing himself in an invincible position from the very start.
A Kuo-toa Monitor riding a giant crab rushed over, positioning itself in front of him. It bared its teeth at Rand, who was charging in.
[Kuo-toa Monitor, Kuo-toa, Challenge Rating 3]
"Go save them." Anser threw his own bottle of healing potion to Bratt as well.
Then he took a deep breath and activated his Innate Sorcery. Magic power surged around his body, his cloak billowing violently with a sharp, whistling sound.
His mind was highly focused. From afar, he locked onto the small priest with purple skin while constantly calculating Rand's position.
Innate Sorcery + Metamagic: Twinned Spell + Hold Person!
Resonant Draconic words echoed through the air. The staff felt impossibly heavy, and as it swung, two nearly imperceptible glimmers of magic descended out of thin air onto the Kuo-toa Archpriest and the Kuo-toa Monitor.
The two fishmen stiffened. Their bodies locked up, their muscles paralyzed, unable to move even their dead-fish eyes.
At that very moment, Rand arrived. His ferocious charge sent standing water flying, smashed through the cold wind and drizzle, and kicked up a long trail of water mist.
In the next instant, the Kuo-toa Archpriest's eyelids twitched. His limbs slowly stretched as the numbness dissipated. Even in his poor condition, Hold Person could affect him for less than a second.
One second was enough!
The sturdy longsword came down in a blinding flash of light. The Kuo-toa Archpriest instinctively raised his staff to block in front of his neck. A faint energy field spread over his body, but he was facing a paladin's slash.
Bang—
The energy field shattered. The clash of metal and the sound of blade cutting flesh rang out at the same time. Half of the archpriest's arm, along with the staff, was severed from his body. His small frame was flung sideways, his neck split open halfway, blue-green blood spraying out in a brilliant mist.
Healing light flared over the Kuo-toa Archpriest's body. He was not dead yet!
"Hah—!"
Rand's body tensed. He swung his arms wide, and the longsword in his hands turned into a white arc. With a sharp whoosh, it caught up to the falling fishman in midair, piercing in from the abdomen and bursting out through the neck, forcing the ugly fish head askew and exposing blood-soaked flesh and the windpipe.
[Target defeated. Gained 385 experience points]
'So this is an elite professional!'
Anser was deeply shaken. This battle technique, like a work of art—smooth and flowing—could only be appreciated by seeing it with one's own eyes. Cold numerical levels simply could not convey this suffocating sense of pressure.
'Hm, I'm not bad either!'
The Kuo-toa Archpriest hit the ground. Rand hurried over in a few steps, pulled out his longsword, and chopped off the fish head with several strikes. Only then did he stop.
With his death, the noisy battlefield suddenly grew much quieter. Then all the fishmen abandoned their opponents and fled in panic, leaping into the water one after another, disappearing without a trace in no time.
Only dozens of goblinoids and Duergar remained, staring in despair at the several hundred humans closing in around them.
The restrained Kuo-toa Monitor was also carried by the giant crab as it jumped into the River Chionthar, breaking free of control.
"It's over!" Anser sighed and quickly ran toward Zahir.
The result was not perfect, but at least they had won.
Many people were already gathered ahead. When they saw Anser and Rand arrive, they made way one after another.
The Flaming Fist barbarian and Zahir still lay completely motionless, their skin covered with dark purple corruption marks, carrying a faint stench that made it hard to look at them.
Several Flaming Fist soldiers surrounded the Flaming Fist barbarian. His breathing was steady—he should be able to be saved.
Zahir's chest no longer rose and fell. Two chunks of flesh were missing from his jaw, marks left by Bratt's fingers when he had forced the potion down his throat.
At this moment, Bratt inverted the healing potion, blocking the bottle's mouth with his thumb, and carefully sprinkled the liquid over Zahir's skin, but there was no improvement.
Zahir was dead. Life-saving magic and healing potions only worked on the living.
An old priest with gray hair and beard knelt beside Zahir, a symbol of "the Journey at Sunrise" painted on his chest—clearly a priest of Lathander.
One hand rested gently on Zahir's chest, while the other tightly gripped a holy symbol. Holy magic imbued with blessing power surrounded the two of them.
Accompanied by a chant, divine magic descended, but quietly dissipated midway, failing to take effect.
"O Lord of the Morning, why? Why!"
The old priest collapsed instantly. Holding the holy symbol with both hands, he curled up, tears streaming down his face—like a child who had made a mistake, helpless and alone.
'This is the third-circle divine spell Revivify.' Anser understood the incantation, and he could also feel the old priest's despair.
He was grieving both for the paladin's death and lamenting the abandonment of his god.
Rand did not give up. He crouched at the side, and the power of Lay on Hands flowed little by little into Zahir's body, but that power quickly cut off.
The healing energy pool within him was empty.
Anser turned his head away, his chest feeling tightly constricted.
"Priest Mudi, you still have one third-circle spell slot left, right? You still have one chance!" Rand grabbed the old priest's hand, his eyes bloodshot.
The old priest lifted his gaze to the man. The words reached his lips, then were forcibly swallowed back. He could only nod heavily, but only he himself knew that since the incident with the Weave, he had never successfully cast a third-circle divine spell.
He steadied his emotions slightly and clenched his holy symbol, preparing to cast again.
A thought stirred in Anser's mind. He moved closer and knelt tightly beside the old priest. "I'll help you stabilize your magic power."
He closed his eyes. A faint glow spread over his soft scales, and the chaotic magic power settled down, becoming gentle and compliant, forming strands of soft magical vortices that gathered and circled around them.
The essence of the Weave was magic power itself. It merely wove and utilized the raw magic power that was difficult to control in a certain way. Once damaged, the Weave could no longer contain raw magic power, and the raw magic power in turn made the Weave even harder to sense and draw upon.
He did not know whether doing this would help, but he had to try.
Sensing the surrounding magic power environment gradually stabilizing, a trace of hope rose again in the old priest's heart.
Holding the holy symbol in his hand, he perceived and guided divine magic with a level of focus far exceeding his usual state. It was still difficult, but far smoother than before.
A few seconds later, chanting like song quietly resonated with divine magic. The gathered holy light descended from the void, like the gaze of a god, completely enveloping Zahir.
Everyone slowed their breathing, staring without blinking at the scene.
Then, at a certain moment, a faint, barely audible exhalation sounded. Zahir's chest began to rise and fall gently, the movement growing stronger and stronger.
"He's alive, he's alive!"
"I've got half a bottle of superior healing potion here…"
"…"
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