Book 2, Chapter 88

Two-Headed Dragon(2)

Schitich’s complexion changed, and some turmoil broke out amongst his troops as well. Bluewater wasn’t too far away from human kingdoms, which was why there was a representative from the Sequoia Kingdom and Marquess Anrick here. Nobody would be willing to provoke a grand mage without reason; that almost always ended with death.

Just as Schitich started to hesitate, Richard made his own offer, “Afraid, are we? Then leave your hands and all your horses and scram!”

Schitich’s expression fluctuated several times, before he ended up with a sardonic smile, “You’re just a child, but you dare threaten me? I don’t care who your teacher is, I’m killing you today! Once you die, you don’t need to worry about how big the Bloodstained Lands are. Kill him!”

The soldiers at the wings charged out with Schitich’s bellow, twenty on each side rushing for Richard’s own wings. Schitich led the remaining forty through the obstacles at moderate speed, before dashing towards them.

Schitich was an axeman as well. His jet-black weapon was enormous, shining with light as he brandished it. Evidently, it was a piece of powerful magic equipment. He rode straight for Richard.

Waterflower appeared behind Richard once more, letting out another wolf-like howl. Dozens of the warhorses behind Schitich were startled, leaving more than half the riders thrown off. However, all five of the level 12 captains managed to keep their horses in control, and Schitich’s own horse wasn’t affected by the girl at all. He pressed on, dashing straight towards Richard.

Medium Rare roared as he charged out from the side, ramming straight into an incoming horse. He actually sent both the horse and its rider flying, following which he smashed his heavy hammer into another nearby causing its entire chest to nearly cave in. The horse let out a long and painful neigh before plunging head-first to the ground. With it battered and hurt, the captain riding it had to leap off as quickly as he could, nearly falling in the process.

Dressed in his heavy armour, the ogre roared thunderously. Although the hammers in his hand seemed to be swung chaotically, every strike was actually calculated. He only smashed the horses and never the riders. One of the captains had a lapse in judgement, unable to deflect the weapon in time causing him to fall from his horse. Another of the captains bellowed with rage, ruthlessly smashing a morningstar into the ogre’s armour, but Medium Rare only laughed maliciously as his hammer struck the man’s horse.

Two heavy thuds sounded out on the battlefield, seemingly at the same time. These strikes could not be ignored, even by the ogre with all his armour. Medium Rare roared in anguish as he staggered back a few steps, but on the other side the warhorse buckled in the face of the blow, flinging its rider far into the distance. The captain fell to the ground with a loud thud, too extended in his attack to protect himself. The fall itself resulted in severe injuries.

On the other hand, divine light poured over the ogre’s body. The greater heal, barrier, and blessing spells excited the ogre once more, and he howled loudly as he wildly swung out once more. He pounced at the last mounted captain, attacking relentlessly. Once again, blood for blood, he managed to knock the man off his mount.

While a few of the captains who’d fallen off their horses were still groaning in pain, another greater heal landed on the ogre’s body, making him lively and vigorous once more. In an instant he’d forced all the captains off their mounts. Although these level 12 leaders were comparable to Richard’s knights, they were all suited in heavy armour for mounted battle. Once they fell, their might dropped with them.

When he’d first entered this plane, Medium Rare was already capable of fighting knights. Now he was suited in armour, with divine spells, buffing magic, and Olar’s warsong supporting him. Any of the captains who attempted to fight the ogre would be smashed in an instant, sent flying.

At the frontlines, Schitich’s axe didn’t even graze the top of Richard’s head before it was blocked mid-air by the shaft of another.

The collision was fierce. Both these warriors focused on strength— one was high-levelled and had the support of a magical horse, while the other was born with innate strength, Gaia’s Force, and an Eruption rune. The fight was surprisingly even.

Schitich’s magic horse was stopped in its charge, whinnying with all its might as it staggered backwards. Its hind legs went weak before it fell to the ground. Gangdor didn’t have it easy either. He spewed a mouthful of blood, flying backwards and falling down hard.

Although their powers were evenly matched, the weapons definitely were not. A gaping crack was formed in Gangdor’s axe, and it most definitely would break with just one more clash. Schitich laughed like a maniac, a stream of blood flowing from his mouth as he waved his axe once more. However, a divine radiance shone in front of him at that moment. This was a greater heal!

Gangdor jumped back on his feet, grinning as he brandished his axe. The healing would take time to act, but with it acting on his body he had no need to fear this opponent. Besides, even injured Gangdor’s aura actually grew in power. He actually advanced in level in the midst of this fierce battle!

They had a cleric! The mere presence of Flowsand put Richard’s team on another level completely!

Schitich’s expression changed drastically. He sent Gangdor flying once more, scanning the area around Richard to try and find the cleric. In Faelor, clerics and mages were targets that had to be killed at first sight.

However, right at that moment he felt an indescribable danger. He abruptly turned back, catching Richard pointing at him as a wave of mana invaded his body.

The strength of this spell was very weak, so weak in fact it was almost negligible. He realised that his surroundings had grown bright, looking up to see a ball of magic light floating a metre above his head. The ball illuminated everything in a ten-metre radius.

Illumination wasn’t even a grade 1 spell, but it made Schitich the most striking target in the battlefield. All of a sudden, a tall tent in the camp opened up. A tall warrior dressed in black armour and armed with a two-handed sword walked out in large strides, cold air spurting out of the cracks in his helmet. The deep footprints left behind with every step he took showed how heavy this armour was, and the warrior’s aura was no less imposing than that of heavy cavalry.

The warrior of darkness took large strides towards Schitich the moment he appeared, his longsword leaving a deep line in the ground as he dragged it along. Haste and stone skin spells fell on him one after the other as he ran, faint light starting to shine from beneath his helmet. Olar’s warsong started to take effect as well.

Schitich could feel his hair stand. This black warrior chilled him down to the bone, and it was not due to a difference in strength. The man’s entire aura seemed eerie, making him very uncomfortable. However, he didn’t have the time to discern the source of this discomfort. Holding tightly onto his axe, he prepared to fight hand to hand once more. The sheer number of spells on this warrior would increase his prowess by more than a level.

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