Chapter 412 412-The Threat of Death

Chapter 412 412-The Threat of Death

"Cough, cough." Greg, clutching his stomach, rose to his feet, tilting his head to expel the taste of blood from his mouth.

Revealing blood-streaked, grim teeth, his eyes were fixed on Soma, who was closing in.

His form was somewhat unsteady.

Humans and subrace magi share a common flaw—their defensive value often falls short of their offensive power.

This vulnerability, dictated by their fragile bodies, means that even with mana-based protection, that layer of defense primarily serves to buy time for a bodily response rather than withstand a mana-infused assault.

Soma's punch had penetrated through the mana defense, striking deep within Greg.

It was likely that his internal organs had sustained serious damage.

Without timely medical intervention, death could be imminent.

Taking a deep breath to suppress the chaos in his mind, Greg tightened his grip on Crusher's long handle, straightening his posture.

Even in the face of death, he was determined to make Soma pay.

For the rage ignited by bloodshed can only be quenched with blood.

However, in the next instant, Greg's pupils dilated rapidly.

He heard a breath, right behind him.

Someone had approached him undetected, in the blink of an eye.

Who could it be?

The image of the young man whose face he hadn't seen flashed through Greg's mind.

It was him.

"Don't meddle in affairs that aren't your own."

A voice, slightly hoarse yet carrying a gentle tone, whispered in Greg's ear, sounding almost like a devil's murmur to him.

Greg attempted to turn and counterattack, but, as expected, he failed.

Darkness enveloped his vision, and with a sudden numbness at the back of his neck, he lost all control over his body.

"Boss."

Seeing Greg collapse limply to the ground, Soma froze for a moment, his gaze shifting to the young man behind Greg.

"Let's go. Blindman might have messed up," the young man said without further ado, stepping away.

Glancing at Greg lying on the ground, then back at the departing figure of the young man, Soma hesitated for two seconds but ultimately sheathed his long sword.

There was an unspoken rule among the young man's ranks: the fate of those he personally dealt with was his to decide.

In other words, the young man had already determined Greg's fate.

If Soma were to finish Greg off now, it would be a violation of that rule—the very thing the young man despised most was those who broke the rules.

The last person who did that was already six feet under.

"You're lucky."

With one final glance at Greg, whose fate hung in the balance, Soma suppressed his urge to kill.

The crimson rage in his eyes faded as he turned and followed the young man.

Earlier, near Harry's building, Howard was trapped behind a wall.

Jumping over the wall led to a straight alley with no cover, flanked by houses on both sides.

Crossing the rooftops was equally dangerous, making him an easy target.

The enemy's method of attack was still a mystery, making any rash move akin to offering himself up for attack.

Yet, inaction was not an option either, as every second was crucial.

Delaying even a second meant Ali's situation became increasingly perilous.

What to do?

A direct charge was out of the question; it would surely turn him into a sieve.

Now, with Howard so blatantly exposed within his range without any cover, it was akin to suicide.

With the longbow fully drawn, Blindman had locked onto Howard's forehead, anticipating his next dodge.

Although Howard was not moving in a straight line, it made no difference to Blindman.

He was Blindman, seeing only his target.

Fingers released, the bowstring slicing through the air emitted a sharp twang.

The second second.

Howard silently counted the seconds, with mana fully mobilized, a single second was enough for him to cover more than fifteen meters.

With his mana replenished, his speed far exceeded that of an average knight, moving like a weightless shadow in a zigzag pattern to maximize the difficulty of being targeted.

But it was futile.

The first attack was imminent.

His intuition, as before, gave him no premonition of the strike.

Instinctively obeying his gut, as if unaffected by inertia, Howard made a sharp change in direction.

In that moment, Howard seemed to split in two.

A blade-sharp gust of air grazed Howard's cheek, leaving behind a fine line of blood as several invisible attacks pierced the rooftop.

It was only after the assault had passed that the faint sound of breaking the sound barrier reached Howard's ears.

The enemy's attack had surpassed the speed of sound.

Could mana truly achieve such a feat?

Without the luxury of further astonishment, Howard, while internally restarting his count, continued forward without decreasing his speed.

By now, he had covered nearly thirty meters on the rooftop, roughly a third of the entire distance.

The first second.

Howard could have moved faster, but he deliberately chose not to, as if unsure of the true interval between his adversary's attacks.

He couldn't allow his opponent to fully grasp his limits; otherwise, he wouldn't even have the chance to dodge.

His speed, no matter how swift, couldn't break the sound barrier.

Once the enemy had a clear understanding of his limits, they could predict his movements with precision.

Without identifying his enemy, Howard couldn't afford to reveal his only trump card.

The second second.

Howard reached back and grabbed the package he carried.

It was a weapon obtained from Antalya, not some legendary blade but a common type of straight sword crafted by Greg.

Its design was fairly typical for the region.

Howard has a preference for swords, but weapons of such kind cannot be forged in a moment's notice.

Moreover, Howard isn't fixated on using any specific weapon; he's indifferent to the choice.

The sword is 1.3 meters in total length, with a blade length of one meter, sharpened on one side, boasting a straight spine with a slight curve, making it suitable for piercing and precise swordplay.

Its most significant feature is the superior, sturdy material from which it is made.

He had sighted his target.

Atop the church spire, a lean figure stood against the wind, the longbow in hand particularly conspicuous.

That was the enemy.

He saw the figure draw the longbow.

Without a moment's hesitation, Howard pushed his speed to its limit.

Although the attack hadn't been launched, he already felt the looming threat of death closing in.

The enemy intended to end it all with this strike.