Chapter 142: The Mage Who Fights in Melee (Part Two)

As Rossidy and Rodin became locked in combat with the Corrupt Wolf mercenaries, Weir did not intervene. From the very beginning, his gaze had remained fixed on the wolf-headed leader of the Corrupt Wolf—Balik. Without a doubt, Balik was the greatest threat to them all.

Although Rodin and the others had never told Weir exactly how powerful Balik was, Weir was certain that the man’s strength was at least that of a fourth-tier Grand Soul Master.

A fourth-tier Grand Soul Master at minimum—that meant Balik was even stronger than Pass.

Pass alone, a third-tier Grand Soul Master, had been extremely difficult for Rodin and Pepeiro to deal with together. Now their opponent was far stronger than a third-tier master, and Pepeiro was not even here. Trying to kill Balik by the same method they had used against Pass seemed to offer very little chance of success.

After all, when they had fought Pass, Weir had possessed both a magic formation and Pepeiro to hold him back. But against Balik, whose true strength remained unknown, forget restraining him—whether Weir could even withstand two blows in a direct confrontation was questionable.

Weir rapidly considered more than a dozen plans, but every one of them led to the same conclusion. He glanced at Balik, standing off to one side. Although his perception had improved somewhat, no matter how hard he tried, he still could not extend it to within twenty meters of Balik.

Faced with this situation, Weir could only sigh inwardly.

As Rossidy had said, was retreat truly their only option?

Though that was what Weir was thinking, his hands moved with utmost speed. He swiftly tore away the bandages wrapped around his staff, revealing an extraordinarily ornate weapon. He raised it lightly, his movements gentle to the extreme—so graceful that they could almost have been described as an elegant dance.

Yet beneath that beautiful, graceful motion, a mass of crimson flame suddenly erupted. The scorching blaze shot toward the dozen or so Corrupt Wolf mercenaries, then exploded just as it was about to reach them.

A sheet of fire scattered wildly through the air. The mercenaries on the outer edge were naturally the first to be caught in it. The moment the searing flames touched them, they spread across their bodies, instantly transforming several of the Corrupt Wolf men into living torches.

Under the torment of the flames, how could those mercenaries continue surrounding Rodin and Rossidy? Desperate to extinguish the fire devouring them, they threw themselves to the ground, rolling and scrambling frantically as shrill cries and agonized screams filled the air.

With the situation changed, the pressure on Rodin and Rossidy eased considerably. Working in perfect coordination, they seized the opportunity to kill several Corrupt Wolf mercenaries and hacked open a narrow gap in the encirclement.

When Balik saw this, the corner of his eye twitched. He turned and glanced at Weir, who stood nearby, and a vicious killing intent flashed through his brows.

At a time like this, Moon Slaughter’s people still wanted to win? How could he allow that? How could Balik possibly tolerate it?

Fuming inwardly, Balik ignored the wound on his arm, raised it, and pointed directly at Weir. He shouted to the remaining mercenaries beside him, “A mage is no good in close combat. You lot, go over there and take out that mage first!”

“Yes!”

The Corrupt Wolf mercenaries answered in low voices. They turned to look at Weir, their eyes filled with contempt.

So he was a mage. He seemed to have a few tricks, but look at the distance between them now…

Heh. Just as Balik had said, mages were poor at close combat. At this range, all they had to do was accelerate and charge, and they would be in front of him in an instant. After that, what awaited the mage but death beneath their blades?

Nearly every mercenary thought the same. As the elite of the Corrupt Wolf Mercenary Group, they were far more coordinated than ordinary rabble. With nothing more than a low shout, several of them immediately sprang into action, advancing rapidly in a triangular formation in an attempt to trap Weir.

Yet when Weir saw this, there was not the slightest trace of panic on his face. Instead, a smile appeared.

It was true that mages were poor at close combat—but that applied only to most mages. And Weir happened not to belong to that majority.

The agility granted by wind magic made Weir’s movements swift and nimble. The strange nature of spatial magic allowed him to leap through space at will and evade his enemies’ attacks. The resilience and sharpness of his divine staff enabled him to cut down any opponent.

Aside from lacking sufficient physical strength, Weir was by no means inferior to these Soul Masters in close combat.

His divine staff swept through the air. In an instant, the exploding rain of fire transformed into more than a dozen fiery swallows with broken wings.

Compared with Weir’s previous flame attacks, these fiery swallows possessed far more than increased power and lethality—their greatest advantage was their agility.

In the past, whether he used fireballs or fire rain, his attacks would follow a predetermined path once launched. Even if he wished to alter that path, he had to control them forcibly with his perception. Although this could make the attacks more flexible, the threat they posed to enemies remained limited.

But after Weir’s fire magic had advanced to the level of a true mage, he could employ higher-grade spells. These advanced spells were no longer comparable to simple fireballs or fire rain.

The greatest threat of the fiery swallows lay in their maneuverability. Without requiring Weir’s deliberate control, they could change their course and attack patterns freely under his guidance, striking at their enemies from unexpected angles and making them almost impossible to defend against.

Sure enough, the appearance of the fiery swallows exceeded everyone’s expectations—especially those of the Soul Master mercenaries charging toward Weir.

They had thought their speed was more than enough. Dodging the slow attacks of a mage should have been effortless. What they had not expected was that Weir’s attack would be so astonishing.

With a casual wave of his hand, he had summoned more than a dozen fiery swallows wreathed in scorching flames from thin air. Even Balik had never heard of such a technique.

Because of their small size, the fiery swallows moved like bolts of lightning. They easily intercepted the charging Soul Masters and halted their advance.

A few lucky men rejoiced inwardly when they finally managed to evade the troublesome fiery swallows. Soul power erupted from their bodies, and razor-sharp blades of condensed energy flickered with a chilling light.

They were less than ten meters from Weir.

At such close range, surely even a mage with strange methods could not evade a Soul Master’s attack.

The mercenaries sneered inwardly. Just as they believed everything was about to end, Weir’s figure strangely vanished before their eyes.

They had not been mistaken. He had truly disappeared into thin air right in front of them.

For an instant, everyone wondered whether their minds had conjured some illusion. How else could they have witnessed something so bizarre and unbelievable?

But while the Corrupt Wolf mercenaries stood bewildered, Weir suddenly appeared behind one of them. The exquisitely beautiful crescent blade of his staff pressed silently against the man’s throat.

Everything had happened so abruptly, yet it also seemed utterly natural.

The mercenary did not even realize what had happened. His consciousness suddenly went blank, and then, amid a spray of bright red blood, his body crashed heavily to the ground.