Chapter Five: Deadly Confrontation

“Roar!” At that very moment, a blue figure sprang from the woods near the city gate. With a fierce bellow, it grabbed the boy and evaded the incoming attack.

“Sven, well done.” Seeing that the boy was unharmed, Lance let out a sigh of relief. After all, the child had come for the promise of payment—if anything happened to him, Lance would have felt guilty. Lacking scruples did not mean lacking a conscience.

“I never expected you, the most infamous necromancer, to resort to ambushes,” Euneiro mocked toward the woods.

“Heh. I’ve lost count of how many years I’ve been dead. Reputation means nothing to me anymore. Victory is all that matters,” replied a figure emerging from the other side of the woods, accompanied by a staff-wielding, shield-bearing man and a rider atop a warhorse.

“Looks like you were waiting for us. Fortunately, I brought a few extra friends—otherwise, this would have been dangerous,” he said, though his demeanor betrayed no relief.

“Nesha, I didn’t expect you to show up.” Although Nesha was a member of the Scourge Legion, neither Sven nor Ne had much hatred for him. He only acted on the battlefield and was never named among the Scourge’s atrocities. Ne found this curious, and Nesha spoke directly: “That guy asked me to protect him, so I’m here. As long as you don’t kill him, I won’t interfere.” As a devotee of the God of Chaos, he felt no allegiance to the Scourge; for him, the only concern was completing his task.

“Despite what you say, I have to refuse. No matter what, I must end those two. The cries of countless innocent victims haunt my mind—I must avenge them.” Sven, a hero who emerged late, had suffered from the Scourge’s cruelty; he was once a mercenary, and his comrades fell to the Legion’s slaughter.

Nesha’s response was swift; he drew his weapon from his belt and stared silently at Sven. Just then, the ring signaled that the previous task was completed, and after a moment’s confusion, he understood—the appearance of three Sentinel heroes meant the enemy wouldn’t risk a direct confrontation.

“Sven, you take care of Lion. Nesha is mine. Lance, hold off the necromancer.” With that, he charged at Nesha, though the enemies clearly had no intention of following Ne’s arrangement: the necromancer and Lion joined forces, while Lance and Sven exchanged a glance and rushed forward together.

“Roar!” Sven let out a furious cry, and Lance felt power surge through his legs as a red energy armor appeared over his vital areas. Though intangible, it was unmistakably armor. Lance finally understood the difference between himself and the heroes—in resolve and in strength.

Euneiro and Nesha’s duel revealed why they were called heroes: every strike from Euneiro released a thunderous sonic boom, while Nesha’s slower counterattacks visibly distorted the air with their force.

Suddenly, Sven spoke to Lance. “Kid, you distract one, I’ll finish the other.” Though his words sounded arrogant, Lance knew Sven had the strength—when he invoked divine power, none could stand against him. Yet rarely did he face a hero alone.

“I’ll distract Lion. My ultimate skill lasts for three rounds,” Lance said, loading his crossbow and aiming at Lion.

“Haha! A novice thinks he can stop me?” Lion sneered, swinging his staff and sending a white light toward Lance. Knowing Lion’s formidable control abilities, Lance immediately activated his ultimate, retrieved a pill from his ring, and swallowed it.

Just then, the white light struck him. “Impossible! My hex cannot be resisted!” Lion exclaimed, recalling a legend: in this world, many artifacts existed—some could be crafted, others were unique. Ancestor’s Drum among the beastfolk, Lothar’s Edge, the Ghoul tribe’s legendary Mjollnir’s Armband, the Thunder God’s Hammer wielded by the God-King, the Aghanim’s Scepter carried by Prince Carl of the blood elves, the Elven Eaglehorn Bow, Assault Armor of the humans. Many items were mere legend: a dragon chief’s heart turned artifact upon death, and the legendary Black King Bar, bane of mages. His heart skipped as he voiced his suspicion to the necromancer, who was startled. Already inclined to retreat, the two resolved to escape.

“Still, we must leave them a gift—otherwise, our reputation will be ruined.” For those of their rank, reputation was second only to legendary artifacts. The necromancer nodded, stepped back, and began chanting. At their level, most spells required no incantation—so if he did chant, it meant a grand spell. Sven charged, determined to risk injury to stop him.

“Storm—” Before he could finish, Lion swung his staff and a spike of earth shot toward Sven. Sven dodged, but the opportunity was lost. Lance hurriedly coated his crossbow bolt with poison, knowing that even a moment’s silence would disrupt the spell. He fired at the necromancer, but Lion blocked the shot.

The necromancer’s voice rose sharply; Lance recognized this as the spell’s climax. A gray ripple surged toward Kaguya City. As it washed over Lance, he felt pain but no real damage. Yet, when he saw the trees the ripple touched all wither, he realized this spell might spare Sentinel soldiers, but for ordinary people, it was devastation.

He seemed to see the fate of the city’s residents after death. A rage ignited—though he expected battle, he hadn’t anticipated the Scourge would commit slaughter.

“I’ll kill you all!” Lance’s sudden eruption stunned everyone. Sven and Euneiro were furious, but they knew the moment the necromancer finished his spell, the civilians’ fate was sealed. Yet Lance’s reaction was different; his skills, designed by Lotus, were not so straightforward. His final skill required the protection of the weak, and triggering that condition unlocked a hidden ability.

His fourth skill slot changed.

Skill 4—Ranger’s Justice: Endless Fury. A ranger who swears to protect the weak, unable to shield those in need, unleashes a cry of wrath. The potion burns all strength in his blood; after use, no further potions can be taken for a day, and he is left weakened.

“Teacher, why do we become soldiers?”

“Kid, you ask too many questions. Isn’t it obvious? To defend the country, of course,” a burly man said, ruffling a young boy’s hair with a grin.

“Is that really true, Teacher?” The boy’s eyes made lying impossible.

“Of course. But that’s only part of it. I just want to protect those who need protection.” He pulled out a photo of a beautiful woman smiling gently. “Remember, kid, when you have strength, you also have responsibility—to protect even more people.”

For some reason, Lance recalled his first teacher, his father’s comrade, who sacrificed himself to protect civilians on a mission. Lance never forgot his teachings, and now they fueled his fury anew.

He drew the military dagger from his pants leg, always at his side. In his rage, even Euneiro and Ne barely tracked his movements. The mages, Lion and the necromancer, failed to react altogether as Lance drove the blade straight through the necromancer’s heart, circled behind, and with his left arm locked the neck, his right hand jerked hard. All heard the spine snap. Lion, now aware, tried another hex, but it failed. Nesha, entangled with Euneiro, couldn’t intervene. Lance, once ignored, now became the center of attention, unleashing a flurry of joint locks; the necromancer’s body was utterly destroyed under his assault.

Hero slain: Necromancer. Experience gained: 4000. Item acquired: Mask of Madness.

It had been decades since a hero fell, but today, one perished—none had foreseen it.

Meanwhile, the necromancer’s spell neared the city—when suddenly, a roar echoed from within.

“Who dares harm the descendants of my race?” A blue ice wall appeared before the city.

“Damn—it’s the summoner, Carl!” As Nesha departed, he seized the necromancer’s corpse—though dead, its secrets were vital for the next generation of necromancers.

A man in white robes appeared before them.

“Euneiro, tell me—who dared threaten the descendants of my people?” His tone was harsh, yet Euneiro showed no anger, for this man had once stood with his teacher against the Scourge’s invasion.

“Lord Carl, it was the necromancer, the current heir of the Scourge’s line.”

“Hmph. So the necromancer’s lineage, knowing how few blood elves remain, still dares harm us. Looks like I must teach them a lesson.” Carl’s expression made clear that a mere lesson would not suffice.

“Sir, the enemy has already been slain.” Euneiro glanced at Lance, who, seeing the necromancer’s spell blocked and the effect of Endless Fury fade, had collapsed to the ground.

“Lance!”