The moment he saw the figure in the black robe, Jeming's mind was completely focused, like a bowstring pulled taut.
All distracting thoughts, doubts, and the desire to clear out fleeing enemies were forcibly suppressed, and his eyes were left with only the target exuding the majestic presence of a Sixth Level Wizard.
The life-and-death struggle with the Hand of Obliteration, which nearly cost him his soul, had long engraved a wariness of Sixth Level Wizards into his very bones.
Faced with this unknown formidable enemy, Jeming had no leisure for "probing."
His thoughts turned swiftly, and twelve Fire Floating Cannons moved according to his will.
Two of them adjusted their angles slightly, the dark golden "continuous beam" like the scythe of the Grim Reaper, slicing through the last few enemy wizards attempting to flee to the distance.
The screams were abruptly cut off, leaving a few wisps of rapidly dissipating blue smoke in the air.
