Translator: CinderTL
"It's Tula!" Galvis said, his voice urgent as he weakly patted Roland's shoulder. "Go... now..."
No further explanation was needed. Roland could clearly sense the overwhelming and powerful aura emanating from the approaching presence.
He made a decisive command to Felice. "Lead the way!"
Without hesitation, he bent down and hoisted the weakened bard onto his back.
"Roland... put me down..." Galvis pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. "I can't go on... Don't let me hold you back."
Roland steadied his friend on his back, his voice firm and unwavering. "Galvis, listen. If you're going to die, you'll do it where I can see you."
With that, he began walking resolutely after Felice. They hurried through the short corridor and onto the spiral staircase.
As they burst out of the High Tower's main gate, the sight before them made Roland's breath catch in his throat.
Dawn was approaching, and the sky should have been turning a pale, fish-belly gray, dispelling the darkness of the long night.
Yet now, the entire sky was shrouded in a vast, translucent pale blue membrane.
Like an inverted bowl, this luminous film completely covered the Eversong Forest and its surroundings.
Visible streams of magical energy flowed across its surface, distorting the light that filtered through into bizarre patterns.
What weighed most heavily on Roland's heart, however, was the palpable, invisible pressure bearing down on him.
The power within him instantly became sluggish, his agility drastically reduced, as if he were sinking into an unseen mire.
"What is this...?" Roland stared at the abnormal sky.
Behind him, Galvis's weak yet certain voice rang out. "A fourth-tier spell... Sky Barrier. He... he actually managed to cast a barrier of that rank..."
"A fourth-tier spell..." Roland's heart sank at the diagnosis.
He immediately roused Felice, who was also stunned by the barrier's presence. "Don't stop! Keep moving!"
To avoid the chaos of the main battlefield, Felice chose to skirt the edges of the habitat, taking a circuitous route.
The power within him instantly felt sluggish, his agility severely diminished, as if he were sinking into an unseen mire.
"What is this..."
Roland stared at the abnormal sky.
Behind him, Galvis's weak yet certain voice rang out.
"A fourth-circle spell... Sky Barrier. He... he actually managed to cast a barrier of this tier..."
"A fourth-circle spell..."
Hearing this, Roland's heart sank.
He immediately roused Felice, who stood beside him, equally stunned by the barrier.
"Don't stop! Keep moving!"
To avoid the chaos of the main battlefield, Felice chose to skirt the edges of the habitat, advancing along the perimeter.
Even from this relatively remote location, Roland could clearly sense the source of the terrifying pressure.
It was the surface elves' Council of Elders.
Not long before, when he had passed by, the drow's vanguard forces had already swarmed the Council of Elders like a tide.
The battle had been completely one-sided at the time. Under the drow's fierce assault and cunning spells, the surface elves' defenses had crumbled, and the Council was on the verge of being completely overrun.
But now, the situation had undergone a horrifying reversal.
Roland's gaze was involuntarily drawn to the distant scene.
Above the Council of Elders, a solitary, proud figure stood suspended in the air.
It was a figure clad in magnificent elven robes, its pale face illuminated clearly by the barrier's glow. Though its posture remained elegant, it exuded an unsettling aura of authority.
The magical fluctuations radiating from the figure were so intense that even from a great distance, Roland felt a tingling sensation on his skin.
"Is that... Tula?"
Though he had never met him before, such overwhelming power, combined with Galvis's earlier descriptions, immediately led Roland to this conclusion.
As if to confirm his suspicion, the figure raised its hand and pointed at the densest cluster of drow warriors below.
Without incantation or magical glow, in the next instant—
An elite squad of drow warriors, along with the magic shields surrounding them, were seized as if by an invisible giant hand.
With a sickening crunch of bone and the screech of twisting metal, they were crushed like dolls, instantly transforming into a pulpy mass of flesh and metal.
Then, Tula waved his hand, and a visible wave of force rippled across the battlefield like a scythe.
Dozens of drow warriors attempting to charge were snapped like stalks of wheat in a gale. Their bodies twisted at grotesque angles, tearing apart, limbs and entrails scattering in all directions, leaving behind a horrifying fan-shaped vacuum zone.
The once-unstoppable drow offensive collapsed under this inhuman force.
Survivors retreated in terror, their formation shattered, their faces etched with the despair of facing a natural disaster.
Even Roland, a veteran of countless battles, felt a chill run down his spine as he witnessed this devastating scene.
The power Tula displayed had already surpassed the capabilities of ordinary transcendent beings.
Filis turned deathly pale, her body trembling uncontrollably.
"Move!" Roland roared, forcibly suppressing the shock in his heart and quickening his pace.
Just then, the battle far away took a sudden turn.
Tula seemed to have lost his patience.
He raised his hand again, and a heart-stopping amount of magical energy coalesced in the air.
A force field ripple, even more concentrated and lethal than before, began to form before his palm, poised to sweep across the fleeing drow.
However, at the very instant the destructive energy was about to erupt—
A deep, viscous darkness, like ink, materialized without warning before the drow lines.
This was no ordinary shadow; it writhed as if alive, forming a swirling vortex of darkness.
The sharp force field ripple released by Tula crashed into the darkness, vanishing like a stone in the sea.
It only stirred silent ripples of energy before being completely devoured and dissolved by the abyssal darkness, leaving no trace of its intended destruction.
The sudden, precise, and efficient counterspell caused Tula, who was hovering in the air, to pause momentarily.
Then, behind the still-dissipating shadow barrier, a slightly stooped yet remarkably composed figure emerged, leaning on a gnarled wooden staff. He slowly walked to the front of the disintegrating drow lines, standing alone to face the god-like figure in the sky.
"That's..."
Roland's running footsteps didn't falter, but his eyes narrowed sharply as he instantly recognized the figure.
"Duariden?"
Duariden tilted his head to gaze at Tula, who floated in mid-air, surrounded by a radiant aura of immense magical power. His wrinkled face betrayed no emotion, only a series of deep coughs. The weathered, crimson eyes narrowed slightly.
"To casually cast a fourth-circle spell and draw mana so rapidly... truly astonishing. But this casting technique... so crude, relying purely on brute force."
The old drow assessed the situation calmly in his mind.
"If this were in the past... Hmph!"
A flicker of resentment flashed in his eyes.
Aware that his attack had been blocked, Tula raised an eyebrow. The flawless smile on his face remained, benevolent and gentle, as if everything were under his control.
Like a king looking down on his subjects, his gaze fell upon Duariden, and his voice rang out clearly across the battlefield.
"To so effortlessly nullify my spell... your power is considerable. State your name."
Du'aldon ignored Tula's question, a hint of mockery flashing through his mind.
"Just as Mr. Rudolph mentioned in passing, certain arrogant fools always love to prattle on during battle, trying to flaunt their superiority."
Before the thought had fully formed, Du'aldon's withered fingers, hidden beneath his robe sleeve, had silently completed a complex hand seal.
Without warning, several tendrils of pure shadow energy erupted from the void behind Tula.
Like living vipers, they coiled swiftly around his limbs and throat.
Seeing the shadow tendrils approach, Tula merely shook his head, a disdainful smirk playing on his lips.
"Truly... overestimating yourself."
Without even raising his hand, a spherical shield shimmering with iridescent light materialized around him.
The shadow tendrils struck the shield like water against jagged reefs, emitting a series of hissing, corrosive sounds, yet they couldn't budge it an inch. Defeated, they dissipated into nothingness.
"It seems you haven't grasped the gap between us."
Tula spoke calmly, then extended a finger toward Du'aldon and flicked it lightly.
In that instant, the ground beneath Du'Alden's feet suddenly softened, transforming into a viscous quicksand trap that threatened to swallow him whole with its powerful suction.
Simultaneously, a sharp whistling sound pierced the air as three transparent spears, forged entirely from force fields, hurtled toward him in a triangular formation, their deadly trajectory leaving a trail of whistling fury.
Du'Alden's pupils constricted. He slammed his twisted wooden staff into the ground.
"Hmph!"
A ring of shadow energy erupted from him, instantly solidifying the quicksand trap back into solid ground.
At the same time, he swiftly traced a rune with his other hand, summoning a semi-transparent shadow shield that materialized before him.
Thud! Thud! Thud!
The force field spears struck the shield in rapid succession, each impact echoing with a dull thud. The shield shuddered violently, barely deflecting two of the projectiles. The third spear pierced through, grazing Du'Alden's shoulder as it tore through his sleeve, leaving a trail of blood blossoms.
The old Drow elf grunted and staggered half a step back, his aura flickering slightly.
But as Tula appeared and intervened, the surface elves, who had been scattered and demoralized by fear, seemed to receive a surge of adrenaline, hope rekindling within them.
"For the Eversong Forest!"
The surviving surface elf warriors roared, rallying their defenses and launching a counter-charge against the Drow.
For a time, the entire battlefield was locked in a stalemate once more.
The clash of weapons, the roar of battle cries, and the explosive bursts of magic intertwined, each moment claiming lives.
At the heart of the conflict, the magical duel between Duerden and Tula intensified.
Duerden, a seasoned veteran, possessed an extraordinary understanding of shadow and defensive magic. He consistently found ingenious ways to counter crises with clever spell choices at crucial moments.
Yet Tula, drawing upon his vast mana reserves, cast spells with effortless ease. A relentless barrage of Ring-tier magic formed an overwhelming offensive, forcing Duerden into a defensive stance for most of the engagement. Any counterattacks were easily repelled by Tula.
It was like an ancient, sturdy ship battling a raging storm. Despite the captain's skill, the vessel was clearly outmatched against the endless waves and tempest.
Finally, Duerden's defenses reached their breaking point.
Under the ceaseless, near-infinite onslaught of spells, the shadow shield that had been his primary defense began to crack under the relentless assault. It emitted a brittle, protesting sound, like glass being hammered repeatedly, before shattering into a shower of shimmering shadow fragments.
A searing ray of light pierced through his hastily conjured secondary defenses and struck his chest with brutal force.
"Ugh!"
The old drow elf let out a pained grunt, his body flying backward like a kite with a snapped string. He crashed heavily onto the scorched earth, his wooden staff slipping from his grasp and rolling away.
He tried to struggle to his feet, but suddenly coughed up a mouthful of blood. His body curled inward in agony, clearly unable to continue fighting.
"Elder!"
"Elder Duerden!"
The drow warriors engaged in combat with the surface elves nearby cried out in shock and anger at the sight.
Several warriors, closer to the scene, disregarded their own safety and attempted to charge forward to rescue him, but were pinned down by the reactivated surface elves, throwing the front lines into even greater chaos.
Tula hovered in the air, his flawless face still bearing that compassionate smile, as if he had merely completed a trivial task.
Shaking his head with a hint of lingering dissatisfaction, he elegantly raised his hand, his fingertips once again glowing with a dangerous magical aura. A concentrated stream of arcane energy began to gather, its target fixed on the fallen Duerden.
His gaze was calm, as if he were about to crush an annoying insect beneath his foot.
Yet, just as the fatal strike was about to leave his hand, Tula's movement faltered imperceptibly.
He frowned slightly, slowly lowering his raised hand, and instinctively touched his chest.
Then, he whipped his head around, his eagle-sharp eyes piercing through the chaotic battlefield to lock onto something in the distance.
The perfect smile on his face wavered for the first time, a hint of surprise curling the corner of his lips.
"What an... unexpected gain," he murmured.
"Another chosen one, closely linked to Mr. Galvis through the Goddess Shuni's favor... and they're here now..."
Before he finished speaking, space warped slightly. Tula's figure blurred like a phantom, then vanished completely.
Only the elves still locked in combat, and the severely wounded Duerden, gasping for breath on the ground, remained.
(End of the Chapter)
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