The Sword Saint cursed under her breath. No one had accounted for one of the War Grades being an aerial beast. The beast hovering above dived down with terrifying speed; its movements couldn't be traced, and in a split second, another life had been taken.
Prometheus, who had been slightly docile since the beginning of the battle, gripped the rim of his bow. He was meant to lead the vanguard for aerial assault, and many beasts had fallen under his command.
But a beast of this magnitude couldn't be killed without heavy casualties. Attacks that would cause an area of effect couldn't be used against it either.
His lazy eyes grew sharp, frantically tracking the blur that soared through the sky above and below. He drew his bow, a pale blue arrow knocked at its centre.
Prometheus took in a calm breath, relaxing the built-up tension that came with facing such a beast. A simple mistake could spell doom for the adventurers at the frontline.
A sigh escaped his lips, and at the same time, the arrow left his fingertips. Mana surged through the weapon like a flood as it tore through the sky in a radiance of pale blue light.
Crossing the battlefield in a split second, it appeared alongside a rainbow blur.
The beast soared faster, its unpredictable movements now completely unfathomable. But the arrow persisted, its pale blue light erupting into brilliant embers of bright blue flame that continued to chase.
Prometheus watched as a dozen bright flames chased the evasive creature. Another arrow had already been knocked onto his bow, the air around it crackling with the intensity of suppressed mana.
The beast evaded left and right, soared high and came low, but the embers of flame still seemed unrelenting.
The Sword Saint's gaze travelled to the wall and landed on Prometheus. She had noticed the embers of bright blue flame that diverted the attention of the beast, but knew it wouldn't be enough to kill it.
She redrew her long sword from the corpse of a beast and swung it toward another.
The ferocity behind her strike was evident; rage bubbled in her veins.
She hated it—the fact that she couldn't assist among the War Grades. Her role was important, yes, but would it matter if her party failed?
They would all face an inevitable demise.
And yet, she couldn't continue to sulk in her own misery. The vanguard needed to be led.
The butterfly-looking beast wasn't a War Grade for no reason. Its bestial instincts had picked up on the fact that the flames that chased it were persistent. So its compound eyes searched for the source.
The beast couldn't see, but picked up on the mana flow of everything living around it. Its senses traced the residue of mana from the flames that chased it and searched for its source.
It didn't take long for it to find it. Far into the distance, it could feel the gathering of heavy mana—the same that had been used to conjure the flames.
It let out a madness-driven screech and shot forward. The sky exploded into a thunderclap as it soared toward a short-framed, grey-eyed human.
Prometheus's lazy grey eyes widened as he noticed the beast approaching; the arrow wasn't ready yet. The archers and marksmen around him threw attacks at the beast, but none of it interfered with its movements.
A dark shadow was cast upon the wall as it descended. It let out a sonic screech that shattered stone and bone alike.
Prometheus was disoriented but refused to release the arrow, the last ounces of his mana flowing into it.
But it was too late. The insectoid maw of the was already upon him.
The air between Aster and Thorne crackled with unforeseen tension. After Thorne's threat, neither of them had said nor done anything.
Aster himself would have probably been weighing his options of survival, but the indifferent look in his piercing emerald eyes said otherwise.
His hand slipped to retrieve his dagger.
Thorne noticed but didn't react.
Aster watched and studied. From the regulation of Thorne's breathing down to the twitch of his muscles. There was no difference between man and beast when it came to a confrontation; both were governed by different yet similar anatomies.
This was something he had studied, achieved countless times, and waited patiently to execute.
The calculation that came with prediction.
He had already made up his mind—he wasn't avoiding a confrontation.
Thorne locked eyes with him for a second, and in an instant, his dagger flashed toward Aster's throat.
Aster's head was already laid back, the blade only nicking his skin slightly. He spun his dagger back and plunged it into Thorne's forearm, then bolted for the gates.
A muffled groan escaped through the mouth of the young teenager, but by then Aster was already gone.
Aster ran through the gates and headed for the wagons. Countless people like him were getting sorted in.
They were going to survive. He had made it.
He let out a sigh of relief—but midway, it caught within his chest.
A chill ran down his spine, and cold sweat broke across his forehead. The instincts he had always been proud of desperately told him to leave the wagons and run—that the only thing that waited ahead was death.
But why should he?
When survival was just within reach, why should he abandon it?
The monstrous roar that cut through the air and rattled his bones gave him an answer—
because death waited ahead.