The rhythm of the battlefield had been completely seized by Margit.
The shackle held him for far less time than expected.
After only a few seconds, Margit broke free from the golden ring of light.
The instant he tore loose, he launched a storm-like counterattack.
The three wolf spirits were the first sacrifices.
Fearless of death, they pounced at Margit, trying to tear at him with claws and fangs.
However, Margit merely swept the end of his staff in a casual circle.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three muffled impacts rang out almost at the same time.
The wolf spirits did not even have time to let out a single howl before they were smashed apart, scattering into broken points of light that dissolved into the air.
Rogier’s situation was just as precarious.
His glintblade sorcery could harass Margit to a certain extent, but every cast was met with a precise and deadly counterattack.
A light dagger.
A light hammer.
They always came from the trickiest angle at the exact moment his spell took shape.
To protect himself, Rogier was forced to interrupt his casting again and again to dodge. His breathing grew more and more ragged, and the light at the tip of his staff became increasingly dim.
Loran was under the greatest pressure.
He was responsible for controlling the fight, using Glintstone Pebble to draw Margit’s attention and create openings for Kiro and Rogier to attack.
But every spell he cast was like dancing on the edge of a blade.
Margit’s movement was far too cunning for a warrior wielding a heavy staff.
He could always predict Loran’s casting position, use the terrain to evade, and counterattack with an endless variety of golden weapons.
The last Flask of Cerulean Tears was consumed.
His FP bar hit zero.
That meant he had lost his ability to restrain Margit from range.
And the most terrifying thing was the unknown.
Margit had no HP bar UI.
Loran had no idea how much damage their focused attacks had actually dealt to Margit.
He still looked full of energy.
His movements showed no sign of slowing.
There was not even a proper wound on his body.
How much “HP” did he have left?
Eighty percent?
Fifty percent?
Or had their seemingly fierce assault just been scratch damage?
There was no way to tell.
All strategy, all calculation, became meaningless before the fog of missing information.
“Hey! Where are your glintstones? Why did you stop casting? Hold him down already! I’m about to use Frenzied Flame!”
Kiro’s shout came from not far away.
Loran split off a thread of attention and glanced at the Galgame UI.
The words in the status bar were like a red-hot branding iron burning into his retina.
[Status: At Ease / In Complete Control / Enjoying Himself]
He nearly broke down.
This was not a battle.
This was a one-sided game of cat and mouse.
“Hey! Where are your glintstones?”
Kiro’s shout dragged him back from the edge of collapse.
He looked over.
Kiro was hiding behind a broken stone pillar, golden fire blazing in both eyes, her Frenzied Flame incantation ready to release.
Kiro’s final trump card.
But she did not dare use it lightly.
The moment she cast it, she would become Margit’s highest-priority target.
She needed Loran’s cover.
She needed a brief window to cast.
But Loran had no FP left.
He drew the short sword at his waist.
He had no other choice.
Since logic and calculation had failed, only one option remained.
A gamble.
He would bet everything on Kiro’s vague, impossible “luck.”
Loran tightened his grip on the short sword.
The cold touch brought a trace of clarity back to his chaotic mind.
He charged out.
A suicidal charge that completely exposed him within the enemy’s attack range.
His goal was simple.
Use his own body to create an opening.
Margit clearly had not expected Loran to make such a foolish move.
[Status: Stunned]
But that stunned reaction lasted only an instant before it was replaced by contempt.
In Margit’s eyes, this was nothing more than the meaningless struggle of an ant before it was crushed.
Golden light rapidly gathered in his hand, forming a blade of light.
Swish—
Loran could clearly see that golden blade slicing through the air, drawing closer and closer.
He could feel the wind from the sword blowing his hair backward.
He could even smell the scorching heat radiating from the blade.
He did not dodge.
Nor could he.
Then, that light cut into his body.
There was no pain like he had imagined.
A strange numbness spread rapidly from his waist and abdomen.
He felt his body being split into two parts.
His lower half still carried the momentum of the charge.
His upper half, however, lost all support and began falling backward.
He saw his own legs run out of his field of vision.
He saw the ground rotating toward him from a strange angle.
He saw Margit’s contempt.
He saw Rogier’s face twisted in shock.
Black spots began appearing at the edge of his vision, like ink dripping into clear water, rapidly devouring the entire world.
Sound disappeared.
Touch disappeared.
All his senses were being stripped away.
And in the final instant before his consciousness was completely swallowed by that bottomless darkness—
He saw her.
And he saw the golden flames in her eyes.
The Frenzied Flame burst forth.