Night came, but the battlefield remained lit. Dozens of mana lamps lay scattered across the front, their steady glow pooling over the torn ground.
Above them, spheres of light drifted slowly through the air, lighting spells maintained by exhausted mages, hovering just high enough to illuminate the advancing tide.
They had been fighting for hours now. Lucen no longer needed to be told how long it had been; his body knew.
His shoulders burned with a dull, constant ache, and his fingers felt stiff each time he tried to pull the trigger.
Despite his aching body, he still had a lot of mana, and his aura mantle remained ready. He did this since he expected a long battle, but not in this way.
Under the hovering lights, the battlefield told a bleak story. Corpses carpeted the ground, monsters mixed with corrupted animals, yet the distance they had gained was negligible.
