Night was like ink, staining the mountain ridges and forests, deep and bottomless. Moonlight struggled to tear through the dense branches, casting only fragmented, swaying shadows on the rugged ground. Corbin supported Knight Owen, the two of them stumbling out of this suffocating darkness, each step teetering on the edge of collapse. Knight Owen's breathing was rough as a broken bellows, his left arm hung limply, his faltering body held up only by sheer willpower. Corbin felt the lightness of the Lightfoot Charm rapidly fading, his leg muscles aching like fire, almost numb. But the death-like sense of pursuit behind them forced him to grit his teeth and press forward.
The dense forest fell away behind them, and the area ahead suddenly opened up. Under the pale moonlight, a relatively flat wasteland lay exposed, offering no cover. The howling wind abruptly grew louder, leaving the noise of the mountain forest far behind, only their heavy breathing remaining. This open terrain left them with nowhere to hide. A brief sense of disorientation flashed through Corbin's mind; the ground beneath his feet was hard and cold, unlike the forest which at least offered trees for concealment. A primal alarm tensed his entire body; he knew this was the enemy's playground, their graveyard.
The instant their feet touched the open ground, their bodies pushed to the limit by strenuous running and exhaustion—
Boom!
The signal flare shot into the sky, trailing a mournful tail of fire, exploding with a thunderous roar that rent rock and shook the surroundings! Its brilliant light, like a sharp blade, sliced through the pitch-black curtain of night, leaving a brief tear. In Corbin's eyes, it was more than just a distress signal; it was proof that Matthew, Rhodes, and Lyra had escaped to the horses' hiding spot and completed their mission. It was a sliver of light in their desperation, yet also like a burning fuse that completely exposed their location.
Corbin and Owen simultaneously felt the magic that held their last hope—the Lightfoot Charm and the Veil of Shadow—stripped away by an unseen hand. The sense of lightness and concealment vanished in an instant. Their bodies suddenly felt heavy as lead; even the air they breathed seemed thick, making every step difficult.
The pace of the pursuers behind them abruptly quickened. The two black-cloaked figures, who had remained at a distance, now became like night hawks locking onto prey. Their forms blurred into two indistinct black shapes, racing forward at speeds barely discernible to the eye, closing the distance in the blink of an eye. Corbin's extraordinary Perception, in the whistling night wind, captured that familiar, cold, pure abnormal aura, more potent and clear than ever before. It was the same source as the unsettling aura on the town's edge, but far surpassing it—a heart-pounding premonition of death.
Under the moonlight, dark cloaks billowed. Corbin could even see one of them—the black-cloaked figure wearing the strange ring—raising a hand. An ominous dark red magical energy rapidly condensed and expanded in his palm. A dense aura of danger rushed towards them like a physical force!
At this moment, the scene of the signal flare, the magic dissipating, the black-cloaked figures closing in, and the pursuers running in the shadows converged, as if the world had lost its sound, giving Corbin a sense of the absurd, like being in a silent black and white film.
This absurd, silent movie sensation lasted only a moment before being shattered by the black-cloaked Mage's cold voice.
The two black-cloaked figures, flanked by over a dozen smugglers with keen blades and fierce auras, stopped unhurriedly. Their cold gaze examined Corbin and Owen like caged beasts. The black-cloaked figure with the ring slowly lowered the magical energy already formed in his palm. His voice was hoarse, his tone flat and emotionless, yet it was particularly clear and chilling in the dead of night:
"This is where it ends." He glanced indifferently at the two men, who were at their last gasp, his eyes showing no ripple, only pure assessment and evaluation. "The value you've shown can perhaps earn you a chance." The hoarse voice held a condescending arrogance. "Surrender, swear loyalty to us before the God of War. Become our eyes and ears in Windbreath Town, and assist us when necessary. If you do, you will not only live but also acquire considerable wealth." He casually pointed to the fierce-eyed smugglers around them. "We will make the combat traces here look like a scene of 'fierce resistance followed by a lucky escape.' No one will suspect." Corbin noticed that while the smugglers were fierce, they showed a clear trace of fear before the black-cloaked figures. In their eyes, besides greed, glimmered awe towards power.
Exhausted, magic dissipated, surrounded as if by an iron ring. These terms, a mix of temptation and threat, now sounded like a noose that could tighten at any moment. Corbin and Owen were trapped in the encirclement, their chests heaving, breathing heavily, remaining silent.
Knight Owen's body trembled slightly from pain and exhaustion, yet he still struggled to keep his scarred back straight. In those weather-beaten eyes, which had once flickered with countless flashes of cunning and boldness, there was now no hesitation or wavering. He did not even look at the smugglers, his cold and resolute gaze fixed solely on the black-cloaked figure who had offered the terms. His trembling hand gripped his sword tightly; it was not fear, but anger and defiance condensed into one point.
Corbin was equally silent. His face, pale as paper from excessive blood loss, was stark in the moonlight. His clenched fists were white at the knuckles from the strain. His gaze slowly swept across the savage faces of every enemy around him, eventually settling on the black-cloaked figure with the ring. He did not speak, but in his deep blue eyes burned a fierce flame of fury, as if intending to burn away the dark figure before him. Deep within the soul he inherited from two lives, a more primal, purer stubbornness cried out, a refusal to bow down to such contempt and evil.
The black-cloaked figure with the ring understood their refusal from their silent posture. A trace of cold mockery finally entered his hoarse voice, as if pitying two foolish ants who had given up their only chance of survival. He wasted no more words. From beneath his hood came cold words, his killing intent undisguised, spreading out like a cold current!
"In that case, then die."
Before his words finished, the encirclement tightened abruptly! Magical energy surged again on the two black-cloaked figures. Their black cloaks billowed, and their forms actually rose from the ground, several feet high, sweeping forward with a shriek, charging towards Corbin and Owen with incredible speed! Simultaneously, the surrounding elite smugglers let out beast-like roars, brandishing their weapons, closing in from all sides! Dazzling magical light and gleaming blades intertwined once more, denser and more lethal than ever before!
The aura of death poured down like tangible ice water. Corbin and Owen simultaneously felt an unprecedented sense of suffocation and despair.
Just at this moment, in the night sky, a streak of light tore through the darkness. The two black-cloaked figures suddenly looked up towards where the light came from. Their eyes beneath their hoods narrowed abruptly, a look of gravity flashing through them.
The streak of light was incredibly fast, closing in instantly. Powerful magical energy erupted from the streak of light. Three eerie blue ice walls rose from nothingness, precisely blocking the path of the black-cloaked figures and the smugglers ahead, positioned like the legs of a tripod, leaving one escape route.
The streak of light landed, revealing Elder Lysander. He landed beside Corbin and Owen. Without stopping, he waved his staff towards the earth behind them. The soil instantly became viscous, rapidly spreading into a swamp, hindering the pursuing smugglers.
"Follow me, to the northwest!" Elder Lysander's voice was steady. He had already turned to face the enemy. "I will hold off these enemies; you and Owen break through!"
The situation changed in an instant. A dead end became a sliver of escape. Corbin supported Owen, charging desperately along the path opened by the ice walls. Elder Lysander covered their retreat, continuously casting spells to hinder the pursuers. He knew that the magical fluctuations emanating from the two black-cloaked figures were comparable to his own, or perhaps even stronger. He could not confront them directly, only do his best to buy time and a chance of survival for Corbin and Owen—the Windbreath Town Guard contingent should arrive soon, following the signal flare.
However, the black-cloaked figure with the ring did not give up. Using some unknown magic, he leaped onto an ice wall, stepping on the highest points of the ice wall a few times, then clung like a ghost, sticking to Corbin and Owen's backs, killing intent sharp in his eyes.
Elder Lysander was about to intercept the black-cloaked figure with the ring's attack when a cold light suddenly flashed, forcing him to retract his staff and retreat several steps to dodge. The black-cloaked figure with the dagger had also arrived. Immediately after, a low magical incantation sounded, and two ice walls rose from the ground, running parallel to each other, cutting off Elder Lysander from Corbin and Owen.
Corbin could no longer see Elder Lysander and the black-cloaked figure with the dagger, only hearing Elder Lysander's urgent chanting from behind the ice walls, and the sounds of ice shattering and magical explosions roaring.
Seeing the black-cloaked figure with the ring begin to condense magic again in his hand, Corbin knew there was no escape. Just as he was about to step forward to meet the attack, Owen blocked him with a hand. Corbin tried to move again, but Owen's look back stopped him.
But just then, several fast-moving smugglers had bypassed the mud swamp and ice walls created by Elder Lysander. With bloodthirsty glints in their eyes, they charged from the flanks and behind, brandishing their weapons, launching a pincer attack on Corbin and Owen! Corbin had to abandon his dash for safety. Gritting his teeth, he swung his sword to meet the attack, struggling to parry and block, trying to buy himself and Owen beside him just a little bit of breathing room in the cramped space. Sparks of clashing metal flew before his eyes, blades whistled past his ears carrying a foul wind. He was desperately entangled, unable to break free for a moment!
"Go! The Knight contingent should be right behind us, don't stop!" Owen's voice was hoarse, but it carried an undeniable force. In his weather-beaten eyes, there was now only a look of resolute sacrifice. He saw Corbin was entangled, saw the black-cloaked figure's magic already building in the distance, and knew they couldn't wait any longer!
At this moment, Owen seemed to abandon any thought of escape. The longsword that had accompanied him for who knows how many years became his final fangs. With a mighty heave, he threw his longsword like lightning straight towards the black-cloaked figure with the ring's face.
The black-cloaked figure with the ring scoffed and easily stepped aside, the longsword missing. He abandoned the explosive magic he had been gathering, his hands spreading out. He rapidly chanted: "Yehi esh mitlakachat, tisrof b'apo!" Two fireballs surged in his hands, and he was about to throw them.
Owen moved, a grim smile on his face, charging resolutely towards the black-cloaked figure with the ring. He used every last bit of his strength, launching a suicidal charge towards the dark figure who had taken his friend's life and now driven him to desperation! Corbin was entangled with the smugglers, able only to watch helplessly as Knight Owen's figure, with a tragic and resolute bravery, charged towards death!
The smugglers entangling Corbin, in the instant Knight Owen charged out, also realized the danger and instinctively wanted to turn back or retreat. But this brief hesitation was a fatal opening in Corbin's eyes! The extreme crisis and the image of Knight Owen's sacrifice stimulated him. Despite his body being utterly exhausted, a fierce efficiency born of desperation erupted! He held nothing back. His remaining Combat Aura, each swing of his sword, carried a sharp whistling sound that tore through the air! He fought like a wounded cub, striking back with the most primal, ruthless moves! Sword light flashed like lightning, stabbing precisely at the throats and hearts of the nearest enemies! Screams rang out, blood splattered! In just a few seconds, all the smugglers who had surrounded him fell.
Corbin witnessed Owen's tragic state firsthand! Grief, anger, and vengeance instantly ignited, overwhelming all reason! His eyes filled with blood in that instant, as if the entire world contained only the black-cloaked figure who was chanting before him, and the fallen Knight Owen. There was no other thought in his mind, only the most primal impulse: Kill him!
Combat Aura covered his entire body without reservation. A power far exceeding anything before roared out from deep within his soul, mingling with the Combat Aura. He charged forward with a powerful stride towards the black-cloaked figure and, pouring all his strength and boundless rage, chopped down with a sword strike!
The black-cloaked figure leaped backward in a hurry. Corbin followed him closely like a madman, but his stamina and Combat Aura were heavily depleted. His body felt as if it were being forcibly squeezed, his muscle fibers groaning in protest. As a warrior, he was almost unable to keep up with the Mage's strange, shifting movements.
In his desperation, Corbin threw the sword in his left hand. It forced the black-cloaked figure with the ring to tumble awkwardly to dodge. The longsword in his right hand, instantly wrapped in raging Combat Aura, attacked the black-cloaked figure with the ring again with a sharp whistling sound that tore through the air. Finally, it sliced a bone-deep wound on his leg. The powerful impact even pinned half of his body to the ground!
At this moment, Corbin had no mind for anything else. Only one thought remained in his heart—kill this person before him! In his mind, the black-cloaked figure with the ring's incantation echoed clearly:
"Yehi esh mitlakachat, tisrof b'apo!"
The power deep within his soul erupted with a roar! It was an indescribable burning sensation, as if countless tiny blades were cutting through his soul, accompanied by a strong, uncontrollable feeling of "gushing out." His body, driven by instinct, forcibly imitated, replicated that fatal incantation—no, rather than imitation, it was as if a certain fiery imprint deep within his soul was ignited and released by the frequency of that incantation!
A surge of fire energy, far more violent than ever before, formed in Corbin's hand without warning. Carrying all his anger and grief, it slammed fiercely into the black-cloaked figure with the ring, who was now close at hand! The magical barrier the black-cloaked figure with the ring hastily chanted shattered like thin paper before Corbin's desperate Fireball. The flames that followed burned fiercely at his body! The Mage let out a pained grunt, instinctively raising a hand to block. The flame exploded with a roar, and he was engulfed in flames, rolling and thrashing in agony on the ground.
His hood slipped off in his struggles, revealing his long-hidden true face—pointed ears, a pale complexion.
He was a Night Elf!
Corbin, regaining his senses, found his 3-meter Perception was gone. His entire soul felt like it was drifting. He looked at that twisted, pointed face in the flames, that cold face. Those pointed ears made him think of his father's death. Perhaps everything made sense now. The world spun before him. He only saw Elder Lysander already standing in front of him, and heard the sound of horses' hooves nearby.
The thunderous sound of galloping hooves came from near the horses' hiding spot, growing closer and closer.