Moments earlier before the elves descended.
On the blood-soaked battlefield, where steel clashed and mana tore through the air, Lucian stood shoulder to shoulder with his comrades, Silas and Daigo. The three of them faced the Legate.
The Legate held his spear loosely, the weapon humming with restrained power. His eyes glowed faintly scanning the three before him as if deciding which to kill first.
Daigo spat to the side, his breath ragged, his twin blades trembling in his hands. "This guy's a damn monster…"
Lucian didn't reply. His aura flared instead, pushing back against the crushing weight of the Legate's presence. Behind them, Silas's hands glowed faintly as he struggled to cast a healing spell, his fingers shaking, sweat running down his face. It was rare for an assassin to even know healing magic, but even that wasn't enough to close their wounds.
