His magic erupted in a violent surge, crackling with raw, unrestrained power. Arcane symbols shimmered around him as he summoned a storm of destructive spells; flashing bolts of lightning, swirling torrents of fire, and crushing waves of dark energy—aimed directly at the troll and his minions.
But beneath this fury, a flicker of something more profound stirred. Leylin's heart ached for the fallen elves, their sacrifice was not in vain. Their courage became his armor, fueling the chaos of his magic, igniting a relentless drive to see justice done.
In that moment, Leylin's face was no longer the composed leader the team knew. It was a mask of wrath and determination, a reflection of the bonds forged in blood and battle.
The battlefield was his crucible—where he would unleash his fury to protect what little remained of hope, and to ensure that the darkness would not claim these innocent lives without a fight.
The fight raged on, but now Leylin fought not just with spells and power, but with a burning resolve to honor the fallen, to crush the enemies, and to carve a path through the shadows that threatened to swallow them all.
Leylin, on defense, knew better than anyone that every camp along the entire Ghostlands defenses was engaged, and there was no chance of any reinforcements arriving.
Perhaps Commander Thalorien had been careless, not anticipating that even the frontline defenses could err, like this elite troll force that had infiltrated the front lines.
Tyr'ganal recklessly expended all his arcane artillery, leaping from his position to join Leylin.
No more than five soldiers and rangers were still capable of combat, while the elite troll force still had nearly twenty soldiers standing on the battlefield.
Behind them lay the Farstrider Enclave, and Leylin knew better than anyone how effective this camp would be in a normal battle.
"Don't stray from this area. Stay alert. The battle isn't over yet," Leylin said to Tyr'ganal beside him, his face still brimming with fighting spirit.
It must be said that Tyr'ganal's magic consumption was immense; he had already expended most of it just now when he unleashed his magic cannon. He also knew the strength of these elite trolls. Without reinforcements, their battle was already over.
Tyr'ganal gritted his teeth and picked up the shields and weapons of the fallen soldiers. "My magic can no longer harm these trolls," he said. "These weapons will serve as a substitute for my magic."
"Get back behind me, all of you! Don't stray from this area!" Leylin shouted to the remaining soldiers in the attack, Leylin charged at the forefront, using two rounds of [Fire Ball] to blast over the two trolls standing in the forefront.
After releasing his magic, Leylin casted [Flamestrike] immediately, flame surged through the ground engulfing everything on its path.
The surrounding flames converged around Leylin was he continued to control it, precisely controlling the flames to assist the rangers and warrior to fall back into formation.
Succeeding on securing everyone on his team, Leylin bursts out even more magical energy boosting the flames raising its temperature even higher. He slowly cleared out the attacking elite trolls within the battlefield.
Tyr'ganal was gob smacked by Leylin's precise control of fire energy and even more when he actually felt the sudden surge of magical energy from Leylin.
Aminel, assisted in commanding the soldiers retreat into formation, and ordering those who are wounded to get back to camp. While those who are still capable to fight will stay behind.
As the final echoes of the brutal clash faded into an ominous silence, Leylin's figure moved slowly through the scorched remains of the battlefield. His steps were heavy, each footfall leaving behind a trail of ash and blackened earth.
The once lush flora was reduced to smoldering ruin, the air thick with the acrid scent of burnt wood and charred life. No creature of the forest, no matter how resilient—had survived the inferno he had unleashed in his rage. The landscape before him was a wasteland, a stark testament to the fury he had summoned.
He reached the edge of the camp, a place that now felt eerily deserted, save for the two figures waiting in solemn silence—Tyr'ganal and Aminel. Both looked at him with a mixture of awe and concern, their eyes subtly widened by the sight of Leylin's overwhelming presence.
His aura still crackled faintly with residual energy, a shimmering halo of raw, unrestrained power that seemed to ripple around him like a force of nature itself.
Leylin stood there safely, his magical energy slowly restored.
It was as if Leylin had never experienced any battle. His divinity and magical energy were in the best condition.
"Oh my God, how did you do it?" Tyr'ganal stood up, looking at the battlefield that had returned to calm and Leylin's calm face. He couldn't imagine that a mage had such ability and never felt fatigue on such a large and powerful spell.
"Eat, sleep, read books and train well. Rinse and repeat." Leylin smirked. Aminel and Tyr'ganal looked at each other. They couldn't understand how Leylin did it.
No matter how absurdly it is, they just couldn't believe what actually happened. That sudden eruption of dense magical energy opened their eyes on Leylin's power.
Aminel carefully checked Leylin for injuries, perhaps seriously injured or something. After checking Leylin several times, Aminel put her arm around his shoulders and said, "Thank goodness, we're all alive."
Leylin didn't have time to rejoice; he patted Aminel's back and took her weight. Tyr'ganal and Aminel exchanged glances, their respect for Leylin deepening.
They had always believed in his potential, but witnessing his current mastery firsthand was a revelation.
They could feel the immense, almost unstoppable force emanating from him, a force born not just of arcane knowledge but of something far more profound: an unyielding will to protect and to ascend beyond the limits of ordinary magic.
They slowly went back to their camp, to check on their remaining abled soldiers. And whether they could still help defend from the troll attacks.
Leylin's team successfully defended the attack. But it came with casualties, they haven't had a count yet.
But once they reached camp, they would know how many comrades and fallen during the battle. As they settled into the aftermath, the scorched earth around them seemed to whisper of the storm that had just passed.
And within Leylin, a new resolve burned brighter—one forged in fire, tempered by loss, and driven by an unquenchable desire to reach the heights of power and mastery that few could even imagine.