Ethan stared at the passive effect, stunned.
Any battle.
The perfect response.
He raised his hand, and a single Flying Leaf shot out from his palm.
The leaf traced an arc through the air, precisely weaving through the gap between two Amons warriors to slit the throat of a third. It then banked sharply, piercing the eye socket of a fourth before finally pinning itself into the brow of a fifth.
【Life Energy +41. Current Life Energy: 226,054.】
Ethan stared at the falling corpses.
With that last attack, he hadn't calculated the angle, the force, or the trajectory at all.
He had simply flicked his wrist, and his body had found the perfect timing and the most precise path on its own.
It felt as if his body were a step ahead of his brain; his hand had already moved before he even realized how he should strike.
"This passive..." A grin slowly spread across Ethan's face. "It's quite something."
He flexed his fingers, his joints letting out a faint series of pops.
Before, he had needed to dedicate a portion of his focus to judging the battlefield situation, calculating attack angles, and predicting enemy movements.
Now, he didn't have to think about any of that.
His body would make the optimal choice automatically; he only needed to follow his instincts.
Inside the Amons command center, the atmosphere was somewhat subtle.
The expressions of the tribal chiefs around the round table had gradually shifted from the fanaticism they felt when the Mother Goddess Array was activated to confusion.
Moram, the chief of the Ironwood Tribe, rolled his eyes and knit his brows into a knot. "High Priest, it's not that we don't believe in you, but the Priesthood went to all that trouble for... just this?"
The other tribal chiefs around him didn't speak, but their expressions were much the same as Moram's.
Orion, sitting at the head of the table, scanned the faces of the chiefs. "One Holy Beast failed to link with the array for some reason, so the effect is slightly diminished."
"Ah? Then..." Moram started to speak, but swallowed his words halfway through.
"What is there to panic about?" Orion's voice remained calm and steady. "Just wait and see."
The tribal chiefs exchanged looks, but no one spoke again.
Emerald Plain, the battlefield.
The Amons began a large-scale deployment of their war machines.
Dark brown catapults were set up on the hills, their green vine torsion ropes letting out piercing creaks with every launch.
Energy ball ammunition was hurled from the front of the catapults, tracing emerald arcs through the sky before crashing deep into the Wizard world's positions.
Every ball of energy exploded into a crater over a dozen meters wide upon impact, sending shrapnel and soil mixed with severed limbs flying in all directions.
The ballistae fired even faster.
Bolts as thick as a man's arm were wrapped in glowing runic patterns, each volley tearing paths of blood and flesh through the slave crowds.
The Amons' war bastions opened fire simultaneously.
The massive ballistae and energy launchers mounted atop those bastions poured out continuous fire, suppressing the Wizard world's offensive rhythm behind a relatively fixed front line.
The War Fortress was also upping the ante.
Teleportation arrays flashed repeatedly as squad after squad of slaves poured out from the interior of the fortress.
They wore uniform deep-gray robes, the dark silver metal rings on their right wrists reflecting the cold sunlight.
They didn't pause for a moment after stepping out of the teleportation arrays, charging straight for the front lines.
Contract beasts galloped out from specialized tunnels on the side of the fortress, the massive four-legged behemoths shaking the ground and sending mud flying with every step.
Flying contract beasts took off from the platforms at the top of the fortress, their shadows moving rapidly across the ground as they spread their wings.
Enslaved beasts, mechanical servants, and various forms of summons and creations flooded out from the fortress's exits, filling the gaps torn open by the Amons' firepower.
Both sides seemed to have reached a silent agreement, consuming each other in the bloodiest way possible, treating lives as mere resources.
No one retreated.
No one could afford to retreat in this war of attrition.
Ethan brushed the dust off his hands, preparing to look for his next target.
The moment his mental power extended, he caught something rapidly approaching from behind.
The object was moving extremely fast; judging by its aura, it was at least a Third-Tier Apprentice.
He spun around instantly, his right hand already raised as emerald light condensed in his palm.
Then, he froze.
A figure with pure white wings was diving down from mid-air. The wingspan was a full four meters, and every feather shimmered with a pale gold luster.
His silver-white short robe flapped loudly in the wind, and he held a pale gold short staff in his hand, the white crystal at its tip still glowing.
Wait.
Didn't this guy get turned into a pincushion at the war machine battery earlier?
Ethan had seen with his own eyes dozens of arrows pinning the man's wings and right leg, sending him crashing into the mud from twenty meters up, where the Amons warriors had swarmed him.
In that situation, let alone a Third-Tier Apprentice, even an Official Wizard would have been lucky to survive in one piece.
But now, this guy was perfectly fine, without so much as a single arrow hole in his wings.
Perhaps noticing Ethan's confusion, the Winged Human suddenly hovered in mid-air, his wings spreading flat to stabilize himself as he looked down at Ethan. "Kid, you're the one who left me to die during the assault on the war machine camp, aren't you?"
Ethan didn't answer the question, instead looking the Winged Human up and down.
"Aren't you dead?"
"How ignorant," the Winged Human sneered. "Have you never heard of resurrection?"
"What? Resurrection?"
"Tsk, truly ignorant. This is the Holy Angel Bloodline. I get three chances at resurrection a year, understand?"
Ethan's eyelid twitched.
Holy Angel Bloodline?
That was something from those birdmen in the World of Gods.
The expression on his face instantly turned cold. He spread the five fingers of his right hand, and the emerald light in his palm flared.
"Holy Angel? You're a spy from the World of Gods? Die!"
Three wooden stakes as thick as a man's arm shot out from his palm, whistling through the air as they flew straight for the Winged Human's face.
With a flap of his wings, the Winged Human maneuvered nimbly through the gaps between the stakes, dodging them easily. He didn't get angry or counterattack; he simply hovered in the air, the smirk on his face widening.
"I said you were ignorant, and you get all upset. Have you never heard of plundering? We've been fighting the World of Gods for ten thousand years. What's so special about snatching a bit of their bloodline?"
Ethan stopped his attack. The wooden stakes exploded three meters in front of the Winged Human, turning into a cloud of sawdust.
"I'll report this to Fortress Command."
"Be my guest," the Winged Human shrugged. "The higher-ups at command have known for a long time anyway."
Just as Ethan was about to say something, a voice suddenly came from the Wizardry Tool in his right ear.
"Attention all combat units: the war is entering the next phase. Countdown: 60, 59, 58..."
Ethan and the Winged Human locked eyes for a moment.
Then, both of them turned and bolted simultaneously.
The ground blurred beneath their feet as the slaves and contract beasts along the way also began to retreat in sync. The entire front line was receding like a tide, pulling back toward the War Fortress.
Rate on N.U.
