Vaela’s lightning attempted to fight back against Kierlan’s summoned shadowy horn, but the energy fizzling out as the Nevaks leader absorbed the brunt of her powerful lances that aimed directly for where he was standing.
The rogue cultivators and beastmen took this chance, seeing the weakness and cracks that spread across the dome, surging forward with renewed ferocity. They battered against Lassim’s [Grand Aegis], which shimmered with frosty resilience as Aegrasian’s soul fragment quickly controlled water mana to spread and fill in the cracks.
Though the strain was beginning to take its toll. The ice dragon wasn’t a full soul and only was a tiny remnant of the once great Northern ocean’s protector for merchant ships navigating those seas.
Lassim felt the dragon statue inside his inner world felt like it was turning brittle; not by a lot, but he realized he would need to do something to improve and upgrade it, possibly with another beast soul like the creator of the technique, Valeria the guardian back at the Myriad Spirit Academy, had suggested to keep up with his power level.
The sand beneath their feet was kicked up due to the constant swirling of the storm cloud overhead with rain and lightning striking as the battle raged on. The air thick with a palpal tension and anxiety as Lassim struggled to maintain his technique and hold on.
For nearly two more hours, the duo fought valiantly against the shadowy horn and repeated attacks.
Vaela’s lance danced in her hands as the made and directed copies that matched her movements with it, each strike tearing through the hybrids and Nevaks on the other side of the barrier.
Lightning rained from the sky, summoned by Zaphy, while the spikes of ice from Lassim’s barrier had stopped in preference of maintaining the stability of the dome. Mari’s control of the water mana helped reinforce Aegrasian’s efforts, keeping it from shattering under the relentless assault.
Lassim’s own strength felt boundless as the divine energy flowed into him, but even with all that power, they were greatly outnumbered and only managed to kill 4 more Rogue cultivators but not a single Nevaks had actually died.
The versatility of their innate control of the shadow element, the same that inspired the creation of [Lifestream Aegis], protected them too well when Lassim couldn’t focus directly on attacking.
"Vaela… do you sense that?" Lassim muttered, sensing something shifting the spatial threads on the horizon. It was faint at first, just a ripple of energy cutting through, but it was growing stronger, and clearer as it moved at an insane speed towards their location.
Vaela’s sharp eyes flicked to the distance as her spirit sense’s range extended well far into the distance, her posture tensing. "Yep. Something’s coming," she confirmed, her voice low.
Then, as if confirming their words with blinding speed, five streaks of light shot toward them across the desert sands, the dunes trembling and being reshaped, pushed away, beneath the force of their approach.
At first, it seemed like a mirage as the air shimmered around them for some reason, but as they drew closer, the shimmering shapes took form behind a series of spheres of wind—majestic creatures with sleek, otherworldly bodies that glittered under the desert sun.
Nyxborn Unicorns, their coats a deep midnight black, contrasted by glowing silver horns. And atop each of the creatures rode a figure cloaked in strange, regal attire.
The riders were unlike anything Lassim had ever seen. Dressed as if they had stepped out of a gala or royal banquet, their lavish clothing clung to them like they had arrived for a night of celebration rather than battle. The men wore fine suits with gold-threaded embroidery, their silk scarves of bright and garish colors—pinks, purples, neon greens—fluttering behind them in the wind.
On each of their upper lips rested matching curly mustaches, twisting like perfect art pieces—a fashion statement that made them appear oddly out of place for a battlefield. Yet, despite their eccentric appearance, the aura they exuded was undeniable.
Deep power radiated from them as their full spiritual pressures were released, and above their heads, as they slowed their mounts, the unmistakable halos of a Peak Spirit Transcendence stage cultivator shone with brilliance. Matching nine glowing layers swirled like rings of light floated on top of each individual, the physical representation of their formidable strengths.
The Nevaks and rogue cultivators faltered for a brief moment, seemingly uncertain about the new arrivals.
Kierlan, however, sneered. "More fools to slaughter," he rasped, tightening his grip on his staff.
The five men, unable to hear Kierlan’s bravado, continued their rapid approach. They moved as one, their mounts galloping through the air at breakneck speed, kicking up a wall of sand behind them.
Lassim and Vaela watched in awe as the men slowed their charge with grace, pulling their reins to halt mere meters from the fray. The sound barrier had been shattered, the pressurized shields around them dissipating with a thunderous boom, sending shockwaves across the desert.
Yet, curiously, the rain from Lassim’s storm seemed to stop and roll off of the light wind barriers that each individual maintained over themselves and their steeds, keeping themselves dry.
One of the men—a tall figure, easily noticeable despite sitting on the back of the Nyxborn unicorn, with a sharp jawline and mustache that curled dramatically at the ends—lifted a gloved hand toward the horde that attacked the ice dome. His voice carried with a posh accent, smooth and confident, as though the chaos around him was nothing more than an inconvenience.
"My dear fellows," he said, his voice filled with theatrical flair, "it seems we’ve arrived just in time to prevent this rather unsightly invasion. Quite the commotion, wouldn’t you say?"
The others nodded in agreement, their expressions a mixture of amusement and boredom.
Another man, twirling his mustache absently, added, "I do believe our quarry has presented itself most generously, wouldn’t you agree, Alistair?"
The leader, the tall man with the sharp jawline—Alistair, turned to his companions, nodding once before turning his attention back to Kierlan and the Nevaks. "Indeed, this is quite the haul. Let’s make this swift, gentlemen."
With a flick of his wrist, Alistair summoned a gust of wind that spiraled into the air around him. The others followed suit, each drawing on the wind element, their auras intensifying as they prepared for action.
Inside the dome, even Lassim felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise as the sheer power of their combined cultivations washed over him. These gentlemen were not ordinary cultivators. They definitely stook at the peak of their realms and had for quite awhile.
Vaela, still gripping her lightning lance tightly, raised an eyebrow at Lassim. "Who in the world are these guys?"
"I have no idea," Lassim muttered, his gaze locked on the strange newcomers. "Are they the reinforcements?... But… They’re not from the Lightning Sect?"
"Let us begin," Alistair said with a flourish, pulling out what looked like a tiny metal ball from within his jacket pocket. The object was barely larger than a marble, but as he infused it with his wind element, the ball began to expand, growing larger and larger until it became a gleaming, spiked orb roughly the size of a boulder.
With a flick of his fingers, Alistair sent the ball rolling through the air, propelled by a powerful gust of wind. It sailed effortlessly toward the oncoming Nevaks, its spikes gleaming under the flashing of the lightning from the still raging storm overhead.
The moment it made contact with the first line of the Nevaks warriors, the ball exploded into dozens of thin, metallic tendrils that wrapped around the rat-humanoid beasts, ensnaring them in a net of paralyzing spikes.
The effect was instantaneous.
The Nevaks, caught in the metal webbing, let out screeches of surprise and pain as the spikes dug into their flesh, freezing their movements. The paralysis spread quickly, coursing through their limbs as they collapsed to the ground in a heap of defeated bodies.
Lassim’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had fought these creatures for hours, expending every ounce of his strength to keep them at bay, and now… Just one of the tools of these five men was taking them down with such ease?
More marbles followed.
Each hunter in the group summoned their own spike-ball nets, launching them toward the Nevaks with expert and practiced precision. Their wind elements guided the orbs too, sending them spiraling through the battlefield.
Every Nevaks or rogue hybrid that came into contact with the expanding nets found themselves immediately ensnared, paralyzed by the metal spikes that glowed faintly with wind energy.
Vaela let out a low whistle, watching as one of the men captured half a dozen Nevaks with a single throw. "I’m impressed."
Lassim didn’t respond, his mind too focused on how these hunters worked and what the spiked balls were.
Within minutes, nearly the entire Nevaks army had been captured, their bodies lying motionless within the metallic nets.
Even Kierlan’s bravado seemed to falter as he dodged and could only watch his army fall one after another.
Kierlan snarled, his red eyes blazing with fury. "You dare interfere with the Nevaks? Do you have any idea who I am?!"
Alistair chuckled, twirling his mustache as he floated gracefully toward Kierlan. "Ah, yes, quite the introduction, I must say. But my dear rat, you are merely a cog in a much larger, profitable, machine." He lifted his hand, and the spike ball nets finally managed to make contact with the fleeing Kierland, surrounding the Nevaks army and began to constrict, tightening their hold.
"And it seems your time in the spotlight is coming to an end."
With a sharp motion, Alistair and the other hunters summoned a massive gust of wind that swept over the battlefield. The wind gathered around the spike-ball nets, lifting the captured Nevaks into the air as if they weighed nothing.
Kierlan shrieked in rage, struggling against his bonds, but even his formidable purity as a powerful descendent of the Great-Horned Rat couldn’t enable him to break free.
"You can’t do this! The Southern Continent will bow to the Nevaks! We are the true rulers!" Kierlan screeched, his voice filled with desperation.
Alistair sighed dramatically. "Ah, the delusions of grandeur. How typical and tiresome. You shall learn your place soon enough ol’ chap."
Then, with a casual flick of his fingers, he summoned what looked like a large, ornate box from thin air. The box shimmered with wind energy as it hovered in front of him, its surface etched with intricate runes and symbols that Lassim didn’t recognize.
Though, he could feel the immense connection and elegantly woven spatial threads that looked quite similar to how his own magic pouch looked as he stared at the container’s seal. The lid creaked open, revealing a dark void within.
"Let’s pack up, gentlemen," Alistair announced, his tone calm and collected.
One by one, the captured Nevaks were lifted into the air via the group’s wind elemental control and sucked into the box, their paralyzed bodies disappearing into the void without a sound.
Lassim watched in stunned silence as the entire Nevaks army was contained within the strange, magical container. It seemed impossible, living things weren’t supposed to be able to go inside of magic pouches’ dimensions, and yet… it was happening right before his eyes.
Once the last of the Nevaks was captured, Alistair closed the lid with a satisfied smile. He turned to his companions. "Excellent work, as always my fellows. Now, as for the rogues…"
One of the hunters—slightly shorter, with a green cravat and matching green coat—took that as his cue and stepped forward.
In his hand, he held a thin glass tube with a long needle attached to it. He approached the nearest rogue cultivator, whose red-marked eyes widened in paralyzed terror.
"Do stay still, there’s a good lad," the man said in his posh accent, as though he were speaking to a frightened animal. "This will only hurt… A lot."
This chapt𝒆r is updated by frёewebηovel.cѳm.