Wizard: I Have a Cultivation System

Chapter 439: Chapter 90: Foundation Establishment

When he noticed Charlie’s gaze, Armand turned his head slightly and gently shook it at the young Duke. His eyes held no blame, only a tranquility born from a lifetime of experience.

’He’d been shocked by Murphy’s drug use ten years ago; this was nothing. Besides, there’s no shame in running away as long as you can survive. It was a philosophy his decades of experience had taught him.’

Ostun and the Gray Robe Wizard beside him exchanged a solemn look.

The Gray Robe Wizard spoke in a voice only the two of them could hear, "That sword is no ordinary Ancient Witchcraft Artifact. The rules it embodies... even I find them unsettling."

Ostun narrowed his eyes. "No wonder. So that’s what happened to the Wizards sent to the Monte Territory. I thought it was some method left behind by the Enchanting Witch... No, wait. The Ancient Witchcraft Artifact *is* the method she left behind."

On the altar, after his initial shock, Pope Ete I’s eyes suddenly blazed with ecstatic joy!

"The Thunder Sword!" His voice boomed, filled with the thrill of a last-minute reprieve. "Good! Excellent! Hold him off! Just for a moment!"

The Crescent Star Crown atop his head flared with brilliant light. He exchanged a look with the Great Shepherd Leader, and they almost simultaneously poured more power into the Wall of Faith. They intended to use the precious time Murphy had bought them to completely suppress the three Wizards frantically fighting back from within the rift, and then free themselves up to deal with the treacherous Shadow of the Earth.

However, the three Wizards in the rift would not let them have their way.

"In your dreams!"

Calvin’s cracking shriek, Raphael’s roar that sounded like a thousand thunderclaps, and Sigrid’s suddenly bone-chilling sigh erupted from the rapidly shrinking rift almost simultaneously.

Jade-green wind blades slashed relentlessly at the Chains of Faith. Azure lightning solidified into a nearly corporeal Thunder Spear that thrust violently toward the core of the Wall of Faith. A cerulean flood whipped up even more terrifying waves, which showed signs of freezing as they pressed in on the holy barrier from all directions.

As if burning through their final reserves, the three Wizards unleashed a burst of power that temporarily held back the suppression of the Wall of Faith, even causing the pale golden field to fluctuate violently once more.

"Your Holiness! The Wall of Faith cannot be allowed to break!" Adrian, his face pale, yelled urgently to Ete I. His gaze then snapped in Murphy’s direction, his voice cutting through the chaos of the battlefield. "Melfield! You must hold on! Just one minute! No, thirty seconds!"

From another side, Ambrosius added his own shout.

"To evade His Holiness’s senses and get close to the Saint, the Shadow of the Earth must have shed most of its power! That avatar has almost nothing left! Just block its next all-or-nothing attack! That will buy His Holiness time to intervene!"

Their voices reached the ears of both Murphy and Muriyas.

"Almost nothing left?" The face of Bellardi, which Muriyas possessed, twisted into a mocking sneer. "It’s more than enough to deal with a War Slave on his last legs, one who can only rely on some unknown Ancient Witchcraft Artifact to put on a show!"

The earthy-yellow light in his eyes blazed with intensity, and the hand pressed against the dark gold Flying Sword suddenly shoved forward!

VMMMM!

The Flying Sword let out an even higher-pitched whine, its blade trembling violently. The flowing dark gold light seemed to corrode under the oppressive, earthy-yellow, deathly light, and began to fade.

A savage grin spread across Muriyas’s face. "Break!"

But the image he expected—the Flying Sword shattering—did not occur.

Just as the sword—seemingly devoured by the earthy-yellow light, its own radiance fading—reached the brink of collapse, the fine thunder-runes on its blade suddenly erupted with a sliver of impossibly-condensed, dark gold lightning!

KZZZZT!

Muriyas felt a sharp, piercing pain and a jolt of numbness in his palm.

The dark gold Flying Sword instantly shuddered. Like a fish flicking its tail, it broke free from the pressure. Its tip carved a sharp arc as it whipped back toward Muriyas’s wrist.

’What!’ Startled, Muriyas hastily dropped his arm. The earthy-yellow light coalesced around his wrist, forming a crude but thick Shield.

CLANG!

With another sharp ring, the Flying Sword struck the Shield, sending sparks flying.

The impact left Muriyas’s arm tingling, his assault completely stalled.

The Flying Sword used the rebound to retreat nimbly by a meter. It hovered in mid-air, its blade humming in what seemed to be a silent taunt.

Muriyas’s expression darkened, the earthy-yellow light in his eyes flaring.

He let out a low roar and thrust his hands down toward the ground.

RUMBLE!

The ground for a dozen meters around him bulged as if it were alive.

Countless sharp stone spikes, viscous mud tentacles, and heavy clods of earth—a living forest of earthen thorns—erupted madly from the ground. They surged indiscriminately toward the Flying Sword, the wheelchair, and even the nearby Temple Knights who were attempting to charge in and provide support.

The Temple Knights roared, their swords flashing with Holy Light as they hacked at the onslaught. But the earthen spikes and muddy tentacles were not only hard, they carried a corrosive, necrotic power. Worse, they were numberless, swarming from all directions. The Knights were instantly thrown into disarray, their formation shattered, and they suffered heavy casualties.

Forget providing support; they could barely defend themselves. There was no way for them to break into the heart of the clash between the Flying Sword and the Wizard.

Just as the morass of earthen spikes and mud was about to strike Murphy himself, he spoke for the first time from his wheelchair. His voice was not loud, yet it pierced cleanly through the noise of cracking stone and earth.

"A single flame is so fragile. It cannot withstand the wind or endure the rain. So it can only huddle in on itself, struggling to light up a tiny patch of ground, ever-wary of being easily snuffed out."