Mage Legend-Chapter 341 - 24 episodes, Battle Line

Lynch stopped in his tracks, looking at the person behind him blocking his path. Priest Kuboert was donned in an elf’s chain armor, still holding his ceremonial Hard Head Hammer, smiling at the Mage.

"We are the only two humans in this forest," Priest Kuboert said. "I can’t think of any reason why we shouldn’t fight side by side."

Lynch waved his magic wand and said, "I think, Priest, you should stay at the Holy Mountain. From what I know, Priest Pate, who became the Main Priest, spends much more time on rituals than on battles. You’re too old for intense combat."

"I don’t think so," Kuboert responded. "When I was young, I was already at the forefront of the fight against evil. And my skills haven’t deteriorated at all." With that, he caressed Pate’s Holy Emblem hanging from his neck. "Besides, the Light God is with me."

"I hope it’s as you say," Lynch said. "Where did you get that armor? I don’t think the elves of Heather would allow guests like you to join a battle."

"This elf chain armor is from a local elf. His face is young, yet he too wanted to join the fight." Kuboert adjusted the ill-fitting chain armor, trying hard to contain his slightly protruding belly. "I couldn’t just watch a child sacrifice in such a battle, so I swapped with him. If you average our ages, it’s young enough, right?"

"Even the always pedantic Priest Pate resorts to such methods?" Lynch chuckled. "However, this does make me somewhat curious about your capabilities."

"In any case, you’re not leaving me here." With that, Kuboert also took out a scroll. The golden case and the engraved sun pattern indicated that it was a delicate scroll from the temple. Priests’ ability to make Divine Scrolls couldn’t compare to Mages, but the craftsmanship was always exquisite. What Priest Kuboert held was merely a scroll of a flying spell.

"Then you’d better keep up," Lynch unfolded his own flying spell scroll, "but don’t expect me to take care of you."

"Taking care of others has always been the job of us, Pate’s Priests," Kuboert smiled.

The two shadows quickly distanced themselves from the Heather Holy Mountain, heading towards the Residual Star Swamp. Although the battle there would not commence immediately, good hunters must always stay vigilant by the sophisticated traps. Without Lynch’s spell power, the traps could not be triggered autonomously. If the undead easily bypassed the arduously set ambushes, the Elf Kingdom’s safety would be in jeopardy.

Because the war initiated by the Great Arcanist did not extend to the Elf Kingdom, most of the residents here had long become accustomed to a peaceful life. Elves enamored with poetry and art found their skills somewhat degraded. Only a small number of residents still maintained the ancient combat traditions, but their numbers were insufficient to alter the overall course of war.

The previous undead attack highlighted the flaw of the Salantir elves. Slow in reaction, the elves, usually known for their agility, were caught off guard by the undead, losing the initiative right away. Despite eventually expelling the undead forces, it came with a heavy toll.

The Great Druid promptly mobilized manpower and used tales of past Elf Clan warriors to boost morale. Day and night, after the first battle was over, bards in the small theaters always sang old ballads, soothing the pain with elegies, while igniting the elves’ long-lost fighting spirit with battle chants.

Therefore, this time, the trained elves were clearly more adept at combat. The bloodline of heroic ancestors from millennia ago revived their exquisite skills, their bows and arrows always hitting the enemies’ most vital spots.

The vampires and ghosts surged forward like a tidal wave. They did not require strict organization, nor could they obey any tactical commands. Once they saw living flesh, the eyes of these undead were filled with nothing but hunger and hatred, ignoring all attempts at command. Any beautiful memories from their past lives had already dissipated, leaving only a lifetime’s worth of pain and injustice, along with the torment of never finding peace in death.

Transferring pain by sharing it with others has another expression in the undead world. Only by tearing apart living beings before them, torturing in the most painful way, finally killing them, and letting them feel the coldness of death, do the undead find their only enjoyment, the only way to somewhat ease their twisted souls. Driven by such force, the deadly arrows only posed minor obstacles on their path. As long as they did not touch the waters of the Erutalon River, this group of ghosts would not halt despite the elves’ bravery.

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