Mage Legend-Chapter 343 - 24 episodes Battle Line_3

The vampires, sensing the unfavorable situation, immediately sought cover. They hid their slender bodies behind thick tree trunks, daring to move only during the gaps between the arrows’ flight.

The hapless ghosts still couldn’t understand what was happening. Lacking "sight," they had no idea what kind of weapon was striking them. The elves also noticed this, and aimed these specially made sharp arrows at the ghostly creatures, turning the battle into a one-sided situation.

"Keep an eye on the ammunition count!" the Elf Captain shouted loudly, pinning a vampire to a tree with an ordinary arrow. "Don’t use them all up at once!"

With that, two consecutive ordinary elf arrows accurately pierced through the vampire’s eyes, avoiding its tough skin and skull defenses, turning what remained in its skull into utter chaos. ƒrēenovelkiss.com

At this moment, the trees behind the vampire began to wither, as if time had suddenly jumped to autumn when all plants die, and the yellow leaves were shaken off the branches by the powerful impact of the arrows. It was thought that the vampire’s filthy power caused the death of the trees, yet the Elf Captain did not expect the tree he leaned on to also age gradually.

He looked around, noticing many plants taking on a similar appearance, the grass underfoot turning yellow and fragile, as if suddenly deprived of nutrients. The forest behind the undead army, stripped of its vibrant greenery, became shrouded in a dark aura of death. The elves’ extraordinary vision, of which they were proud, couldn’t penetrate the scene there.

The deputy captain felt as if his neck was suddenly being choked, and his eyelids were being fiercely pulled by hooks. The events on the other side of the forest seemed like a compilation of all the nightmares of his life, gripping his heart tightly. He desperately tried to breathe, but no amount of gasping seemed to satisfy his lungs’ aching hunger; he wanted to immediately turn his gaze away, but his neck muscles would not heed his command. Suddenly, a legend he had heard long ago flashed through his mind.

But fear gripped him, mercilessly clasping him.

A shadow drifted over, moving slowly from behind the vampire. Unlike a ghost, it had a more distinct humanoid form, even retaining some dull colors. Those already tattered and mottled color patches formed the "clothing" of this shadow, but the messy long hair draping over its face hid its visage.

All elven eyes were drawn to it simultaneously, yet no elf could lift their weapon. Instinctively, they believed this creature to be undefeatable; though it seemed fragile, it was also immensely powerful. It was like a depiction of each elf, a nightmare opposite hiding behind a mirror.

"Die once more! You ghostly creature!" the Elf Captain shouted madly, raising his bow, with scarlet blood cascading down from his lips to his neck. In the moments seized by fear, only pain and madness could vent the repression in his heart, overcoming the manipulated emotions. He needed to act before this creature could cause more harm.

A breeze swept through the Elf Desolate Forest without warning, turning the fragile yellow leaves to ash, and blowing apart the ghost’s long hair.

No one could clearly articulate what they saw, but it was indisputably the most terrifying thing the elves had ever encountered. A noble race with nearly infinite lifespans, nothing was more saddening than the passing of a fellow kin. Yet in the moment the hair was blown aside, they seemed to directly confront death itself.

What each elf saw was different, yet completely the same. That ghost instantly transformed into the person they were closest to, whether it be a parent, a lover, or a cherished little sweetheart. Then, time spun in an instant, and those faces aged, with the Life Goddess no longer injecting the souls they loved with the drive to live, and death descending upon them swiftly.

Their faces contorted and twisted in agony, drowned in voiceless screams and the piercing wails of overwhelming pain. Every conceivable terror, every misfortune and calamity an elf could muster in their mind, was re-enacted on those visages, stabbing deeply into each present elf’s soul.

This feeling of despair instantly crushed the fighting spirit of the elves, their gear suddenly weighing heavy, their legs rendered immobile as if filled with lead. Tears streamed salty and bitter from their round eyes, unable to tear their gaze away from the ghost’s visage. Cold breath encased the Elf Warriors, extracting the last vestiges of fight through the creases of their muscles.

The ghost revealed its true appearance, a beautiful and handsome female face emerging on the slightly ethereal head. Her faintly smiling lips seemed to carry the breath of spring, yet concealed a chill only found in the severity of winter.

At the brief moment when the elves’ emotions found some release, the true assault commenced. In an instant, the appearance of the Banshee aged a century, turning into the visage of a rotting corpse. In the hollow eye sockets remained nothing but boundless hatred for the living, and her gaping mouth unleashed the death howl echoing from the deepest parts of the Undead World.

The Banshee’s wail.

A piercing sound arose and dissipated instantly, and the woodland regained its stillness, a quietude akin to a graveyard. The Banshee floated onwards, as the surrounding elves became lifeless corpses. Their skin turned gray, akin to the color of ghouls. Golden blonde hair and emerald green eyes were covered in the same gray hue of death.

The Elf Captain’s vision blurred red, his nostrils filled with a hot, metallic stench, and his ears heard nothing but buzzing. Now, blood seeped from every pore, staining his robe completely red.

Yet, he still struggled to raise his longbow, aiming at the approaching Banshee.

The specially made arrow struck true as always, continuing his flawless record. The Banshee felt the pain, recognizing the immense threat the weapon posed, swiftly grasping the Elf Captain’s face and locking eyes with him using her dried eyeballs.

Just like the swiftly withering trees, the last scraps of life in the Elf Captain rapidly ebbed away. His skin dried out, black spots overtaking and spreading across his once fair complexion. He became a desiccated husk like a mummy, unrecognizable, stripped of all characteristics of a living being.

Through draining the Elf Captain, the Banshee repaired the damage within her body. Even the power of Holy Water had its limits, and the Banshee herself was much stronger than ordinary ghosts. At last, a single arrow could not vanquish such a high-level Undead, allowing the undead to breakthrough the line the elf guards were defending.

The Banshee discarded the elf she held like a bag of trash. Though he stubbornly clung to one last breath, the ghosts and vampires behind her were the real fighting force. She concealed her form as the once-oppressed undead army charged forward again.

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