Putt's death had meaning. He bought Punk and Kane a full five seconds. It was not much, but for them fleeing at top speed, fast as supercars, it was enough to open up a considerable distance. Those two stealthers had no hope of catching up now.
"Oh, great Mr. Putt sacrificed himself. He saved us. He was a saint worthy of admiration!"
Knowing they were out of danger, the two gradually slowed down. Having just escaped death, Kane immediately returned to his flippant, playful attitude. In an exaggerated operatic tone, he imitated a sorrowful bard as he "praised" Putt, who had "sacrificed himself for the people."
"No need to pretend to be sad!"
Punk continued running without looking back.
"In such a major strategic defeat, the death of a weak mage is perfectly normal."
Punk's voice was as deep and cold as ever. The gale raised by their frantic sprinting made his mage robes snap and flutter. Across the moonlit wilderness, both Punk and Kane looked like blurred masses of light and shadow because of their excessive speed, impossible to make out clearly.
"All right, all right."
Kane shrugged as he ran. "I was overthinking it. So many Journeyman Level elites died in tonight's raid. Tomorrow's battle is basically a guaranteed loss. Mainesi is probably already overwhelmed. How could he have time to care how some little mage died?"
Kane's words were cold, but every word made sense. Although Mainesi had sent out unaffiliated mercenary professionals to prevent his "elites" from suffering losses, those professionals still made up half of Konola City's existing Journeyman Level professionals. The enemy already had more powerful fighters than Konola City, and now their own side had lost nearly half its "elites" in one stroke. One could already foresee just how brutally disastrous tomorrow's defense of the city would be.
"Looks like we can't hold out for a week anymore," Kane complained loudly. "I've fought for two days and haven't redeemed a damn thing. If we run now, wouldn't that mean I worked for nothing? Fuck, that pisses me off!"
Kane, who was rather lacking in combat techniques, was clearly unwilling to accept getting nothing out of this.
"At the very least, after keeping us busy all night, Mainesi can't give us nothing," Punk said flatly. He did not know whether the defense could continue. After all, Mainesi was an established Formal Level expert, and no one knew what cards he held in reserve. But after a night like this, they would definitely receive substantial benefits upon returning. Otherwise, all these professionals would have risked their lives for "justice" and made enormous "sacrifices," while Mainesi showed no "appreciation"... every soldier would be disheartened.
Kane undoubtedly understood that as well. That was precisely why the two of them had hurried back to Konola City overnight.
Nights during Greenleaf Season passed quickly. Before they knew it, a streak of dawn had appeared on the horizon. The faint light made Konola City less dark. At least... the vast patches of dried blood on the city walls were still dimly visible.
Punk and Kane had reached the small hill where they had first seen Konola City. Unlike Kane, who stared at the ruined city with hypocritical melancholy, Punk lowered his head and intently examined his staff, which had lost its headpiece.
A staff existed to amplify magic. Aside from the very few staffs designed for melee mages, most had never taken the "special" circumstance of directly meeting sharp weapons into account from the start. Punk's staff was clearly one of the majority.
Punk gently pinched the clean break of the staff, easily crushing off tiny fragments of wood. From the moment the staff lost its core—the headpiece—it had lost all magical effects. As time passed, the magic once stabilized within it began to leak away as well. Punk could almost feel the magic slowly dissipating from the staff into the air... This was not some high-grade staff, after all. Less than five Magic Hours after being completely destroyed, it had lost that strange hardness of iron and stone. Now...
Punk's face remained calm and indifferent beneath the somewhat dim moonlight. He gently spread his slender, pale fingers, and fine wood dust, carrying the last glimmers of magical radiance, spilled from between them. It scattered on the wind and fell to the earth, like azure sparks amid the night—beautiful and ethereal.
"Hey, hey, don't tell me you still feel bad about that broken stick that's already scrapped!"
Kane was as skilled as ever at ruining a beautiful atmosphere.
"I was merely sensing the process of enchantment decay," Punk answered coldly.
He casually threw the ruined staff onto the ground. It shattered easily into several cracked splinters. Without hesitation, Punk turned and walked toward Konola City, brushed by the first rays of dawn. He never looked back at the broken stick again.
On Konola's walls, Mainesi still wore that profound expression of someone whose face did not change even if Mount Tai collapsed before him. But no matter how much he acted as though victory were certain, the atmosphere hanging over the entire city could not be dispelled. When dawn arrived, only three of the twenty-four Journeyman Level professionals who had gone on the night raid returned in disgrace. Even those Kamos Protectorate Army soldiers who had sworn to die for Her Highness the Princess could not help but feel a chill in their hearts. Reality was not a novel. When the enemy became utterly impossible to defeat overnight, biological instinct inspired more fear of fleeing than courage to fight desperately. Those "regular troops" could still barely stand atop the walls, gripping swords darkened and dulled by soaked blood, suppressing the urge to turn and leave as they put on impassioned expressions of unwavering loyalty to their country. As for the "hired" professionals... apart from a small number of chuunibyou youths infatuated with the Princess, most of them—including Punk and Kane, who had already redeemed a piece of Journeyman knowledge—had moved far away from the walls. Anyone with even a little sense had realized that this city would not last until they killed fifty professionals and redeemed knowledge. With no reward and risks to bear, what profit-driven professional would do something so foolish? So now, they had disguised themselves as penniless refugees in corners near the city gates, ready to flee Konola City—the doomed sinking ship—amid the chaos at any moment.
Punk had already cast a spell to conceal the magical glow of his mage robes. Now he hid among a crowd of refugees. His magically disguised clothes made him look little different from the ragged refugees around him, more than enough to fool a few hurried Big Head soldiers.
Punk kept his head lowered toward the ground, his entire face nearly hidden beneath the shadow of his hood. He controlled a more advanced Arcane Eye and watched Mainesi standing on the city wall with his hands behind his back. He was still somewhat puzzled, because this Formal Mage, who did not look like a softhearted fool no matter how one viewed him, had resolutely waded into this muddy water that was certain to run dry. It simply did not fit his "character setting."
However...
"It doesn't matter anymore."
Punk muttered to himself. Though he had not gained as much knowledge as he had imagined, it was not a total loss. At least...
Punk closed his eyes and felt the fuller, denser azure magic within his soul...
"I leveled up again!"
Before you continue