Now, Konola City's fate depended entirely on Mainesi's battle. In terms of conventional forces, it... had already lost beyond doubt. The outcome between the high-level combatants was its only hope. If Mainesi won her "duel" with Lunka, then Konola City would be safe until Prince William sent another Formal Level expert. At the very least, it could keep barely hanging on for a while longer.
If the two Formal Level big shots remained deadlocked for a long time as they had yesterday, then the enemy's "regular troops" would breach the crumbling walls, burn Konola City, and find Her Highness the Princess in hiding. By then, the enemy would have achieved its goal, and Mainesi's victory or defeat would no longer matter.
Of course, the worst outcome would be Mainesi losing without seriously injuring Lunka. If that happened... it would be hard to say whether even a few professionals in the vast Konola City could escape!
Just as the first ray of dawn shone upon the city walls, the enemy's attack horns blared fiercely. Since most of the granary used as bait had been destroyed—a group of Journeyman Level professionals could still drag half a granary down with them—the enemy was also in dire straits. They desperately needed to breach Konola City and plunder wealth and food, or they would go hungry on the journey back.
This time, there were not nearly as many professionals on the walls continuing to snipe the enemy's "ladder units." Before long, siege ladders inscribed with pale red runes reached the top of Konola City's walls. Amid the enemy's roaring charge, mangled, bloodied corpses struck by blades and magic began falling from the walls one after another. Lunka and Mainesi once again clashed in midair. This time, their battle was even more spectacular. Shockwaves almost visible to the naked eye spread through the sky, and even several streets away, one could feel the ground shuddering violently under unbearable strain!
In a dim street corner, many refugees carrying large bundles huddled together in terror, preparing to flee. On the Faerun plane, nobles from a defeated city could spend vast amounts of gold to "ransom" themselves, while commoners... would all be reduced to slaves. Most people found such a fate impossible to accept, so even though they knew their chances of escaping the occupying army that was capturing "slaves" everywhere were slim, they still risked their lives to run.
Punk stood quietly at a street corner not far from the refugees. Though his clothes had been disguised to look tattered and worn, having never learned any concealment techniques, he was ultimately different from the trembling refugees in temperament. Punk had not expected his clumsy acting to fool shrewd professionals. He only needed to escape amid the chaos. Once the enemy professionals breached the city, their goal might be to loot wealth or knowledge, but it certainly would not be to fight another obviously formidable professional to the death for no reason. Thus, Punk remained highly confident that he could get away unscathed.
Punk frowned as he watched Mainesi's battle in the distance. It was clear that both Lunka and Mainesi had already played all their trump cards and were fighting for their lives. But if things continued like this... Mainesi's condition would only worsen. Lunka now looked as though he had been injected with stimulants, his warhammer whirling so rapidly it became a crimson cloud. Mainesi had no choice but to avoid its edge and dodge everywhere.
Seeing this, Punk felt somewhat anxious as well. If Lunka took care of Mainesi that easily... things would become troublesome!
"Move it! Hand over your valuables!" A tyrannical voice interrupted Punk's thoughts. Two burly men in City Guard uniforms had blocked both ends of the street, spraying spittle as they loudly demanded that the refugees hand over everything valuable on them, or they would "start slaughtering people"!
Though this sort of robbery scene was clichéd, their threat to "start slaughtering people" was absolutely not mere talk. The corpses of two women lying on the ground were compelling proof.
The two deserters, intending to make one last score before fleeing, kicked the bodies that had already begun to turn cold, producing dull thuds, while viciously waving their blood-dripping military sabers to threaten the refugees cowering and shivering in the corner.
Punk curled his lip at the sight. Leaving aside how despicable the City Guards' actions were, the refugees' cowardice and timidity alone made one want to curse them for being so pathetic. Thirty or forty people were actually trembling in fear before two ordinary deserters. If they had rushed forward together and attacked as one, forget the fact that the deserters only held crude military sabers—even if they had AK-47s, they could have been easily subdued. But looking at these refugees, aside from praying to those pitiful idle gods, all they could do was beg uselessly.
Punk shook his head and lightly walked toward the two overbearing deserters. Do not misunderstand—Punk was not suddenly feeling charitable and coming to save these refugees, whom he considered utterly worthless. He had merely thought of a way to end this helpless situation of foolishly waiting here.
"You brat... why aren't you squatting down? Looking to die?!"
A bloodshot-eyed warrior bared his teeth at Punk with a crazed grin.
"Pitiful creatures. Have a little money made you lose even your most basic judgment?" Punk muttered calmly to himself, faint azure magical radiance beginning to glimmer in his pupils beneath the hood.
"Fuck your—"
The deserter never finished his sentence. With a Mage Hand, Punk seized both deserters by the throat and lifted them into the air. The pale blue giant hand squeezed their spines until they creaked. Their faces turned blue as they struggled desperately in midair, but before a Mage Hand capable of effortlessly lifting a car, their movements were as weak and laughable as chicks.
"Viscera Divination... combined with my Journeyman Level Soul Level, and then..." Punk gave the two deserters, who had begun foaming at the mouth, a little shake as though he were carrying a pitiful rabbit...
"...with much higher-grade casting materials... it should give me some 'pleasant surprises,' right?"
Ignoring the wide-eyed, worshipful refugees beside him, Punk dragged the two deserters, who were still kicking their legs, toward a secluded yet relatively open alley. Under the refugees' horrified gazes, he summoned a bright silver knife with household magic and sliced open one deserter's stomach as easily as cutting tofu. Then, using Mage Hand, he arranged the still-squirming organs one by one into a bloody, horrifying magical formation that carried an eerie, profound aura. Finally, he raised the remaining deserter and placed him directly above the formation, just as he had treated that rabbit in the forest.
Regardless of the terror-twisted man's face, streaked with tears and snot, Punk calmly raised the little knife!
"Why did I only think of such a good method now"...
In the distance, scattered flames began burning throughout Konola City. As part of the enemy army entered the city, screams and spurting blood could be seen everywhere. Even the clouds in the sky had been dyed blood-red beneath the light of the two suns!
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