Shaman Wizard

It was hard to conceal any secrets in a chaotic formation of several hundred people. Richard immediately spotted an old, stooped Kobold hiding among the bandits.

It was hard to tell whether that meant he had his men well under control or was simply too foolish.

Even after the bandits had descended into complete chaos, the wolfman guard beside him was still faithfully carrying out his duty. At a glance, he stood out clearly from the ordinary bandits around him, with an unmistakable presence.

The old Kobold's face was smeared with brightly colored, mottled paint. Several small animal skulls, seemingly from pikas and the like, hung around his neck, and he held a crooked brown staff in his hand.

Practically every feature of him instantly brought the concept of a "Wilderness Shaman" to mind.

He held Pinto flat in one hand while constantly scattering multicolored spices with the other, dancing and chanting all the while. By the time Richard saw him, the ritual was already nearing its end.

The falling spice powder suddenly began burning fiercely in midair, turning into drifting ash. At the same time, specks of brilliant starlight, like fledgling swallows returning to their nest, gradually gathered above his palm.

Under the restraint of some force, the invisible flames took on a definite shape and formed a round fireball. Pale blue tongues of flame billowed and coiled, yet remained fixed around the fireball.

"Magic..." Richard stared at the glowing, heat-radiating sphere as his brows slowly furrowed.

The old Kobold Shaman revealed a sinister smile. With a light wave of his clawlike hand, the fireball instantly shifted from stillness to motion, streaking in a straight line through the air toward the knight on the giant beast's back.

Without thinking, Richard swung his spear like a baseball bat and struck the fireball out of the air.

With a thunderous boom, it was as though he had shattered a container filled with molten lava. A golden-red, searing stream exploded outward and sprayed across the sky.

The spear in Richard's hands was immediately blasted into several fragments. The splashing molten material even heated the plates of his armor to a glowing red. The thick-skinned Iron-eating Armadillo let out a cry of pain for the first time. The extremely hot molten fire burned through its scales and scorched the tender flesh beneath.

The barbarians were lucky. They were positioned slightly behind Richard and were almost completely unaffected.

The ones who suffered most were the wasteland bandits directly beneath the explosion. A rain of fire fell from above—how could they possibly hide?

Their filthy, greasy hair began to burn. Large chunks of flesh peeled away from their bones alive. Their shrill, desperate screams, like the wails of demons from the abyss, spread together with the pungent stench of burning fat.

This turn of events was clearly far beyond the old Kobold Shaman's expectations. He stared dumbfounded at the carnage of the dead and wounded, then fiercely yanked at the scant hair remaining on his head. He could not understand why the magic he was most proud of had become a joke in front of his opponent.

He shoved away the bandit supporting him, slammed his staff to the ground in fury, then pulled a sheet of thin black hide from his robes and tore it open.

Even Richard's dull magical senses detected a distinct elemental fluctuation. A red ribbon of light, like a drifting veil, floated from the hide split in two.

The bandits' morale had already fallen to rock bottom after taking the fireball spell head-on. But once the red light enveloped them, their muscles began to swell, their fangs protruded from the corners of their mouths, and thin crimson veins gradually spread through the whites of their eyes.

"Bloodlust Art!" Richard exclaimed in surprise.

Among the native tribes, Shamans who awakened the ability to wield elemental power were exceedingly rare.

Lacking any system of inheritance and relying entirely on talent, their witchcraft was often far inferior to the varied magic of humans. If there was one thing Shamans surpassed mages in, it was undoubtedly this group-enhancing Bloodlust Art.

This spell was not especially high-level, but its effects were remarkably practical. Cast on allied warriors, it could stimulate their physical potential and awaken the bestial nature hidden in the deepest reaches of their minds. If intelligent life was humanity layered over animal instinct, then this spell's function was undoubtedly to strip that layer of humanity away.

Even the most harmless-looking Rabbit-headed Humanoid, after receiving the Bloodlust Art, would use its front teeth to bite through a dire wolf's intestines. Once the spell ended, however, it would probably collapse from exhaustion and die.

Because its effects were so bloody and evil, the spell had a terrible reputation in human society. The wilderness natives did not care about that, though. As long as it worked, that was all that mattered.

The bandits gripped their weapons and slowly approached, the last glimmers of reason flickering and struggling in their eyes.

The Bloodlust Art had filled them with illusory courage. The murderous beasts in their hearts were gnashing their teeth and licking blood, but that courage was still not enough to overcome their fear of Richard.

Their companions, whose guts had spilled out and whose deaths had taken every imaginable form, reminded them with their lives of what a terrifying butcher the knight before them truly was.

The barbarian warriors following him were all just as difficult to deal with. Their mastery of the spear was precise and practiced, and their strength was astonishing. No matter how one looked at them, they were the elites among elites, trump cards among trump cards.

The bandits even felt aggrieved. Originally, only useless noble-born losers would come to this godforsaken place to develop it. If you're so capable, why not go somewhere richer?

Sitting atop a giant beast three blades tall at the shoulder, Richard had to use a long-handled weapon to attack enemies on the ground. His spear had already been destroyed.

Richard threw away the remaining half of the shaft, simply leaped down from Windchaser's back, and drew the longsword at his waist. Some foolish bandits saw the terrifying butcher leave his mount and thought their chance had come. They brandished their weapons and charged forward.

The sharp blade moved as swiftly as lightning. Most of them saw only an extremely bright flash pass before their eyes before their consciousness slowly sank into nothingness.

Richard let out a roar and charged straight toward the Kobold Shaman.

The provoked bandits could no longer restrain themselves. They howled and surged forward like hyenas that had spotted fresh meat.

He slashed upward, swept sideways, and thrust downward. The cutting power created by his giant-like strength and the sword forged from starsteel was simply unimaginable, and the sensation of the blade entering flesh was clean and crisp. The bandits packed together were as fragile as straw beneath a scythe, with severed limbs flying and blood spraying everywhere.

It was not that there were no experts with outstanding Martial Arts who tried to block him. The only result was that they were cleaved in two, man and weapon alike. Meanwhile, the bandits' attacks landed on his triple-layered heavy armor and did nothing beyond producing a trail of sparks.

He soon could no longer set foot on the earth, because shattered corpses and severed limbs covered every inch of ground. The efficiency of the slaughter was almost like mowing grass.

Every step Richard and the barbarians took brought down swathes of bandits. Their fighting spirit was not lacking, but before such an overwhelming difference in strength, that fierce spirit only made them die faster.

The Kobold Shaman turned and tried to flee without a word, but how could bandits under the Bloodlust Art still have the reason to heed the demands of an old man? They packed tightly around him, pinning him in place and leaving him unable to move.