The Joy of Spitting Fire You Wouldn't Understand

In the night, the bridgehead was a pitch-black void with jagged, broken edges; it had clearly collapsed, but since the area beneath the bridge was solid rock and the terrain was elevated, the impact was minimal.

On the distant eastern embankment, a gap of several dozen meters was visible from afar, with river water backflowing into a shimmering, winding path toward the south.

The port, which had once been expanded from a smuggling dock, had vanished without a trace.

"Over there," Brat pointed toward the breach.

A massive melee was unfolding under the chaotic, flickering lights, involving hundreds of people, though the shadows made it impossible to see clearly.

"Move."

Anse wrapped his staff in a black cloth to keep it from being too conspicuous.

The three of them moved quickly along the riverbank. Over the course of just a few hundred meters, they were joined by humans and other surface-dwelling races wielding weapons; everyone exchanged silent glances as they gradually converged.

The major churches and guilds were not fools; many realized the critical nature of this battle. If they lost, they would each have to flee for their own lives, and such losses would be impossible to bear.

As they neared the battlefield, Anse realized the fighting was far more brutal than he had imagined.

The human side formed an arc blocking the river mouth and the west side of the flood, numbering about three to four hundred, while the Underdark Creatures were more numerous—at least five or six hundred. Aside from a small number of Goblinoids and Gray Dwarves, the majority were Kuo-Toa.

That was not all; more fish-men kept emerging from the river. They did not follow the flood downstream but instead climbed ashore to assault the defensive line, clearly under the command of someone hidden in the shadows.

Cries and the sounds of slaughter rose and fell in succession. Corpses were piled layer upon layer on the ground, and half the river had changed color.

"Brothers, charge with me—!"

Another wave of reinforcements arrived from afar. The bald man leading them roared and was the first to charge into the line; influenced by him, those around him surged forward as well.

Anse watched the bald man's back, feeling a vague sense of familiarity.

"Are we going in?" Brat asked, eager to join the fray.

The atmosphere of the battlefield was truly infectious. Anse felt his blood surging, a mix of cold focus and hot-blooded adrenaline that went straight to his head.

Yet, he did not act impulsively. After carefully observing the battlefield, he spotted a familiar figure, and his eyes lit up.

"Come this way."

The three of them quickly reached the middle of the defensive line. The enemies were densest here, and the line was on the verge of collapse, but it was Land and Zahir who were holding back the pressure.

They were Paladins, after all; you could always find them where the danger was greatest!

Despite the high proportion of Paladins in games, they were the rarest of professionals in reality; one could not succeed without exceptional will and conviction.

Behind the defensive line, the ground was a mess of collapsed buildings and mud, riddled with pits and standing water that made movement difficult.

The group climbed onto a mound of debris formed by the flood. It was a few meters higher than the surrounding area, offering an unobstructed view of the battlefield thirty or forty meters away.

"Finn, stay here and provide support. We're moving in." Anse tossed his bundle aside and ran with short steps toward Land's position.

"Right." Brat didn't understand his intent, but he still dropped his pack and followed at his side, shield raised.

Finn recalled his Gray Hawk while keeping his eyes locked on Anse's back, guarding against any potential sneak attacks.

Anse stopped a few meters behind the defensive line. Through the thin wall of people, he saw nothing but a dense mass of fish-men heads—short, ugly, and reeking of rot.

"Isn't this too close?" Brat held his shield in front of him to block stray projectiles.

Anse did not reply, focusing his mind to cast a spell.

"Prismatic Sphere!"

Prismatic Sphere—Lightning!

Amidst the noisy environment, the crisp, obscure Draconic language was barely audible. A blue energy sphere trailing a small tail zipped through the air and slammed into the crowd of fish-men.

"BOOM—!"

The energy sphere did not bounce, but the erupting arcs of lightning spread through the standing water on the ground. Several fish-men went rigid as they were electrocuted, collapsing into the water.

Land was fighting near the front, and being the closest, his hair stood on end from the discharge.

He turned his head in surprise, only to see Anse waving at him, a ball of magical flame swirling in his palm.

"Zahir!" he shouted, kicking a fish-man away before running quickly toward Anse.

He knew Anse was not a man to act without reason; he must have something of vital importance.

"Sorcerous Burst!"

Anse fired two consecutive Sorcerous Bursts—Lightning, temporarily plugging the gap left by Land's retreat. He couldn't let Zahir bear all the pressure alone.

Land rushed over in a few strides. Before he could speak, Anse raised his right hand toward him and shouted:

"Dragon Breath!"

Land's eyes lit up instantly, and he said urgently, "Fire!"

With a sharp slap, their large hands met. Orange magical energy flowed through his arm and into Land's body, swirling around his chest and throat. Red light suffused him, and his magic surged.

That wasn't all; another flash of white light followed, and a faint magical vortex began to circle Land's lower body.

"One minute!" Anse held up a single finger.

One Dragon Breath, one Leap Spell—both would only last for one minute.

Dragon Breath required concentration to maintain. Its power depended on Anse, but it required Land to sense it like casting a spell, guiding this magical energy to complete the exhalation.

Paladins received professional spellcasting training, so this was not difficult for them.

Land pursed his lips, waved his hand, turned, and took a few steps for a running start. With a leap, he vaulted directly over the crowd, soared across a distance of over ten meters, and slammed heavily into the group of Kuo-Toa.

Super Leap!

He landed, crushing a Kuo-Toa beneath his feet. The splashing water formed a thin curtain, temporarily obscuring the fish-men's vision.

As the water curtain fell, revealing Land's figure, he planted his legs in a staggered stance, leaning his body slightly back. His chest swelled high, his body coiled like a fully drawn bow, ready to strike.

The next moment, he thrust his upper body forward and threw his mouth open. Blazing flames gushed out, forming a six-meter-long cone of breath, the red glow illuminating the night sky like a sunset.

Wherever the Dragon Breath passed, whether it was fish-men or Goblinoids, their hair scorched, their skin reddened, curled, and cracked, wisps of blue smoke rising. A thick, nauseating stench drifted on the wind.

The surrounding battlefield fell silent, save for those Underdark Creatures rolling and wailing in the lingering steam.

[Land casts Dragon Breath on Kuo-Toa... Kuo-Toa is hit, taking 11 points of fire damage, current HP 8/19...]

[Land casts Dragon Breath on Giant Crab... Giant Crab is hit, taking 9 points of fire damage, current HP 5/14...]

A series of notifications flashed through Anse's mind—at least twenty of them. The Dragon Breath originated from him; as long as these monsters died, he would always receive a share of the experience.

He clenched his fists, the corners of his mouth curling up, his heart filled with exhilaration.

Fish-men feared fire and disliked sunlight and dryness; dehydration made them weak, let alone having their skin burned away. Without magical potions, the severely wounded would not live long.

"That's amazing! I want to try that next time," Brat said, trembling with excitement, his sword and shield clashing incessantly.

It wasn't just him; everyone around them looked excited. It wasn't just because a few fish-men had died, but because of the extraordinary significance of a second-circle spell.

Since the battle began, the number of participating spellcasters had been pitifully low. Most were Clerics, and there were almost no Mages. Spells were basically just Cantrips, occasionally interspersed with a few first-circle spells that took forever to prepare.

Some Clerics hadn't even successfully cast a single spell before their Spell Slots were exhausted.

If the Weave hadn't been malfunctioning, a few Mages could have turned the tide of the battle easily.

While others were stunned, Land clearly remembered what Anse had said. He only had one minute, and he had to race against time.

He stabbed a fish-man that rolled in front of him, scanned the area, and focused his gaze on the south side.

He stepped, ran, and leaped—another massive jump—and he slammed into the dense crowd of monsters once more.

After a brief pause, the scorching Dragon Breath erupted suddenly.

The vicious flames swept across, leaving a charred path behind. It was truly like the wrath of a dragon, striking terror into the Underdark Creatures and sending them fleeing in all directions.

The fiery Dragon Breath might not have been enough to kill them, but it burned their eyes and skin, leaving them in unbearable pain and stripping away most of their combat effectiveness.

Even if they managed to fight, their tattered skin could no longer withstand arrows and blades.