The Crisis of the Eastern Temple

Seeing the enemy charging with lightning speed, Halduron made a swift decision. He drew his bow and notched an arrow, the projectile etched with flame runes reaching the Felhound in an instant.

The beast's massive jaws clamped onto the arrow, but before the runes could activate, the magic within the inscriptions was drawn out like metal to a magnet, flowing in pale blue streams into the hound's gullet.

Devouring magic was the very reason these Felhounds were known as mage hunters.

With a crunch of its jaws, the sturdy arrow shattered. The Felhound, sated by the stolen magic, let out a low growl and charged at Halduron with even greater speed.

Nearby, Lanlos took the initiative to engage another Felhound. Relying on the attributes granted by Fel Combustion and his own powerful, agile combat techniques, he managed to steadily suppress his opponent.

As for Lor'themar, he set his sights on the Succubus. It wasn't that he had lost his mind or been swayed by her supernatural charm; as a commander, he knew clearly that the true threat lay with this summoner and the two portals behind her that remained open.

"Come join the feast!" The seductive, enchanting whisper echoed in everyone's ears. Even the Trolls felt their hormones surging and their heart rates spiking. Some were so affected they even stepped in front of the Succubus to act as meat shields.

"Lanlos, Halduron, we must retreat." Watching the brownish-green portals continue to expand, Lor'themar's brow furrowed tightly.

Yet, the only answer he received was Lanlos's reckless laughter: "Retreat? Why would we retreat?"

"Farstriders, attack!" Not far away, Halduron, having repelled his Felhound, let out a thunderous roar. The next moment, countless arrows poured down from all directions like a torrential rain toward the Succubus's position.

"This is a trap, you idiot Layash!" The dense volley of arrows instantly turned the Succubus and the surrounding Troll warriors into sieves. Although the former could still be reborn in the Twisting Nether, the tearing of her flesh and the intense, sharp pain still forced a series of high-pitched screams from her.

It had to be said that the Succubus's supernatural charm was present in every aspect; even her wails made Lanlos feel inexplicably flushed and heart-pounding.

Watching the Succubus dissolve into dissipating green energy amidst the arrow rain, while the two portals—from which terrifying roars had faintly emanated—also gradually vanished, Lanlos finally felt his heart settle. He had intended to continue joining the slaughter of the Trolls, but the next moment, a wave of dizziness slammed into his brain. The caught-off-guard Elf mage nearly collapsed to the ground.

Weakness: All attributes -2, duration 29 minutes 54 seconds.

As the violent impulse faded, Berserking ended, but the ensuing state of weakness made Lanlos shake his head with a bitter smile; he felt like a patient suffering from a severe cold. Due to the sharp drop in his attributes, a heavy sense of mental and physical exhaustion washed over him. Under the pressure, Lanlos stumbled and collapsed to the ground amidst the panicked gazes of those around him.

To the southeast of the Eastern Temple, within the shadows of the dense forest, a tall, green figure stared intently at the Elven tower.

Zumalosh, as the leader of the Amani Tribe remnants in the Eversong Woods, might have had average strength, but his insight and judgment were certainly not lacking.

In the past, he would never have dared to set his sights on this tower, but now, with these allies...

Glancing at the dozen or so figures behind him, even more hunched than himself, Zumalosh revealed a grim smile. The ambition and strength of the Darkpine Tribe had truly startled him, but after witnessing these demonic servants tear apart an Elven patrol, his confidence had surged.

Moreover, there was that Darkpine chieftain. Although he had never openly displayed his power, he always solved problems with ease, leaving Zumalosh with an impression of unfathomable depth.

"Kergash, my people are not enough to deal with the Arcane mages in this tower, and even with your warlocks, we cannot win in a short time."

"The champions of Tor'watha cannot hold out for long."

"Don't worry, Zumalosh. I will not waste the precious time they bought with their lives." Kergash's low voice sounded somewhat languid, yet in a trance, the thought of trusting him seemed to surface in Zumalosh's mind.

"Come, show our chieftain the powerful strength of the demons!" Raising the pitch-black wooden staff in his hand, Kergash shouted loudly to the Troll warlocks gathered in a circle behind him.

The next moment, they all sliced their wrists with daggers. Blood flowed down, transforming into streams of brownish-green light in the air, taking root in the earth beneath their feet. As they chanted incantations in Demonic, the Fel energy gathered at their feet extended rapidly forward, corroding the soil and leaving behind curved, complex patterns.

The moment the formation took shape, the earth rumbled. Accompanied by a massive sound, two thick, inward-curving earthen spikes erupted from the ground, forming a giant, open-ended oval.

Kergash grinned and pointed his black wooden staff forward.

Sizzle!

A thick green ray blasted from the tip of the staff, reaching the center of the two earthen spikes instantly. With a deafening boom, nearby Fel energy was drawn in, gathered, and twisted, until a vortex of chaotic energy gradually filled the gap between the spikes.

"As you requested, I have brought an army." The Succubus Alisa was the first to step out of the portal. As she giggled charmingly, terrifying roars and howls echoed from behind the gate.

Zumalosh watched this scene, his heart trembling violently, but the moment Alisa appeared, doubt filled his mind.

Requested?

His eyelids fluttered gently, and Lanlos's vision was met with a rare glimmer of light.

"You're awake?" Halduron flashed a sunny smile, making Lanlos's groggy brain feel much more at ease.

Nodding, the young Elf turned to look around. Troll huts and the corpses of their owners were decaying and vanishing in the fires. Groups of Farstriders were disappearing into the woods, presumably still scouting and pursuing the remnants of the Trolls.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"About half an hour. The battle just ended."

Battle? Oh no!

The word jolted Lanlos awake. He had learned long ago from the memories of that Troll scout that another group of Trolls was preparing to attack the Eastern Temple. But due to the influence of Berserking on his reason, and his own disgust for Landral, he had let his emotions cloud his judgment and ignored the severity of the situation.

But Halduron hadn't.

"Didn't I tell you? The Eastern Temple, it's in trouble!" Fighting through the weakness in his body, Lanlos struggled to sit up.

"Actually, I did mention it to Lor'themar." Helping Lanlos up, Halduron glanced at the Ranger Captain, who was currently assigning tasks to his subordinates. "But he believed that with the strength of the Arcane mages at the Eastern Temple, a Troll force of that scale was just child's play. Don't worry."

What else could he say? Should he tell him he had deliberately hidden the strength of those Trolls for personal reasons?

Lanlos was momentarily speechless, burying his embarrassment deep within. He then suggested to Halduron, "In any case, it's better to be safe than sorry. We must hurry to the Eastern Temple to help."

"Look over there!"

"What is that?"

"It's a flare, and it's coming from our camp!"

Before Halduron could reply, a bright, dazzling little sun rapidly rose in the western sky, casting an intensely crimson hue across a corner of the blue heavens.

Looking at the Ranger Captain seated before her, Landral's heart was filled with complex emotions. She likely could no longer sit as an equal with this junior captain she had once mocked.

Once all the heads of the Farstrider Enclave had gathered, Landral took a deep breath, and her words stirred up a huge wave: "The Eastern Temple has fallen."

Frowning deeply, Lor'themar gestured for everyone to quiet down, then turned his gaze back to Landral.

But in Landral's eyes, this gaze was like kicking someone when they were down.

"We must retake the temple as soon as possible," Landral said, gritting her teeth and suppressing an inexplicable sense of humiliation. "We absolutely cannot let these monsters run rampant in my temple..."

"Your temple?" Lanlos, standing nearby, interjected with a raised eyebrow, his tone of mockery and surprise far too obvious.

Hearing this, Lor'themar, who had been contemplating the gravity of the situation, narrowed his eyes.

"Kid, you have no right to speak here!" Feeling everyone's inquisitive gazes on her, Landral became enraged, slammed the table, and glared furiously at Lanlos.

"Magister Landral," Lor'themar said, waving a hand as his deep voice slowly resonated, "Lanlos is currently a temporary advisor to the Farstrider Enclave. If you speak like that..."

"If even you cannot withstand the monsters' attack, with our strength, we can probably only barely defend this camp and may not be able to spare personnel to help you."

"Temporary advisor? What the heck?" Lanlos blinked in surprise and leaned over to quietly ask Halduron.

"Isn't this to back you up? Honestly, I don't like that old woman either," Halduron said with a smile, nudging the mage's chest with his elbow.

"What?" Hearing the implication of refusal to provide support, Landral immediately sprang from her seat, her anger surging. She almost unleashed a spell with a wave of her hand. "The Wind Message can't get out. Do you know how long it will take Silvermoon City to send reinforcements?!"

"If those monsters do anything to defile the temple, let's see how you'll take responsibility!"

"Lord Landral," Since Lor'themar was helping him, Lanlos naturally wouldn't let him bear it alone, "What you're saying isn't quite right."

Having learned from the previous incident, Landral did not choose to humiliate Lanlos. Instead, she widened her eyes and stared fiercely at him, as if ready to attack at any moment.

"You are the Ley Line Warden of the Eastern Temple. If anyone is to be held responsible, shouldn't it be you?"

"Could it be..."

"You want to shirk responsibility?"