The sun gradually set, and the sky slowly darkened.
The Arcane Tower Federation lay on the southern plateau of the main continent, where the climate was relatively warm. But Green Tree City was almost at the northernmost edge of the southern plateau, and late-autumn nights were already quite cold. Ordinary people would either have stayed huddled at home in such weather or lit bonfires to keep warm.
However, the churches on both sides had sent only elites this time—not a single ordinary person among them. They were either mid- to high-ranking clerics or veteran adventurers. They did not dare claim to be immune to heat and cold, but they certainly would not take this little chill to heart.
In the gathering dusk, prayers blended into a continuous roar from the divine power positions on both sides. Powerful spells were unleashed one after another—some bombarding the enemy positions, others holding their own ground fast. Every single one had its purpose; not one was wasted on flashy tricks.
At first glance, both sides appeared orderly, as though they had rehearsed it all beforehand, every move precise and methodical. But in truth, they had drawn out every bit of manpower they could spare. Every spell they cast had been studied in advance, ensuring that not even a single spell was wasted, nor even a second spent unnecessarily.
This sort of battle was no joke. Each spell created by the combined prayers of hundreds of clerics was comparable to an attack from a legendary priest. An ordinary person would die instantly even from being grazed by one, with no time for rescue.
If they could not maximize combat efficiency, a single misstep might allow the enemy's spells to breach their defenses. When that happened, even if the top experts could flee for their lives,