Three Waves

Shane activated his mana to the fullest, tuning his output to an unprecedented peak. The fortyfold casting seals lit up at the speed of light. The Arcane Blaze above his head spread to his shoulders, its glow shooting up a meter high. The three types of rotating spell spheres filled the sky behind him in the blink of an eye.

Fortyfold casting: Frostfire Arcane Missiles.

"Launch." His lips parted slightly as he completed the final casting motion. The spell spheres fell like a meteor shower, streaking blue, orange, and white trails through the air as they converged on the three hexers, sealing off every possible avenue of escape from every direction.

"Estimated contact in 0.7 seconds... Contact. Defense, defense, defense, defense..."

The Eye of Truth reported more than a dozen consecutive defenses before the strikes began to land. Steam and smoke shrouded the target area. Green light flickered at first, then fell completely silent two seconds later.

"Hits confirmed: fourteen. Enemies deceased. The user's remaining mana can support two more barrages."

Shane raised his mana output again and unleashed another barrage, this time targeting the dozens of warriors. They had yet to snap out of the sudden turn of events when the barrage flew into their ranks, and only then did they think to defend themselves.

Shields shattered, armor was pierced through. The pellets, no larger than ping-pong balls, bored holes through their bodies, and blood flowed across the ground.

So their blood is red too. Shane was calmer than he had imagined he would be.

The trolls who had escaped with their lives turned to flee, but before they had gone far, the third wave of missiles descended. Magic swept across the elves' field of vision. Smoke rose once more, and cries of agony rang out one after another.

"Forty-eight hits confirmed. Thirty kills, eighteen critically wounded, twenty fleeing. The user's mana is depleted."

Shane took out a blue potion from his magic pocket and gulped it down, slowly calming the turbulence in his mind. Multicast placed a heavy burden on him. Ordinary spellcasting was as easy as blowing out a gentle breeze, but Multicast felt like forcing the pressure of a typhoon through a tiny hole, squeezing his mind until it swelled with discomfort.

"Eye of Truth, under normal circumstances, how many times can I unleash my full output?"

"Based on the user's current strength, no more than three castings without affecting your health. More than six castings may cause permanent damage."

Beside him, Hawkins-Flamehawk opened and closed his mouth like a fish out of water, unable to make a sound for several moments. Halduron-Brightwing was equally stunned.

After the first barrage, they had thought, Am I dreaming?!

After the second barrage, their thoughts had become, By the light of the Sunwell.

By the third barrage, all they could think was something along the lines of, What the hell?

"Don't look at me like that. They're running." Shane pointed toward the outskirts. With their leaders dead and a single burst having beaten them into surrender, the trolls' morale had completely collapsed.

"I... I... I..." Hawkins-Flamehawk stammered for a while before sighing. "I still have a time acceleration spell. I'll cast it now."

Arcane radiance descended, and Halduron led the elves over the wagon wall in pursuit. The trolls' damned discipline saved many of their lives this time. They scattered in every direction, while the smaller number of elves focused on chasing one route. Those riding hawkstriders caught up and harvested heads from behind, while the elves on foot used short swords to kill the trolls still wailing on the ground.

When they reached the mountain pass, Halduron returned with more than a dozen troll ears strung from his hawkstrider. The other elves had also gained quite a haul, which they could exchange for a considerable sum at the Quel'Thalin municipal office.

After the three hexer corpses were pieced back together, they were carried to the feet of the puppet Taigo.

"They are yours." The elves bowed respectfully and withdrew. The most valuable spoils belonged to Shane: a staff and three bone-spike necklaces. Amid the magical glow, the staff was considered "blue" quality, with the effect of increasing hex-casting speed. The three necklaces were merely "green" quality.

The hexers' heads were worth quite a bit as well.

The Eye of Truth scanned the heads through its quantum function. "Traces of extremely faint pure energy detected within the hexers' heads. It does not inherently belong to the trolls and may be absorbed. Effect: nourishes the mind."

A possibility occurred to Shane. Troll tribes practiced animistic beliefs, yet they often stole the power of the gods they worshipped, even imprisoning or killing those gods. Could the unusual energy in these three trolls have come from theft?

"Absorb it, then analyze the nature of the energy."

"Understood." The Eye of Truth guided the invisible energy into Shane's brow. "Beginning conversion and analysis."

It took some time. The response did not come until the troll corpses had been cleared away and burned. A warm, fine current flowed into his mind, easing much of the swelling sensation. The mental fluctuations that had been swinging back and forth like a pendulum began to calm more quickly.

"Analysis report: special energy. Its fluctuations resemble those of this world itself. It may be a crystallization of this world's primordial energy. Due to insufficient data, its source and formation process cannot be determined. Continued acquisition may expand the user's mental capacity."

Shane felt that his guess was probably eighty percent correct. The trolls had stolen "divine power." Could the disturbances in the Ghostlands be connected to it as well? If high-ranking priests or great hexers emerged among the trolls, the elves would be in for a hard time. Am I worrying about matters that should concern Silvermoon City's masters? He stopped thinking about it. In the "history" he knew, the high elves had lived quite well until the Second War.

That night, amid the blood-tinged wind, the elves drank heavily. Sounds of vigorous lovemaking drifted from the caravans now and then, and two male elves could even be seen entering and leaving with their arms around each other. After danger came revelry and intoxication.

Shane filtered the air with a cleansing spell. His little nest was on the puppet Taigo's back. A windproof spell and a constant-temperature spell created a fairly comfortable environment. His training had to continue.

His practice of metamagic techniques had come to a temporary end, replaced by control training. There were two sets of spell spheres above his head and another set in his hands. Shane guided them closer, maintaining relative balance as they annihilated each other while observing the process. It required extremely delicate control, yet it still did not meet Shane's goal. He cast a second set of spell spheres in his hands and controlled them to annihilate each other in the same manner. Controlling four sets at once, with each set maintaining a different output balance, was many times harder than drawing a square with his left hand while drawing a circle with his right. It was the limit of what Shane could currently do.

Out in the wilderness, nothing was more conspicuous or more intimidating than magical light. The smell of blood also warned others of their kind not to approach. Halduron-Brightwing had drunk a little but was not drunk. He still dutifully arranged guards around the perimeter and personally inspected their posts.

"Because you are here, they can enjoy themselves without worry. Everyone will remember your kindness." He was even more respectful than he had been during the day.

"The next time we meet, I'll have to call you Ranger Halduron, won't I?" Shane had actually wanted to tease Hawkins-Flamehawk, but unfortunately, he had not seen him.

The next day, the caravan encountered a patrol from Quel'Thalin. After traveling for another day, they reached their destination. Shane carried his summons order to meet the highest military commander of the Ghostlands, Alleria Windrunner.

"Commander, the Dawnblade mage has arrived."

"Make him wait." In the ranger camp, Alleria was in high spirits. That male elf had left Quel'Thalas and was far away from her younger sister. Before long, her sister would forget him. Now that he was in her hands, she would make him understand the consequences of trying to steal the lofty flower of the Windrunner family. Silvermoon City would not interfere over a little punishment. First, I'll blunt his edge, then send him to Sylvanas for some discipline.

Whatever treatment awaited him, Shane was fully prepared. He was left waiting for three hours, which was expected. He still had not seen her after dinner, which was also expected. Keep waiting? Of course not. Shane went to the inn to rest.

"Commander, the Dawnblade mage has gone to the inn to sleep," a subordinate reported.

"He actually dared... Bring Lor'themar to me."

What would the Windrunners try? Shane had a few ideas.

In the early hours of the morning, someone knocked on his door. "Dawnblade mage, get up quickly. Commander Alleria wants to see you. You'd better hurry, or else, uh..."

When he opened the door, Shane was already fully dressed and holding a book in his hand. "Or else what? Military punishment? Whatever the Windrunners do, Dawnblade will see it coming."

He recognized the visitor. It was the ranger he had thrown into the sea for a bath. What was his name again? Lor-something... He could not remember.

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