Whoosh—bang!
Suddenly, countless spells shot toward the priestess standing high above them, shattering the room's brief silence.
But the sorcerers' ambush achieved nothing. With her shield up, Old School Striking King shot straight through the area where the spells looked thickest and landed on an oil lamp on the opposite wall.
The spell marks on the half wall, which had nearly been blasted to pieces, showed just how right the priestess's choice had been.
If she had escaped through either side, where there seemed to be small gaps, her shield would certainly have been destroyed. She might even have been injured herself.
Those black scorch marks proved that these seventh-circle sorcerers were not to be underestimated... their attacks all targeted the soul.
Once she was burned, even Old School Striking King's powerful self-healing would inevitably be slowed.
This was a cunning way to fight, and coordinating it required a commander capable of bringing everyone else to heel.
However, these were all tricks the Undead had long since grown tired of... the best spells to face were the ones you could identify.
The instant those spells flew toward her, Old School Striking King realized she couldn't identify the hazy gray-black halos around the edges... and that meant she absolutely would not charge into them.
Better to take a slap head-on than turn around and get bitten by a snake. That combat principle had long since been carved into their bones... who knew what kind of venom the snake carried!
Old School Striking King turned her head slightly, studying the seventh-circle sorcerers below... she suspected an eighth-circle caster was hiding among them.
How interesting. There should have been a very obvious distinction between the seventh and eighth circles, yet this was the first time she had seen anyone conceal those signs so