Light Spirit Swordsman

Two bursts of white light slowly reduced the two corpses on the ground to particles, then gradually condensed before Avilan.

In the end, they formed a swordsman about two meters tall, clad in silver armor and wielding a light sword. His entire body was covered by armor, without a scrap of skin exposed.

A Light Spirit Swordsman, roughly level thirty-five. High attack, low defense, and incredible speed. Its weakness was that dark magic countered it.

This was the only light-element summoning skill Avilan could command. The other summoning skills required his class specialization to exceed level seventy at minimum.

Its snow-white cloak fluttered in the wind as the Light Spirit Swordsman awaited Avilan's command.

These Light Spirits possessed intelligence roughly equal to that of ordinary people. Yet because of the summoning contract, even if Avilan ordered them to kill themselves, they had to obey.

"Destroy every knight attacking this village."

"Yes, my lord!"

The reply was utterly ordinary, even cold enough to be called indifferent. Yet to those who heard it, it was as mercilessly frigid as the Grim Reaper from an icy hell.

The Light Spirit Swordsman began to sprint. His movements were swift as lightning, like a hunting dog that knew exactly where its prey was hiding, charging ahead without the slightest hesitation.

"Are you all right?"

Avilan opened his item box and took out a backpack. Although it was called an Infinite Backpack, it could only hold a maximum weight of one thousand kilograms. It was essential equipment for every Myth player; the only difference was that rich players had more Infinite Backpacks, while poor players had fewer.

After rummaging through several Infinite Backpacks, he finally found a bottle of green potion.

This low-grade recovery potion restored a small amount of HP and stamina, and was frequently used during Myth's early stages. But for Avilan now, this item was completely unnecessary.

Still, he was rather extravagant—a legendary RMB player. By the late stages of the game, many things were too troublesome to deal with, so he would simply toss them into an Infinite Backpack and buy another one. After all, one backpack only cost 10,000 RMB. To him, the master of a guild, it was merely a drop in the ocean.

"Drink it."

Avilan casually handed over the green potion. Wellington immediately became overwhelmed with emotion.

"Thank you, Mage, for saving my life—"

Without the slightest hesitation, Wellington drained the recovery potion in one gulp.

A flash of green light appeared. Wellington's minor external injuries instantly healed, and his exhausted body recovered as well, brimming with strength from head to toe.

"Mage, please save our village. The villains of the Blood Church are attacking our village." After recovering his strength, Wellington picked up his younger sister and knelt with her before Avilan, pleading.

Avilan nodded. His purpose in coming here this time was to make contact with human society in this other world. Nothing could have been more suitable than something that so easily earned goodwill.

"No problem. I came here specifically after seeing the village on fire."

"Woo, woo, woo, aaaaahhh!"

The air shook violently with the roar.

It was the signal that one slaughter had become another.

Cassido did not know how many times he had cursed the god he believed in. In these few dozen seconds, he had probably cursed more than he had in his entire life. If gods truly existed, then one should appear now and strike down this evil being. Why had one stood by and watched Cassido, a devout believer, die without lifting a finger?

Could it be that gods did not exist?

He had always looked down on those fools who spoke such nonsense and refused to believe in gods. If they did not believe in gods, then how could the magic wielded by priests exist? Yet perhaps the truly foolish one was himself.

The mysterious knight before him held a light sword and advanced step by step.

Cassido reflexively took two steps back, widening the distance.

The armor on his body trembled incessantly, producing a piercing screech, and even the tip of the sword clutched in both hands shook without stop. It was not just him—the sword tips of all eighteen companions surrounding the Death Knight were the same.

Though their bodies were ruled by terror, no one fled. But this was not courage. The clattering of their teeth proved it: if they could escape, they would have fled for their lives without hesitation.

Because they knew they could not escape.

Cassido shifted his gaze slightly, seeking help.

This was the center of the village. Around this place, used as a square, gathered more than eighty villagers whom Cassido and the others had captured. They stared fearfully at Cassido's group. A cluster of children hid behind a slightly raised wooden platform.

Several children held clubs, but they did not assume fighting stances, because merely keeping the clubs from falling from their hands had already taken all their strength.

When Cassido attacked this village, he had driven the villagers into the central square from every direction. After searching the houses, he had planned to douse them in fire oil and burn them down, lest anyone be hiding in secret basements.

Four mounted knights stood guard around the village with bows. Even if anyone escaped outside the village, they could be reliably shot dead. They had used this method several times already; it could be called foolproof.

Though the slaughter had taken some time, it had gone relatively smoothly, and they had gathered the surviving villagers in one place. Then they had deliberately allowed several villagers to escape.

That was how it should have been, but Cassido still remembered that instant.

Behind the villagers who had fled into the square relatively late, Peter, another companion responsible for cleaning up afterward, had flown through the air.

It was too unbelievable; no one knew what had happened. He wore full plate armor, and though magic had reduced its weight, it still weighed a considerable amount. A trained adult man together with his equipment weighed more than three hundred jin. Yet he had flown through the air like a ball. Who could understand what had happened?

Peter flew more than seven meters before crashing to the ground with an earth-shaking boom, unable to move ever again.

Where Peter had originally stood was a knight who had never appeared before. His speed was terrifyingly fast. Even in heavy armor, every movement was like light itself. They could only barely see a streak of white flash past, then watch one comrade soar high into the air before being cleaved in two by that dreadful light sword.

"Aaaahhh!"

A deranged scream rang through the sky. One companion in the circular formation could no longer endure the horrifying terror and wailed as he ran.

When the thread that barely maintained balance in such an extreme state suddenly snapped, the taut tension would collapse in an instant. Yet none of the companions in the circular formation followed him in fleeing. The reason was soon proven.

At the corner of Cassido's vision, a streak of white light appeared.

The Light Spirit Swordsman pushed his terrifying speed to its limit. That speed was simply beyond the reach of second- and third-tier knights like them.

The fleeing companion had only taken three steps.

As he was about to take the fourth, the silver radiance effortlessly cleaved his body in two. The body, split into left and right halves, fell to either side. A sour stench immediately drifted through the air, and pink internal organs scattered from the severed cross-section.

The Light Spirit Swordsman stood silently where he was. He did not take the initiative to attack, instead waiting—waiting for these knights to attack or flee before striking.

Because not long ago, he had received his master's command: he had to leave survivors.