The instant the first Magic Shield shattered, the second cracked and broke apart under the white light.
The third Magic Shield had not even taken shape, so it stood no chance.
A heartbeat later, with a wet splurt, an arrow blew Old Keen's head apart.
"No!" the mage screamed. She watched an arrow tipped with concentrated white light strike Old Keen's head, which burst like a rotten watermelon.
Across from them, amid the pursuing troops, a blond middle-aged man in standard-issue armor and no helmet lowered a heavy crossbow covered in Magic Runes. Expressionless, he smoothly drew back the string, took a bolt from his quiver, set it in the firing groove, and raised the crossbow to aim again...
A few breaths later came another bang.
A bald, burly man wielding a battle-axe had just cut down an enemy and was deep in the fight when he crashed to the ground. The bolt had smashed away the left half of his head.
"Damn it, it's Marcus! Golden Heavy Crossbow Marcus! He's here! We're finished!"
Someone in the mercenary ranks cried out.
Two people had been shot through the head in quick succession, dealing a devastating blow to the mercenary band, whose position was already hanging by a thread. Some broke under the weight of despair.
The heavy-crossbow marksman named Marcus was plainly famous, and his name alone carried a powerful threat.
"Marcus! Damn it, everyone, run!"
Another panicked shout rang out. Whatever had possessed the man to yell that? If he wanted to flee, he could have slipped away quietly. Why shout about it?
Before his words had faded, another bang rang out.
Marcus fired again. No one could tell who he hit this time, but the shot broke the mercenaries' morale completely. Many fighters at the front suddenly fell