Chapter 44: He Is Invincible

"Ah—!"

A miserable scream pierced the air as an archer toppled off the arrow tower.

Before the fallen archer could scramble to his feet, the other guards on the watchtower and walls watched in horror as a demon wolf seized him, ripping his arms straight off his body.

The piercing shrieks did not last long; the archer was soon torn apart bare-handed by the demon wolf, his entrails spilling across the ground in a horrifyingly gruesome death.

The visual impact of this scene was too much for the guards to bear, and several of them immediately stepped back, preparing to flee.

"Hold your ground!"

Mrs. Ordos, wielding her magical bullet rifle, shouted fiercely, "Whoever dares to retreat, I will kill them myself!"

Her expression was stern and utterly ruthless.

In truth, she knew as well as anyone that ordinary men could not withstand the demon wolves, but until Mr. Zohan recovered, she had to buy time, no matter how many people died!

Terrifying though the demon wolves were, they had not yet launched a full-scale assault; the previous death was merely the result of an accidental fall. Furthermore, the rifle in Mrs. Ordos's hand could claim a life instantly.

Left with no choice, the guards returned to their posts, forcing their trembling spirits to hold the front line.

The gentlemen and townspeople looked at Mrs. Ordos, unable to suppress a sigh of relief. They all understood that had Mrs. Ordos not stabilized the situation, the panic of just two or three fleeing guards would have triggered a total collapse of morale.

Some even found themselves making comparisons in their hearts: compared to Mrs. Ordos, those so-called gentlemen were entirely all show and bluster, utterly useless when crisis struck, lagging far behind a mere woman.

With Mr. Ordos absent, the management of the situation should have fallen to Mayor Barbarov and Bobur.

Yet of these two, one had seemingly had his brains scrambled by a frying pan swung by his wife, leaving him cowering and absent-minded, while the other lay uselessly on a stretcher, a total dead weight holding everyone back.

"As long as we hold the estate today, no one in the Ordos family will ever be able to threaten me again," Mrs. Ordos thought, a surge of excitement rising within her.

Her thoughts raced ahead to an ideal future: her daughter Celia's illness cured, married to Mr. Zohan, who had chosen to stay in Red Hazel Town. What a flawlessly perfect future that would be.

Awooh—awooh—

Seemingly stimulated by the scent of blood, the howling of wolves rose wave upon wave.

Heavy footsteps echoed from the distance. The people inside the estate exchanged bewildered glances, wondering what fresh horror was unfolding outside.

Mrs. Ordos hurriedly climbed onto the ladder-cart, having her men push it close to the wall so she could peer over the top.

That single glance turned her legs to jelly, making her feel as unsteady as she had under the powerful physical impact of Mr. Zohan, barely able to remain standing.

Those demon wolves had stood up to their full height, the tallest among them almost matching the outer wall of the estate. With a casual sweep of its razor-sharp claw, one wolf sheared through a dense tree canopy, then delivered a savage kick that uprooted a trunk as thick as a grown man's waist, sending it crashing down.

Seeing the demon wolves close in, the archers pulled their bowstrings, loosing a dense, rain-like volley of arrows from the sky. Yet the demon wolves seemed possessed of seasoned combat experience; they nimbly leapt and dodged, alternately clustering and scattering, throwing the archers' volleys into disarray.

The primary duty of the estate guards had always been defending against the beast tides of the Grandis Mountains, but those were merely ordinary beasts—starved to skin and bones during winter, their combat effectiveness vastly diminished.

The creatures before them now, however, were Tier 3 magical beasts! Ten, eight, or even twenty of them would have been enough to overwhelm the estate's defensive forces.

And now?

There were hundreds of them!

An exceptionally ferocious demon wolf braved the rain of arrows, ignoring the archers who rapidly shifted their target to focus on it. With a single massive bound, it cleared the estate's high wall and landed squarely within the courtyard.

Three or four arrows protruded visibly from its flank and belly, yet it paid them no heed. It unleashed a roar brimming with savage brutality toward the residents huddled within: Awooh—!

For a moment, everyone was frozen in a daze, their minds blank with terror. The demon wolf cast a towering shadow that enveloped the crowd; its muscles bulged, and heavy, ragged breaths escaped its sharp fangs, scattering into clouds of steam.

Blood-red eyes swept across the courtyard, selecting a target.

Hayley, a prostitute who often loitered around Boss Kakit's gambling den, happened to be standing closest to the demon wolf. She shrieked and tried to flee, but the demon wolf instantly locked onto her, extending a razor-sharp claw to grab hold of her.

"Ah—help me—!"

Hayley screamed in agony, for the knife-sharp claws had already pierced deep into her waist and ribs.

"What are you standing around for? Fire!"

Mrs. Ordos knew Hayley was beyond saving, so she roared the command and immediately raised her magical bullet rifle to fire at the demon wolf.

Seeing the magical firearm in her opponent's hand, the demon wolf wisely chose not to press the engagement. It casually batted aside Old Dingdang, who had charged forward with a shield, seized Hayley, and leaped back out of the estate in a single bound.

"Waah—!"

"I want to go home!"

The adults shivered and caked in fear, while the children burst into uncontrolled tears. Gwen, who was tending to the elderly, the weak, the sick, and the wounded, offered words of comfort with pale lips: "Don't cry, everyone. Mr. Zohan will come to save us... Grandfather, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," Old Dingdang replied, pulling himself up. He glanced at the claw marks gouged into his heavy shield, finding their terrifying depth a chilling sight.

"Gentlemen—" Old Dingdang turned his gaze toward Kakit, Merck, Bobur, and the others, intending to urge them to rally their men. Instead, he saw that every single one of them had wet their trousers, their eyes vacant and thoroughly stripped of all courage.

With a heavy sigh, Old Dingdang said nothing more. He looked at his granddaughter with eyes full of lingering dread; if the demon wolves truly breached the perimeter, he feared he would die unable to protect her. *Mage sir—*

Several townspeople, panicked and losing all sense of direction, actually chose to leap from the side watchtower, attempting to flee toward a direction where fewer demon wolves roamed. The moment they hit the ground, they were pounced upon by the lurking wolves.

The shrieks of agony echoed without end.

This time, the demon wolves chose to slowly torture their victims, using their dying moments to inflict even greater panic upon the estate.

"I am going to find Mr. Zohan and see if his magical power has recovered."

Knowing they could stall no longer, Mrs. Ordos spoke the words everyone was longing to hear.

At that exact moment, a deafening explosion resounded across the heavens.

Everyone's heart leaped in their chest, and they simultaneously raised their gazes to the sky.

Dark clouds churned.

Streaks of lightning darted, spread, and intersected among the dark clouds, casting a web of flickering light and shadow across the earth.

Gale-force winds howled, snapping robes wildly about.

The figure of the mage finally appeared in mid-air.

He looked down from above, descending like a deity from the heavens.

He spread his arms wide, as though preparing for some grand ritual.

A staff floated above his head, condensing an endless, boundless surge of magical power.

The panic within the estate vanished in an instant, while the monstrous, towering ferocity of the demon wolves outside was thoroughly suppressed.

The heavy panting of the demon wolves became barely audible. With razor-sharp instincts, they sensed the magical fluctuations washing over the entire estate—fluctuations that vastly surpassed those of the Tier 5 mage Beaumarchais.

Compared to the magical turbulence now surging toward the heavens, Beaumarchais's power seemed nothing more than a wisp of cooking smoke.

"Beaumarchais, what is going on?!"

Mahat sensed that something was deeply wrong, and he rapidly approached Beaumarchais at his post.

The six female demon wolves under Beaumarchais's command had already pressed themselves flat against the ground, submissive just as they usually were when serving Beaumarchais, wagging their tails in supplication—no, exhibiting an even greater degree of terror and cowardice.

Mahat knew this was because female demon wolves possessed a far higher sensitivity to magical fluctuations than males, which was why they were usually even more deferential to Beaumarchais than the others.

This hyper-sensitivity also meant that when the towering magical fluctuations erupted before them now, they even showed signs of betraying Beaumarchais, prostrating themselves like devout believers before that overwhelming, peerless tide of magic.

"No—impossible! This must be an illusion!" As a Tier 5 mage, Beaumarchais was naturally far more acutely aware of what such magical fluctuations signified.

"Could it be that the dark clouds are an illusion too? Who on earth could cast such a sprawling, all-encompassing illusion—and besides, if an illusion of this magnitude were real, it would be a mage we are entirely incapable of resisting." Mahat anxiously grabbed the collar of Beaumarchais's mage robe. "What tier of mage is he?!"

Mahat's raw, masculine presence washed over him, and only then did Beaumarchais snap slightly back to his senses. His pale complexion, the blood seeping from the corner of his mouth, and his chattering teeth all suggested he was ready to drop to his knees and worship just like the female demon wolves at any second.

A mage understood the might of a mage far better than anyone else.

"I don't know—I only feel despair. It is a strength impossible to resist, akin to a god."

Beaumarchais's eyes drifted out of focus. "You don't understand what these magical fluctuations mean—I have never seen anything like this recorded in historical archives. Only in the eras before the decline of magic, among the traditional and ancient mages of old, could such terrifying might exist!"

"Yet—look closely at him! He seems even younger than you!" Mahat struggled against the sheer intimidation radiating from those magical fluctuations, forcing his head up toward the sky above the estate, beneath the dark clouds, where the young mage hovered.

The incomparable magical fluctuations seemed to warp space itself, making the young mage's features slightly blurred, yet it was clear he was not of advanced years, and his posture radiated a youthful vitality.

As for the traditional and ancient mages of old, perhaps a few still lingered alive in the world, but why on earth would one of them intervene on behalf of Red Hazel Town?

How could such an isolated place, even with rich mineral deposits, ever be worth a second glance from beings of that stature?

"That's not the point—he doesn't seem to intend to let a single demon wolf go..." Beaumarchais pointed toward the six female demon wolves, and a look of sheer terror crossed his face as he noticed fine, needle-like threads of rain beginning to fall upon them.

"What is it?" Mahat asked with a start. He could feel that it was raining—an anomaly in itself given Red Hazel Town's winter climate—and yet, strangely, not a single drop of that rain was landing on either him or Beaumarchais.

"Look at those lightning bolts. Those threads of rain are being used to guide and amplify the lightning—" Beaumarchais drew in a sharp breath of cold air, speaking with immense difficulty. "This is at least a Tier 7 spell! Fall back! Quickly!"

Even as he spoke, Beaumarchais knew it was already too late. The demon beast army that had taken so much painstaking effort to build—yes, the "Raging Beast Tribe" was merely a fabricated moniker—was about to be utterly wiped out right here.

"Fall back!" Mahat bellowed, his roar rolling out in powerful waves across all the demon wolves.

It was too late.

High in the sky, the young mage raised one hand and brought it straight down as he chanted:

*From the nine heavens of profound mystery, transform into divine thunder! With the supreme majesty of the heavens, I summon thee through my sword!*

Who could possibly fathom the mood he was in while chanting those verses?

This was the lingering romanticism of the people from his original era!

Ever since he had first mastered this spell—which could truly be called an "ultimate skill"—he had always fantasized about chanting those exact lines when casting it!

Bolts of lightning spawned from the dark clouds like countless colossal dragons, roaring as they plunged toward the earth.

The lightning was so dense it formed a glowing, radiant forest of pure electrical energy.

Intersecting with the fine threads of rain, the bolts vaporized the moisture into billowing steam that coalesced into a fresh layer of clouds hovering just above the estate.

The demon wolves tried to flee, each triggering their innate abilities. Their bodies swelled, leg tendons tightened, and they lunged or bounded away—yet whose speed could ever outrun lightning?

*Zzt—!*

As though tossed into a frying pan and rolled across scorching oil, the demon wolves immediately began to emit the pungent stench of burning fur and flesh under the electrical current.

That was followed by a chorus of overlapping howls. Some wolves plummeted mid-leap, some rolled frantically on the ground in agony, others stiffened into rigid, paralyzed statues, and a few plunged headfirst into the freezing river waters.

Out of over a hundred demon wolves, not a single one was spared.

They lay scattered in every direction around the estate, steam rising from their charred bodies into the falling rain.

"Secretly preparing for over a decade, moving with absolute caution, overcoming countless obstacles, exhausting countless funds, and expending immense scheming and resources just to gather over a thousand qualified soldiers to forge a Raging Beast Army that was supposed to be invincible... and the result? *This*?"

Mahat stared blankly at Beaumarchais. A middle-aged man's total mental collapse can happen in a single fleeting second.

Though he bore not a single physical injury, he was utterly devoid of fighting spirit. The reliable strength and backing that Mahat had spent his entire life striving to build had been crushed beneath the heel of a single young mage—

A young mage who had merely raised his hand and dropped it.

Beaumarchais raised his staff, attempting to cast a spell that would boost the demon wolves' resistance, accelerate their recovery, and stimulate their innate abilities, yet the demon wolves gave no response whatsoever.

It was as though the demon wolves had all gained complete magical immunity, or as though their magical link with Beaumarchais had been entirely severed.

Ordinarily, Beaumarchais's role within the demon wolf army was akin to a combat-buffing priest; his magic could render the wolves more bloodthirsty and powerful, massively boosting their physical endurance and mental resistance.

Now, that effect was entirely gone, which also meant those demon wolves were very likely being forcefully mind-controlled by that terrifying young mage.

"We must flee—we have to leave—" Beaumarchais raised his staff, using a telekinetic grip to snap the dazed Mahat out of his stupor, and began to rapidly retreat. "This is the only viable strategy left under the circumstances. A Tier 7 mage has appeared; no one can blame us for this mission failing!"

After all, a Tier 7 mage was currently invincible across this entire continent.