Jalot's Crushing Defeat
Jalot's cheek twitched as he gripped the hilt of his sword tightly. His muscles tensed like he was about to spring forward any second, and his killing intent was sharp enough to slice Yoahim's throat. It coiled around him like a serpent, making his entire body tingle.
Killing intent alone couldn't kill an enemy, but it could give you the upper hand in a fight. For the weak-willed, just feeling it would restrict their movements and cloud their judgment. Killing a frightened foe was as easy as picking low-hanging fruit.
"What the hell are you doing? This isn't a staring contest. You gonna win just by glaring? Come at me."
Contrary to Jalot's expectations, Yoahim showed no fear. He knew Jalot was strong—an opponent he couldn't underestimate. But so what? Courage grew through battle. Yoahim had crossed the line between life and death more times than he could count. He'd nearly died fighting Delly. He'd come even closer against Alkados. And both were stronger than Jalot.
So why the fuck should I be scared of this guy? Me?
Yoahim flashed a feral grin at Jalot. He was certain. He wouldn't lose this fight. Because Jalot was weaker than Delly and Alkados.
And because Yoahim was stronger than Jalot.
"You cocky bastard! Fine, if dying's your wish, I'll grant it right now!"
"You're the one who's gonna die."
Jalot charged. Yoahim stood his ground. At a glance, it looked like Yoahim had lost his will to fight, passively accepting the death barreling toward him without moving a muscle. But that illusion shattered the moment Jalot swung his sword with all his might.
"Kuh!"
A Magic Missile shot out as if it'd been waiting, slamming into Jalot's body. His stance faltered, his momentum slowed. But it was just a Magic Missile—no real damage. Jalot tried to surge forward again.
Tudududat!
Magic Missiles flew like rapid-fire arrows, pummeling his body. Even a beginner spell like this packed a punch when you ate a dozen at once.
"Fuck! What the hell! Shooting magic like arrows?!"
There was a delay between casting spells—the cooldown, as gamers called it. Skilled mages could spam basics like Magic Missile, but Yoahim was on another level. It wasn't just spamming; it was machine-gun fire.
This was possible because Yoahim wasn't casting manually. He was channeling the ring's power. It sucked in mana relentlessly, spitting out spells nonstop. If these had been actual arrows instead of noob-tier magic, Jalot would've been a pincushion by now.
"You think these parlor tricks can beat me?!"
Jalot swung his sword in a wide arc, shattering the Magic Missiles midair. The dispersed mana sparkled in the sunlight before vanishing. As he said, Magic Missiles couldn't finish him. Their power was punch-level at best. A normal person might die from dozens of punches, but Jalot was level 67. To him, they were just annoying flies, not a threat.
That's why he could tank them in the first place.
They don't hurt much even if they hit, so he's just powering through to close the distance. Once he does, he'll think he's won.
Jalot didn't know much about Yoahim. From the staff instead of a sword and the magic, he'd pegged him as a plain mage.
That's the gap I'm exploiting.
People couldn't adapt to sudden changes. If the "mage" turned out to be a swordsman? Could Jalot react in time?
Lure him in nice and slow.
Yoahim kept his distance, firing Magic Missiles nonstop. Each hit seemed to enrage Jalot further; he snarled and charged. Yoahim backpedaled to maintain the gap.
"You fucking spell-slinging dog! I'll cut you down in one stroke!"
That passive stance only fueled Jalot's rage. He ground his teeth, kicked off the ground with explosive force from his trained dark elf legs, and leaped forward. He closed the gap in an instant, swinging with murderous intent.
But.
"Arrrgh! You goddamn bastard!"
His attacks missed completely. Yoahim dodged every one with nimble footwork. No matter how fierce the strike, if it didn't connect, it was meaningless. Jalot swung wildly in fury, but the result was the same. Yoahim even parried with his staff and counterattacked occasionally.
From Jalot's view, it was maddening. Fuck, what kind of mage is this? Dodging everything and countering? With a staff? What the hell?!
"Why! Why won't it hit! Why the fuck not?!"
"Why would it?"
"Am I too slow? Fine, I'll speed it up! Let's see you dodge this!"
His attack speed ramped up. Jalot's face flushed red as he swung at blinding speed. This time, it was threatening enough that Yoahim couldn't evade everything. He blocked with his staff, then used Shield for the final blow.
Clang!
The shield shattered with a sharp crack, but Jalot wasn't satisfied. He panted, shaking sweat-matted hair from his eyes.
"What the hell. Why won't it hit?!"
"I can see all your moves."
"You see them? Ha! Cocky prick! You see my moves? Bullshit! I was the drill sergeant for the Black Root tribe! I trained born warriors—dark elves! And some mage sees through me? Fuck! That make any sense?!"
"That's why I can."
Yoahim said flatly.
"Your moves are just like Leon's."
Jalot's face went blank for a moment. Leon had trained under him. And Yoahim had watched Leon's moves up close, countless times.
"Not exactly the same, though. Leon's faster than you."
"You son of a bitch! Who you calling slow?!"
Jalot charged like an enraged bull, roaring and swinging madly. Yoahim blocked with Shield.
Clang!
"Huh?"
He'd expected it to hold three hits. It shattered on the first. Even Yoahim hadn't anticipated that. Jalot grinned viciously and thrust forward. Yoahim gripped his staff tight and yelled.
"Magic Missile!"
Jalot flinched instinctively—he'd eaten enough of those. That was his mistake. He should've pressed the attack.
"You lied..."
No Magic Missile came. It was just a bluff to buy time. As Jalot realized and swung again.
Smack!
"Gah!"
Something heavy and solid smashed into his face. A delayed physical hit? Jalot flew back, crumpling from the stinging pain.
"You bastard... Magic Missile, my ass... Cowardly liar..."
"It was a Magic Missile. What're you talking about?"
Yeah, Magic Missile (physical version).
Yoahim had infused mana into the staff and bashed Jalot's face. Magic Missile was just compressed mana hurled forward—flying it or swinging it was semantics. Probably.
"Magic Missile!"
He channeled mana again, cracking Jalot's wrist. A huge scream echoed as the hand went limp. No way he could hold a sword now.
Yoahim bashed the rising Jalot again.
"Magic Missile!"
"Arrrgh!"
"Magic Missile!"
"Guh!"
"Magic Missile!"
"You fucking prick! Bashing me with a staff ain't Magic Missile! Arrrgh!"
Yoahim beat Jalot to a pulp, then exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. This wasn't the plan—the script had gone off-rails, so he'd finished it with the staff.
Jalot twitched on the ground, groaning occasionally. He was in no shape to fight.
"Hey, you dead?"
Yoahim prodded him with the staff. Jalot jerked, his eyes still burning with hate despite his broken body.
"You damn fucker! I'll kill you! Rip you to shreds!"
"You? How? Can't even move your limbs. How you gonna kill me?"
"My men won't let you! Someone kill this bastard! Kill him!"
"Sorry, but your men's all gone."
"W-what?"
A chill washed over Jalot. Battle frenzy had blinded him to everything else. He slowly looked around.
Bone fragments littered the ground. Chunky meat piles slumped everywhere. Bleeding dark elves lay dead.
"...All dead?"
While he'd fought Yoahim, his subordinates had been wiped out. He hadn't expected them to overwhelm the enemy—the broken barricade forced melee too soon, and they were outnumbered. But this utter rout? No way.
He'd thought if they held a bit, he'd kill Yoahim and shatter the undead.
Just a pipe dream. Jalot had lost. Completely.
"No way... Me, dying here? Can't be! My life! What about my life! I betrayed the tribe to get here! What the hell happens to me now?!"
"What're you yelling about? Like you did anything worth bragging."
Yoahim smacked his head again. Jalot finally shut up, reality sinking in. He'd lost. And he was about to die.
"...Kill me. Just do it."
"Yeah, was gonna. But not me doing the killing."
Yoahim turned and beckoned to empty air. Two dark elves stood there.
"Someone else gets to kill you. Someone who'll make it hurt real bad."
Leon and Sasha. The moment Jalot saw their faces, the light died in his eyes.