The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 83

In the dead of night, Alavin was roused from his sleep by a chorus of laughter and chatter. A mixed group of men and women strolled past the base of the mountain, seemingly unconcerned with the perils that lurked in the forest after dark, chatting and laughing without restraint.

"Is it them?" Alavin concealed himself at the mountaintop to watch. As the group crossed an open stretch of land, he recognized their identities by the faint moonlight. They were the very same ruffians who had provoked him earlier that day in the Fifth Arena.

This troupe boasted fifteen members, each displaying formidable strength; no wonder they were so brazen.

Alavin hid carefully, making sure not to be detected. He lacked the strength to confront so many adversaries.

"Wait!" A man in the group suddenly raised his hand.

"What's the matter?" The others were on alert, instinctively forming a defensive square, their faces smiling but their eyes sharp as daggers.

"Alavin's nearby," the man said with a smirk, his gaze sweeping the surroundings. He was the one who had goaded Alavin in the Fifth Arena, even going as far as to tamper with Alavin's pack. But his touch was not without purpose; he had secretly smeared a special spice on the underside of the pack. This spice was colorless and odorless to the ordinary person, but he could trace its scent from miles away.

Led by him, the fifteen-member squad had followed the scent all the way here. However, the spice had been applied three or four days ago, and its smell had faded, allowing him only to estimate a general vicinity.

"Found him!" The men revealed vicious grins, their brows furrowed as they scanned the dense woods and the nearby towering mountain.

"Are you certain?" A female Protégée, wielding an iron whip, stepped forward.

"Positive!" The guy, Gus, was a Novice Mage of Stage VII, a Senior Protégé. Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

"Split into groups of three and search. Alavin is close by; he might even be asleep."

"Whoever finds him first, don't rush to kill him; such amusing business should be enjoyed together."

"We'll search this way; you lot go where you will."

"Alavin, I’m coming for you."

The fifteen split into five groups, weapons in hand and wicked smiles on their lips, with two groups heading directly towards the mountain where Alavin lay hidden.

Atop the mountain, Alavin's brow furrowed slightly as he drew three throwing knives from his belt, preparing to make his move. He wondered how he could have been discovered, but there was no time for such thoughts now. He had to break free before falling into their clutches, or they would indeed take his life.

But just then...

"Ah!!" A scream erupted from the group that had headed west.

"Found him already?" The other four groups quickly turned and rushed over.

But as the fifteen regrouped, their faces turned pale. Before them in the dark forest, pairs of gleaming green eyes shone, and shadowy figures stood silently, their cold gaze fixed upon the interlopers.

The air was thick with the stench of blood. The atmosphere was oppressively eerie.

Magi-Monsters? They retreated cautiously, alert and wary, but the 'eyes' in the darkness didn't back away; instead, they advanced.

With the help of the sparse moonlight, they finally discerned their assailants.

Wolves!

Magi-Monsters, Tempest Wolves!

Hundreds of Tempest Wolves, robust and muscular with claws glinting ominously and coarse black fur, bared their fangs and drooled as they encircled the group in a tightening arc.

The fifteen-member squad swallowed hard, and their breathing became more rapid at the sight of hundreds of Magi-Monsters – such ill fortune!

"Conjure Combat Magic! Intimidate them!"

The leader commanded in a low voice. He was the first to manifest his Combat Magic as a cold mist emanated from his body, spreading silently, and frosting the leaves and twigs beneath his feet. His hands crossed in front of him, and his palms formed delicate ice crystals.

The rest, pushing past their fear, displayed their own Combat Magic. They were all Novice Mages of Stage VI or higher, with strength far surpassing that of the Tempest Wolves.

The wolves did not attack immediately, seemingly hesitant. The tension was palpable, almost suffocating.

"Don't panic! For the love of the gods, don't panic!"

"Stand together, and look them in the eyes."

The leadinger kept reminding them. Although they were stronger than the wolves, the pack numbered in the hundreds, each a fierce Magi-Monster. Should a battle ensue, it could well end in mutual destruction, or even in their complete annihilation.

The alpha wolf stepped forward, its size greater than that of a wild ox, its body a mass of bulging muscles, exuding a palpable sense of oppression. Majestic and murderous, with fangs bared and claws as large as heads, it crushed branches underfoot as it approached.

"Wait for my signal. No one moves without it," the leading Protégé, a Novice Mage of Stage IX, stood at the forefront, and his cold eyes locked with the alpha wolf's.

The alpha wolf let out a deep growl, seemingly issuing a command, and the surrounding pack joined in with low growls, their heads down, faces fierce, and eyes locked menacingly on the group.