Seeing how many men surrounded them, Red realized just how screwed they were. The stone bridge that had seemed like a deathtrap a few moments ago suddenly became the defensive position they could only wish for.

Unfortunately, it was too far behind them. Aside from the fact that making a run for it would result in half his men turning into pincushions, Sir Malcolm had asked for five minutes, and had begun making doodles on the ground like a crazy person.

Can Sword-Sages even use Spell Formations, Red wondered, but then realized that he didn’t have time to think of such nonsense.

Three hundred men were coming towards them, split into a large number of five-man squads. For now, they were moving carefully, but that careful movement would only buy one of the five minutes Sir Malcom needed. Once they entered a bloody melee, Red had no idea how many of his comrades would die and how long they would manage to hold on. Hopefully more than five minutes, otherwise everyone would be dead.

“Sir Malcom, I have a favor to ask,” Red said solemnly. “I know that the two of you will get out of this alive, no matter what happens. If by any chance all of my comrades and I die here, please return as much of our company’s property as you can back to the headquarters. Tell them that we tried our best, and that our mission was a success. Please make sure to deliver my Ring of Holding to the Owner.”

Archibald was busy muttering the words of a ritual he’d never expected he would be forced to use while starting to draw a diagram on the ground. Despite his deep concentration, he spared a moment to nod his agreement to Red’s helpless plea.

Wolf saw the whole thing, but didn’t butt in. The request had been addressed to his father, and he had no place in that kind of talk.

Instead, the boy fully awoke his senses. He was overwhelmed in an instant. The stench of blood and feces from the dead made his throat tighten. He could even differentiate between man and a horse in this state. The clicking of chainmail and the heavy footsteps of advancing soldiers, the notching of arrows and the creaking of bows being drawn far in the forest all flooded his ears. A normal person would have gone mad from the sensory overflow.

Even Wolf’s mind struggled to keep up. His father had taught him that in this state, he should focus only on relevant inputs, but right now everything seemed relevant.

To make matters worse, the Spell Formation his father had started drawing was something Wolf had never seen before, as was the chant, which, oddly enough, wasn’t Arcana mumbo-jumbo, but rather the muttering of seemingly random words in the common language of man.

“Crackle, hiss, fizz, boom, flash…” the big man muttered under his breath.

If his son hadn’t had absolute faith in his father, he would’ve thought the man’s mind had snapped.

At first, Wolf wanted to stop his father, but when he saw that Archibald really was drawing a Spell Formation, he let it be. Wolf knew that his father had a couple of Monster Cores stashed away for the exact purpose of fueling Spell Formations.

Tearing his eyes away from the unknown triangular seal taking shape, Wolf focused on the enemy. The soldiers-turned-bandits were slowly tightening the noose around the caravan. The only way for Wolf to buy the time his father had asked for was to fight.

Wolf nodded. His sword materialized, and he tightly grasped it.

“I’ll hold the left flank. You guys should hold the right,” Wolf said to the Viscount before starting to cast Fireball.

The old man was momentarily stunned. Red had described the boy as a talented Sword-Sage, and now he was chanting Fireball perfectly. As he did, flames slowly gathered atop the boy’s tiny palm.

Wolf lobbed a fist-sized orb of liquid flame at the incoming soldiers, causing the air to crackle and distort. The insignificant ball of flame landed in the middle of three five-man squads, a group of unlucky men who’d bunched up a tad tighter than the others.

*Whoosh!*

The orb burst, setting the very air on fire. Before they could even scream, fifteen men were reduced to ashes, leaving behind only their smoldering armor and the metallic bits of their weapons and clothing.

Gods! This boy really can use magic! Viscount Cochin thought. How old is he? That was a Fourth Order spell! Isn’t this a bit too much?

Viscount Cochin was shocked beyond words. He had been sixteen years old when he’d managed to attain the Fourth Order of Mage. Realizing that there was no time to dwell on the child’s absurd abilities, the man resumed casting the spell he had just started.

On the other side of the battlefield, Thousand-man-commander Andersen started shouting excitedly. This was the moment he’d been waiting for!

“Charge now! Mages can’t cast spells consecutively! If you’re quick enough, they won’t–” the man shouted, but then immediately faltered.

His men did as ordered. They charged with all their might towards the caravan, but suddenly, another ball of flame flew toward the other side of the caravan.

The orb of fire landed on the ground. However, instead of bursting, it slithered its way across the grass and shrubs like a serpent. Andersen watched with horror as the flame serpent passed through six squads. He already knew what was coming. The line of flame rose high into the air before he could shout a warning.

In an instant, a three meter-tall, fifty meter-long wall of fire appeared and covered the caravan’s right flank. Thirty men were incinerated in a blink, while a giant flaming obstacle cut off that side of the battlefield.

The Thousand-man-commander was stunned speechless.

The enemy has two Mages of at least Fourth and Fifth Orders? And a high tier assassin to boot, he thought. What could they be transporting that requires such a powerful entourage? We’re going to lose at least two hundred men here! But it should be worth it. If we manage to eliminate two Mages and capture whatever they’re guarding, that should be quite a merit. Maybe then the Duke will reassign us from this shameful post?

On the other flank, Northshield soldiers still ran madly towards Wolf. They knew that the quicker they engaged a Mage in melee, the safer they’d be. Besides, a Mage wouldn’t cast damaging spells into his own ranks.

No time for the follow-up after a Fireball, Wolf realized. I guess this’ll have to do.

Instead of lobbing another orb of flaming death, Wolf chose something completely different.

Several Johns and Josh guards froze for a moment when they realized that the world around them had slowed down.

“It lasts less than two minutes!” Wolf shouted as he wrapped up Subtle Swiftness.

The spell was actually a group enhancement, but Wolf had always used it in a group of one. Unfortunately, he still couldn’t enchant everyone, but he made sure that Red and the most competent of his men received the benefit.

Once the spell was in effect, Wolf dashed to meet the enemy while brandishing his sword.

This should be far enough, the boy thought after opening some thirty meters between himself and the caravan.

He began murmuring a chant and weaving his hands through the air. The gestures were considerably more complex than those for Fireball, and the chant was twice as long.

The soldiers saw their chance. The enemy Mage had run out to meet them all alone. The more seasoned veterans, on the other hand, slowed their charge. They had a bad feeling. Mages were known for their intelligence, so this was likely a trap.

Wolf completed the spell when the nearest soldier was only a couple of meters away from him.

*Boom!*

A peal of thunder and a flash of lightning exploded from where Wolf stood. Everyone within five meters of him was blasted to pieces. Those further away were stunned and momentarily blinded, while the rest bled from their ears. Some soldiers even fell down mid-charge, slashing themselves or their mates.

That spell alone killed or disabled over sixty enemies. Yet it wasn’t enough. Nowhere near enough. The enemy on Wolf’s side of the battlefield still numbered over fifty. And he no longer had the time for casting. The enemy was upon him!

***

Viscount Cochin had relaxed somewhat. He was about to create a Wall of Stone, which would further reduce the battlefield on his side. It wasn’t a way to win the battle, but reducing the battlefield negated the enemy’s numerical advantage, buying time. That way they would manage to hold out until five minutes were up.

*Boom!*

The rumbling of thunder nearly interrupted the man’s spell. Viscount glanced towards Wolf.

Gods! That was Shock and Awe! A Seventh Order spell! Just who the hell are those two?

***

They’ve already killed over a hundred men, and with that wall that reflects arrows I have four hundred useless soldiers, commander Andersen thought. Should I tell them to charge into melee? It’s not like they lack the training…

Even as he ran these thoughts through his mind, commander Andersen kept shouting orders, trying to whip his men into frenzy.

“Kill them all!”

“A quarter of the value of the goods they carry will be distributed to the troops or their families!”

“I will personally give half my reward to the families of the deceased!”

“Rear troops char–”

*Boom!*

What the hell was that!? Andersen faltered mid shout. Did the Mage kill himself?

***

Shock and Awe really is strong enough to be a Ninth Order spell! But the drawback of using it is a pain, Wolf thought, his head spinning.

Fully awakening his senses and then suddenly exploding with thunder and lightning had been very stupid. Luckily, the moment the bright light started stinging his eyes, Wolf realized his mistake. He’d immediately dampened his senses as much as possible, reducing the damage.

The darkness of blindness and the silence of deafness returned to their amplified, sharpened state. The flood of sensations left Wolf’s ears ringing. Swarms of multicolored dots swam in front of his eyes, backlash from acting too late.

Over the buzzing sound that strained his ears, Wolf heard men running and shouting. They were still charging towards him. Even though he was under the effect of Swiftness, Wolf found that these men were approaching him too quickly, moving fast enough to cause trouble.

The daze he’d voluntarily entered wasted a couple of his valuable seconds. These guys are way too close…

Clenching his sword, Wolf started casting Subtle Strength of the Ox while his eyes and ears rapidly recovered.

*Slash! Stab! Clang!*

Before Wolf got halfway through casting his spell, the first squad of enemy soldiers fell upon him. Unlike with common bandits, he was immediately forced to use Sword-Sage maneuvers, cleaving one man’s head and piercing another’s throat in an instant. The third swordsman, however, blocked the blow by dumb luck.

The soldier's sword went flying, but the man broke Wolf’s sequence, exposing him to the two spearmen of his squad.

Two well-practiced thrusts tore through the air, stabbing at Wolf’s vitals.

The boy jumped, twisting his body. Spinning midair, Wolf remained calm, watching the world move in slow motion, and looking for that perfect moment…

*Slash!*

With a single sweep of his blade, he severed a spear shaft as well as the neck of the disarmed swordsman.

The two survivors had seen their fair share of combat and slaughter, but the gore spraying against their faces shook their will to fight. Luckily, backup arrived just in time.

Another squad charged at Wolf as soon as the boy landed. However, with his strength finally enchanted, Wolf’s blows tore through their mail like paper, filling the air with screams and the gurgles of the dying.

Under normal circumstances, Wolf would’ve cast Agility of the Falcon next, but his enemies were concentrating around him once more. While weaving through attacks and hacking off limbs, Wolf hurried through the casting of Subtle Fire-blast, Fireball’s bigger, meaner cousin.

***

Damn it! They’re everywhere! Reynard Cochin thought as he looked at what was happening on the battlefield.

Unlike Wolf’s muttered chants, the man shouted his mantras and made a showy display of his spell-casting prowess.

*Crackle! Boom!*

A bolt of lightning came down from the blue sky, smashing into an unlucky Northshield soldier. Before it struck ground, the lightning arced, jumping from soldier to soldier. In a flash, half a dozen charred bodies fell to the ground, smoke rising from their orifices.

I can’t throw spells any closer or I’ll hit our own men, Viscount Cochin thought. Chain Lightning dealt a lot of damage, but you never knew who it would strike next. If Viscount Cochin was unlucky, he could accidentally wipe out his own men. Even with those walls helping, we’ll end up overwhelmed, unless that man really can resolve this…

Viscount Cochin was about to turn around and check what Archibald was doing when Wolf’s sudden shout caught his attention.

“Sir Viscount!” Wolf called out. “I’ll leave this side to you! I’ll go and hold the guys crossing the bridge.”

Viscount Cochin turned the other direction and saw two hundred soldiers running towards them across the bridge. In two minutes, those men would be upon them.

Reynard Cochin then glanced at Wolf’s side of the battlefield, and saw only a dozen or so enemies still standing. A moment ago a giant blast of flames had devoured over forty men, reducing them to cinders.

I can handle the survivors with another Chain Lightning, Viscount Cochin thought.

Without waiting for a response, Wolf dashed to meet the enemy.

He runs like a demon. Fights like one too, Reynard thought. He forced away those stray thoughts, though, and focused on the chant for another Chain Lightning.

***

Wolf ran as fast as he could to intercept the soldiers coming from the rear. He cast Deflect Arrows, Agility of the Falcon, Endurance and Haze while fighting a rising fatigue.

Fighting soldiers is different from killing bandits. These people break my combinations after a couple of maneuvers. I’ve only got two-thirds of my Internal Energy remaining, Wolf realized.

This was the first time that Wolf had ever felt things get so dire. He’d finally come to understand that they were cornered, and that the situation was serious. The scrolls Lonely Eagle had left behind were for slaying single powerful opponents, as were the Sword-Sage maneuvers Wolf knew. The only way to handle this crowd was magic, but Wolf wasn’t sure he could deal with half of these people before he ran out of spells.

That old man should have taken out at least a hundred by now, Wolf thought. I can’t tell anything from all those damn walls he made. If we worked together, could we take them out? Impossible. He’s too slow on his feet. As soon as he enters melee, someone will stab him dead.

Wolf was unaware, though, that Viscount Cochin did have a way out of melee. He could fly, but that would get him riddled with arrows. He could cast an arrow repellant, such as Deflect Arrows, but the man didn’t dare flee in such a way. Mostly because he didn’t know what kind of anti-Mage preparations Northshield raiders had in store.

***

While Wolf madly rushed across the bridge, Thousand-man-commander Andersen carefully observed the battlefield. The wall of fire had sizzled out of existence, and his men had finally started overwhelming the defenders. The walls were blessings in disguise, since the Mage couldn’t see Anderson’s men hiding behind them.

Suddenly, a tiny figure came into view. Someone the size of a human child was charging alone towards the two hundred men crossing the bridge. Charging was an understatement. The figure moved with mind-boggling speed.

Anderson grit his teeth. His cousin’s killer was right there!

“Archers!” he shouted. “The assassin has come out! Shoot to kill! Whoever lands the killing blow will be promoted two ranks!”

***

Swiftness is about to end, Wolf thought as he cast another Subtle Swiftness. Dodging enemy attacks and moving freely was more important to him than wasting time on killing two dozen enemies with another spell.

The enemy commander shouting something about an assassin told Wolf that he’d been spotted. A moment later, a rain of arrows came flying at him. The boy sneered at the shower of steel. He was already under Deflect Arrows, but even if he hadn't been, the archers were too far away. With Wolf’s enchanted speed, it wasn’t too difficult to weave his way around the missiles.

Wolf ignored the sound of steel pelting stone. Some two dozen arrows were about to strike his body, but they bounced harmlessly off his magical barrier, a mere finger’s width away from his skin.

The boy charged into the mass of steel-clad humans and started swinging his sword. He didn’t use any maneuvers. With his body enchanted by such a high number of spells, Wolf felt like a god of war. Like he was born to jump into the midst of his enemies and cause a slaughter.

Screams and blood trailed in a whirlwind behind the diminutive figure. After hacking ten people in just as many seconds Wolf relaxed a bit.

I can hold them off for now. Dad needs two more minutes. We can manage that long, Wolf thought. But these people sure are persistent. Bandits would’ve fled by now!

Wolf had no idea that he was the reason nobody turned back. The stories of how cruelly he chased after fleeing soldiers had spread among Northshield troops, and guaranteed that they would fight till death.

I wonder what kind of Spell Formation Dad plans on drawing in five minutes? I know he’s much better at it than I am, but I still can’t believe that he’s on such a high level, Wolf thought.

Even now, when he was slowly running out of breath, Wolf still didn’t know how to focus completely on his enemies. Even in such a dire situation he allowed his mind to wander.

He hacked a man’s neck, then skewered another through the eye, all the while dancing and weaving between their attacks. Accelerated by Swiftness, with his mind running at full throttle, the soldiers seemed like predictable children, their slow and clumsy attacks trivial to avoid.

While slaying men with his sword, Wolf was slowly condensing a ball of flame in his off hand. Two seconds later, a Subtle Fireball shot up into the air, cremating two dozen men. The problem Wolf faced now was how not to hit himself with his own spells.

***

Von, the five-man-commander, who proclaimed himself an officer, shook. He was a hardened veteran who had fought in skirmishes with the elves. He had seen all kinds of battles and bloodshed, but this… creature… terrified him.

The demon wore the guise of a child. Flames exploded in the sky, incinerating the heads and torsos of Von’s comrades, leaving the half-cooked, half-charred bodies to fall upon the ground in a sickening display. He suddenly found himself alone.

Then he saw it clearly. The demon trained its gaze on him. That emotionless face scared Von more than a raging grimace of insane bloodthirst ever would. He felt a warm trickle on his inner thigh as he tried to shake off the baleful presence of the monster.

He failed.

The creature ran indifferently towards him. Von raised his spear to stab at him, but his arms didn’t work properly. He felt like a damn recruit taking up a weapon for the first time!

*Slash*

The spear was sheared off halfway up the shaft. The demon was about to jump and claim Von’s head, when suddenly its leg buckled. Instead of hitting Von’s neck, the creature just slashed him across the shoulder, spraying blood.

Von screamed in pain. His arm was useless, but he was alive. He grit his teeth and fought off the blackness that tried to encroach on his mind. Pain, fear, shock, they all screamed at him to faint, to give in to blackness and let someone else deal with this…

***

Wolf hit the stony bridge face-first. He rolled to the side, but the wounded soldier didn’t use the opening. Instead, he collapsed in shock.

What was that! Is my body giving out? Is this fatigue? Didn’t I increase my endurance? Was I instinctively using maneuvers, Wolf wondered?

While he was staring dazedly, the world around him didn’t pause.

Seeing the monster on the ground raised the morale of Northshield soldiers. With a cheer, men rushed over to finish him off.

Wolf focused. He couldn’t falter.

Don’t get distracted, he told himself. Endure for seventy seconds. Just don’t use maneuvers.

He made a crouching start, and rushed a big man swinging a big sword. Wolf ducked between the man's legs and slashed at his crotch before tumbling back to his feet.

Running away from the flood of soldiers, Wolf chanted and wove his hands. Tendrils of lightning started arcing between his fingers, getting brighter and brighter. A blond youth with long hair saw his chance and swung his sword at Wolf. Before the blade was halfway down a thick bolt of lightning bore a hole through his chest. Then it burned through the mass of men behind him.

Suddenly, Wolf felt dizzy.

Sixty seconds. Hang in there, Wolf thought.

Wolf steadily counted down while darting and dodging between soldiers. He had no more offensive Subtle spells, while those without the Subtle modifier were useless. Just that one carelessly cast Lightning had almost killed him.

Wherever the boy went, blood sprayed and limbs flew. He took only a moment to notice what a person's weakness was.

Terror, that was what made all those men weak. Fear caused mistakes. It made the soldiers advance too soon, or too late. Made them die. Wolf took note of that.

Never let terror grip you, he reminded himself.

When Wolf’s countdown reached thirty-five, his second Swiftness ended. His perception and movements lurched for a moment. He’d lost track of how much time he had left!

*Squelch!*

A spear which Wolf meant to dodge ran through his left shoulder instead. The tip struck bone, cracking it. Wolf screamed, but didn’t know whether it was out of pain or humiliation. In his fury, Wolf hacked off the man’s arm, then his head, wasting an extra sword strike on him.

A potion vial appeared in Wolf’s hand. He dodged and fled while casting Subtle Swift Escape.

The entire engagement had been but a brief explosion of violence, not even five minutes of fighting. Yet Wolf’s Internal Energy was mostly spent, he was out of useful spells and he was wounded.

Was he dizzy from overdrawing Internal Energy, or from using too many spells in quick succession? Wolf really didn’t know, but he had to find out for future reference.

Twenty seconds to go, he thought. They can't reach Dad from here. I wonder how he’s doing?

Wolf wanted to know, but couldn’t spare the attention right now. His hands were full holding back all the soldiers.

The final lesson:

All good things must come to an end.