Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

The soldiers guarding the city wall were in high spirits.

"The Venerable Master has arrived!"

"Hold on! The Master will help us!"

"Kill! Kill! Kill!"

The morale of the Sassanid army quickly plummeted, and their offensive began to crumble.

The soldiers at the forefront were wiped out by lightning, and those behind watched their comrades fall one by one, their legs beginning to weaken.

Some people started backing away.

Take one step back, two steps back, three steps back.

Then he turned and ran.

The first person to escape is like the first breach in a dam. Then comes the second, the third, the tenth, and the hundredth.

Defeat.

Cassius watched the soldiers running back, his face as black as the bottom of a pot.

He wanted to order the supervisory team to go up and chop people up, but he opened his mouth and said nothing.

He looked up at the sky.

The silver-white figure was still flying.

As he cast the spell, Cassius counted silently.

One lightning bolt, two lightning bolts, three lightning bolts...

Seven or eight.

nine.

Damn it, this is the ninth one.

Could it really be the canonical class?

Cassius swallowed hard and turned to look behind him.

Olaf was still standing there.

……

On the high slope, Olaf squinted, staring at the silvery-white figure in the sky.

His eyesight was so good that he could clearly see the monk's face.

Long silver-white hair, sky-blue eyes, pointed ears, half-elf.

But that's not the point; the point is that he's very young.

Too young.

He unleashed nine lightning bolts in succession. What does that mean?

This means that the mage either has at least ten spell slots of level three or higher, or has secretly used a large number of spell storage items.

And ten spell slots with at least three rings...

Olaf stared at the sky, his brow furrowed.

If this mage is truly of the Exemplary rank, then he will have to reassess the entire battle situation.

But what if it's not a canonical order?

How could an elite mage have so many third-circle spells?

Could it really have all been created by smashing with magic storage items?

That's incredibly wealthy.

Olaf fell into deep thought.

Although the army of the Sassanid Kingdom was not much larger than that of Rild City, it was at a great disadvantage in the siege.

But the hero-level warrior of the Kingdom of Eredland has been dead for two years, and there's no news of a new one.

As a Hero-class warrior, Olaf would immediately lead his men to carry out a decapitation strike once he was certain that the opponent was not a Paradigm-class mage.

If we can just take the prince hostage and kill a few of the opposing generals, we'll win.

But this half-elf is really strange. He used so many third-circle spells, and apart from [Flight], the rest were all [Lightning Bolt]. Did he only memorize these two spells in his spell slots?

He hasn't found any magic storage items either, so he can't be sure for now. Let's try again in a few more days...

Olaf took a deep breath.

"Order to withdraw the troops."

The lieutenant was taken aback: "Call back? General, we've only been fighting for two hours..."

"Withdraw the troops," Olaf repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"yes!"

The bugle sounded, its mournful wail echoing across the battlefield.

Upon hearing the bugle call, the Sassanid soldiers, who were still charging forward, felt as if they had been granted a pardon and turned to run away.

The ladders were thrown away, the shields were thrown away, the weapons were thrown away—run as fast as you could.

A deafening cheer erupted from the city wall.

"We won!"

"We won!"

"Long live Mage Lance!"

Lance hovered above the city gate tower, watching the fleeing Sassanid soldiers, and let out a long breath.

The arc is consumed very quickly.

He opened the panel and took a look.

Arc: 15/50.

Nine [Lightning Bolts], plus the previous flight spell and the ongoing cost of maintaining flight, took a total of over thirty arcs.

It's a bit unsafe.

He flew back into the city and landed on the city wall.

Graham strode over and grabbed his shoulder.

"Well done! Thanks to you, our losses today were minimal!"

As for why Lance was able to use nine [Lightning Bolts] in a row...

Graham was always clear-headed.

Lance's shoulder ached from being gripped so tightly, and he tried to pull his arm away—but couldn't.

"Could you be a little gentler?" he said helplessly.

Graham then let go, scratching his head sheepishly.

"Yes, yes, you've worked hard. Go back and rest, I'll handle the rest."

Lance nodded and flew away.

Graham stood on the city wall, watching the departing silver-white figure, and let out a long sigh.

Then he turned around and looked out of the city.

The Sassanid army's routed soldiers had already fled far away, leaving behind only corpses and abandoned equipment.

Beneath the city wall, corpses were piled up like small mountains.

There were Sassanids and garrison soldiers.

The blood stained the ground a dark red, gleaming eerily in the morning light.

Graham remained silent for a moment.

"Clean up the battlefield," he said in a deep voice. "Treat the wounded and take stock of the losses."

"yes!"

……

Sassan camp.

The defeated soldiers returned one after another, covered in dust and armor.

Cassius stood at the camp gate, looking at these people, his face as black as the bottom of a pot.

Of the twelve thousand people who went out, less than seven thousand returned.

Half of them were injured.

He took a deep breath, turned around, and walked towards the main tent.

Inside the main tent, Olaf sat in the main seat, his fingers tapping lightly on the armrest.

He raised his eyelids slightly when he saw Cassius enter.

"Have the statistics been compiled?"

Cassius nodded: "Twelve thousand went out, and six thousand eight hundred came back. Two thousand were lightly injured, eight hundred were seriously injured, and less than four thousand were still able to fight. The losses among professionals were particularly heavy."

Olaf hummed in response, his face expressionless.

"Where is that mage?" Cassius asked.

Olaf remained silent.

"General," Cassius asked cautiously, "could he really be a Paradigm-class?"

Olaf did not answer.

He was thinking about this problem.

Exemplary Mage, Level 11 or above

That mage only used Lightning Bolt, a third-circle spell. If he was a Paradigm-level mage, why didn't he use a fourth-circle spell? A more powerful Ice Storm, a more practical Stone Skin, or a more battlefield-suited Greater Invisibility—aren't they all better than Lightning Bolt?

If he is not of the Exemplary rank, how do you explain ten third-circle spells?

Could it be that this guy really only remembered Lightning Bolt, a third-circle spell, and then brought a huge amount of mana-storing equipment with him?

"...Hmm, it doesn't seem impossible after all."

There are all sorts of weirdos among monks.

"Let's test the waters for a few more days," Olaf said.

Cassius paused for a moment: "Testing the waters again?"

"Yes." Olaf nodded. "Send another 10,000 men to attack the city tomorrow and see if he will continue, and how much magic equipment he has left."

"Yes."

Olaf stood up, walked to the tent entrance, and looked in the direction of Rild City.

That silver-white figure had long since disappeared.

He stared intently at the distant city wall, his eyes deep and thoughtful.

"What exactly happened...?"

On the city wall, Graham stood atop the gate tower, gazing towards the distant Sassan camp.

Pierre-Jacques-Pierre-Jacques approached and whispered, "Sir, the casualty count is in. The defenders have six hundred dead and eight hundred wounded."

Graham remained silent.

Six hundred soldiers, just like that, gone.

"Pass down the order: extra food tonight. Each soldier will receive an extra portion of meat and a jug of wine."

"yes!"