Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

[Second-Circle Spell - Bull's Strength!]

[Second-level spell - Bear's Resilience!]

[Second Ring Spell - Feline Grace!]

Three beams of light fell in succession. Alfred's muscles bulged slightly, his breathing became longer and more even, and his steps were as light as if he were walking on cotton.

[Second-Circle Spell - Owl's Wise Wisdom!]

[First-Circle Spell - Divine Guidance!]

[First-Circle Spell - Blessing!]

[First-level spell - Mage Armor!]

[First-level spell - Shield!]

……

"Your Highness," Lance said, "how are you feeling now?"

Alfred looked down at his hands, clenched his fists, and the air crackled slightly between his fingers.

He stretched his shoulders, his bones cracking, and the muscles in his body were taut beneath his clothes.

"I feel..." he paused, as if searching for the right word, "...that I could kill a dragon."

"There aren't any dragons for you to fight here," Lance shook his head.

"However, it should be enough to hold out for a while against a level 15 hero-class warrior."

Alfred smiled.

"I don't think Olaf is all that great; I might be able to take him down!"

He was full of confidence.

As soon as he finished speaking, the air in front of him suddenly distorted.

Golden specks of light emerged from the void, scattering like fireflies before quickly gathering and solidifying to outline a giant human figure.

Olaf Ironspine has returned from the banishment spell.

The moment his feet touched the ground, the stone slab shattered, and spiderweb-like cracks spread outwards from beneath his feet.

He was soaking wet, as if he had just been pulled out of the water, his hair was messy and stuck to his forehead, and water droplets still clung to his beard.

Although the environment in the demiplane is harmless, it is clearly not very friendly.

"Master"

He squeezed out those two words through clenched teeth, his voice echoing through the street like thunder.

Then he saw Alfred.

Alfred alive.

Alfred standing.

Alfred, who has a scar on his neck but is alive and well.

Olaf's pupils contracted sharply.

"You..." His voice caught in his throat, "You're clearly dead..."

"I was dead," Alfred said, slowly raising the sword in his hand. "But someone brought me back to life."

Olaf's gaze suddenly shifted to Lance.

The young man stood by the window, his sky-blue eyes as calm as a stagnant pool.

"You're a mage, not a priest, why would you use a resurrection spell?!"

Before Lance could answer, Alfred shouted, "Olaf, have you ever been a mage? How do you know Lance can't use it? That's just wishful thinking!"

Olaf stared at him for two seconds, then took a deep breath and suppressed all his emotions.

"OK."

Olaf pointed his greatsword at Alfred, "Then this time I can capture you alive."

Instantly, a visible shockwave exploded from the sword.

Olaf stomped his foot, the stone slab shattered, and he shot towards Alfred like a cannonball.

Olaf gripped his sword with both hands and took a step forward.

The moment he took that step, the ground exploded. Stone slabs flew in all directions like cannonballs, and Olaf transformed into a black lightning bolt, hurtling straight at Alfred.

Fifteen meters, ten meters, five meters.

The greatsword slashed down with a whooshing sound, so fast that even the air seemed to groan.

Alfred only had time to hold the sword above his head.

"clang--!!!"

The deafening clang of metal colliding made one's ears ring.

Sparks flew everywhere, illuminating the nearby ground.

Alfred's hand split open. Blood streamed down his sword hilt, and his entire arm trembled. His feet sank into the stone slab, his knees bent, and he was being crushed downwards. Olaf's sword pressed down on his own, inch by inch, and he gritted his teeth, pushing upwards until his bones cracked.

"This guy is incredibly strong!" That was the only thought in his mind.

Alfred was shocked. He had already taken so many buff spells, so why was he still so powerless?

He gritted his teeth and withstood the sword strike.

Olaf raised an eyebrow, somewhat surprised.

Olaf looked down at him, raising an eyebrow, seemingly a little surprised that Alfred had managed to catch the sword.

"That's interesting."

Olaf twisted his wrist, the greatsword slid past Alfred's blade, and then swept horizontally.

Alfred sidestepped, the blade grazing his ribs, slicing through the outer layer of his mage armor, leaving a gash in his clothes.

He turned around and thrust his sword at Olaf's side with a backhand motion.

Olaf, however, neither dodged nor evaded; he simply slapped the spine of the sword with his left hand, with such force that it felt as if Alfred had been struck by a dragon, and Alfred almost lost his grip on the sword.

The two men were locked in a fierce battle in the middle of the street.

Greatsword versus longsword, strength versus skill...

However, it seems that neither of them can compare.

Olaf's every sword strike carried the power of a landslide; wherever his greatsword passed, the air was torn apart and the ground was plowed into furrows.

Each blow was as heavy as a thousand pounds, like a hammer striking iron, one after another, as if trying to hammer Alfred into the ground.

Alfred is slightly faster due to the [Acceleration] spell.

His longsword slithered around Olaf's greatsword like a snake.

The strength of an ox multiplied his power fivefold, while the grace of a cat allowed him to evade fatal attacks by the slightest margin.

But Olaf's offensive was too fierce.

His greatsword was like a mountain, pressing down on Alfred so much that he could hardly breathe.

Each block sent a shiver down Alfred's arm, and each dodge was a close call.

This significant boost allowed him to barely keep up with Olaf's pace, but that was all he could manage.

Alfred already knew in his heart that he probably wouldn't last much longer.

……

Lance's gaze shifted to the eight men in black—no, now only six were still standing.

Two were already seriously injured and pinned to the ground, while the remaining six were trying to organize a counterattack.

Graham, accompanied by several Exemplary Generals, blocked their path, swinging their battle axes with a whooshing sound.

"Lance!" Graham shouted, "You keep an eye on the big one, and we'll take care of the smaller ones!"

"I understand, you don't need to tell me."

……

At the other end of the street, the battle reached its climax.

Olaf's greatsword slashed down from above, and Alfred raised his sword to block, only to be forced to his knees by the force of the blow. The stone slab shattered, and dust billowed up.

"You won't last much longer," Olaf's voice came from above. "Your arms are already shaking."

Alfred gritted his teeth, pushed off with his knees, and abruptly stood up, shoving Olaf's greatsword away. He took three steps back, creating distance, and gasped for breath.

He was right.

Alfred's right arm was trembling, and blood from his hand had stained the hilt of his sword. His Acceleration spell was still active, as was his Bull Power, but his body had reached its limit.

"With such a huge boost, we still can't win...?"

"I am so weak, I have no power..."

Olaf gave him no time to catch his breath. The greatsword swept across, accompanied by a whistling sound.

Alfred dodged to the side.

"Why didn't your mage friend help?" Olaf's voice carried a hint of sarcasm. "How many more times can he cast that spell?"

Lance watched from the sidelines, secretly alarmed.

"Is Olaf really that strong? He's only two levels higher than Alfred, yet he's so much stronger?"

"It seems like we might not be able to win..."