Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Lance entered through the gap in the barrier once again.

Mohr turned around.

[Supreme Slash!]

Lance leaped and slashed, the blade descending from above.

Moore raised his hand to block.

The sword sliced ​​open his forearm, the bone cracked, and half of his arm hung down, held together only by a layer of skin.

He looked down at his arm.

Then he raised his other hand, grabbed Lance's collar, and pulled him closer.

His face was only half a foot away from Lance.

His eyes were dark red, and his pupils were almost dilated.

His voice was very low.

"You can't get out of here."

Lance did not answer.

He slammed his forehead into Moore's face.

With a muffled thud, the forehead, clad in [Mage Armor], was quite sturdy.

Moore leaned back, his nose shattered, and blood streamed down his face.

His hand involuntarily loosened.

Lance landed successfully.

He was panting, and the wound on his shoulder throbbed with pain.

Mohr stood up straight again.

He had one arm hanging down, and the other hand covering the blood on his face.

He looked at Lance without saying a word.

He walked over, taking slow, deliberate steps.

Lance raised his sword once more.

[Supreme Slash!]

The sword pierced through the front, through Moore's chest, and emerged from his back.

Mohr stopped.

He looked down at the blade in his chest; blood gushed from both sides of the sword, flowing down the guard onto Lance's hand.

Lance kicked him, sending Moore flying two meters backward, but he managed to stand up again.

He hasn't fallen yet.

He raised his only movable hand, grasped the blade, and pulled it from his chest.

The sword's edge grazed his palm, leaving it bloody.

He threw the sword at his feet.

He looked at Lance.

His lips moved.

"As long as I, Mor... have a breath left... I will... be invincible..."

Mohr murmured.

"Look at you, you're even talking nonsense before you die."

Lance drew another sword.

"Then I'll just make sure you're not breathing anymore, won't that solve the problem?"

Mohr suddenly knelt before the altar.

Blood spread from beneath him, flowing into the grooves of the runes.

The dark red liquid meandered along the lines, filling each engraving.

Mohr kept his head down, so Lance couldn't see his face.

Lance walked up behind him.

Lance pressed the tip of his sword against the back of his neck.

He paused for a moment.

Moore's voice was low, as if squeezed out of his throat.

"I have not……"

[Supreme Slash!]

The blade pierced through the back of the neck, down the cervical vertebrae, and out through the front of the throat.

Moore's body suddenly stiffened.

His mouth was open. Blood gushed from the corner of his mouth and dripped onto the altar.

His hand stretched forward, his fingers digging into the grooves of the runes, his nails cracked, as if he were trying to grasp something.

Then he stopped moving.

He knelt there, head bowed, blood still flowing.

The runes on the altar dimmed, and a crack appeared in the crystal.

Black liquid seeped out from inside.

The barrier shattered, and the fragments floated in the air for a few seconds before scattering like ash.

With Mor's death, Arya's body went limp, and the sword fell to the ground.

She gasped for breath, gripping the edge of the altar.

She looked at Mor's body, then at Lance.

Lance loosened the hilt of his sword.

Moor's body leaned forward, his face hitting the stone slab with a very soft sound.

The Silver Warriors were still fighting the undead. But the undead were moving slower and slower.

Finally, they stopped, stood still, and scattered like puppets with broken strings.

The basement fell silent, save for the sound of panting.

Lance stood before the altar.

He is very dirty now, covered in blood.

Fortunately, it wasn't his blood.

[A magical trick!]

After cleaning himself up, he looked at the system panel.

[Slayed a level 6 human priest! Gained 2000 experience points!]

Current experience: 2600/3000

"Finally finished..."

Lance stretched.

However, the red light on the altar dimmed for only a few seconds before lighting up again.

"Hmm? What else is there?"

Lance took two steps back, his hand already touching the opening of the dimensional pocket.

Arya jumped over and shielded Lance behind her.

The red light condensed into a ball.

Then a body emerged from the ball of light—first a hand, with five fingers, each with more knuckles than normal, and grayish-white skin.

Then came the arms, shoulders, torso...

He came out of the light.

He raised his head.

He was dressed in a gray robe, and his face resembled More's by about 50%, but he was thinner, with prominent cheekbones and sunken eye sockets.

His eyes weren't the dark red of Moore's, but a bright red, like a red-hot coal that's been blown on.

He looked at Lance.

The temperature in the basement remained unchanged, but Lance inexplicably felt cold.

Arya's body was stiff, and she didn't dare to breathe.

[Target: Projection of the Lord of Thirst (The original body possesses weak divine power; this projection is of elite rank)]

[Race: Divine Being, Incarnation of an Evil God]

[Level: 10]

[Class: Warrior (Path of Thirst) Level 6 / Priest (Lord of Thirst) Level 8]

"A divine projection? This bishop can actually summon a divine projection?! This is a huge windfall! We really made the right choice coming here!"

Lance had just finished reading those lines.

He spoke calmly.

The voice was hoarse and mocking, like scratching a blackboard with fingernails; it was extremely unpleasant to hear.

"Half-elf, you killed my priest! In sixty-two years, this is the first priest to be killed by an outsider!"

"If you convert to my faith now, I can still..."

Lance denied it, saying, "I didn't kill your priest, you killed him!"

The Lord of Hunger frowned: "?"

"Think about it," Lance explained patiently, "Why did I kill him? Because he was a cultist."

"Why is he a cultist? Because the god he worships is an evil god—that is, you."

"If you weren't an evil god, then I wouldn't have had to kill him, would I?"

"So it wasn't me who killed him, it was you who killed him!"

"Besides, I bet you haven't had many priests in these sixty-two years, have you?"

Lord of Hunger: "How dare you!!!"

He was furious, "If you don't convert to me, I will..."

Lance looked at Him.

"Why do you talk so much when you're just a projection?"

He stopped.

"The projection is also me," He said. "You kill my believers, destroy my altars, and ruin my rituals—"

"It's broken, it's broken," Lance said. "What can you do? Huh? What can you do?"

He did not speak.

"You are a faint divine power," Lance said.

He looked at him.

"You are a faint divine power," Lance said again.

"Even a weak divine power is still a god!" He trembled with rage.

"You are a faint divine power," Lance continued.

The basement was silent for a few seconds.

"Where is your true form?" Lance didn't stop.

"Which nook or cranny of the outer plane? Even if you plundered for ten years, would the faith power you had accumulated from your few followers be enough for a legendary-level projection to stand on the prime material plane for three minutes?"

The Lord of Hunger suddenly calmed down: "Now, even if you were willing to convert to me, I would not..."

Lance interrupted him directly: "When did I say I wanted to convert to you? Do you even deserve to?"

He did not speak again.

He raised his hand.

The five gray fingers spread open, and a dark red light condensed at the fingertips.