Faerun: The arcane mage is still too imprisoned.

Lance's right hand also started to move.

He didn't cast a spell, but instead took out a spell scroll from his dimensional pocket.

A stack of neatly folded reels appeared in his hand.

Lance didn't even count; he simply clenched his fingers, tore open a stack of rolls at once.

[Secondary Spirit Bomb!] ×10

This divine projection is only level 10, and its divine shield isn't that strong, far from being able to ignore spells below legendary level.

Even so, most spells below the third ring have negligible damage effects.

Aside from force field damage.

Bright blue energy blasts exploded from the reel, one after another shooting out in front of him, blue and white light forming a line, hitting him like a barrage of bullets.

The first one struck the divine shield, causing it to crack.

The second one, the crack widened.

The third one has a dent.

The fourth one—

"puff."

The shield was breached.

The fifth one drilled into the crack, and the Lord of Hunger only had time to block it with his arm, but his arm was broken off.

The sixth one was pasted directly onto His chest, the seventh, the eighth, the ninth, the tenth—

They injected it all into the same spot in His body.

"No, you—"

The Lord of Thirst bowed his head in disbelief.

There's now a fist-sized hole in that spot, right in the center of his chest.

The dark red light leaked out from the edges, making it look like a mineral water bottle with a hole punched in it from a distance.

He raised his head.

For the first time, emotions other than anger and contempt appeared in his bright red eyes.

He was somewhat puzzled.

This is not what He expected. He has never seen this kind of magic before. Logically, it shouldn't be like this.

"What spells are stored in the spell scroll you're using?" He asked.

Lance, of course, ignored him.

He looked at Lance intently, a slow, deliberate glance, as if trying to etch that face into the deepest part of his divinity.

"...I will come back to find you again."

Lance felt that His voice was still as unpleasant as ever.

But this time it was shorter, and the ending note didn't have time to finish.

The light spread from his chest, over his shoulders, over his neck, and over the face that resembled Moore's face by a fraction.

The light scattered, like a burst of fireworks, turning to ashes.

Only a gray robe remained, which floated lightly to the ground.

You have slain a projection of the "Lord of Thirst" (Elite Rank)

Experience points gained: 2500

Current experience: 5100/3000

[Gained Perk: Projection Buster - You gain an advantage on attack rolls against all types of projections, clones, and avatars, dealing +2 damage]

[Gained special status: Mark of the Lord of Thirst]

[The mark of the Lord of Thirst: He saw you when you killed his projection, and He has remembered you.]

This mark cannot be removed by conventional means, and the Nine Rings Prayer has only a 50% success rate.

Holding this mark puts you at a disadvantage on any negotiation or persuasion check involving the Lord of Thirst and his followers, but gives you an advantage on intimidation checks.

You gain an advantage on your attack rolls against the Lord of Thirst and his followers: +4 damage.

He will come to you.

Lance stared at the panel for two seconds.

Then he coughed and cleared his throat.

"I will come back to find you again."

Each word was drawn out with a long vowel.

He pursed his lips.

"A mere fraction of divine power, and you're using a password?"

Lance walked to the spot where the Lord of Hunger had exploded, squatted down, picked up the gray robe He had left behind with two fingers, and shook it.

Nothing was lost.

"Why isn't there even a single button on it?"

He tossed his gray robe to the ground, a spark flickering from his fingertips—

[Flame Arrow!]

The gray robe caught fire and quickly turned to ash, which Lance blew away, scattering everywhere.

Something that won't be burned to ashes by a fire arrow isn't necessarily a good thing, but something that will be burned to ashes by a fire arrow is definitely not a good thing.

"Poor ghost... no, poor god."

He clapped his hands, stood up, and said with a look of disdain, "Not a single piece of equipment dropped, and you dare call yourself a god?"

Behind her, Arya was still leaning against the altar.

My legs went weak.

Her legs really went weak.

Just now, when the projection of the Lord of Thirst emerged from the light, she, a dignified Level 10 Flameheart, head of the Silver Glow Clan, the only half-step Exemplar in Rield City, and the number one person below the City Lord—

They didn't even dare to breathe.

Watching Lance and the Lord of Hunger exchange pleasantries up close with bated breath, I dared not utter a single word.

A projection of a deity! That's a deity!

She had never seen a god in her entire life before!

This is the first time.

Although Lance said that He had only a weak divine power, even a weak divine power is still a god!

She was preparing to use her life savings and hunger to fight her way to the top.

Lance suddenly used a bunch of spell scrolls she didn't recognize to instantly kill the Lord of Thirst.

He truly deserves to be called a genius mage.

"call……"

Arya is now able to breathe again.

But my leg hasn't recovered yet.

She held onto the edge of the altar, her fingers digging into the cracks in the stone, her voice slightly weak:

"Is it... over?"

"It's not over yet."

Lance didn't even turn his head.

Arya stiffened.

"Could there be something else—?"

"Aren't these twelve children still tied up?"

Lance had reached the first wooden stake and pulled a new short sword from his dimensional pocket.

He didn't have many short swords left.

"You startled me!" Arya said resentfully.

Lance cut the rope binding the first lucky child.

The child shuddered, his shoulders hunched, and the blindfold still covered his face.

Lance tore off the black cloth.

The child opened his eyes and looked at him. His eyes were wet, his eye sockets were red, and his lips were pressed into a thin line, turning white from being bitten, but he just didn't cry.

"Wow, you actually managed to hold back your tears. I think you're destined for great things. Keep up the good work."

Lance patted his head.

Then, when the second rope was cut, the child wasn't so brave and burst into tears.

Lance's calm voice rang out:

"Stop crying, or I'll cut off your external soul bone."

He stopped crying.

Arya dragged her sword over.

[Giant Transformation Technique] Time had passed, and she returned to her original form, though her steps were still a little unsteady.

She walked to another stake and reached out to untie the knot, but her fingers were still trembling.

It didn't work on the first try, and it didn't work on the second try either.

She bit her lower lip, took a deep breath, and on the third attempt—the knot came loose.

After all the children were put down, Arya looked at the twelve children huddled together and scanned their faces.

"Send these children back to their families."

Arya gave an order to one of the Silver Guards; her voice had now calmed down.

"Arrange for someone to take care of them and find a doctor to examine them. I need to know whose children they are and how they were kidnapped before dawn."

"Yes!" The Silver Guardian, who had just survived a fierce battle and faced an evil god, spoke weakly.

"Oh, right, I almost forgot about you guys."

Seeing the pitiful state of the Silver Guards, Lance slapped his forehead and cast a spell on them:

[Healing Prayer!] [Healing Prayer!] [Healing Prayer!]

This spell can restore nineteen health points to six people simultaneously.

Lance cast a healing spell on the eighteen Silver Warriors who were more seriously injured, instantly restoring them from half health to full health.

For those whose injuries aren't so severe, let them heal on their own.