In the darkness, the bridgehead was a black void. Its broken edge was jagged, clear evidence of a collapse, but the ground beneath the bridge was rocky and elevated, so the damage there was limited.

Farther east, a breach dozens of meters wide was visible in the riverbank even from a distance. River water poured backward through it, glittering as it wound south.

The harbor once expanded from a smuggling dock had vanished completely.

“Over there.” Bratt pointed toward the breach.

A large melee was raging beneath scattered lights. Several hundred shadowy figures fought, making the details difficult to see.

“Let’s go.”

Anser wrapped his staff in black cloth to keep it from standing out too much.

The three hurried along the riverbank. Over the next few hundred meters, humans and other surface races carrying weapons continually joined them. Everyone exchanged silent looks and merged into a single group.

The major churches and guilds were not foolish. Many understood how crucial this battle was. If they lost, everyone would have to flee separately, and the resulting losses would be almost impossible to bear.

As they approached the battlefield, Anser discovered that the fighting was even more brutal than he had imagined.

The human side formed an arc between the river mouth and the western side of the flood, numbering roughly three or four hundred. The underground creatures were more numerous—at least five or six hundred. Aside from a small number of goblinoids and duergar, most were kuo-toa.

Worse still, fish-men continually surfaced from the river. Rather than following the flood downstream, they came ashore and attacked the defensive line, clear evidence of someone directing them from the shadows.

Shouts and sounds of slaughter rose one after another. Bodies lay piled across the ground, and half the river had changed color.

“Brothers, follow me! Kill—”

Another group of reinforcements arrived in the distance. The bald man leading them roared and charged into the line first, prompting those around him to rush forward as well.

Anser found the back of the man’s bald head vaguely familiar.

“Are we going in?” Bratt was eager to fight.

The atmosphere of the battlefield was infectious. Anser felt his blood pounding, his mind calm even as battle fever threatened to sweep him along.

But he did not act impulsively. After carefully observing the field, he spotted a familiar figure and his eyes lit up.

“This way.”

The three hurried to the center of the defensive line. The enemy was densest there, and the line was on the verge of collapse. Rand and Zahir were the ones holding back that pressure.

They were paladins, after all. You could always find them wherever the danger was greatest!

Paladins might be extremely common in games, but in reality, they were the rarest kind of classed individual. The slightest deficiency in will or conviction disqualified someone.

Collapsed buildings and mud-covered rubble filled the ground behind the line. The terrain was pitted and covered in standing water, making it difficult to cross.

The three climbed a mound of mud and stone left by the flood. It stood several meters higher than the surrounding ground and offered an unobstructed view of the battlefield thirty or forty meters away.

“Finn, stay here and provide support. We’ll move closer.” Anser dropped his backpack and jogged toward Rand.

“All right.” Bratt did not understand his intentions but set down his backpack and followed beside him with shield raised.

Finn recalled the gray hawk while focusing intently on Anser’s back, guarding against another treacherous attacker.

Anser stopped several meters behind the defensive line. Through the thin wall of people, all he could see were densely packed fish heads—short, ugly, and reeking of brine.

“Isn’t this too close?” Bratt raised his shield to guard against stray arrows.

Anser did not answer. He concentrated on casting.

“Chromatic Orb—Lightning!”

The surroundings were so noisy that his harsh, metallic Draconic words were almost inaudible. A blue sphere of energy trailed a short tail of light and shot into the fish-men.

BOOM—

The sphere did not leap, but the lightning it released spread through the water underfoot. Several fish-men stiffened and collapsed into the water.

Rand had pushed farthest forward and stood closest to the blast. Some of his hair rose on end.

He turned in delighted surprise and saw Anser waving, a mass of magical flame swirling over his palm.

“Zahir!” Rand shouted. He kicked a fish-man away and hurried toward Anser.

He knew Anser was dependable. There had to be something extremely important.

Anser fired two consecutive Sorcerous Bursts—Lightning, temporarily blocking the gap left by Rand. He could hardly leave Zahir to bear all the pressure alone.

Rand reached him in a few strides. Before the paladin could speak, Anser raised his right hand and stretched it toward him, shouting:

“Dragon’s Breath!”

Rand’s eyes lit up. “Fire!” he answered urgently.

Their large hands met with a slap. Orange-red mana flowed through Rand’s arm and into his body, circling through his chest and throat. Red light spread as mana surged.

That was not all. Another flash of white light followed, and faint spirals of magical wind wrapped around Rand’s lower body.

“One minute!” Anser held up one finger.

One Dragon’s Breath and one Jump, each lasting only a minute.

Dragon’s Breath required Anser to maintain Concentration, and its power depended on him, but Rand had to sense and guide the mana as though casting the spell himself to release the breath.

Paladins received professional spellcasting training, so that presented little difficulty.

Rand pressed his lips together, waved, and turned. After a few running steps, he leaped directly over the crowd, flying more than ten meters before crashing heavily into the fish-men.

A super jump!

He landed on a kuo-toa and crushed it to death. Water splashed upward into a thin curtain that briefly obscured the fish-men’s vision.

As the curtain fell, Rand appeared. His legs were planted one ahead of the other, his body leaning slightly backward. His chest swelled high, and his body resembled a fully drawn bow waiting to release.

An instant later, his upper body drove forward and his mouth opened wide. Scorching flames poured out in a cone six meters long, painting the night red like an evening sky.

Wherever the breath passed, fish-men and goblinoids alike suffered singed hair and reddened, curling, cracking skin. Smoke rose in thin strands, while a powerful stench drifted on the wind and made everyone nauseous.

The surrounding battlefield fell silent. Only the underground creatures continued rolling and wailing within the spreading steam.

[Rand casts Dragon’s Breath on a kuo-toa... Kuo-toa hit. 11 Fire damage dealt. Current Hit Points: 8/19...]

[Rand casts Dragon’s Breath on a giant crab... Giant crab hit. 9 Fire damage dealt. Current Hit Points: 5/14...]

More than twenty notifications flashed through Anser’s mind. Dragon’s Breath originated from him, so whenever those monsters died, he would receive at least some experience.

He clenched his fist, a grin tugging at his mouth as exhilaration surged through him.

Fish-men feared fire and disliked sunlight and dryness. Dehydration weakened them, much less having their skin burned away. Without magical medicine, the severely wounded would not survive long.

“That was incredible. I want to try it next time.” Bratt was beside himself with excitement, repeatedly striking his sword against his shield.

He was not alone. Everyone nearby looked excited—not merely because a few fish-men had died, but because the appearance of a 2nd-level spell carried extraordinary significance.

Very few spellcasters had joined the battle so far. Most were clerics, with almost no wizards. Nearly every spell cast had been a cantrip, with the occasional 1st-level spell mixed in after a long struggle.

Some clerics had exhausted their spell slots without successfully casting even once.

If the Weave had been functioning normally, a few competent mages could have reversed the entire battle.

Others might have stood stunned, but Rand remembered Anser’s warning. He had only one minute and had to use every second.

He stabbed a fish-man that had rolled to his feet, swept his gaze around, and focused on the southern side.

Step, run, leap—another enormous jump carried him into a dense cluster of monsters.

After a brief silence, scorching dragon breath erupted once more.

The vicious flames swept forward, leaving everything charred. Like the fury of a true dragon, they terrified the underground creatures and sent them scattering.

The fiery breath might not kill them outright, but it could ruin their eyes and skin, subject them to unbearable pain, and strip away most of their fighting strength.

Even if they forced themselves to continue fighting, their ruined skin could no longer resist arrows or blades.

Notes:

The Dragon’s Breath used by a draconic-bloodline Sorcerer is a spell imitating a dragon’s breath weapon. Both Sorcerers and Wizards can learn it, and they may freely choose its damage type.

A dragonborn’s Breath Weapon is a spell-like ability. Dragonborn have the heads of true dragons, after all. Its damage type cannot be chosen and depends on their draconic ancestry.

Dragon’s Breath deals 3d6 damage—three to eighteen points—in a cone of roughly sixty degrees. Its temperature reaches several hundred degrees, though it does not last long.

Thanks to all the honored readers for your support and suggestions!

(End of Chapter)