Chapter 395: Duskmire Python
It was only thanks to this that Leon barely managed to withstand the onslaught of over a hundred Doomscar Panthers...
As for the level thirty Doomscar Panther King, it dragged Leon into danger several times—he had to unleash nearly all his strength just to temporarily suppress the Panther King...
After gaining the upper hand, Leon didn’t dare relax for a moment. He unleashed more than twenty consecutive Fireball spells, one after another, barely daring to breathe—afraid that a single mistake would cost him his hard-won advantage...
By now, Leon had already cast at least thirty Fireball spells.
What does that even mean...
For any ordinary first-tier mage, their mana would be completely drained and their mind on the verge of collapse. This isn’t a joke—Leon’s current fighting style relies entirely on his overwhelming casting ability to compress the time before magical exhaustion sets in. It’s a violation of magical laws, like a machine running far beyond its limits. The burden on his mana and mind is nearly unbearable.
Even Leon couldn’t keep fighting this way for long.
But right now, Leon had no choice. Only by continuously casting Fireball could he keep the Panther King suppressed. If he stopped, the Doomscar Panther King would instantly close the distance—maybe even circle behind him. And then, he’d be facing claws sharp enough to tear through steel...
Leon was gambling everything right now...
He was gambling that the Doomscar Panther King would fall before he did.
Fireball after Fireball erupted, the fire magic elements around him boiling—thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three, thirty-four...
Boom, boom, boom...
Each Fireball exploded against the Panther King's body—dull thunder, dazzling sparks. For a moment, it felt as if the world consisted only of Fireballs.
Within ten meters of the Panther King, not even the scorched earth was spared. Dozens of Fireballs rolled through, churning the ground, filling the air with smoke, and driving the concentration of fire magic to its absolute limit.
Leon was like a machine now—casting Fireball after Fireball, his Mana Array surging at full throttle. His spellcasting was terrifying, compressing the time between spells to something almost inhuman...
He uttered the final Fireball sigil, and flames shot skyward. This was the fiftieth Fireball. As it struck, a miserable, savage howl echoed—the Panther King's blood-red eyes dimmed. With a heavy thud, its charred, man-sized body finally collapsed under the strain...
The death of the Panther King triggered a massive shift. Nearly a hundred panthers lost their backbone in an instant, their blood-red eyes now filled with terror. Their coordinated assault fell apart...
Since entering the Doomscar, Leon had encountered many magical beasts, but only the Panther King had ever truly threatened him...
But now, it was dead...
The panthers darting around him barely registered in Leon's eyes. Under the control of the Arcane Wheel, the power he unleashed was terrifying—the massacre ended swiftly.
At most, a dozen or so panthers managed to escape in the chaos; the rest became cold corpses, lying motionless on the ground.
Alone in the Doomscar, without the Merlin brothers at his side, Leon found things much less convenient. Even collecting spoils was a solo job now.
Fortunately, a Soul Magic Crystal above level thirty piqued his interest in loot. After a quick sweep, Leon didn't linger. He knew all too well: a brutal battle had just erupted here, with nearly a hundred panthers and a Panther King dead. The stench of blood would surely attract endless waves of magical beasts...
For three full days, Leon made his way north toward the Turan Mountains. Magical beasts of all kinds appeared along the way—more and more, stronger and stronger, surging like a tide. He'd lost count of how many waves he'd faced—at least a hundred, sometimes just a handful, sometimes close to a hundred at once.
He killed two more beasts at the Panther King's level, earning three Soul Magic Crystals in total. As for the lower-level crystals—ten, twenty, who knows how many he'd collected by now...
His black mage robe was soaked in blood—though all of it belonged to magical beasts. Three days in the Doomscar, and he spent ninety percent of it fighting. It was probably the most battered he'd ever been.
Even when he'd fought Thorne Merlin, one of the Merlin family's three Sword Saints, he hadn't been this ragged.
Worth mentioning: the near-endless battles had sharpened his spellcasting even further. Mastering the Arcane Wheel came more naturally now...
The toxic mist grew thinner and thinner. Leon made it through the Doomscar unscathed, now standing at the edge of the black plains. Despite three days of nonstop combat, his condition wasn't as bad as his appearance suggested. His Mana Array was pushed to the limit at all times—nothing within several kilometers escaped his notice.
This was the edge of the Doomscar. The environment here was less deadly than before, but for any mage below the ninth tier, a careless mistake could still mean death...
Fifty meters away, lurking in the thicket, a massive black python watched Leon with poisonous, triangular eyes. Its foul, gaping maw was half-open, ready to strike at any moment...
Level twenty-five magical beast: Duskmire Python...
For Leon, always driving his Mana Array to the limit, no beast—no matter how well it hid—could escape his notice. Just as a spark flickered in his palm, ready to blast the python, he frowned and looked into the distance. He sensed a surge of magic; three Wizard's Eyes swept hundreds of meters ahead, revealing four people approaching, all of them quite strong.
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A fifth-tier mage, a fourth-tier swordmaster, a sixth-tier swordmaster, and a third-tier sharpshooter...
Such a lineup would be considered luxurious in Auckland... But here on the edge of the Doomscar, Leon thought, these people were walking a razor's edge. One stroke of bad luck, and a pack of rampaging magical beasts could wipe them out.
Then again, this world has no shortage of people with a death wish. Leon had no intention of meddling.
"Duskmire Python!"
The young mage arrived in a flash, brimming with magical energy. He conjured an ice wall in front of himself, then launched five or six ice spikes in quick succession—aimed straight at the Duskmire Python dozens of meters away.
The young mage looked genuinely delighted, eyes fixed on the Duskmire Python, completely ignoring Leon standing nearby. His spellcasting was deft, his combat experience clear. In raw power, he might even be stronger than Leon Merlin, the so-called fake seventh-tier mage...
The Duskmire Python, ready to hunt, was suddenly interrupted and grew furious. Its chilling aura spread for dozens of meters; the forest withered in an instant. Its shadow darted out, moving so fast it was hard to believe, easily dodging the young mage's ice spikes...
But what awaited it was eight Frost Spears...
Unable to dodge, the python was struck by two Frost Spears with a sickening squelch. Its gaping maw opened wide, hissing in rage, foul breath wafting out as it spat volley after volley of venomous fireballs at the young mage.
Unfazed, the young mage raised a Runic Shield. As soon as it appeared, the ice wall shattered completely... Five venomous fireballs were absorbed before the shield faded. Without a word, the mage began casting Dragonfire Spell, a five-second incantation that swept toward the Duskmire Python...
With a mournful howl, the massive Duskmire Python took a direct hit. Its body trembled under the dragonfire, sizzling and smoking.
A lightning-fast figure rushed in, wielding a greatsword spewing fire, delivering the final blow to the Duskmire Python. She was stunning—a woman with waist-length red hair and striking features. Glancing at the motionless python, she said, "Orson, satisfied now? After a whole day of tracking, you've finally found the Duskmire Python. You're quite the grand alchemist—never sharing your potions, always making us collect magic materials. Next time, don't ask me for help..."
The swordmasters and the sharpshooter hurried over, all visibly pleased at the sight of the Duskmire Python's corpse.
"Who are you?"
The young mage, still basking in joy, finally noticed the battered wizard nearby—a shabby, bloodstained robe, an ordinary staff, and magical energy barely at the second tier. He frowned, eyes full of disdain.
A second-tier mage, coming here alone...
Does he have a death wish or something?
"I..." Leon glanced at the Duskmire Python, then at the four young men and women. He didn't intend to stay, wanting to say he was just passing through, but before he could finish, the young mage cut him off without mercy.
"I know what you're going to say—the Duskmire Python was your find..."
The 'greedy' look Leon gave the python's corpse happened to catch the young mage's eye. With a cold snort and a contemptuous glare, his disgust grew: "A rare level twenty-five magical beast, packed with valuable magical materials—worth a fortune. Not something a low-tier mage like you could ever claim..."
...
Leon felt wronged. He could tell the young mage thought he was after the Duskmire Python's magical materials.
Ridiculous...