Chapter 842: The Wine Hasn't Worn Off Yet
After a thunderous roar, the Venom Behemoth's body suddenly shuddered, and its two hind legs, which had been struggling wildly, abruptly stiffened.
A few seconds later, the Venom Behemoth's tail drooped powerlessly, and its life force rapidly ebbed away.
Leon landed on the ground, swung his Doombringer Staff, and conjured a gigantic Mage Hand over twenty meters wide. The Mage Hand gripped the Venom Behemoth's tail and hauled the half-buried beast out from the earth.
Only now did everyone realize that the Venom Behemoth, which had just withstood elemental storms and spell barrages with barely a scratch, was now utterly disfigured. Its jaw had vanished, and even its steel-hard skull—once its strongest defense—was half gone.
The wounds were scorched black by flames, and the entire upper body was a mangled mess of flesh and blood. As the Venom Behemoth was dragged from the pit, a terrifying wave of heat erupted from the opening, accompanied by torrents of fire and molten rock.
The Venom Behemoth had dug itself halfway into the ground, and when its head was buried, Leon seized the chance. Using runic combination magic, he instantly flooded the pit with fire elements and runes, forming nearly a hundred Blastfire spells in that cramped space.
Blastfire is a Tier Four spell, and for Leon, casting it at its highest potency is trivial. Nearly a hundred maximum-strength Blastfire spells, unleashed in such a confined space, could even leave a Golden Behemoth half-dead...
If a Blastfire spell detonated on a dragon's scales, it would leave little more than a scorched mark, barely harming it. But if it exploded inside a dragon's closed mouth, the effect would far exceed normal spell damage—shredded flesh would be the least of its worries...
Let alone nearly a hundred Blastfire spells detonating in an almost airless space—the Venom Behemoth surviving would be nothing short of miraculous...
Leon used Mage Hand to extract the Level Thirty-Nine Venomcore Crystal from the Venom Behemoth's skull. Only then did he notice a group of figures in heavy armor, wielding black lightning spears, approaching from the distance.
Leon tossed a vial of Life Potion to Hubert, frowning as he watched the distant figures approach, a flicker of doubt in his eyes.
Why are there Caucasus Battlemages here?
Recalling the black spear that wounded Hubert, Leon suddenly felt a wave of realization. He'd vaguely recognized that unexpected maneuver, but hadn't placed it until now.
Now he remembered: it was a remote attack technique of the Caucasus Battlemages, leveraging momentum to spin the spear. It's devastating against swordsmen—dodging is the only way to evade it. If blocked, the spear would spin faster, redirecting its force to the target's back.
By harnessing the impact and resistance, the attack could unleash more than double the spear's normal force. Countless swordsmen had fallen to this ambush over the years.
But why are Caucasus Battlemages here? And why did they ambush us?
Ever since Jason Vagran, the acknowledged king of the Caucasus Battlemages, died, their decline began. After the kingdom's civil strife, the Caucasus Battlemages were driven back to the Caucasus Highlands.
In Auckland, many mage factions have longstanding feuds with the Caucasus Battlemages. Some, like the Black Tower, have waged war against them for years—should they ever spot a Battlemage on their turf, they'd strike without hesitation, no second thought given.
Other mage factions that haven't formally declared war on the Caucasus Battlemages still hold little regard for these barbarians. They may not attack on sight, but they're certainly not welcomed.
In recent years, the Caucasus Battlemages have kept a low profile, rarely leaving the Caucasus Highlands or interacting with other mage factions. Even here in the Blazeforge Realm, though they've arrived, they've never mingled with other powers.
The territories they occupy are always in the remotest corners of the Blazeforge Realm, with no major factions for dozens of miles around.
Seeing Caucasus Battlemages here, Leon couldn't help but be surprised. Were they here to join the Blazeforge Realm Grand Offensive?
The Caucasus Battlemages are notorious mage-slayers and exceedingly troublesome, but Leon wasn't particularly concerned. Aside from Jason Vagran, the greatest King of the Caucasus, no other notable figures have emerged—there hasn't even been a single Sky Rank among them...
Being adept in both magic and martial arts is impressive, but the higher the rank, the greater the restrictions. Breaking through is extremely difficult—reaching Sky Rank is nearly impossible. This was the conclusion drawn during Northend's peak era.
Except for the former King of the Caucasus, not a single Sky Rank has appeared among them. Jason Vagran was a peerless talent, the kind that wouldn't emerge in tens of thousands of years. Even so, he only became King of the Caucasus thanks to the Equilibrium Codex.
Whatever their reason for coming, Leon only cared about why these barbarians had ambushed them.
If it was just a minor issue, a lesson would suffice. After all, he'd inherited Jason Vagran's legacy—whether he admitted it or not, he was half a disciple. For the King of the Caucasus's people, a little leniency was in order, if only out of respect for their monarch...
The heavily armored Caucasus Battlemages, clutching lightning spears, strode forward. Leon frowned and asked:
"Why did you ambush my people?"
Kempes led his men over, flashing Leon a contemptuous grin.
"Hand over your Mistbreaker Technique. I am Kempes, the future King of the Caucasus. Do that, and I might spare your lives."
Greed and fervor flickered in Kempes's eyes. For years, only the Caucasus Battlemages had continued to explore Viperfog Valley. In the entire Blazeforge Realm, no one knew it better than us, yet progress was painfully slow.
But this group showed no signs of being affected by the poison mist. They must have a way to resist it!
As long as we have that method, we'll be able to fully explore Viperfog Valley. As for these people, let them go—as long as they cripple their own magic.
Let them leave this time; next time we meet, we can kill them. With Viperfog Valley under our control, we can build a fortress right beside Stormhold Fortress. Would those Black Tower fools dare attack us then?
If they let their guard down for even a moment, we'll exact bloody revenge. However many they send, that's how many we'll kill.
When the time comes, Stormhold Fortress will likely fall. Starting from Viperfog Valley, we'll seize even more spoils—the Blazeforge Realm will owe the Caucasus a hefty share.
After we kill these people and get the Goldspire Realm's plane coordinates, ha! We'll have the spoils of two realms in our grasp.
With such achievements, who in the Caucasus would dare say I'm just a prodigy with no real accomplishments?
Thinking of all this, Kempes's eyes reddened. They'd been researching this place for years, yet still hadn't found a way to resist the Venom Mist.
Relying only on the Caucasus Battlemages' formidable bodies, magical power, and their unique heavy armor, they could last a bit longer than others.
But even so, it wasn't enough to fully explore Viperfog Valley. The deeper they ventured, the more terrifying the poison's corrosion became. If they didn't turn back in time, they'd never leave Viperfog Valley alive.
By observing from afar, leveraging their knowledge of the area, they quickly noticed this group could completely ignore the Venom Mist!
At this point, restraint was impossible. If not killing them, at least obtaining the antidote method would be even more rewarding.
A rootless Goldspire Realm and a place they've studied for years—clearly, the latter promised greater, more urgent rewards.
At Kempes's command, the Caucasus Battlemages tightened their formation, spears at the ready. If Leon refused, they'd attack instantly.
Just a handful of them, facing over twenty Caucasus Battlemages and Kempes himself, a Level Thirty-Eight powerhouse—this would be a one-sided slaughter.
To a Caucasus Battlemage, ordinary mages were nothing but chickens waiting for slaughter. Whether they lived or died depended entirely on the Battlemages' mood.
"What, do I need to say it again? Hand over your antidote method, and I'll let you burn your own mana and walk out alive. Standing before you is the most gifted Kempes, soon to be King of the Caucasus. My word is law for the Caucasus Battlemages! Don't worry, I'm not as untrustworthy as you mage chickens!"
A look of surprise crossed Leon's face. He chuckled softly.
"Heh, has your wine not worn off yet?"
At those words, Kempes flew into a rage. Most mages never touched alcohol, believing it disrupted meditation and weakened their mental focus—drinking was practically an insult among mages.
But the Caucasus Battlemages were different—meat by the slab, wine by the jug. Their robust bodies made drinking as easy as breathing, so to orthodox mages, Caucasus Battlemages were little more than uncivilized brutes.
Asking if a Caucasus mage's wine hasn't worn off is no different than calling him a brainless barbarian...
"Kill them all—especially that pale, skinny chicken. Tear him to pieces!"
Kempes roared, and the twenty-plus Caucasus Battlemages charged without hesitation.
Leon stood his ground, sneering coldly, not moving an inch.