Pillar of Yita

But it really is Silver Weslan, soon someone pointed out where Fang Hong and his companions were fighting, ”Look over there, they’ve utilized the terrain.”

”Indeed, this place is different from the Cold Forest; we should have thought of this earlier. Look at the level of those hunter minions, it’s much lower than what the rumors suggested, which is in line with our expectations; but to come up with such tactics so quickly is quite impressive too!” said a healer from Milaila, who was a second-tier profession of clergyman, inclined towards prophecy and healing, while the other branch, the priest, focused more on preaching and exorcism.

The vocations of Silver Weslan mainly consist of a variety of knights, clergymen, and rangers, and this squad’s composition basically followed this ratio.

”But even so, for just a few of them to deal with so many undead is quite thorny, or is there a reduction in their numbers?” someone whispered.

Sophie gazed at the figures shrouded in mist below, recalled their encounter on the fourth level, and gently shook her head. Then she heard someone say, ”It’s because of the Combat Artisan…”

The person’s voice trailed off. When a Combat Artisan goes all out, it’s possible for one to match two, or even three, but can a ’wild’ Combat Artisan really be that skilled? Considering his age, he’s also a rookie—yet, there hadn’t been any news of a prodigiously talented newcomer entering the scene recently.

On the forums, there’s constant debate about who the New King of the year is, but as members of some of the truly top guilds of the China Competition Region, they were very clear about the situation; this was just past the halfway point of the latter half of the year, and the real heavyweights were still lying in wait!

Those rookies hyped up on the forums were merely small players shepherding the narrative for their own benefit, not worth a smirk.

But this one…

Sophie stopped listening to the other comments and admired Fang Hong, who was confronting the Ancient Monarch Hunter, with the Sword Bearers entering her field of vision first: ”Dual Control Sword Bearer, Level 22.”

This thought flashed through her mind like common sense, but after a moment of astonishment, she chuckled to herself, shaking her head at the idea of a Level 22 being here.

”Dual Control Sword Bearer, Level 15.”

She corrected her assessment, growing more curious—there were indeed masters among the common folk—what she had originally thought was merely a wishful ideal, but an accidental encounter had now presented her with a real-life example.

Sophie watched quietly, relaxing her grip and letting her longsword hang slack, resting on the ground.

Everyone knew of their princess’s temperament, seeing this, they knew she had no intention of joining the fight for the moment, and they too put down their swords and staves. However, the murmurs of discussion subsided; a Level 15 Dual Control Sword Bearer, no matter where you were, was a symbol of strength—

But the crowd watched in an orderly silence, with not a single person suggesting if they should take advantage of the situation.

Had it been any other guild, whether the Jiefulite Red Cloak Team or the Silver Forest Spear, now would have been the perfect time to pluck the peaches; the only difference being that the former would strike mercilessly, while the latter might leave Fang Hong and his companions with a sliver of life where possible.

If it were a guild like ELite, they might even go so far as to have a few one-in-a-million Spell Casters (a Summoner branch) boost the boss with some enhancement BUFFs, pretending it was the boss going berserk and killing people, while also feigning delayed rescue—a veritable mudslide in the guild community.

But this is Silver Weslan—

Silver Weslan only aims to defeat its opponents head-on.

Fang Hong was wholly focused; even the Clockwork Fairies he had sent out earlier had all been recalled, naturally unaware that Silver Weslan had entered the scene—he had only one thought in mind, to wring out as much calculative power as possible, because this might be the most challenging fight since his arrival in this world through the Stargate.

The Phantom of the Ancient Monarch Hunter, while not as intimidating as Nikopolas or the Construct behemoth under the Elf Ruins, posed a significant challenge. In past scenes, he had never been the main combatant, but in this moment, he understood that the only one he could rely on was himself.

Nobody else could spare the effort to help him.

In fact, they were all waiting for him to take care of this troublesome monster sooner.

Whether he could win was not for Fang Hong to ponder, but how to win?

Under any circumstance, the stronger party always has the privilege of striking first; hence, after a brief ’observation’ of Fang Hong, the Ancient Monarch Hunter reined in its steed and made the first strike.

The mount of this ancient ruler, unlike its Black Cloaked Knights, was an empty skeletal frame as large as a mountain. Though its eye sockets were dark and jawbones were starkly white, one could still discern its former strength and grace. Flames that shone pale and fiercely sprung from its chest and hooves, leaving fiery hoofprints with every step in the gray dust.

It roared lowly, its bridle, bit, and reins all forged from Cold Iron, studded with metallic spikes. When the Ancient Monarch Hunter pulled the chains, they rattled loudly, and the nightmare steed let out a shrill laugh akin to that of a human, then leaped into the air. The headless rider, holding a longsword, slashed down at Fang Hong.

The sword blade carried a narrow streak of light across the field of vision, wide yet thin, pale as bone, with even the heavy forging patterns visibly distinct.

But Fang Hong was calmer than ever; he raised his right hand to the height of his nose, gently clasping from index to pinky, as gracefully as a butterfly folding its wings. Between each finger seemed to stretch an invisible thread, pulling the Sword Bearers into position before him.