The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 146

A series of sudden attacks and counterattacks. A succession of injuries and roars.

The collision of flesh and blood. The spray of blood and sweat.

The men's blood boiled with excitement, and the maidens screamed with enthusiasm. This was what battle was all about!

Alavin's wildness and bravery surprised the Earthbound Spirits Commander, who rarely saw such ferocity in other Organization Protégés. Initially dissatisfied with Alavin's arrogance, he now nodded in approval.

The entire arena screamed, and men and women alike cheered; the battle was a visual spectacle.

Alavin, covered in blood, bore no fewer than ten wounds and had been sent flying multiple times by Ziros, yet he fought on with increasing ferocity. This momentum, this bravery, changed many of the Eight Orders Protégés' opinions of him. He was literally fighting for the win with his life.

The fierce battle lasted for what seemed like an age, raging like a wildfire. Yet, to the amazement of the Protégés, Ziros and Nelsor had not managed to take down Alavin. Despite being covered in blood and with multiple broken bones, Alavin stood resolute, teeth clenched, eyes focused, fighting more fiercely than ever. Both Ziros and Nelsor were severely injured and bloodied from head to toe.

Orland frowned and shouted, "You've delayed too long! Use your full strength, and end this battle!"

"Tiger Roar Fist. Roar of Anguish!"

"Conqueror's Cleaver. Hammerfall."

Ziros and Nelsor charged from the left and right towards Alavin, showcasing the mightiest of Combat Magic with the strongest of displays. Ziros' fists boiled with strong energy, the intense buzzing akin to an earthquake, while Nelsor seemed to become one with his massive axe, his speed incredibly fast and his power unstoppable, as a tremendous wave of destructive energy surged forward.

Alavin, practically staggering over, knelt on the ground. He was panting heavily, his sweat mixing with the trickling blood from his substantial wounds. It was a sorrowful sight to behold, as if he were barely holding onto the thread of life. But at that moment, tendrils of black mist began to seep from his fists, quickly crawling up his arms. The mist was thick as ink, chilling to the bone.

It felt as if the very air suddenly carried whispers, sounding like an ancient chant or a distant wail. It was as though it originated from a single voice, yet echoed through many. The voices echoed hollowly, both real and illusionary. Many heads turned as one, searching for the source of the sound, only to fix their gaze back on Alavin.

The two forces clashed, creating an explosive sound like thunder from a clear sky. Alavin's right arm trembled unnaturally as he was sent flying, but the deathly aura within his fist, channeled through his iron gauntlets, still managed to invade Ziros' body, agitating his soul.

Ziros, intent on pressing his advantage, was suddenly staggered by the piercing aura. His consciousness was briefly clouded, and he stopped in his tracks.

The arena fell silent. No one dared to speak. All eyes were fixed on the battle.

Now, it was clear how Tarner had been defeated — it was the black mist on Alavin's arms. Was the Combat Magic known as Shadowlord's Wrath?! Could its effects be so pronounced?

The Commanders watched with grave expressions. Learning from yesterday's battle, they observed closely. Indeed, it was an aura of death, real and intense. How much immense killing intent must one harbor to manifest such a tangible aura? This was no mere Combat Magic. Did this young one harbor resentment? Or even hatred?

The Commanders glanced at Commander Kashann, their eyes carrying a hint of suspicion.