Shadow gathers at Clive's fingertips.
He releases the first Shadow Arrow.
It pierces through a charging wolf cleanly, the beast collapsing mid-stride.
He fires again.
And again.
Each arrow streaks like a black comet, striking a beast through skull or heart.
Bodies fall in rapid succession.
The guards nearby stare briefly before resuming their own attacks.
Clive frowns.
Too strong.
Each arrow completely obliterates its target.
Overkill.
And his energy is not endless.
Shadow Arrow is not a high-tier spell, but at his current stage, he can only cast twenty consecutively before his spirit energy runs dry.
As an apprentice alchemist, he cannot absorb spiritual energy from the environment to replenish quickly.
The only fast method is converting vitality.
And vitality requires food.
He fires the twentieth arrow.
A massive boar drops, momentum carrying it several steps before crashing.
Clive immediately channels vitality into spirit energy.
A hollow sensation spreads through his stomach.
Hunger gnaws sharply.
He grabs a nearby guard by the shoulder.
"Bring me something to eat."
The guard blinks in confusion.
"What?"
Clive opens his eyes slowly and repeats, word by word, "Bring me something to eat."
He closes his eyes again, adjusting his breathing while continuing his recovery.
The guard relays the request to his captain.
The captain glances at Clive, understanding quickly.
"Go to the warehouse. Bring the spirit nuts for the alchemist."
He hands over his authorisation token.
Minutes later, the guard returns, holding a sealed glass jar carefully in both hands.
Clive opens his eyes halfway and studies the jar.
Sealed tight.
What is inside to require such care?
He breaks the seal and lifts the lid.
A wave of concentrated spiritual energy escapes.
He reacts instantly.
Grabs a handful of nuts.
Seals the jar again.
He stuffs the nuts into his mouth and chews rapidly.
Warmth spreads through his body.
Vitality surges.
Spirit energy recovers at a visible pace.
Without hesitation, he resumes casting.
Shadow Arrow forms again.
This time the arrow is slightly smaller.
It strikes a wolf.
The beast still dies instantly.
Still too much power.
He continues casting while consciously adjusting the structure of the spell.
Compressing less.
Refining output.
In this battle, destructive force is secondary.
Endurance is everything.
Clive continues releasing refined Shadow Arrows from the wall, each one thinner, more economical, striking down charging beasts without wasting excess power.
Below, mortal guards strain to hold formation.
They are not cultivators.
They are men with bows, spears, and steam rifles.
Their hands shake.
Their breathing is ragged.
The wooden rampart trembles under repeated impacts.
Then it happens.
Two Wind Wolves burst forward beneath the cover of larger beasts.
Their bodies blur with speed.
Before anyone can react, they leap.
They clear the wall effortlessly.
They land among the guards.
Screams erupt.
A wolf's claw swings.
Wind condenses into a blade along its limb.
A guard's torso splits open.
Another is lifted off his feet by a snapping jaw.
Spears thrust desperately, glancing uselessly off wind barriers.
Steam rifles fire at close range, pellets deflected by swirling currents.
It is not a battle.
It is slaughter.
Clive's eyes sharpen.
No hesitation.
Shadows explode outward from beneath his boots.
They stretch like living serpents and twist into two thick ropes.
He thrusts his hands forward.
The ropes shoot toward the wolves.
As they travel, surrounding shadows merge into them, darkening, strengthening.
They do not bind flesh.
They coil around the wolves' shadows.
Clive jumps from the wall.
He pulls mid-air.
The wolves are yanked violently backwards just as one lunges for another guard.
All three crash into the town street below.
Dust erupts.
Clive rolls, rises instantly.
The wolves recover with terrifying speed.
They snarl, wind circling their claws in tightening spirals.
They charge together.
Clive throws the glass jar safely aside before it shatters.
Life energy detonates from within.
Runes along his bones blaze.
His body expands into a small giant form.
Muscles thicken.
Electricity crackles across his skin.
The first wolf slashes.
Wind blades scream through the air.
Clive blocks with his forearm.
Blood sprays as wind cuts shallowly into reinforced flesh.
Pain flares, but he ignores it.
He counters with a thunderous punch.
The wolf twists, avoiding a direct skull crush.
The second circles behind.
Spectacle Owl bloodline activates.
His vision sharpens.
He sees airflow patterns.
Timing gaps.
Each time the wolves leap, the wind shield destabilises for a heartbeat before reforming.
That is the weakness.
Clive drops low as one lunges.
At the instant the wind flickers,
His fist, wrapped in life energy and bio-electricity, drives into its ribs.
Bones shatter.
The wolf collapses.
The second leaps in fury.
Shadow spreads beneath it, binding its hind legs.
Electricity surges through the shadow tether.
The beast convulses mid-air.
Clive steps forward and plunges his blade upward into the soft joint beneath its jaw.
Precise.
Fatal.
Both wolves fall.
Above, on the wall, the mortal guards stare in stunned silence.
They have just witnessed something beyond their understanding.
Two spirit beasts that were tearing through them like straw dolls now lie broken in the street.
Below, Clive exhales slowly.
The tension coiled through his enlarged muscles releases.
Life energy recedes.
His body shrinks back to normal proportions.
Torn fabric hangs from him, leaving only the specially prepared undergarment intact.
The wounds across his forearms and torso scab over visibly, flesh knitting as new cells form under Life Alchemy's influence.
He rolls his shoulders once.
Then remembers,
The glass jar.
He turns to look for it.
Pain explodes through his abdomen.
A wooden spear has pierced through his back.
The tip emerges from his belly, wet with blood.
For a split second, he does not breathe.
Major organs damaged.
His vision darkens at the edges.
Then,
Hooting laughter.
Mocking.
He turns his head slowly despite the agony.
On the shadow of a nearby building, a thin, elongated shape dances.
A Shadow Monkey.
Its body is half-real, half-merged with darkness.
It claps its hands, tail flicking as it laughs silently.
Clive grips the spear shaft.
Life energy floods toward the wound.
He feels torn tissue attempting to close around foreign wood.
He inhales sharply.
In one swift motion, he pulls the spear free.
Blood spills.
Pain surges.
His jaw tightens, but only his eyes betray the suffering.
Flesh knits rapidly.
Muscle reconnects.
He lifts the spear and hurls it like a javelin toward the dancing figure.
The Shadow Monkey melts downward into the shadow beneath it.
The spear embeds into the stone where it stood.
Clive narrows his eyes.
Earlier, while fighting the Wind Wolves, he was distracted.
Now,
He is ready.
His shadow stretches behind him like a living thing.
It slides across the ground like serpents.
The Shadow Monkey reappears from another angle, claws elongated by dark energy.
It slashes.
A blade of shadow cuts toward Clive's throat.
He leans back, barely avoiding it.
He retaliates with a shadow whip.
The monkey counters with two.
Their shadows collide, crackling like black lightning.
Clive does not have enough energy to transform again.
He must rely on control.
The monkey is faster.
More fluid.
It dances between patches of darkness effortlessly.
Shadow spikes thrust from the ground.
Clive rolls aside, retaliating with precise lashes.
But the monkey's control is superior.
For now.
Clive activates his Spectacle Owl bloodline.
His vision sharpens beyond sight.
He begins observing patterns.
The monkey does not merely command the shadow.
It flows through gradients.
It uses layered darkness, thin shadow beneath deeper shadow, to amplify force.
Clive mimics.
His next whip bends differently.
More flexible.
More efficient.
The monkey tilts its head.
The battle shifts slightly.
Clive's shadow grows more refined.
He begins predicting movement.
But energy drains rapidly.
Sweat runs down his temple.
Several shadow whips lash toward him at once.
He counters two.
A third strikes his ribs.
A fourth catches his leg.
A fifth slams into his chest.
He is flung backwards violently.
His back crashes into a stone wall.
Cracks spread outward from the impact.
He slides down slowly.
Groaning.
Energy is nearly empty.
Across from him, the Shadow Monkey dances again.
Flips.
Backflips.
Mocking.
Clive exhales weakly.
Is this where it ends?
Then,
A weight settles on his shoulder.
Light.
Warm.
He feels spirit energy flowing into him.
Rapidly.
He turns his head slightly.
A violet-winged raven perches there.
Its eyes are intelligent.
Familiar.
A voice echoes in his mind.
"It's me. Go and defeat the monkey."
Master.
Energy floods his spirit core.
Renewed.
Not limitless, but enough.
Clive pushes off the wall instantly.
He vanishes into shadow.
The monkey pauses, surprised.
Clive appears directly above it.
Shadow ropes descend like a net.
The monkey attempts to phase away,
But Clive's shadow now moves with layered control.
It traps the monkey's own shadow first.
Then coils upward.
Binding limbs.
Neck.
The monkey shrieks.
Clive tightens the ropes.
Shadow constricts.
He pulls it closer and wraps the coils around its throat.
Suffocation.
The monkey thrashes wildly.
Clive holds firm.
Seconds later,
It goes limp.
The body dissolves into loose shadow.
Clive releases it and exhales.
He leaps upward, landing back atop the wall.
The battle against the horde continues.
He raises his hand.
Shadow Arrow forms again.
On his shoulder, the raven remains.
He speaks quietly in his mind.
"Master."
And returns to defending the wall.