The wind of the Gazoob Desert no longer carried a dry heat; it now blew carrying the pungent stench of charred flesh, boiling ozone, and the coppery tang of evaporating blood.
From atop a sand dune cliff at a safe distance from the epicenter of the turmoil, Seale sat upright in the saddle of his desert monster mount. The elf's sharp eyes narrowed, surveying the scene in the valley below with a hardened expression. The war paint tattoos wrapping his entire face, neck, and bare chest seemed to tense up along with the absurd spectacle unfolding before his eyes.
Down there, a hundred-thousand-strong Warusa infantry force was experiencing absolute domination that was hard to even process with common sense.
Seale grunted roughly, emitting the terrifying aura that was his trademark as the captain of the Resheph Familia. He felt absolutely no sympathy watching that sea of Warusa soldiers scramble. To Seale, those Warusa humans were nothing more than useless humans. They were supposed to be chess pieces that could at least slow the enemy down, but in the face of the four anomalous Elves below, the military formation General Gouza boasted of crumbled like a sandcastle struck by waves.
Seale's eyes continued to analyze the movements of the four executioners. His mind strongly rejected what he saw. On the right side of the battlefield stood two male figures—a White Elf with skin as white as snow unleashing hundreds of mass-scale purple lightning needles without chanting, standing perfectly alongside a pitch-black Dark Elf swinging a sword cloaked in black Pyro-Darkness fire.
Meanwhile, on the left side, stood two women who—despite having skin colors at opposite poles like day and night—appeared to be standing side-by-side peacefully, controlling a storm that darted around in the blink of an eye.
That combination completely shattered the logic of history known to Seale. History recorded that the White Elf and Dark Elf races lived only to slaughter each other, yet these four elves were working together with deadly efficiency.
"Tch. A pathetic bunch of trash," Seale growled, his voice heavy and full of arrogance as he spat onto the sand. He glared at the remnants of Gouza's army now beginning to throw down their weapons and flee in blind panic. "They can't even hold four people off for more than five minutes. It's useless to expect these lowly soldiers to win."
Seale rolled his neck, casually cracking his joints. His shock at seeing the cross-race cooperation was slowly replaced by an arrogant confidence. Even if the four Elves down there could level mountains with their raw power, Seale didn't feel threatened in the slightest. To him, no matter how strong the enemy's elemental magic or sword slashes were, they were still living creatures. As long as his enemies had brains, emotions, and dark memories, his mental curse could always drag them into hell.
"Maruzana. Iza," Seale called out in a flat tone yet demanding absolute obedience.
Two veteran mercenary figures from the Resheph Familia immediately nudged their mounts forward, closing in on the captain's side. Their faces were hard, accustomed to slaughter and dirty work in the underworld. The rest of the Familia members also began to stand by, waiting for orders from the elf who was their leader.
"The Warusa forces can no longer be saved," Seale said, his eyes looking straight at the lightning storm and black fire continuing to crush the enemy lines. "We can no longer wait behind the backs of those Warusa troops. Ready your weapons."
Maruzana furrowed his brow, staring in horror at the destruction below. "Captain, you want us to advance and face those monsters head-on? Their magic violates common sense. We'll be destroyed if we enter their attack radius."
Seale sported a crooked smile, a sly grin that made the tattoos on his face look like a grinning demon. He pulled at the dark purple, worn-out cloak covering one of his shoulders, letting the desert wind sweep across his bare chest.
"Who said we're going to face them head-on, Maruzana?" Seale retorted condescendingly. "Raw power is a toy for the brainless. We are hunters. Let's do it like our usual tactics."
Those words were instantly understood by all members of the Resheph Familia. Shadow tactics. As a captain who built his reputation from hundreds of dirty battles and bloody ambushes in the outer territories, Seale was a grandmaster of desert ambush tactics.
Seale hopped down from his mount, his feet landing soundlessly on the hot sand. His hands reached beneath his cloak, pulling out a pair of famously deadly twin magic swords. One sword emitted a scorching, burning aura, while the sword in his left hand emitted a freezing, icy aura, an anomaly amidst the boiling temperatures of the Gazoob Desert.
"I will trigger a visual chaos. You all spread out and hide your presence behind the sand dunes," Seale ordered.
Wasting no time, Seale raised his ice sword high. He did not chant a destructive attack spell, but rather focused the magic from the sword's blade purely to manipulate the atmosphere around him. Gazoob's extreme temperature, reaching over forty degrees Celsius, was suddenly clashed with the absolute freezing aura from Seale's sword.
The collision of the two extreme temperatures instantly created a massive air pressure difference. The desert air, which had only been blowing strongly, suddenly churned, creating a localized storm vortex that swept the sandy surface extremely roughly.
WHOOSH!
In a matter of seconds, billions of sand grains were lifted into the air, creating a dense, brown sandstorm wall that expanded rapidly. This natural smokescreen covered a distance of dozens of meters, obscuring the orange sunlight and blinding visibility down to less than two meters.
Seale sheathed his magic sword again, his arrogant smile widening amidst the blindness of the sandstorm. This was perfect camouflage. He knew that the four Elves down there possessed incredibly high mobility and sharp combat instincts. Facing them in the open was tantamount to offering his neck to be severed. However, inside this artificial sandstorm of his, the enemy's mobility and visibility would be drastically reduced.
Moreover, this hiding tactic was crucial for his primary weapon. His Har Resheph curse was not an area-of-effect spell that could be thrown from a long distance. The mental illusion curse required a target to enter a specific mid-range radius to trigger with absolute efficiency.
Seale moved to slip behind a thick sand dune, lowering his tall posture. The other Familia members had spread out, holding their breath and suppressing their mana flow to the lowest point.
Seale waited with the patience of a predator. His mind had already visualized victory. He had used this curse countless times to destroy stronger opponents and it had never failed. The moment those four Elves entered his visual range from behind the sandstorm, he would unleash his curse. The curse would directly attack their brain nerves and memories, forcing the four elves to see each other as mortal enemies, or bringing back their most painful past traumas until they killed each other with their own hands.
The tension in the air felt incredibly thick. The sounds of slaughter in the distance began to subside, replaced by the crunching sound of slowly approaching footsteps. They were coming.
From behind the swirling sandstorm, Seale could see four silhouettes piercing through the curtain of dust. Their steps were so calm; there was not a hint of hesitation or panic even though their vision was obstructed by the storm. On the right, the elegant figure of Hedin wearing a long coat could be seen walking alongside Hogni's wild posture. On the left side, the silhouettes of the two women, Dina and Vena, radiating absolute composure, moved with a synchronized rhythm.
Thirty meters.
Twenty meters.
Now.
Seale's eyes widened sharply, focusing all the malicious intent and mind within his body. Wordlessly, he launched the Har Resheph curse. An invisible wave of black energy, dense with hatred and mental hallucinations, shot through the sandstorm like a venomous snake lunging straight at the minds of the four Elves.
The curse hit its targets dead on.
Seale held his breath, a grin of victory almost breaking from his lips. He prepared to hear hysterical screams. He prepared to see the arrogant male White Elf down there drop his dignity and fall to his knees crying, or the Dark Elf beside him go mad and turn to slash his own comrades.
However, one second passed. Then two seconds.
The silence that ensued felt far more deafening than the rumble of thunder.
From behind the thinning veil of sand, the four Elves suddenly stopped in their tracks. Not out of pain, not because of illusions tearing at their minds. They stopped as if they had just felt a fly bump into their cloaks.
Seale froze in his hiding spot. His brain struggled hard to process what he was seeing.
His Har Resheph curse had not missed. The curse had clearly struck their foreheads and consciousness. However, exactly at the moment that black energy tried to slip into their brains, a dim glow of light appeared from beneath their clothes. The Calyxes embedded in their bodies—the calyxes of the God of Wind, Venti—resonated softly.
Those crystal objects acted as conceptual fortresses rejecting all forms of mental intervention. Whether it was Hedin's Electro-Calyx, Hogni's Cruor Calyx, or Dina and Vena's Anemo-Calyx, they all automatically neutralized Seale's cheap illusion curse without a trace.
Hedin Selland, his posture remaining upright and stiff, tilted his head slightly toward the sand dune where Seale was hiding. The eyes behind the White Elf's glasses stared straight through the sandstorm, locking their gaze right into Seale's irises. That gaze did not radiate anger or a sense of threat, but rather pure boredom and immense disgust, as if he were looking at a pest that was severely annoying the aesthetics of his day.
Hogni beside him merely snorted softly, not even bothering to raise his sword. Dina and Vena continued walking forward without diverting their attention for a second, completely unaware of the ripple of the curse that had just shattered before it could touch their consciousness. To the four Elves, the presence of the enemy behind the sand dune was nothing more than residual troublemakers that needed to be promptly cleared from the battlefield.
Behind the sand dune, Seale's knees finally gave way. The tattoos on his face seemed to wash away along with the cold sweat that suddenly flooded his entire body. His mouth opened, but his voice caught in his throat.
"I-Impossible..." Seale whispered hoarsely, his breathing starting to quicken not from exhaustion, but from a shock that crushed the entire foundation of his arrogance.
This was the first time he had seen anything like this. A mental attack from his curse broken without them needing to lift a single finger. Seale, who had always claimed himself to be the strongest as long as his opponent had emotions, now realized with absolute horror that the entities before him had transcended those human weaknesses.
Seale's mind raced, panic finally piercing through his mask of arrogance. He had to give the order to retreat. He had to call Maruzana and Iza to flee.
However, Hedin Selland had no tolerance for those who wasted his time.
The White Elf raised his right hand with a highly elegant and precise movement. His index finger pointed right at Seale's hiding place. There was no chanting, no preparation, just a cold execution of the Caelus Hildr magic.
BZZZZT! CRACK!
An incredibly bright flash of purple light exploded through the veil of the sandstorm in a thousandth of a second.
Seale didn't even have time to blink. He didn't have time to scream, didn't have time to feel regret, let alone draw his magic sword to parry.
The pure purple lightning struck his bare chest with an utterly horrifying voltage. The Electro energy instantly tore inside, burning away his neural network, destroying his internal organs, and stopping the heart of the Resheph Familia captain right then and there.
The last thing Seale remembered before his entire consciousness was sucked into endless darkness was the very majestic flash of purple lightning, and Hedin's cold stare serving as a silent witness to the collapse of the illusionist.
Seale's tall body was thrown backward, collapsing onto the hot sand of Gazoob with a charred hole in his chest. He never moved again, leaving behind the captain's corpse lying stiff amidst the howling desert wind. Watching their leader die in the blink of an eye without having a chance to put up a fight, the remaining members of the Resheph Familia hiding behind the sand dunes instantly froze, realizing they were now on the brink of annihilation.
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