Landing on the other side of the wall, Moondancer raised both her hands and, with a fluid motion, placed them on the cold snow as though pushing the ground below. Five shimmering, abyssal portals—black as night—opened, and from them emerged five giant monsters: a spider, a troll, two winged serpents (or were they wyrms?), and a humanoid beast resembling a kobold king.
Without hesitation, Moondancer released the two wyrms toward the commander and conjured a massive hammer, swinging it with full force against the dirt wall. The impact shattered a path for her creatures to charge through. As the two flying wyrms headed toward them, Vidalia swung her air-cutting sword, reducing the beasts to black fragments.
She then landed near the mages, ready to cut them down as well with one fell swoop.
The four mages were focused on powering the glowing purple orb, one holding the orb while managing the mana threads from the others to guide the energy with precision. But before the commander could strike again with her air blade, a massive hammer flew at blinding speed, compressing the air around it's surface from sheer force.
There was no time to react, yet the commander managed to cast a spell that softened the blow by manipulating the surrounding air. Damian, too, activated his last line of defense—a runic circle drawn on his unburnt hand before he was captured. The circle created an invisible barrier in front of him, absorbing much of the impact.
Despite their efforts, both Damian and the commander were sent crashing into the dirt wall, breaking through it and tumbling into the snow. The blow had caused the commander's grip on Damian's collar to slip, sending him flying farther. Fortunately, they were still within their link range.
The side of Damian's body that had faced the hammer throbbed with intense pain—he was sure something was broken in there. The cold didn't help, but at this point, he couldn't tell if the pain was his own or Vidalia's. It didn't matter—it hurt all the same.
Warm energy once again spread through his body, providing just enough healing to get Vidalia back on her feet. Damian, grunting and cursing, made two healing spells while lying on his back, focusing on the areas that hurt the most. He really needed to improve and modify this healing spell, but time was always short. For now, the basic spell would have to do.
With its help, he got to his feet, only for the commander to grab his collar again, and they were soon airborne, once more flying through the freezing cold.
'This f*cking has to stop...'
When they returned to the battlefield where the mages and their five companions had been, the mages were gone, along with Moondancer.
'If you'd given me a second to breathe, I would've told you they were gone...'
"Shut up and block it," she snapped aloud, her breathing heavy—clearly out of patience.
Damian was more than happy to block her from his head. The cold wind made his bones ache. He was only wearing a simple tunic and breeches—not exactly battle attire. Vidalia helped the remaining five second rankers fight the glowing shadow monsters. Unlike Moondancer's earlier black arrows and spears, these creatures were made of shimmering darkness.
They needed fire—lots of it mixed with mana—to do any lasting damage to them. Only Lord Ashford and Lord Tristan had managed to inflict some real harm on the creatures. The others were merely fighting shadows with their swords and hands, their physical attacks having little effect.
While waiting for the others to regroup, Damian healed himself multiple times with borrowed mana. He'd been forced to use his emergency spell, which had left both his palms blackened and drained. His other hand, which had received constant healing, was in decent shape now, but his blackened hand now needed daily healing instead.
Somehow, he'd have to convince the unreasonable elf somehow to return his spatial storage.
"Shit! That was our best chance to deal with the orb..!" Lord Tristan cursed as they gathered near the wall, taking a breather before returning to camp.
"Why didn't Threadripper come with her?" The guy who rarely spoke asked, voicing the same confusion Damian felt. Why hadn't the enemy's third-ranker shown up?
"Fortunately, It ended too soon before any lasting damage to the wall... How did Lady Vidalia know their location so precisely?" Esme questioned, looking at the commander, who was retrieving potions from her spatial storage to replenish her mana and heal herself. Vidalia looked up at the mention of her name but instead of answering, she just glanced at Damian.
Busy creating warming runic spells, Damian muttered random words under his breath as his teeth chattered from the cold.
"For real? He guided us here?" Lord Ashford began to protest, but Vidalia cut him off.
"He's most likely not a spy. But he's trouble, so be careful."
"Hey!" Damian protested, feeling the unfairness of the comment.
Aramis's clenched jaw told Damian everything he needed to know about what the group thought of him. Lord Tristan, wearing his smug smile, had a look that practically screamed, 'I told you so.' That guy was creepy—and considering Damian's high tolerance for creepy, that said a lot. However, two of the six warriors had expressions that shifted slightly.
Esme's gaze softened with a hint of kindness, while the quiet pugilist nodded in acknowledgment.
Taking two steps forward, the foreign female knight even draped her cloak over Damian's shoulders, shielding him from the cold. Though his spells were already doing the job, he accepted the gesture of kindness.
With her usual cold, neutral expression, the commander grabbed his collar again and turned to the group.
"Return to camp as fast as you can."
They all nodded as Damian's feet left the ground, and once again, the wind started slapping his face as they took off. The cloak also flapped all around him. Damian just felt relieved that he managed to survive the insane confrontation way out of his league.