The Legendary Mage (Alavin)

Chapter 299

Sveinn lay wounded on the ground, scarcely believing he had been gravely injured by Alavin once again. Twice ambushed, twice thoroughly defeated—with no suspense to the outcomes! But now was not the time for such thoughts. His body was chilled, his spirit unsettled, for in that last moment, it wasn't just defeat he faced, but a brush with death. He was utterly convinced that had Alavin's sword swerved, but a fraction more, it would have cleaved off his head.

"Sveinn!" Erica cried out in shock. Her focus on conjuring illusions was so intense that she failed to grasp the full extent of what had happened.

With great effort, Sveinn propped himself up. "Leave me! Defeat him! He has cast over a dozen Combat Magic spells. His magic must be nearly spent."

"You hide first..." Erica began, her resolve hardening when suddenly, she felt the hairs on her body stand on end. A sinister premonition flitted through her mind, followed by an overwhelming sense of danger enveloping her!

It wasn't just her—all present felt a chilling dread, as if enveloped by a bone-piercing murderous aura. This content provided by N(o)velDrama].[Org.

Alavin stood amidst the ruins of the beast pit, hands clasped over his chest, fingers rigidly intertwined. A black vortex rapidly took shape before him, and deep within the swirl, a glossy black dagger emerged—no wider than a thumb, no longer than a finger, its body cold and black like a tiny void. The dagger exuded a frigid, soul-shaking chill and a piercing murderous intent that enveloped Erica's entire being.

"The Shadowbringer?!" The Citadel Protégés frowned in unison, their attention gravely fixed. They had heard the most rumors about Alavin's dagger while in the Capital. It was said to be formed entirely of Alavin's murderous intent, capable of assaulting one's soul and rendering the victim

utterly incapable of battle upon contact. It was with Shadowbringer that Alavin had defeated Cedrick, the heir of the Iron family, claiming the glory of the top five in The Clash of Eight Orders.

Frozen in place, Erica felt the cold touch of death for the first time, drawing so near. She gazed unwittingly at the black dagger, which seemed to gaze back, grinning viciously at her like a diminutive grim reaper. The world seemed to fall silent, and her own muffled heartbeat was the only sound in her ears.

"Erica! Dodge it!" Sveinn's voice pierced her trance.

With a start, Erica snapped back to reality. Shadowbringer, had it beguiled her? Her myriad copies chanted in unison, unleashing a vast and terrifying destructive Hallucination Craft across the beast pit, assailing the minds of all present, and attempting to breach even Alavin's defenses.

"From the Northlands, I am the Shadowlord's Messenger, Alavin. Let me demonstrate!" Alavin whispered, reasserting the title of the Shadowlord’s Messenger. His hands suddenly opened, and with a clang, the Shadowbringer surged forth, a wave of intangible murderous intent sweeping across the arena, bringing with it endless chill and dispersing torrents of killing aura. For a moment, it seemed as if the Shadowlord's realm of death itself was about to manifest.

Puff, puff, puff—Erica's copies were extinguished in an instant, vanishing without a trace, as the skyful of destructive illusions dissipated like a storm clearing the clouds. Before the realm of the Shadowlord, all illusions were nothing but child's play!

Erica's real body retreated in shock, but the Shadowbringer appeared before her as if traversing space, bringing endless cold and darkness, enlarging her view, and striking her forehead. She was flung backward as if struck by lightning. Though the Shadowbringer had no physical form, its potent murderous intent threw her through the air. Mid-flight, Erica's consciousness spun wildly, as if falling into an endless abyss of cold, despair, and helpless panic, or plummeting onto a battlefield of death where countless hands reached out from all directions to ensnare and tear at her.

Erica let out a piercing scream, a sound of despair from the abyss, a struggle against the grasping hands on the battlefield. This momentary experience would undoubtedly leave an indelible shadow upon her.

Thud! Erica hit the ground, eyes wide, her mouth agape, and her face etched with terror. She still breathed but lay motionless, as if still lost in boundless despair and darkness.

At that moment, everyone held their breath, and the vast beast pit fell deathly silent.

Such was the power of the Shadowbringer!

The Citadel Protégés stared at the fallen Erica, her agonized scream echoing in their ears.

Was that a dagger? Or was it death itself?

The three Elders furrowed their brows deeply. Had Alavin truly condensed his killing aura into a physical blade? How had he done it, with Combat Magic?

They felt both astonishment and confusion—no wonder he had subdued his opponents at The Clash of Eight Orders. With this single blade, he had earned a title among the heroes of the Royal Realm.