Chapter 54: The Young Fox of the Wind Blade

On the opposing ship, a flash of red light appeared. Winnig immediately became alert, stepping onto the azure sky and soaring high above, gazing down at the scene below.

As expected—it was magic.

Yarrel acted almost simultaneously, swiftly reciting a string of sharp, piercing incantations. Red light flared on both vessels at once.

The enemy launched a bursting fireball; if it struck the ship, the damage would be considerable, perhaps even igniting the sturdy planks. Yarrel, however, unleashed a quicker spell—thunderous flame—hoping to detonate the enemy’s fireball mid-air.

Yarrel’s offensive magic wasn’t the strongest, but her grasp of timing far surpassed that of the elven mage from the Battering Ram, whose focus was more on raw magical power. The two beams of red collided in the sky, exploding into countless sparks, like a shower of fireworks.

With this, the enemy was forced into a boarding battle; whether by cannon or spell, Sir Salim’s side was clearly more threatening. Of course, the enemy likely believed their numerical superiority would give them an advantage in close combat.

“Sophie, let’s go,” Winnig laughed softly.

Capable spellcasters were rare among the Bleating Lamb Church, and they wouldn’t waste them in such skirmishes. Thus, only the largest ship at the rear would likely be equipped with a proper number of spellcasters.

In that case, it was best to strike directly at the enemy leader.

The enemy apparently thought the same; their small boats began to accelerate, attempting to board and seize victory through sheer numbers.

They must not realize that Viscount Salim’s swordsmen excel in close-quarters melee.

The Battering Ram squad now unleashed their power. The ranger invoked soul magic, boosting the entire team’s accuracy and evasion, binding their souls and bodies tightly so they would not succumb to mortal wounds before healing arrived.

The elven mage simultaneously began her assault; a roaring fireball exploded on the leading enemy wooden boat, sweeping the deck in dazzling firelight. In an instant, screams erupted as dozens of burning figures plunged into the water.

The ranger switched to his bow, firing arrows. His steel bow favored attack power—a bit slow, but the arrows pierced with such force that even mediocre shields might not withstand a direct shot.

By contrast, the Murak squad’s attack power was slightly weaker. Yet their tactics were more agile: aside from direct attacks, the Murak squad could use mind magic to disrupt enemy formations or acceleration spells to stimulate their allies’ muscles for fiercer combat.

Of course, when it came to mind magic, none could match little Honey.

Honey now used her flying card, giggling as she floated like a doll in the air. Yet every time this pretty doll raised her hand, terror gripped a whole ship of enemies, sending them into inexplicable chaos.

Sophie tread upon the waves, charging straight at the enemy. The water-walking card lasted six hours and could be used in intervals, so she need not be stingy.

Honey soared higher; after several “mass fear” spells, she began practicing her radiant magic. With the insights granted by the Master of Petitioners, her command of light magic had advanced far beyond her early fumbling days.

Clearly, the little girl possessed hidden secrets—her mastery of divine arts was nothing short of genius. Yet divine magic depended not only on technique, but more crucially on sincere faith.

Technique allowed for efficient use of divine power; devotion determined its strength. Honey’s magic was powerful—just how devout was she?

Yet, traveling alongside Winnig, he never felt Honey was a zealot; she seemed no different from any ordinary priestess.

“Lame,” Winnig murmured, waving his hand. The little whale swam up joyfully, appearing beside Honey.

The flying card allowed for a total hour of use, not necessarily all at once. With her divine magic reducing the enemy to chaos, there was no need to waste any more of the card’s “charge.”

Honey retreated, meeting Lame. The girl laughed, leaped onto the whale’s back, gripped her gear tightly, and shouted incomprehensible slogans, casting a sphere of light.

Light magic—banishment.

Banishment was the most practical of all radiant spells, indiscriminate across friend and foe, benefit and harm.

Though not guaranteed to succeed, unless the target’s power exceeded the spellcaster’s many times over, they would invariably be swept away by this peculiar magic.

Like snow melting under sunlight—dissolved and gone.

Honey’s radiant arts, though not especially high-level, sufficed for these foes; their mage was not formidable enough to trouble her.

After banishment, Honey resumed frightening the enemy with mass fear, though at this distance, her success rate diminished considerably.

But it was enough.

The enemy’s formation was in disarray; unable to mount an effective attack, they could not break through the fifty swordsmen led by Viscount Salim.

In boarding battles, the contact area was limited; though the enemy had ten times the numbers, they could not match the strength of Salim’s swordsmen squad.

Were it not for the threat of nine enemy ships, Salim would already have led his men in a counter-charge onto their vessels.

Suddenly, a loud rush of wind swept the air; Winnig leapt onto the enemy’s command ship.

He was greeted by two gleaming long swords.

Boom—a small boat was abruptly split in two amid a thunderous crash, distracting most people momentarily. Seizing this lapse, Winnig slid out from beneath the sword blades.

He controlled the airstream beneath his feet, maintaining a thin, fast-moving layer of air between his soles and the deck, allowing him to slide across the boards with the grace of a master swordsman.

It worked just as well on the ship’s planks. Even if his balance faltered, Winnig could use his left hand to blast a jet of air, stabilizing himself—a technique much like posture-control nozzles.

Winnig spun lightly, stopping, grinning as he raised his left hand and slashed casually.

Blade of Wind—Crescent.

The Azure Sky was the masterpiece of the kingdom’s chief mage. Although only a magical device with limited power, its explosive strength and wind control efficiency were worthy of Newton’s strongest title.

With such control and force, Winnig knew exactly how to use it.

What makes a blade sharpest? First, it needs an ultrathin edge; then, it must be swung as fast as possible—for the greatest pressure and the most unstoppable cutting force.

Thus, Winnig’s method was to make the contacting surface of his wind as small as possible, but its speed as fast as possible.

The crescent was a filament-thin wisp of wind, but within that strand, the air flowed at the speed of a gale. It flashed pale blue, like a crescent moon in the night sky, and in an instant, two deep gashes appeared across the chests of the foes before him.

They were stunned. After all, they wore quality plate armor—full coverage, heavy steel—and the young man, with a nonchalant flick, had cleaved through their armor so easily?

Winnig was surprised as well. He clearly saw that beneath the split plate armor, their skin had turned to stone, and brown-black liquid oozed slowly out.

Human modification...

Indeed, the rise of the Bleating Lamb Church was rooted in using masses of commoners as material, their alien masters providing otherworldly technology for genetic alteration. Otherwise, how could they challenge the Eight Giants, who monopolized high-end military power?

“So that’s it—modified commoners for a vast, cheap army. Judging by your looks, you were probably just a blacksmith or stonemason,” Winnig snorted. “With this new power, at heart, you’re still just ordinary folk.”

“BAA! The Bleating Lamb Church will change this stagnant world—we will create a new dawn, for a brighter future!” The two burly men roared and charged.

“Even your lines are identical—so the gene tweaking comes with brainwashing, too...” Winnig chuckled.

The enemy possessed tremendous strength; thus, they could wear heavy iron plate armor, wielding massive two-handed swords for brutal attacks. The iron armor was clearly cheap, but thick enough to provide frightening defense—the only drawback was weight.

Yet they need not worry about that.

Winnig felt a slight headache. He blasted air beneath his feet, leaping upward over their heads, twisting back to flick his left hand.

Blade of Wind—Full Moon.

His fingertips traced a pale blue line, forming a circle, which then snapped into several arcs, each shooting toward the enemies’ backs.

Crack! Crack, crack!

Indeed, the rear armor was much thinner. Three wind arcs tore one man’s back into a bloody mess. Without hesitation, Winnig pointed, sending a spiraling column of wind shrieking forward.

Let’s try this—my new move, Winnig laughed quietly.