Chương 45: A Weapon Without a Name

The ice swordsman reached the leader first. His frost-covered blade swept toward the Firian's neck while the man struggled to recover his footing. The leader raised one arm and blocked with the black armor protecting his forearm. Ice spread across the armor. The green-Aura spearman attacked from the opposite side, driving his weapon toward the Firian's exposed ribs. At the same time, the golden archer released five glowing arrows from the broken barricade. The attacks converged almost simultaneously.

For an instant, Sieghart thought his trick had worked perfectly. Then orange light erupted across the Firian's body. The ice covering his arm exploded into steam. The spearhead struck his side but failed to penetrate more than a few centimeters, while the golden arrows slowed as they entered the violently expanding air. The leader twisted. He pulled the spear from the Aura user's hands, swung its shaft like a club, and struck the ice swordsman across the chest.

The man barely raised his weapon before the impact launched him backward. The golden archer's projectiles finally reached their target. Two pierced the leader's armor, while the others scratched across his shoulders and disappeared into the smoke. The wounds bled for several seconds. Then their edges began glowing. The Firian leader ripped the magical arrows free and released another wave of heat. The holes in his body started closing as though invisible hands were stitching his flesh together.

Sieghart watched from behind the tent, keeping his hands close to the ground. The attack hadn't defeated the leader, but it had forced him to spend energy. That meant the plan wasn't useless. The orange veins around the man's injured side had dimmed slightly during the healing process. He possessed tremendous reserves, but those reserves weren't infinite. Every wound cost heat. Every defensive blast cost more. The problem was forcing him to spend enough before he killed everyone capable of injuring him.

The ordinary Firians reached the defensive lines from three directions. Their enhanced bodies tore through barriers that had survived the earlier battles, while their heated fists shattered shields and ignited tents. The defenders fought desperately. Archers fired through gaps between the canvas structures. Spearmen guarded narrow paths, using the camp's cramped layout to prevent the enemy from surrounding them. Some Aura users managed to hold their positions.

Others were overwhelmed before their abilities activated properly. The Firians had transformed the camp's familiar arrangement into a disadvantage. Defenders couldn't see one another through the smoke, and units became separated whenever burning tents collapsed between them. Officers shouted commands, but the fire swallowed their voices. The eastern line suffered the worst pressure. The red-haired leader remained at its center, advancing through every attempt to stop him.

Each punch broke another section of the formation and allowed his followers to move deeper into the camp. He was too game-changing. Without him, the defenders might have held their improvised positions long enough to reorganize. His presence prevented that by creating gaps faster than soldiers could fill them. A defensive line depended upon every section supporting the others. The Firian leader transformed it into isolated groups waiting to be destroyed. Sieghart had expected the leader to adapt.

Someone experienced enough to command an army wouldn't continue stepping into the same trap merely because the person creating it remained hidden. He needed another method. A volley of red magical arrows crossed the battlefield. Edric had climbed onto the remains of a supply platform, giving himself a clear view over the soldiers fighting between the tents. His enchanted bow glowed beneath his hands. The first six arrows flew toward the Firian leader from different angles.

Edric adjusted every shot, attempting to strike the man while he remained occupied with the defenders before him. The leader sensed them. He planted his feet and released a blast of hot air from his entire body. The effect resembled a transparent explosion. Smoke, dust, fragments of wood, and nearby flames all rushed away from him simultaneously. Edric's arrows entered the wave. Even though they were made of mana, they still possessed structure and momentum.

The expanding air struck them from the side, disrupted their trajectories, and sent them spiraling away. Two vanished before reaching the ground. Another pierced the leg of an ordinary Firian, while the remaining projectiles disappeared among the burning tents. Sieghart frowned. Mana arrows weren't immaterial. They were magical constructs designed to behave like physical projectiles. That allowed them to pierce armor, but it also made them vulnerable to anything capable of redirecting an ordinary arrow.

The leader continued advancing. Edric fired again. The next volley approached while the Firian was punching another shield bearer. He couldn't release the same full-body blast without interrupting his attack. Three arrows missed as he turned. The fourth struck his shoulder. The mana projectile pierced the dark armor and buried itself deeply enough to force the leader to stop. His right arm dropped several centimeters before recovering. Edric immediately drew the string again.

The Firian grabbed the arrow and pulled it free. Blood flowed down his arm, sizzling as it touched the armor. The wound exposed muscle and a small section of bone beneath the damaged shoulder. Sieghart expected the injury to weaken him. Instead, orange light concentrated around the torn flesh. The bleeding stopped, the muscle pulled itself together, and new skin spread across the opening. Within seconds, only a faint red mark remained.

"That is cheating." Sieghart muttered the words while staring at the repaired shoulder. The system didn't respond to his complaint, and the Firian certainly didn't look ashamed. Healing so quickly should have consumed an enormous amount of stored heat. The orange lines across the leader's arm had become slightly darker, proving that the ability carried a cost. Unfortunately, the cost remained too small. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

At the current rate, the defenders would run out of arrows and Aura before the leader ran out of heat. Sieghart needed attacks capable of piercing deeper and forcing the man to heal more serious wounds. He considered a concentrated water stream. The technique could cut skin from a distance, but its path would remain visible for as long as Sieghart maintained it. The leader could follow the stream directly back to him. The attack also lacked enough instantaneous force.

The Firian's heat might evaporate the narrow line before it penetrated deeply. Fire was useless. Wind could strike quickly, but compressed air had already proven ineffective against the leader. He controlled heat and pressure well enough to counter anything obvious. That left earth. Sieghart looked at the loose sand surrounding his knees. Earth Magic had always seemed less convenient than the other basic elements.

He couldn't create stone from nothing, and manipulating existing soil required suitable material nearby. However, sand possessed one advantage. It could become solid when compressed. Sieghart grabbed a handful from the ground. The grains slipped between his fingers while he considered the necessary shape. Throwing a stone with Wind Magic wouldn't accomplish much against someone capable of bending reinforced shields. He needed something smaller, faster, and capable of concentrating all its force upon a narrow point.

An image from Earth entered his thoughts. A bullet. Sieghart had never manufactured ammunition in his previous life. He only understood the basic concept from pictures, movies, and diagrams. A projectile didn't require an edge when it moved quickly enough. Its speed concentrated kinetic energy upon the point of impact, allowing a small object to penetrate materials far stronger than itself. Sieghart compressed the sand between his palms.

Earth Magic forced the grains together while removing empty space between them. The loose material darkened, becoming a rough piece of hardened stone. The first attempt cracked when he increased the pressure. Sieghart caught the falling pieces and compressed them again. He focused upon keeping the structure uniform instead of simply applying more force. The shape narrowed. He formed a pointed front and a wider base, creating something between an arrowhead and a short bullet.

The center remained hollow, reducing its weight while giving his Wind Magic a space to grip and accelerate the projectile. The process was far too slow. The Firian leader knocked another defender aside while Sieghart continued shaping something small enough to hide inside one hand. He wished that Earth Magic could remember the design as easily as Water Creation reproduced a sphere. Perhaps repeated practice would reduce the preparation time. For now, he had to construct every section consciously.

The projectile finally hardened. Sieghart held it between two fingers and used Wind Magic to make it spin. At first, the rotation remained uneven, threatening to tear the fragile stone apart. He adjusted the air around its surface. The bullet spun faster. A faint whistle emerged between his fingers, forcing Sieghart to reduce the speed before someone noticed. He needed enough rotation to stabilize the flight without revealing his position. The Firian leader stood almost one hundred meters away.

Sieghart could hit a boulder at that distance with Fireball because the spell was large and followed the direction of his intention. The stone bullet demanded physical accuracy. His Dexterity remained unimpressive. So did his experience. Sieghart rested his wrist against the water barrel to stabilize his hand. He selected the leader's head as his target and calculated the man's movement as well as he could. The Firian stepped toward another group of shield bearers.

Sieghart compressed air behind the hollow projectile. He released it. The bullet vanished from his fingers. A sharp crack followed as the spinning stone cut through the air faster than an arrow. The projectile crossed the defensive line before any nearby soldier recognized that something had been fired. The Firian leader turned his head. The bullet struck his opposite shoulder. His body jerked sideways. For a moment, Sieghart felt triumph.

Then the leader reached toward the injury and pulled the projectile from his skin. It had penetrated only a couple of centimeters. The compressed sand remained harder than ordinary stone, but it lacked the strength of metal. Part of the bullet shattered against the Firian's armor and flesh. The remaining section had still pierced him. That was progress. Sieghart clicked his tongue.

"I aimed for his head." The projectile had traveled faster than an arrow, but speed couldn't correct poor aim. The leader moved between Sieghart's release and the impact, turning what should have been a lethal shot into a shallow shoulder wound. Higher Dexterity might have improved his control. Archery training could help as well, even if the system refused to recognize it as a skill. Understanding trajectories, leading moving targets, and maintaining a stable posture applied to more than bows.

Sieghart didn't have time to regret neglected practice. The Firian leader held the broken projectile between two fingers. His eyes narrowed while he examined its material. He recognized immediately that the attack differed from the defenders' arrows. The hardened sand carried no visible runes, metal, or magical glow. The man turned toward the direction it had come from. Sieghart lowered himself behind the barrel. The leader saw tents, smoke, soldiers, and burning supplies.

The small projectile left no glowing trail to reveal its origin. Sieghart's hiding position remained safe. For now. He grabbed another handful of sand and began compressing it. The second attempt formed faster because his mind remembered the desired shape. The projectile remained imperfect. Its surface contained small irregularities, and the hollow center leaned slightly toward one side. Sieghart corrected them while keeping his head below the barrel.

Across the battlefield, Edric recognized the leader's distraction. His grandfather didn't know what had struck the Firian. He only saw an enemy looking away while standing within range of a fully charged magical bow. Edric pulled the string repeatedly. One mana arrow struck the Firian's chest. A second pierced his ribs before he turned. A third entered near his collarbone. The leader released another blast of hot air, but the arrows were already inside him.

The force repelled the remaining projectiles while doing nothing to remove those buried in his flesh. Blood flowed across his chest. The wounds weren't immediately lethal, but healing all of them required more energy. Orange light concentrated around each arrow simultaneously. The glow across the leader's arms dimmed. Sieghart saw it clearly. The attacks were working. Individually, none threatened the leader enough to defeat him. Together, they forced him to spend the heat gathered from the burning grove.

Sieghart's bullet had distracted him. Edric's arrows punished the opening. The leader tore the first arrow from his chest. His gaze moved away from Sieghart's general direction and locked upon the supply platform where Edric stood. Sieghart's stomach tightened. The Firian had been searching for the source of the unfamiliar projectile, but the repeated magical arrows gave him a visible target. Edric fired again. The leader punched the air. A concentrated blast crossed the battlefield and struck the supply platform.

The upper section exploded into splinters before Edric jumped from it. He landed behind several defenders and rolled across the ground. His enchanted bow remained in one hand, but its glow had become faint. The stored arrows were almost exhausted. The Firian leader began walking toward him. Edric attempted another shot. Nothing appeared upon the bowstring. He placed the useless weapon behind a broken shield and drew the short knife from his waist. Sieghart stared.

The blade was suitable for farm work, cutting rope, and preparing food. It wasn't long enough to reach the Firian without placing Edric inside the range of those burning fists. His grandfather still lowered his stance and prepared to fight. There was nowhere left to retreat without exposing the archers and wounded soldiers behind him. Sieghart's second bullet remained unfinished. He compressed the sand harder, shaped the pointed end, and forced wind into the hollow center. The process needed to become faster.

The leader crossed another meter. Sieghart made the projectile spin. Edric tightened his grip upon the knife. The Firian raised one glowing fist. Sieghart had one shot before his grandfather discovered exactly how useless a farm knife was against a human furnace.