The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 13

Alavin leaned against the stone urn. His injuries were severe, and his breath sounded ragged. The scent of charred flesh wafted from his chest where the Inferno Serpent Strike had hit him, and his ribs felt as though they were splintered. Yet he did not cry out in pain or show weakness; instead, a mischievous smirk curled at the corner of his mouth. "Nysah, no need to shout so; you'll give the wrong impression."

"You madman! Bastard!" Nysah shrieked in embarrassment and fury. She attempted to launch another assault, but the motion aggravated the wound on her shoulder, turning her face pale with pain.

"If you can finish me, then do so without more talk; if not, be gone," Alavin spat out a mouthful of blood and drew a throwing knife from his belt. Gritting through the pain, he gathered his energy and took up a strange stance, channeling all his strength into his right hand.

This was his life-saving throwing knife technique, one he would not reveal lightly if Nysah's skill were not so vastly superior.

"He wields a knife?" Nysah couldn't hide her reproach toward Tyral. This skill with the blade was not something acquired in two or three years; it was exceptionally tricky and, coupled with his strength, formidable in power. It didn't seem like something he had picked up on his own, more like a set of Combat Magic. And yet, Cobalt Strike did not usually teach Combat Magic involving throwing knives.

"I truly did not know," Tyral said, his voice a blend of frustration and alarm. He, too, had noticed the unusual nature of the knife.

"Hey, Nysah, your undergarments are showing," Alavin whistled.

"Shameless!" Nysah hastily adjusted her skirt, and seizing the distraction, Alavin concentrated and flung the knife. But at that moment, a whooshing sound broke the air as a young man with an iron sword strapped to his back rushed toward them. The sword glowed with a golden aura. Its fierce energy and dazzling light were palpable even from afar.

"Roald the Goldgrace? Blast it, what is he doing here?" Nysah's face shifted with concern. She quickly tidied her tattered garments and dashed into the dense woods, casting an angry glance back at Alavin before she left.

"Nysah! Wait for me," Tyral recognized the newcomer as well and fled in a panic, leaving Alavin behind.

Alavin's brow furrowed slightly as he pocketed his knife.

Soon, a young man dressed in black approached Alavin. He was strikingly good-looking, not with a delicate beauty but with a rugged handsomeness. His features were sharply defined, and his gaze piercing and profound, exuding an unintentional but unmistakable aura of intimidation.

The most striking feature of his attire was the gleaming golden feathers embroidered on the collar of his black clothing—a special symbol denoting a noble status—the mark of a Golden Protégé!

The ranks of Cobalt Strike were strictly organized into Ordinary Protégés, Elite Protégés, and Golden Protégés.

Ordinary Protégés were further categorized into Freshman Protégés, Intermediate Protégés, and Senior Protégés.

There were over eight thousand Protégés in the Cobalt Strike, the vast majority of whom were Ordinary ones. There were only about six hundred Elite Protégés, and a mere thirty Golden Protégés. In the teenage bracket, there were only five.