The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 146

A series of sudden attacks and counterattacks. A succession of injuries and roars.

The collision of flesh and blood. The spray of blood and sweat.

The men's blood boiled with excitement, and the maidens screamed with enthusiasm. This was what battle was all about!

Alavin's wildness and bravery surprised the Earthbound Spirits Commander, who rarely saw such ferocity in other Organization Protégés. Initially dissatisfied with Alavin's arrogance, he now nodded in approval.

The entire arena screamed, and men and women alike cheered; the battle was a visual spectacle.

Alavin, covered in blood, bore no fewer than ten wounds and had been sent flying multiple times by Ziros, yet he fought on with increasing ferocity. This momentum, this bravery, changed many of the Eight Orders Protégés' opinions of him. He was literally fighting for the win with his life.

The fierce battle lasted for what seemed like an age, raging like a wildfire. Yet, to the amazement of the Protégés, Ziros and Nelsor had not managed to take down Alavin. Despite being covered in blood and with multiple broken bones, Alavin stood resolute, teeth clenched, eyes focused, fighting more fiercely than ever. Both Ziros and Nelsor were severely injured and bloodied from head to toe.

Orland frowned and shouted, "You've delayed too long! Use your full strength, and end this battle!"

"Tiger Roar Fist. Roar of Anguish!"

"Conqueror's Cleaver. Hammerfall."

Ziros and Nelsor charged from the left and right towards Alavin, showcasing the mightiest of Combat Magic with the strongest of displays. Ziros' fists boiled with strong energy, the intense buzzing akin to an earthquake, while Nelsor seemed to become one with his massive axe, his speed incredibly fast and his power unstoppable, as a tremendous wave of destructive energy surged forward.

Alavin, practically staggering over, knelt on the ground. He was panting heavily, his sweat mixing with the trickling blood from his substantial wounds. It was a sorrowful sight to behold, as if he were barely holding onto the thread of life. But at that moment, tendrils of black mist began to seep from his fists, quickly crawling up his arms. The mist was thick as ink, chilling to the bone.

It felt as if the very air suddenly carried whispers, sounding like an ancient chant or a distant wail. It was as though it originated from a single voice, yet echoed through many. The voices echoed hollowly, both real and illusionary. Many heads turned as one, searching for the source of the sound, only to fix their gaze back on Alavin.