Fanxing felt light-headed, unable to muster even a sliver of Holy Light. Through the haze of vertigo, he tried to clench his right fist; set upon his finger was a ring enchanted with a prepared divine spell capable of purging most toxins.
Yet the moment he moved his arm, a liquor bottle shattered against it.
The glass broke without harming him in the least, but the impact interrupted the motion of his fist.
Holding the broken bottleneck, the orc bartender stared ruefully at the tin can before him. This bastard never took off his armor, making any ambush difficult to pull off.
Fanxing knew he had been plotted against. With no time to wonder why, a burst of Holy Light flared across his body, instantly restoring clarity to his mind.
He had far more than a single spell to purge afflictions, and certainly more than one piece of magical gear.
Yet no sooner had he regained his wits than a towering orc swung an iron hammer straight at his skull.
A golden shield flared on Fanxing's armor, absorbing most of the blow's kinetic force. Fanxing had already seized his longsword, and as he drew it, he rammed the pommel viciously into the orc's chest. The impact sent the brute flying several meters backward, crashing through a throng of adventurers preparing to swarm him.
Sword drawn, radiant Holy Light enveloped the blade.
Though the tavern's adventurers completely surrounded him, they were forced back by the blinding aura bursting from Fanxing's frame.
Levelling the tip of his blade toward the orc bartender, Fanxing said slowly, "I have no idea what your motives are, but did you truly think two cups of poisoned wine could bring down a knight of the Knights of Condemnation? Are you taking us too lightly?"
The orc bartender shrugged. "I told them the dose was too light, but the boss insisted you'd notice if we added more."
"Is that so? Are those your last words?"
Fanxing raised his longsword high, unleashing a Divine Smite at the orc bartender.
A searing blaze of Holy Light illuminated the tavern as bright as day. Before the blade even descended, the blistering radiance scorched the wooden counter black.
Yet the strike never landed.
Two silver longswords thrust out from beneath the counter at an impossible angle, piercing through the wooden surface straight toward Fanxing's groin.
Under ordinary circumstances, Fanxing could have ignored a sneak attack; his enchanted armor was more than enough to deflect almost any conventional weapon.
Yet just as the twin blades were about to strike his armor, an intense sense of mortal peril seized him. The arc of his Divine Smite twisted abruptly, severing the two longswords in a flash.
The orc bartender seized the narrow window to throw his weight backward into a revolving concealed door, slipping away into the hidden passage.
Before Fanxing could give chase, the attacker lurking beneath the counter vaulted out.
"What in the world is that?!"
All Fanxing saw was a mass of silvery-white, mercury-like substance lunging straight for him.
Fanxing quickly channeled another Divine Smite, intent on cleaving the bizarre creature apart.
Just then, his footing gave way. Unbeknownst to him, a layer of slick liquid had spread across the floor.
*A Grease spell?! When was that cast?!*
Grease was a versatile spell that found utility on nearly any battlefield, conjuring a slick layer of oil that caused targets to lose their balance.
While Fanxing did not slip completely to the floor, the sudden loss of footing threw off his form, causing his Divine Smite to shear away only a small portion of the creature's mass.
Though the mercury let out a barrage of shrieks, most of it splattered squarely across his torso.
The enchanted armor flashed with magical radiance almost instantly. Plumes of green smoke hissed forth as the metal corroded at a speed visible to the naked eye.
Fanxing planted his longsword into the floor, the cloak at his back flaring with violet magical energy.
With a booming crash of thunder, a violent shockwave erupted outward from Fanxing's body. The concussive blast not only blew the mercury creature away, but also pulverized the surrounding bar counter to splinters.
Fanxing panted for breath, beads of sweat breaking out across his brow after the relentless string of ambushes.
What on earth was that mercury? It had wrecked his armor in the blink of an eye and broken several enchantments, leaving him in a wretched state.
Something was terribly wrong. Had the people of the City of Alchemy gone back on their word?
Just as Fanxing prepared to cast Misty Step to teleport away, he noticed a bizarre distortion warping the space around him.
"Spatial Binding?!"
This was an exceptionally advanced spell; a formidable spellcaster was lurking nearby.
Fanxing dared not tarry a moment longer. Anyone capable of casting a spell like Spatial Binding was exceedingly difficult to handle; even in a one-on-one duel, he had no absolute certainty of victory.
With a dozen or so adventurers of unknown strength lingering around him, he could not afford a protracted battle with a high-tier mage under these conditions.
His sole objective was to escape and regroup with his companions as quickly as possible. He even began to dread that similar assassinations were unfolding elsewhere—in which case, his allies were in grave danger.
Carving a path with Divine Smite, Fanxing sprinted across the greasy floor. Maintaining absolute balance with every stride, he burst through the tavern doors in under two seconds.
Yet what greeted Fanxing was not the bustling thoroughfare of Southern Cross Street, but a dense wall of black fog.
Another simple yet brutally practical spell—Darkness.
A sphere of impenetrable blackness covered everyone's vision, so thick that not even the radiant Holy Light flashing from Fanxing's frame could pierce it.
Within the pitch-black void where he could not even see his own hand, a deep voice murmured, "Tsk, tsk. Protection from Poison, Thunderwave, Nimble Step... Just how many spells have been enchanted onto your gear? Truly extravagant."
Fanxing hurled a burst of Sacred Flame toward the direction of the voice. It was a signature cantrip of paladins—low in power and minimal in cost, but exceptionally swift to cast.
The holy fire sank into the darkness, seeming to strike something, yet the speaker's voice remained entirely unbothered.
"Impressive. As expected of an elite of the Ryan Empire—your instincts rival those of a divination wizard."
Fanxing dared not let down his guard. Layering defensive spells upon himself in rapid succession, he enveloped himself in a giant sphere of brilliant light.
"Stalling for time? A clever one. You guessed we resorted to assassination because we dared not cause a scene and invite the intervention of the City of Alchemy. Truly remarkable, paladin of the Ryan Empire."
Though the tone was laudatory, Fanxing detected only biting mockery.
The young paladin's mind raced through possible counters before he settled on a daring gamble. Light flared beneath his boots, and with a powerful leap, he cleared twenty meters in a single bound, soaring clean out of the darkness's reach.
Enhanced Jump—a specialized ritual spell enchanted directly into his greaves.
Up to this point, the only personal energy Fanxing had truly expended was the cost of two Divine Smites, leaving most of his physical stamina intact. Yet he had weathered one lethal threat after another, a testament to the immense value of top-tier enchanted equipment.
Having cleared the perimeter of darkness, Fanxing finally laid eyes on his true adversary: a lich hovering in midair.
Fanxing's pupils contracted, realizing he was in serious trouble. Yet he suddenly burst into loud laughter, declaring with utter confidence, "So you are that lich. You are far weaker than I imagined. Are you truly a legend?"
If the creature were truly a legendary-tier spellcaster, Fanxing would never have handled things so easily; he likely would have been grievously wounded already.
Anbaixiu shrugged. "I am merely a scholar dedicated to academic research. I'm not like you brutes who live for violence."
Fanxing sneered. "A scholar fond of assassination? You undead truly are shameless. Ah, forgive me, I forgot—you don't have a face to begin with."
Unfazed by the taunt, Anbaixiu carried on at his own pace. "I was hesitant to act before, much less orchestrate an assassination, simply because I couldn't gauge your capabilities. The fence-sitters in the City of Alchemy refused to take sides and wouldn't spare me a shred of intelligence; I genuinely worried that making the first move would land me straight into your trap. Only recently did I discover how careless you all were. Did you truly never consider that I might take the initiative?"
Hearing this, suspicion took root in Fanxing's heart.
Could the lich's words mean someone had leaked information?
His companions would never betray him. The leak likely stemmed from those three hundred commoners they had just recruited.
"And what of it?" Fanxing countered confidently. "Not only did your assassination fail, but you also exposed your own weakness. Had I known you were so feeble, I could have cleansed you single-handedly."
Anbaixiu nodded. "Indeed. None of you may be legends, but every one of you is armed to the teeth with ultra-luxurious gear. I truly might not be your match."
"Does that mean you wish to surrender?" Fanxing scoffed.
Anbaixiu shook his head and said, "No. I simply found you a far more suitable opponent. Gareth, he's all yours."
The moment Anbaixiu finished speaking, a suffocatingly massive silhouette materialized on the street.
*Clank, rattle!*
Chains rattled violently, and a greatblade larger than Fanxing himself cleaved straight down toward his head.
Chapter 64