The sudden arrival of the elves took Anbaixiu completely by surprise.
He studied the group closely, inferring their identities from their attire.
"The Twilight Guard of the Silvermoon High Court?"
This was a squad comprised of high-tier combatants among the elves, considered an elite force of their race.
Unlike their conservative kin who preferred to stay secluded at home, members of the Twilight Guard typically traveled across the continent before being formally inducted, broadening their horizons and honing their craft. Only after becoming high-tier combatants would they return to the Silvermoon High Court as true Twilight Guards.
The Twilight Guard was also the reason why most half-elves existed across the continent.
Adventuring and roaming naturally brought countless perilous, thrilling moments, and spending day and night alongside companions made it easy for sparks to fly. On top of that, elves—male and female alike—were breathtakingly gorgeous. No matter how conservative an elf might be, few could resist decades of admirers throwing themselves into their arms; there would always come a moment of weakness.
Pursuing romance was simply part of elven nature, and half-elves were often the result.
Because it was notoriously difficult for other races to bear half-elves, often resulting in fatal complications during childbirth, a rather dark joke had gradually emerged over time.
A half-elf was twice as starved for love.
The joke went that the deadbeat father had run off back to the Silvermoon High Court, while the mother died in childbirth. With both parents gone, they were naturally twice as starved for love.
Yet whether this dark humor stemmed from envy or bitter resentment over abandonment, it demonstrated one clear truth: the Twilight Guard were not ordinary elves who spent their days idling at home weaving leaves.
Every single one had survived countless adventures and lethal trials, making each of them an agile powerhouse with razor-sharp instincts.
Consequently, Cicero's expression grew solemn after a single glance at Anbaixiu.
Although the youth before him possessed features softer even than an elf's, his entire frame radiated a chilling aura of darkness—something Cicero had never encountered in his decades of adventuring.
Cicero gauged the evil aura emanating from Anbaixiu and ventured cautiously, "An unexpected visit from a necromancer? It seems our lord here is quite well-connected."
The Porcupine Knight glanced at Anbaixiu, studied him closely, and said in confusion, "I don't know this mage."
During their previous encounter, the Porcupine Knight had seen Anbaixiu in his skeletal form. Now that he had assumed human shape, the knight failed to recognize him.
"Can someone tell me what's going on here?" Anbaixiu asked.
He had come to settle scores with the Porcupine Knight, only for the elves—against whom he held an even deeper grudge—to show up as well. The chaotic turn of events left him momentarily bewildered.
Cicero replied guardedly, "Merely a friendly exchange, and our discussion has concluded."
Facing Anbaixiu, the blond elf lost all of his prior arrogance, for he could clearly sense Anbaixiu's formidable magical power. What he did not realize was that this body had only just been restored. Because it was still so fragile, Anbaixiu could not entirely contain the dark mana leaking from within, which was why Cicero had detected it at first glance.
In Cicero's view, this young necromancer was likely just passing through. Having already accomplished their objective, there was no need to invite trouble.
Watching this unfold, the Porcupine Knight grew even more agitated.
Weren't these elves acting just as he had moments ago—cautious, meek, wanting only to avoid trouble?
At that thought, the Porcupine Knight suddenly shouted, "Sir mage! Whatever you came here for, for the sake of our shared humanity, please help me! These elves want to forcibly seize my land. Help me drive them out, and I am willing to pay you a handsome reward!"
The Porcupine Knight had already noticed that the elves looked deeply uneasy. A whole squad of elves stood before this lone young mage, their expressions as grave as if facing a dragon. Sensing a turn of events, the Porcupine Knight could not resist gambling on the opportunity.
Such was the helplessness of small figures caught in the tides. Knowing full well that swaying back and forth was courting death, they still could not resist taking the chance. The future was shrouded in a fog of despair, and swaying between sides was just an effort to scramble forward a little farther. Even without knowing if the next step would plunge them into the abyss, they could never be reconciled without trying.
Anbaixiu was tempted to say he had not come to help, but when the Porcupine Knight offered a handsome reward, his fingers twitched involuntarily.
Even though he knew very well such promises carried little weight, it was like flattery—even knowing it was mere pleasantries, Anbaixiu loved hearing it.
Splendid. Now he did not need to deliberate over which side to deal with first.
Cicero's reflexes were equally swift. With fluid grace, he unslung the longbow from his back and loosed three arrows in rapid succession toward Anbaixiu. Raging flames blazed along the shafts; at a glance, they were clearly no ordinary ammunition.
The other elves acted in seamless coordination.
Before the flaming arrows could strike, a wide slick of greasy oil appeared beneath Anbaixiu's feet. Not only would this grease cause anyone to lose their footing, but it would also violently ignite upon contact with open flame.
Another elf cast Silence, seeking to stifle Anbaixiu's spellcasting entirely.
These elves all appeared to be rangers, yet their spellcasting was remarkably proficient. As expected of a long-lived race, their immense lifespans gave them a huge advantage in multiclassing; when one path hit a dead end, they could simply switch to another and keep going. Against such tightly coordinated elites, Anbaixiu would previously have been left scrambling, and with bad luck, he might even have suffered a defeat.
But things were different now.
The Golden Throne manifested behind Anbaixiu in an instant, and with just a single Shield, Anbaixiu blocked every attack.
Be it the flaming arrows, the detonating grease, or the Magic Missiles and Witch Bolts... the power of the Golden Throne endowed the low-tier spell Shield with incredible defensive might.
Cicero's eyes nearly popped out of his head. He recognized Anbaixiu's power—this was a rule-defying effect that only a legend could achieve. Just how bad was his luck to run into a legend here, and a wizard at that?
The true power of a legend was shattering common sense and rewriting the rules.
The Rose of Decay's Death Gaze was the same: once locked on, it ignored all spell resistance, transforming you into undead from vast distances and completely overturning every rule of necromancy.
This was why legends were referred to as demigods. When someone could rewrite the rules and cheat reality itself, ordinary mortals stood no chance whatsoever.
Anbaixiu was delighted. All these years after ascending to legend, he was finally experiencing true legendary power.
The Golden Throne radiated brilliant light. Anbaixiu sat upon it, steady as a mountain. No matter how the elves attacked, they simply could not shatter that paper-thin Shield.
Moments later, the elves' offensive began to falter.
A single burst of assaults had exhausted most of their mana and arrows, yet Anbaixiu had not lost so much as a single hair.
Sitting atop the Golden Throne, Anbaixiu lazily folded his arms and said to the elves, "Finished with your attacks? Then it's my turn."
With a snap of his fingers, a swath of miniature teleportation circles appeared before Anbaixiu.
Swaths of aberrant mantis skeletons, already upgraded to version 6.0, emerged in droves. Beside them appeared a special skeleton draped in a black robe and clutching a bow.
Upon emerging, the mantis-form aberrant skeletons quickly faded into invisibility, leaving only the clicking scuttle of bony claws across the hall floor. At such close quarters, before the elves could even cast spells to detect invisibility, the unseen skeletons lunged onto them.
Screams rang out as several elves were tackled to the floor, riddled with bloody puncture wounds.
The luckier elves relied on their instincts to dodge the lunging invisible skeletons and drew their shortswords to retaliate, but the skeleton archer draped in the black robe would loose an arrow, cleanly shooting the weapons straight from their hands.
Anbaixiu looked at the skeleton archer with satisfaction and said, "Looks like you've mastered this body."
The skeleton archer was actually Erha. Anbaixiu had pieced together a bone body for him, tossed him into his private demiplane, and dialed the flow of time to maximum speed.
One day outside, one year inside.
Erha had spent several years adapting inside Anbaixiu's private demiplane, finally mastering how to use his soul fire to perceive the outside world and manipulate his body. Once Erha filtered out all irrelevant information, his soul fire perceived every minute movement of the elves, allowing him to shoot with pinpoint accuracy.
Speaking of which, Erha was also a half-elf, yet he showed not the slightest mercy toward his kin. Bone arrows whistled through the air, pinning the elves' limbs to the floor.
Unfortunately, time had still been too short. Even though Erha possessed the powerful soul of a high-tier undead, he lacked a body to match. This skeletal frame was barely stronger than an ordinary skeleton soldier; it would take much longer to condense dark mana and reinforce this vessel.
When that time came, the combat strength Erha displayed would be hardly inferior to a Death Knight's, capable of going toe-to-toe with high-tier paladins.
As elf after elf collapsed, Cicero knew things looked grim for him. Yet he did not choose to flee; instead, he cast a miniature teleportation spell at top speed, whisking away the magical contract in his hand.
Seeing this, Anbaixiu remarked in surprise, "I was holding back on purpose, hoping one of you would manage to escape so I could negotiate a ransom with the elves. But you don't seem keen on running."
Cicero offered no answer. Drawing twin blades, he charged straight at Anbaixiu. In that moment, Cicero turned into an agility-based warrior, slipping past Erha in the blink of an eye to arrive right before Anbaixiu.
Magic runes flared along the twin swords. When they struck Anbaixiu's magical barrier, although they were stopped immediately, Anbaixiu felt a sudden, sharp spike in the drain on the Golden Throne's power.
They were clearly a formidable pair of enchanted weapons. The elven elite squad indeed had a few tricks up their sleeves. Yet the shortswords still failed to harm Anbaixiu. Before the blades could reach his body, the magical radiance of Hold Person had already settled over Cicero.
The enchanted edges froze before Anbaixiu's face, never touching his flesh.
Reaching out, Anbaixiu flicked the sword tip aside and instructed Erha, "Tie them all up. We'll take them back and deal with them at our leisure."
Erha respectfully complied. Anbaixiu dismissed the Golden Throne, strolled over to the Porcupine Knight, and asked curiously, "What was that thing just now? Did you sign some kind of contract with these elves?"
Chapter 93