CHAPTER 157: CHAPTER 157: STAGGERING SMITE

The barbarian’s combat style had always been like this—scorning tactics and techniques, their minds filled with only one thing: attack, attack, and attack again!

Reckless to the extreme, with slashing arcs and wild swings, they were riddled with openings from head to toe. But in their berserk state, boiling blood and bulging muscle allowed them to simply tank nearly all physical damage, making it nearly impossible to put them down!

They were like living, ironclad tanks—engines roaring—crushing every foe with unstoppable brute force.

With Torun’s direct assault, Charles had no way to evade. He began to chant, placing Hexblade’s Curse upon Torun while raising his shield to brace for the clash: "Shield!"

Buzz——

A flicker of magic power light appeared. Charles spun his body, sweeping out his right arm, slashing sideways diagonally at Torun—

A longsword, used one-handed, actually had a bit more reach than a heavy weapon like a greataxe, which required both hands. Plus, Charles’s summoned sword was already on the long side of the spectrum, so he managed to land his blow first.

Hiss—

His longsword struck the raging warrior’s body, hard as steel, barely leaving a mark. But the flames on the blade caught his coarse fur, and the curse began ravaging the minotaur’s innards instantly!

The raging warrior grunted, but such pain was nothing to a barbarian caught in the storm of fury. His greataxe fell, as if to cleave Charles in two.

Charles raised his shield, but the barbarian, deep in rage, was an irresistible force. Even without magic, with nothing but brute strength, Torun’s greataxe shredded the shield’s magical protection and crashed down on the shield!

Clang——

A deafening crash. Charles felt a monstrous force screaming through his arm—he staggered backward several steps, left arm numb and almost useless.

He gritted his teeth.

Damn—so that’s the raw power of a ninth-level minotaur barbarian?

And this on top of a magic shield, Armor of Agathys, and False Life!

What if this guy was wielding a magical weapon? Wouldn’t he be able to tear my shield to pieces on the spot?

I can’t let this become a melee slugfest—I need to leverage my spellcaster’s edge and outplay him!

With that thought, he feinted a retreat, widening the gap. But Torun was faster, showing no sign of faltering or slowing down.

His muscular legs thundered forward, arms still encased in reforming ice from previous attacks, and again he raised the greataxe to bring it crashing down: "Die—!"

With no choice, Charles raised his left hand: "Agatha!"

At once, the diamond ring on his left index finger flashed with dazzling red light—a wild-haired, white-robed female ghost burst forth, mouth open in a piercing shriek: "Aaaaaah—!"

The scream struck Torun’s very soul, making his body freeze in place as his greataxe whistled harmlessly down and slammed into the ground!

And Agatha lunged, her hands gripping Torun’s broad shoulders, mouth gaping to reveal monstrous fangs, and bit down viciously into the minotaur’s throat!

"AAHH—!"

Torun felt a sudden chill as the agony of his life-force being drained battered his mind, a guttural roar tearing from his throat.

He tried to counterattack with his greataxe—but just then, Charles took advantage of the opening. From his belt he drew the Storm Warhammer, charged it with magic power, and hurled it forward with all his strength—

BOOM——

Forced to defend, Torun raised his greataxe, blocking the spinning warhammer. The steel ax and the flying hammer met with a shriek of tortured metal, and a bolt of electricity surged through Torun’s body, leaving him paralyzed and helpless!

In midair, Agatha clamped to his neck, gorged herself on the minotaur’s vitality.

"Whew..."

Charles felt a warm rush of energy from the life he gained, the numbness and pain in his left arm fading away. However, seeing his spell slots drop to just six, his expression grew grim.

That’s not enough to keep fighting...

No help for it—he’d have to do this now...

Taking a deep breath, he opened his attribute panel. Looking at his balance—over fourteen thousand Purification Points—his heart twinged.

It cost nine thousand Purification Points to raise from level six to seven. He’d saved up enough a while ago.

He hadn’t planned to level up yet, for a simple reason: upgrading the monastery to level three required ten thousand Purification Points, and he’d wanted to save them for that...

It was level three that would unlock the true game. Once his monastery was expanded to a hundred thousand square meters and leveled up, he’d be able to construct all kinds of real training facilities, turn new recruits into pastors, and rapidly expand his influence.

Level three training grounds would also allow him to learn new feats, so he wouldn’t need to grind levels—strength could soar independently.

Those powerful combat feats and metamagic feats, or advanced specializations that required many prerequisites, would take too long if he only leveled up.

So he’d been hoarding Purification Points, just waiting for his monastery to reach that threshold and hit level three.

But this fight was harder than expected.

Sighing, he resolved to just hunt down more undead later and grind Purification Points gradually.

Exhaling, he pressed his fingertip lightly on the "Level Up" option.

Buzz——

A milky light surged up—new magical power and purified energy flooding into his body, granting him new strength. His spell slots instantly restored by six, the cap increased to thirty-eight.

Not only that, but new knowledge also surfaced in his mind—he had mastered a new 4th-level spell.

Staggering Smite!

A 4th-level spell required the consumption of six spell slots, and the effect of Staggering Smite was to pour the destructive force of those six slots into a single strike: instantly tearing open an opponent’s soul and shattering their will!

As Charles slowly savored this new spell in his mind, his lips curled slightly.

Heh. Torun, in a moment, you’re going to be very sorry.

"Get out of my way!"

On the other side, Torun, paralyzed from the electric shock, finally regained control over his body. Growling, he swung his greataxe, and Agatha was forced to let go and retreat.

Supported by Hexblade’s sixth-level feature, "Accursed Specter," she had a certain physical presence, allowing her to persist in the world and battle foes—but it also meant she could be harmed by ordinary weapons. Although such damage was minor, it remained a real threat to Agatha in her current weakened state.

After driving the female ghost away, the enraged Torun didn’t hesitate. He brandished his greataxe and charged forward again, his heavy footsteps making the cavern rumble as if the entire earth itself were shaking!

Charles quickly stepped back, once again drawing the Storm Warhammer from his hip, infusing it with magic power, and hurling it forward—

But this time, Torun was ready. His greataxe swept out horizontally—

Clang!

Another screech of metal rang out as the flying hammer was batted aside. A burst of electricity surged through Torun’s arms, but it only locked his muscles for less than a second.

Of course, Charles hadn’t hoped a single hammer would settle things. He chanted anew, channeling magic, and flaming energy began to reform on his longsword: "Staggering Smite!"

This was the effect of "Staggering Smite." Spell completed, he surged forward at Torun.

Torun marched forward as well, greataxe poised for a wide horizontal slash. Charles didn’t dodge this time—instead, he braced himself and charged through, shield raised: "Shield!"

The greataxe came crashing down!

Clang—!

Once more, his greataxe slammed into the shield, and Charles staggered from the impact but forced himself upright, then brought his longsword down in a vertical arc—

Hiss—

The sharp blade left only a shallow wound on the minotaur’s hide, but the flames ignited his fur and the curse stabbed again at his heart. Yet none of this compared to the agony flooding Torun’s mind in that instant!

"Ugh—"

Invisible magic surged into his mind, transforming into a formless blade that nearly split his soul. Torun’s crimson eyes constricted—he suddenly saw Charles’s body looming larger than the mountains themselves, wielding a longsword broad as a mountain, coming down on him!

It was as though a bucket of ice water had been dumped over him. The fury in his chest vanished instantly, replaced only by cold terror and the sensation of suffocating!

"No..."

All his rage was simply gone, and now overwhelming agony, shame, and fear seized his heart as if a giant iron hand had clamped around it. His voice began to tremble. The once-fearless warrior now sounded like a child: "This isn’t real, this isn’t real—!"

A moment ago, he had been in a berserk state—now, suddenly, the barbarian let out a scream, dropped his weapon, clutched his head in both hands, and turned to flee, howling: "This isn’t real—Aaaahhh—!"

Clang—

The steel greataxe crashed to the ground. In this iron-scarce mountain tribe, to treat a steel weapon so carelessly would be bitterly condemned.

But now, Torun could ignore tradition, taboos, or principle. All he wanted was to escape—no matter how far, just away!

"Aaaaaah—!"

Blinded by panic, he tore pell-mell through the dark tunnels and in an instant vanished into the depths.

"Whew..."

Charles exhaled in relief as he looked after Torun, considering whether to give chase.

But that barbarian was much faster than him, and Charles had only two spell slots left—practically powerless for combat.

Chasing now would be suicide. Better to retreat while the effects of Staggering Smite lingered.

Behind him, minotaurs and Anno’s group were locked in desperate battle. Stone weapons and metal shields clashed, blessings and curses glimmered, and tangles of vine wove everywhere—testament to both sides’ spellcasters.

At that very moment, even Andny’s vampire bats swarmed forth, biting at the minotaurs, adding what little extra damage they could.

But overall, the minotaurs still had the edge in numbers and physical strength. Their assault was about to break the tenuous defensive line—when suddenly they saw their chief’s son, the best young warrior, Torun, shrieking in terror and fleeing as fast as he could.

Instantly, they were devastated. They couldn’t imagine what the white-haired stranger had done to make their battle-crazed champion run in such terror.

At the rear, Priest Samit drew back his banner, worry etched on his face as he peered in the direction Torun had disappeared. After a moment’s thought, he said gravely, "We retreat! We must find Torun and bring him back!"

Success or failure, the most important thing: their chief’s son, the future heir of the Highmountain tribes, Torun, could suffer no harm.

So, at Samit’s shout, the minotaurs—who had been pressing hard against the spiders and Anno’s group—gave up their advantage, fell back, and then broke for the depths after Torun.

At last, this disastrous battle was truly over.

"Whew... Everyone, is everyone alright?"

Charles caught up from behind, glancing around and seeing, though three giant spiders lay dead, vampire bats littered the ground, and blood pooled everywhere, at least everyone only had minor wounds and nothing fatal.

"We’re fine. Priest, are you alright?"

Nidalee answered instantly—she had already shifted back to human form, since as a leopard she couldn’t cast spells, and of her group, she alone was a spellcaster, capable of dueling the enemy priest.

So she had transformed back.

"I’m fine as well," Charles replied, glancing at the wounded, and at Bruno, the female brass Dragonborn, and the swollen-bellied Bonnie hiding nearby, and frowned.

All right... best to retreat, quickly!

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