Chapter 42 – The Doomed Konola

Chapter Forty-Two: The Doomed Konola

Pute’s death held meaning—he had bought Punk and Kane a full five seconds. Though brief, it was enough for them to pull far ahead while retreating at full sprinting speed. Those two Stalkers stood no chance of catching up now.

“Oh~! The great Pute sacrificed himself! He saved us! What an admirable saint he was!”

The moment they knew they had escaped danger, the two slowed their pace. No sooner had Kane emerged from peril than he reverted to his frivolous, jesting demeanor. Adopting an exaggerated, melodic tone, he mimicked a mourning bard’s manner to “praise” Pute, who had “sacrificed for the people”!

“No need to feign grief!”

Punk continued running forward without looking back.

“In such a major strategic defeat, the death of a weak mage is entirely ordinary.”

Punk’s voice remained as deep and icy as ever. The gale from their swift sprint whipped his Mage Robe into a furious flutter. Under the moonlit Wilderness, both Punk and Kane appeared as blurred streaks of light due to their extreme speed, elusive and unfathomable.

“Alright, alright.”

Kane shrugged as he ran. “I overthought it. With so many Apprentice-Level experts lost in tonight’s raid, tomorrow’s battle is practically guaranteed to be a loss. Mainaixi must be tearing his hair out by now—no time to care how some minor mage died.”

Though callous, Kane’s words held truth. To prevent losses among his “elites,” Mainaixi had dispatched only “irregular” hired professionals, yet these still constituted half of Konola City’s current Apprentice-Level combatants. The enemy already outnumbered them in strong individuals, and now they had lost nearly half their “elites” in one blow. Tomorrow’s city defense promised to be unspeakably brutal.

“Seems we can’t hold out for a week now,” Kane complained loudly. “Two days of fighting, and I haven’t earned a damn thing to exchange! If we flee now, all this work was for nothing? So damn frustrating!”

Kane, sorely lacking in Combat Skills, was clearly dissatisfied with gaining no rewards.

“At the very least, after all tonight’s efforts, Mainaixi can’t possibly give us nothing,” Punk remarked calmly. He didn’t know if the defense could continue—after all, Mainaixi was a veteran Formal-Level powerhouse, and no one knew what trump cards he might hold. But after such a night’s work, they were bound to return with substantial benefits. Otherwise, if Mainaixi showed no “appreciation” for the professionals who had risked their lives for “justice” and made great “sacrifices”… every soldier would be disheartened.

Kane undoubtedly knew this too—precisely why both were rushing back to Konola City through the night.

Nights in the tender season passed swiftly. Unnoticed, a hint of dawn emerged on the horizon, its faint light lifting the gloom from Konola City. At the very least… the vast, dried bloodstains on the city walls remained faintly visible.The two punks had reached the small hillside where they first laid eyes on Konola City. Unlike Kane, who was hypocritically lamenting the passage of time while staring at the ruined city, Punk kept his head down, intently examining the staff that had lost its head.

A staff’s purpose is to amplify magic. Aside from the rare few designed for battlemages, most staves are never intended to directly confront sharp blades—a “special” circumstance Punk’s staff clearly fell into as one of the majority.

Punk gently pinched the clean break in the staff, crushing tiny wood fragments with ease. From the moment it lost its core—the head—the staff had forfeited all magical effects. As time passed, the solidified mana within began to dissipate. Punk could almost feel the mana gradually fading from the staff into the air… After all, this was no high-grade staff. Within less than five magic hours of its complete destruction, it had lost its peculiar iron-like hardness. Now…

Punk’s face remained calm and indifferent under the dim moonlight. He lightly opened his slender, smooth fingers, letting wood dust carrying the last glimmers of mana spill through his fingers. They scattered with the wind, falling to the mundane world like azure sparks in the night—beautiful and ethereal.

“Hey now, don’t tell me you’re still mourning this broken stick that’s beyond repair!”

Kane, as always, excelled at shattering poetic moments.

“I was merely observing the process of enchantment decay,” Punk replied coldly. He casually tossed the ruined staff to the ground, where it easily shattered into several splintered pieces. Without hesitation, Punk turned and walked toward Konola City, now touched by the first light of dawn, never glancing back at the broken wood.

————————Break————————On the walls of Konola City, Mainaixi maintained his profound expression of “remaining unruffled even if Mount Tai collapsed before him.” Yet no matter how confidently he carried himself, the pervasive atmosphere throughout the city remained inescapable. At dawn’s arrival, only three of the twenty-four Apprentice-Level professionals who had embarked on the night raid returned in “disarrayed defeat.” Even the “Kamosi Royal Guards,” who had sworn to lay down their lives for Her Highness the Princess, couldn’t help but feel a chill in their hearts. Reality was no novel—when enemies became utterly unstoppable overnight, biological instinct bred more fear of “flight” than courage for “fight.” The “regular troops” still managed to stand on the walls, gripping swords dulled by bloodstains, suppressing the urge to turn and flee while putting on fervent expressions of “devoted loyalty.” As for the “hired” professionals… aside from a few chuunibyou youths infatuated with the princess, most others—including Punk and Kane, who had already exchanged for Apprentice-level knowledge—had long since distanced themselves from the walls! Those with clearer minds had realized this city wouldn’t last long enough for them to kill fifty professionals and exchange for knowledge. No rewards yet bearing risks? Profit-driven professionals would never commit such folly. Thus, they now lurked in corners near the city gates, disguised as destitute refugees, ready to flee the doomed sinking ship of Konola City amidst the chaos.

Punk had already cast spells to conceal the magical glow of his Mage Robe. Hiding among a crowd of refugees, his magically disguised clothing made him nearly indistinguishable from the tattered-clothed displaced—at least sufficient to deceive some hurriedly patrolling Bighead soldiers.

Punk kept his head lowered toward the ground, his face almost entirely obscured by his hood’s shadow. Manipulating a more advanced “Arcane Eye,” he watched Mainaixi standing poised on the city walls, hands behind his back. A lingering doubt troubled him: this official mage—who by all appearances was no naive do-gooder—insisting on wading into this inevitably doomed turmoil seemed utterly inconsistent with his character “setting.”

But…

“It doesn’t matter.”

Punk murmured to himself. Though he hadn’t gained as much knowledge as anticipated, it wasn’t a total loss. At least…

Closing his eyes, Punk sensed the richer, more condensed azure mana swirling within his soul…

“I leveled up again”!

(End of Chapter)