Chapter Sixty-Eight: Egilson's Retreat, the Fierce Battle of the Bear God

The two war eagles were instantly transformed into charred roast chickens, flapping helplessly as they crashed to the ground. Divine power surged around Egilson, and in the next moment, he manifested several more war eagles circling in the air.

“Tear his flesh apart, my beloved eagles,” Egilson commanded once again.

The war eagles in the sky dived in unison toward Patrick. The eagle god was clearly enraged; lightning energy still crackled across the eagles’ bodies, a clear sign of divine empowerment.

Patrick couldn’t help but smile. The war eagles, though enhanced with some divine power, were still just ordinary eagles made stronger. He locked onto them with spatial vector casting, conjured a molten fireburst, and swept it forward. The spell struck the incoming eagles head-on; this time, not even ashes remained, their forms obliterated in midair.

The rangers who had just survived the lightning storm surged back into the chaotic battlefield. Many of them were already drenched in blood, with some daggers so slick with troll blood that they were difficult to grip. In the ensuing melee, both rangers and troll soldiers fought with wild abandon, eyes red with frenzy.

Meanwhile, the accompanying mages also unleashed their spells without restraint, casting large-scale group magic to hold back the trolls’ assault head-on.

“We can’t drag this out. We must end this quickly.”

A vast arcane power began to gather in Patrick’s hands, instantly dispersing the green miasma of sorcery that lingered around him. He was preparing to face Egilson in a direct magical duel.

Sensing the surge of energy in Patrick’s hands, Egilson likewise began to gather the power of the eagle, as blue lightning energy coalesced around him.

At the same moment, the two locked eyes and hurled their accumulated powers at each other—a true duel of spellcasters, a contest of mastery and magical reserves.

In an instant, the energies collided—lightning infused with animal god’s power against a beam of arcane force—crashing violently in midair, sending ripples of force through the atmosphere.

Unlike Egilson, Patrick had the advantage of the “great battery” within him, and was thus utterly fearless. He intensified his arcane output, determined to kill the eagle spirit outright.

Egilson could already feel the mounting pressure, but he could no longer withdraw his power. Should he cease, the arcane energy would strike him directly, and then it would not be a question of life or death, but of whether there would be any remains left at all—he might well be disintegrated, leaving not even ash behind.

As the arcane beam inexorably pressed closer to him, Egilson, desperate, swiftly cast a lightning storm. With the aid of the circling war eagles, several bolts of lightning struck the energies between them, and the eagles diverted Patrick’s spell upward into the sky.

Taking advantage of this, Egilson withdrew his magic; the war eagles struck by the energies flapped a few times before being vaporized, leaving only a few feathers drifting down.

The eagle god was wracked with magical backlash, a trace of blood appearing at the corner of his mouth. Patrick gave him no respite; while fireburst required a moment to channel, Patrick did not intend to allow any breathing room. Arcane missiles appeared instantly in his hands—such spells were nearly instantaneous for him—and he launched them at the birdman.

Sensing the danger, Egilson, wounded as he was, hastily conjured a wall of static. He blocked several arcane missiles, but some still struck his body. The battered eagle god was nearly knocked from the sky. Though hatred burned in his heart, he could do nothing against Patrick now. He threw a venomous glare over his shoulder, unleashed several bolts of lightning to cover his retreat, and flew in the direction of Maracas.

Egilson’s defeat greatly bolstered the elves’ morale. “That chicken-headed coward has fled! Victory to the elves!”

“The enemy’s spellcaster has lost! We will win!”

But this also deeply unsettled the nerves of the Bear Spirit Giant—Nalorak. As a true champion under Zul’jin, the embodiment of the giant bear, Nalorak possessed terrifying strength, not to be underestimated.

His adversaries were Alleria and Sylvanas, the two Ranger Generals, who had thus far relied upon their superior agility and evasiveness to dodge Nalorak’s attacks. Despite his brute strength, Nalorak could do nothing to harm them—what use was power if you could not land a blow?

However, the anguished cry of Egilson’s defeat and his companion’s retreat sent Nalorak into a frenzy. In that moment, his strength erupted uncontrollably. Nalorak, in bear form, instantly shifted into his troll shape, unleashed a wild charge, and barreled toward Sylvanas.

Sylvanas, relying on her practiced agility, leapt away and narrowly avoided the attack. But Nalorak immediately shifted back into his bear form, unleashing a deafening roar at her, then swung a rending slash straight at her face.

Leaping through the air, Sylvanas was stunned by the roar and could not evade. Even had she not been, there was nowhere in the air to leverage a dodge. This blow was inescapable—a mortal danger swept over her.

Patrick, having just driven off the eagle god, sensed the earth-shaking roar from Nalorak’s direction and saw at once that Sylvanas was in peril.

Without hesitation, Patrick flashed toward Sylvanas, firing an arcane missile at Nalorak in hopes of buying a crucial moment.

The air grew tense.

He accelerated, arcane threads extending to snatch Sylvanas from the bear’s claws at the last instant. In a heart-stopping rescue, Sylvanas lost only a lock of hair to the bear’s swipe—she was otherwise unharmed.

Nalorak’s hide was thick and his blood plentiful, but he possessed no true magical skills. The rangers’ kiting tactics had been highly effective, until Egilson’s defeat sent the bear spirit into a rage.

“What could be more joyful than serving the Bear Spirit forever? Come then, closer… offer your soul!” The bear spirit’s arrogant words rang out, spoken in perfect Common.

Seeing Sylvanas rescued, Nalorak did not pursue her further. Instead, he shifted back into troll form and charged at Alleria with another wild assault.

Sylvanas’s brush with death made Alleria acutely wary. She knew better than to dodge carelessly; if she leapt as before and Nalorak used the same rending slash, she would have no means to avoid it in midair.

Nalorak was upon Alleria in an instant, scoring a bleeding mark across her body, and swung his massive hand at her, his form glowing as he began to shift back into bear shape.

Sylvanas felt a pang of embarrassment, but the urgency of the situation left Patrick no choice. He set her down and immediately blinked across the battlefield, appearing at Alleria’s side.