Chapter 242: Cat-and-Mouse Game

“Our guests have arrived,” Raman Sentalus suddenly set down his wine glass, standing up with excitement.

The adjutants were confused. In the darkness, beneath the cliff, they could barely see anything. Only the sound of the night wind brushing through the treetops reached their ears.

“Over in that direction,” Raman said. 

A mage’s senses far exceeded those of ordinary people. While the half-elves couldn’t hear the dying screams coming from afar, it was no issue for him.

Almost the moment his hand gestured in that direction, a red flare exploded in the sky.

“It’s Sirisio’s garrison!” one of the adjutants quickly confirmed after checking the map.

“They picked a good spot to make their move,” Raman said with a smile.

But just minutes later, a deep purple flare exploded in the sky.

“They can’t hold out?” the adjutants said in surprise. “So soon?”

They were used to facing the various insectoid creatures crawling out from the Gate of Kahango—creatures that had no tactics, no fear of death, with strong physiques and countless variations. However, it was rare for any of them to have magical abilities, so these officers were accustomed to heavy infantry grinding it out against their foes.

Even though the Sirisio garrison was involved, the time from engaging the enemy to calling for help was incredibly short.

“If the other side has a mage, then it’s understandable,” Raman said with an excited grin. “Well then, let’s go greet our guests.”

He blew the specially crafted bone flute hanging from his chest, and a few seconds later, a loud cry rang out from a massive bird of prey. It leaped down from the large wooden perch, awkwardly walking a few steps toward him.

“Can’t see clearly?” Raman shook his head. “It’s alright, little one. I’ll guide you and show you where to go.”

“Raman,” Rodrick came out of the tent at that moment.

“Brother, I’m going to check out who our enemy really is. I’ll be back soon.” 

By now, Raman was already seated atop the giant bird. The tip of the short staff in his hand suddenly emitted a brilliant red light, and the bird let out another loud cry. With a few flaps of its wings, it leaped into the open space, soaring into the air.

“This guy…” Rodrick shook his head but made no move to stop him.

Although Raman was two hundred years younger than him, he was considered the most promising young mage in the Sentalus family, with the potential to become a legendary mage. Maybe he wouldn’t necessarily capture or kill the enemy, but as a mage, retreating safely wouldn’t be an issue.

Even among the elves, mages held a position of great prestige, far above that of magic knights or arcane archers.

“Very well.” 

Rodrick watched as the red glow moved swiftly toward where the distress signal had been launched. He finally nodded in approval.

***

“What is that…” 

In the nearby forest, Wu Qingsong and the others were startled to see the red light rapidly approaching. He quickly changed the original plan and hid himself again.

“Wu?!” Daryl called out in a low voice. 

He was unwilling to back down.

They were only a few miles away from the last Silver Moon Wolf Clan unit, and now they were stopping here?

“Let’s see what he’s capable of first,” Wu Qingsong pulled him back, retreating quietly.

At that moment, the red glow stopped above the makeshift camp that had already been overrun by the undead.

“Undead?” 

Raman was momentarily surprised by the scene below, but he quickly raised his short staff again and loudly chanted a spell.

The air suddenly became dry, and a swarm of red particles appeared around him, gathering into a massive fireball, which he then hurled directly into the densest cluster of undead.

Flames exploded outward. It instantly reduced over a hundred undead at the blast center to charred remains. Those on the outskirts of the blast were also set ablaze, but they felt no pain and knew no fear. They continued their relentless pursuit of the few soldiers who had miraculously escaped.

“Such graceless creatures!” Raman scoffed with disdain. 

Even so, he carefully cast a magical shield around himself before urging his mount to descend slightly and began hurling more fireballs at the concentrations of undead.

“What will it be? A Blood Spike? A Shadow Arrow? A Bone Spear, or maybe a Death Shock?” 

His focus was more on the attack that could come at any moment, fueling his excitement. His senses were heightened, and for the first time, he felt a shiver of anticipation—a sensation he’d never experienced in libraries or training fields.

This was it—this was the feeling.

He tightened his grip on his staff, ready to counter any attack from the enemy. However, much to his disappointment, none of the spells typically employed by necromancers, as described in countless books, ever appeared. The undead creatures below, instead of retaliating, scattered under his relentless fireball barrage, quickly retreating into the forest. No longer could he easily burn down three or four undead with a single fireball.

“Damn it! Not even a single Bone Archer or Bone Mage?” 

Raman focused his attention, trying to spot something more dangerous in the glow of the flames. But all he saw were large numbers of sluggish zombies and a few quicker-moving ghouls retreating into the woods. It was nothing like the descriptions he’d read about undead armies.

Where was the “Skeleton Horde”? 

The countless Bone Archers, Liches, Ghosts, Blood Giants, or Death Knights?

“Come on, show yourselves!” 

The stark contrast between his expectations and reality sparked a strong sense of dissatisfaction. It felt like a boxer who had spent months rigorously training, only to step into the ring and face a child. This entire battle seemed like a joke, an event put on purely for entertainment.

The bitter disappointment quickly turned into anger.

His opponent was likely nothing more than an apprentice-level mage, relying solely on the power of necromancy to command a force capable of defeating an army. But in terms of magical prowess, they couldn’t hold a candle to a true mage. So, the coward was hiding.

A massive amount of fire elements gathered around Raman’s staff, then erratically poured into the forest below, creating bursts of flames that consumed more undead. Yet, there was still no counterattack from the necromancer.

In the darkness, all he could see were shadows darting silently, retreating towards the eastern mountains.

“Damn rats!” Raman cursed. 

He relished watching his enemies writhe in agony, screaming as they burned to ash. But these undead left him feeling like he was punching a pillow. Their lack of resistance offered no sense of achievement.

‘I’ll find you, drag you out, and slowly roast you until you reveal who’s pulling the strings. Then, I’ll bring you to the capital for all to see.’

He harbored these malicious thoughts.

Another massive fireball slammed into the forest, sending several undead flying. Yet, there was still no scream or anything to give Raman the satisfaction he craved.

The Sirisio garrison was done for, and he had no interest in chasing down these worthless targets through the dark woods all night.

He flew higher. His mount circled the sky briefly. After tossing a few more fireballs into the forest below, he begrudgingly returned to the cliff.

“Who were they?” Roderick asked.

“Just a rat,” Raman replied with a cold sneer.