Arcane Journey

Brian gathered his thoughts and focused intently on the center of the fierce battle ahead.

The showdown between the Radiant Order's legendary squad and Demogorgon is at a stalemate.

Amidst the flashing blades and the roaring magic, it was like a fierce storm raging and rolling endlessly.

The two sides exchanged blows, each move potentially fatal, yet neither could truly defeat the other.

This battle was like a brilliant yet meticulously planned game of chess, where a single misstep could lead to total defeat.

Brian narrowed his eyes, a slight unease settling in his heart.

In his view, this stalemate was not normal at all; it was more like a test and game where neither side had revealed their hand yet.

However, something even more unexpected happened soon.

Even though the demon prince Demogorgon only had one head left, the aura he exuded was still terrifying and suffocating, like an invisible mountain pressing down on one's heart, making even breathing heavy.

Clearly, these powers are already close to the realm of gods, enough to make most legendary powerhouses tremble in fear and collapse before the battle even begins.

But this legendary demon lord was now like a wild beast that had completely lost its mind, its eyes burning with crimson fury, and its mouth constantly emitting low and violent roars.

Moreover, its attacks are completely haphazard, driven entirely by instinct.

Whether it's the black flames that spew out from its mouth to corrode the soul, or the shockwaves that burst forth from its horns to tear through the void, even the surging demonic energy itself has transformed into a corrosive force that is almost a curse.

However, the powerful spell-like abilities that should have accompanied the demon lord, the power to summon otherworldly servants, and the dark magic that manipulates mind and reality, all failed to appear.

Brian immediately became wary and continued to be patient, not intending to make a move in a hurry.

Because it didn't look like a well-planned revenge campaign, but rather a blind slaughter driven by rage.

Otherwise, even with the support of the "Igville Demon Chronicles," the legendary team of the Radiant Society would not have been able to handle this confrontation with ease, let alone gain the upper hand.

He slowly clenched his fist, a sense of unease rising in his heart.

I have a feeling that there is some deeper conspiracy hidden behind this furious demon's head.

Just then, the gray dwarf soulblader who had been lingering on the edge of the battlefield suddenly unleashed a sharp, knife-like mental fluctuation.

This is a sharp and chilling aura of supernatural power, like countless invisible blades crisscrossing and dancing in the air, drawing unseen paths of death.

Immediately afterwards, he swung the pickaxe in his hand with lightning speed, his whole body transforming into an incomparably sharp afterimage as he suddenly charged out across the battlefield.

In that instant, his figure seemed to merge with the air, or as if he had been briefly detached from the real world, leaving only a blurry and cold phantom.

The techniques he used were neither the psionic combat techniques Brian was familiar with, nor any known school of techniques. Instead, they were a unique psionic art with an ancient and mysterious aura, a path of slaughter that seemed to originate from the ancient abyss.

Brian's heart skipped a beat, and his pupils contracted slightly.

It's important to understand that almost all of his psionic knowledge and combat spells were inherited from the female elf Helistan, whose psionic system originated from the complete and profound heritage of the world of Atas. This was a civilization that had developed the power of the mind to its extreme, and the complexity and subtlety of its techniques were unparalleled.

Logically speaking, Brian's knowledge of psionic powers was already extremely comprehensive, covering almost all mainstream schools and techniques.

However, at this moment, facing the strange and bizarre moves of the gray dwarf soulblader, he felt an unprecedented sense of unfamiliarity and oppression.

This feeling is like glimpsing some forbidden art forgotten deep in the river of time—both familiar and distant, both real and illusory.

This led Brian to an astonishing conjecture: the psionic power wielded by this grey dwarf did not originate from the inheritance of ordinary humans or elves, but most likely from the most primitive and ancient realm of the Mind Flayers—the Mind Empire long since vanished into the dust of history. It was a realm even Herist had never mentioned, the legendary place where the first spark of mind power was said to have been controlled.

The gray dwarf Soulblade was as solid as iron, with a ghostly blue flame of psionic energy burning in his eyes.

The psionic blade in his hand seemed to have materialized from the void, incomparably sharp and radiating a chilling light.

As he suddenly leaped up, the sharp blade sliced ​​through the air with a piercing whistle, like a night owl soaring through the sky, heading straight for the beast-like Demogorgon.

Demogorgon roared as he charged forward, his muscular body as heavy as a mountain, yet he seemed somewhat slowed by the onslaught of the gray dwarf soulblader.

The opponent's sword shadows were like a storm, dense and impenetrable. Each strike contained the shockwave of a mental supernatural power, as if thunder pierced the heart, causing the blood and qi in Demogorgon's body to surge.

The pickaxe danced in the hands of the gray dwarf soulblader, its moves sharp and precise. Each swing unleashed a mental storm, as if tearing invisible cracks through the air.

Moreover, his movements were incredibly fast, leaving a trail of afterimages. He seemed to have become the master of the battlefield, suppressing Demogorgon and forcing him to retreat step by step, leaving him only able to defend passively and unable to find an opportunity to counterattack.

It was a suffocating sense of oppression; the entire space was filled with the psionic energy of the gray dwarves, making it difficult to even breathe.

His figure moved between light and shadow, like a hunter lurking in the darkness—cold, decisive, and exceptionally skilled. Each strike carried a deadly rhythm, as if playing a symphony of death.

Demogorgon roared repeatedly, its voice filled with anger and anxiety. It tried to break free from the overwhelming offensive, but could not find a way to break through.

On the surface, the situation in this battle seems to have already tilted.

The gray dwarf Soulblade suddenly unleashed his ultimate technique, his body erupting with a burst of violent black light, like lightning tearing through the night sky, sending chills down one's spine.

He flashed forward like a ghost, his dark silver soul blade slicing through the air with a sharp, piercing whistling sound, even splitting open a crack in space.

The offensive was extremely fierce, wave after wave, like raging waves crashing against the shore, leaving no room for respite.

Demogorgon was forced to retreat repeatedly, his steps unsteady and disordered. Each block was accompanied by a deafening metallic clang, and sparks flew, illuminating his ferocious face.

Its body swayed constantly amidst the fierce and relentless attacks, like a lone boat adrift in raging waves, in danger of capsizing at any moment.

Although the enraged Demogorgon briefly regained his composure and tried to regain his footing and gather his strength to counterattack, the oppressive aura of the Grey Dwarf Soulblade was too strong, and every strike precisely blocked his retreat and the opportunity to strike.

The entire battlefield seemed to be on the verge of ending. (End of Chapter)