Chapter 152: The Fall of a Nation (Part 2)


    Inside the Tri-Nation Tournament arena, Han Ming was engaged in his first true all-out magical duel against a master mage—and his inexperience in practical spellcasting was becoming painfully evident.


    Against Shang Que’s relentless assault, he could barely defend himself, let alone counterattack.


    This can’t go on. I need to turn the tables, or I’ll just keep getting pummeled.


    The audience watched, breathless, as this rare clash of water and fire magic unfolded before them, unwilling to miss a single moment.


    Shang Que’s two beast souls wreaked havoc across the battlefield, leaving Han Ming no room to maneuver. Yet Han Ming understood—controlling two beast souls at once was draining Shang Que’s magic reserves at an alarming rate.


    He’s gambling.


    Shang Que was betting everything on overwhelming Han Ming before his own energy ran dry. Both Han Ming and the spectators could see it, but Han Ming had his own dilemma.


    He wanted to drag the fight out, to exhaust Shang Que completely—but his magical proficiency simply wasn’t on par. Stalling only worked when combatants were evenly matched. Against Shang Que’s full-force assault, it was impossible.


    Han Ming analyzed the situation coldly. Water magic had always been considered weak, but his Water God Art had elevated it to a level where it could rival fire. His weakness was spellcasting finesse; Shang Que outclassed him there. But his strength? Martial arts. Years of combat had honed his physical skills far beyond Shang Que’s.


    He had stubbornly insisted on defeating Shang Que purely with magic—until now.


    Magic is just a tool. It doesn’t have to mean long-range attacks alone.


    Any method that used magic to win was magic combat. Beast souls, for example—shared by both warriors and mages—were considered martial prowess in the hands of fighters, but magical dueling when wielded by spellcasters.


    The realization freed him.


    As Shang Que’s flaming serpent beast soul shattered through his defenses, Han Ming took a deep breath and encased himself in a thick layer of blue ice armor. Then—instead of retreating—he charged straight at the serpent.


    "What is he doing?!"


    "He’s insane! Trying to fight a beast soul with pure physical strength? No human can do that!"


    The crowd erupted in shock. Even Shang Que faltered, unprepared for such recklessness.


    The massive serpent lunged, its fangs sinking deep into Han Ming’s ice shield, shattering chunks of frost as its ten-meter-long body coiled around him. Snakes were infamous for their constricting power—enough to crush bones effortlessly.


    But Han Ming had a plan.


    At the last second, he conjured jagged ice spikes across his armor. The serpent’s coils tightened—only to impale itself on the frozen barbs. A hissing cacophony of steam filled the air as fire and ice clashed.


    Seizing the moment of the serpent’s pained thrashing, Han Ming unleashed his full monstrous strength—and ran, dragging the flaming beast soul behind him like a grotesque anchor.


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    "Impossible! That’s a beast soul!"


    Unlike ordinary animals, magical beasts were denser, heavier—some weighing ten times more than their mundane counterparts. And this beast soul, reforged from pure fire magic, was even stronger than its living form. Yet Han Ming was sprinting while hauling it like a ragdoll.


    The sight left the audience dumbstruck.


    Han Ming’s mind was clear: No more dodging. If Shang Que wants to gamble, I’ll raise the stakes.


    Shang Que could only watch in disbelief as Han Ming barreled toward him, the serpent still locked onto his armor. Any spell he cast now would hit his own beast soul first.


    Gritting his teeth, Shang Que tried to reposition—but Han Ming had already made his move.


    With a roar, Han Ming shattered his own ice shield, sending razor-sharp shards stabbing into the serpent’s body. The beast writhed—and in that split second, Han Ming exploded forward.


    A shadow blurred across the arena.


    Shang Que barely had time to conjure a flaming sword before Han Ming was upon him—one hand slapping the blade aside while the other flicked a glacial dagger to a hair’s breadth from Shang Que’s throat.


    The ice hovered, spinning slowly.


    Shang Que felt death’s chill kiss his skin.


    "...I yield."


    He exhaled, dispelling the serpent that had been moments from crushing Han Ming’s skull. Overexertion made his legs buckle, but Han Ming caught him before he fell.


    The two locked eyes—and smiled.


    The stadium erupted.


    "The water mage won! A water mage actually won!"


    Tears streamed down the faces of fellow water mages in the stands, their cheers shaking the very foundations of the arena.


    <hr>


    Meanwhile, Fila City’s gates had fallen.


    The demonic horde flooded through the shattered defenses like a tidal wave, leaving behind a wasteland of corpses. Rivers of blood stained the earth crimson.


    There had been no time to evacuate.


    Now, the undead abominations of the demon army rampaged through the streets, their crimson eyes gleaming as they butchered everything in their path. Screams echoed as civilians fled—only to meet blades at every turn.


    <hr>


    Inside the Mages Guild:


    "Guildmaster! Fila City is lost!"


    The report sent shockwaves through the room. Guildmaster Mokar, a fourth-tier fire archmage, surged to his feet.


    "All mages—defensive positions! Protect the civilians at all costs!"


    "Yes, Guildmaster!"


    Dozens of elite spellcasters mobilized instantly—until a purple figure materialized before them, smiling.


    Beside him stood the aged Desert Viper chieftain, Luo Yan.


    "Guildmaster Mokar," the purple-robed man said smoothly. "What an unexpected pleasure."


    Mokar’s face darkened.


    "Sixth-tier revenant…"


    "Ah, allow me to introduce myself," the man continued. "I am Zi Yao, supreme commander of the demonic legions. Out of respect for your station, I’ll offer you this courtesy: Do not alert the Floating Citadel. Because if you do…"


    His smile turned glacial.


    "We will drown the entire Northern Alliance in mage blood."


    "Kill him!"


    The mages reacted instantly—spells of fire, ice, and lightning streaked toward Zi Yao.


    Yet the demon commander didn’t even flinch.


    Luo Yan merely raised a single hand—and a colossal earthen wall erupted from the ground, swallowing every spell whole.


    Mokar’s breath caught.


    "Qi Manifestation… A fifth-tier warrior!"


    <hr>


    A Warrior’s Limits vs. A Mage’s Potential


    By the fourth tier, warriors could project their combat aura beyond their bodies. At the fifth, they could solidify it into physical constructs—similar to how mages conjured spells.


    But there was a catch.


    Early on, warriors advanced fast. A third-tier berserker could barely challenge a second-tier archmage. But by the fourth and fifth tiers, their aura projection allowed them to rival spellcasters—albeit at shorter ranges.


    Did that make warriors superior?


    No.


    Because while warriors plateaued, mages skyrocketed.


    At the fourth tier, mages could harness the world’s ambient magic—no longer limited by their own reserves. Their growth accelerated exponentially.


    Two cultivators, one warrior, one mage, training for the same time? The warrior might surge ahead early—but the mage would overtake them later. By the sixth tier, both could materialize energy.


    The difference?


    A high-tier mage could unleash cataclysmic area spells—wiping out armies with a single incantation. A warrior, even at their peak, remained a single-target force.


    And that…


    That was why mages ruled the battlefield.