Warlock Apprentice

The cold mist had covered the evening peace in the apprentice town, but the underground market was still bustling with people in its eternal light.

The base of Sky Tower was exceptionally crowded. People had gathered in front of a giant screen while patiently waiting for the schedule of Three Levels of Death tomorrow. Among them, there were also mortals who came here to pass the information to rich apprentices who employed them — Information on possible interesting matches and participants.

“I wonder if Fox Master has any matches tomorrow. I love his style. He looks so cool and composed!”

“Composed? The fake blind bastard only knows how to act all cool. None of his moves got any senses. He can only bully people at the lowest of the three levels.”

“You sound as if you’re stronger. How about you go up there and prove it?”

“Well, I’ll never watch some unranked guy, thank you very much. I hope those in the top places can come tomorrow. I haven’t seen them fight in a long time.”

“The matches between the tops always got announced three days earlier. They won’t come here all of a sudden.”

He did not really feel any stress. Probably because he already went through a good number of matches. Combined with that fact that the birthday of Leon distracted his thoughts.

It was only when he stood on the stage and realized the audience around were all cheering loudly that he finally collected his spirit.

The glass screen above his head showed the names of the fighters and a countdown timer.

The names were placed aside portraits. Angor’s portrait was there, but it only showed someone covered under his hood.

As for the portrait of “Wasteland Warrior”… Angor did not pay much attention. His opponent was already standing across of him, so he might as well look that way.

“Baron Milk… Unlike the others, I know about you,” said Wasteland Warrior. He was a bulky male who wore a khaki-colored armor. “Surely you know who ‘Battle Horn’ is?”

“Umhmm.” Angor did not know who that was. But he was Baron Milk now, so he needed to pretend.

“He’s my buddy. You beat him before, so I know well about all your skills. Nice alchemy weapon you got there, but it won’t penetrate my defense.”

Angor slowly recognized the name “Battle Horn”. It was a prayer user back in Level 11, who buffed himself with all kinds of spells and attacked his opponents directly.

“I thank you for not killing my friend. Today, I’ll make an exception and let you live,” Wasteland Warrior spoke in a way as if he was giving Angor some honorable gift. “Nevertheless, I still need to imprint terror into your mind for going against me!”

“Baron Milk” remained silent as he maintained his distant and arrogant character’s persona. However, Angor had already begun to complain in his mind: This guy’s talking too much. Wasteland Warrior? How about calling himself the Waste-Word Warrior?

Waste-Word Warrior kept talking nonsense until the countdown reached zero.

Angor immediately cast an ice wall to protect himself, then used the chance to gain more distance while applying various defensive spells on himself.

Waste-Word Warrior, on the other hand, did not move at all. The man thumped his chest confidently.

“Come on, shoot. Right here. I won’t try to dodge!”

Angor could not help smiling: Okay, I was wrong. He deserved to be called a warrior.

The novels in Jon’s tablet were so true. People could actually get THIS stupid!

“Ha! I hope you don’t regret your words,” said Angor as he gave his opponent a big smile. He already planned to use his secret weapon, but now he did not need to.

Angor lifted an arm. While his robe was flipped up by the wind, Wasteland Warrior noticed a golden glimmer coming from Angor’s sleeve.

“So that’s your hand crossbow? It ain’t getting past my shield!” Wasteland Warrior triggered his mana and the blood of Earth Salamander in his body. His already bulky body grew bigger. Blood vessels pulsed on his skin.

“Perhaps one bolt won’t do the trick. But how about ten?” Angor said.

He did not tell his opponent that he was using ten enchanted bolts, not ordinary ones.

Angor took the time to get a good aim at Wasteland Warrior. Since that guy was foolish enough to stand there like a striking dummy, he had enough time to set a plan for where each of his rune bolts was going to.

The three Freeze Bolts would hit the ground to the left in a triangle formation. Even if Wasteland Warrior managed to step left and avoid the bolts, the ice would cause him to fall off the stage. The three Flame Bolts would then go for the right in a straight line, making it impossible for Wasteland Warrior to dodge the fire. Another two armor-piercing bolts were aimed at Wasteland Warrior himself.

Angor carefully calculated the angles for the bolts.

When he was done, he warned Wasteland Warrior, “I’m coming!”

“Do it! Right here! My body’s ready!”

The previously excited spectators all grew quiet at this point. Why did that conversation sound so… terrible?

The innocent Angor did not feel anything wrong about what they just said in public. When he received an answer from Wasteland Warrior, he even nodded at his opponent politely. Next, he held his breath, triggered his mana, and released all ten enchanted bolts at the same time.

Wasteland Warrior intended to terrify this arrogant Baron Milk guy by using the superior defense capacity of an Earth Salamander. However, when he saw the bolts aimed at him, he suddenly received a terrible sense.

Something’s wrong!

Beasts were naturally sensitive to danger. Wizards who fused the blood of beasts also inherited such instinct. Now, Wasteland Warrior only felt as if a giant thundercloud had covered himself up.

No matter which direction he evaded to, the lightning released by the thundercloud would get him!