Without any reservations I kickstarted my super speed and travelled to the forest.
The city Ailee was in wasn’t Svalundine, but was not an unreachable place.
The official visit would be tomorrow at six o’clock in the morning. I could still force myself to catch it.
Every time my magic power was depleted, I used my passive skill to make up for it.
“Little Miracle” was my passive skill.
The passive skill was an ability that a low number of elites possessed.
Passive skills were specialties that were strengthened. For example, a person that was naturally good at long distance running would have a passive skill that strengthened body strength, endurance, etc. By this same logic, a person who was an innate long-distance mage might have passive skills like “Eagle Eye” or “Magic Bullet” or the like.
A person’s talent would manifest itself early. Innate ability would make them stand out in that area. A passive skill would allow them to shrug off everyone else.
So, in this world the tendency was for the strong to become stronger and the weak to be weaker.
Strong individuals would obtain specialized passive skills and become an unattainable existence for ordinary people.
For example, Zhai He’s forging type skill. Zhai He possessed the ability and knowledge to forge, a sharp brain and sharp eyes, so when he was reincarnated he obtained the passive skill “All Things Cast.”[1] According to Carolina’s description, the ability could analyze the skeletons and things that didn’t have skeletons. He only had to pour magic power in and he could forge as he wished.
It was kind of thing that left others in the dust.
But I was an exception. I hadn’t manifested any sort of ability, so I always believed that my passive skill was unreal.
Until I saved Ailee, I believed that I was just a mediocre talent.
Up until then I hadn’t discovered my power to trigger a miracle. Except if I lost consciousness, my battle endurance was a lot greater than other people’s. As long as there were an enemy, even if my bones were broken I could still fight. My exhausted magic power would immediately recover. My wounds would heal a lot quicker.
It was an convenient skill for an ordinary person, but it was a disdained existence by experts.
Shen Zhen, who had been in the same group as me, was born with a magic power far surpassing ordinary people. It was an unbeatable existence that even I could not contend with. He used magic wrapped around himself to arm himself, every layer strengthening his body. An inexhaustible supply of magic that was as vast as the ocean.
To bring up an example, the magic in my body was like a bottle of vapor while Shen Zhen was a bottle of water.
Shen Zhen did not learn any magic spells. He simply used his overwhelming magic power and recovery speed to constrict the opponent. He could be said to be unable to be changed, inflexible, unyielding.
Shen Zhen’s passive skill was “Explosion Break Magic.” I only saw Shen Zhen use this skill in the Disaster of the Three Hundred. A one time expulsion of a massive quantity of magic produced an explosion.
An ordinary person, if they were to use this skill, would output enough magic for a fire or a larger fire that could burn down a house.
But what Shen Zhen produced was more like a volcanic eruption.
It was the most dazzling light of the battle.
I swiftly travelled forward through the rain, only occasionally touching down on the ground.
Because there was no one here, I might as well just take off my hood and show my face.
My hair had already been soaked by water and plastered tufts of hair to my face.
The rainwater and sweat mixed together on my face and then ran down into my neck.
I wrapped a ball of hot air around my soaked clothes in the chest area, but they didn’t dry. Instead, the stinging was incomparable.
I smiled.
When people reached the extreme point of their suffering they would smile. That’s what Ailee told me one day.
My clothes had stuck to my back and I would constantly feel a chill from them.
A sudden clap of thunder exploded right above me and a piercing light flashed.
Yes. On the Disaster of the Three Hundred, it was also raining.
A total downpour.
It was like being awash in a river of blood.
At that time, it started when Commander Baliat shouted the orders to line up.
Three hundred people were divided into different battle squadrons, mutually covering the other and attacking.
Control and weakening skills crackled as the hit Scampelier.
Slow, weaken, dizzy.
Blind, magic seal, fear.
Every kind of spell that could be used to bind the enemy was used. Then in an orderly manner, the offensive began.
The first move was to use passive skills.
There were two team members who were using their passive skills. Andobar, who had the passive skill “Certain Wound”, and Bubarack, who had the passive skill “Cannot Heal”. The former made it so that wounds made by companions would not heal. The latter had a designated target, so that the target could not heal its wounds.
The two people had different targets, but the outcome was the same. It was all to prevent Scampelier from recovering.
Then, Scampelier made her move.
It was at a speed that was almost impossible for me to perceive.
Was she a speed type?
At that time, while everybody was making this judgement, Scampelier grabbed a gigantic black sickle.
It was pure magic that had formed into that black sickle.
In one slice, she cut the head of the first person in front.
“Slow has no effect! Weaken has no effect!”
“Strengthen the defense, do not let her break through the line! Magic control!”
The members in front holding their great swords and shields yelled in unison. The mages in the rear lines started to chant. A red conflagration broke out in the sky, flames raining down like shooting stars. Every kind of colored balls of light rained down on Scampelier.
“Defense? This your defense?”
All the magic disappeared several meters from her like they had evaporated.
Scampelier tilted her head and looked at us.
Then, she stuck her hand through Watt’s chest and crushed his heart.
Watt Maylise, the core of the entire defense, the man possessing “God’s Strength.”
Like it was nothing, he was killed.
His short, golden hair was soaked through with blood as he fell down in a pool of blood.
Everyone’s attack momentum had weakened, and had unintentionally looked at Scampelier.
Scampelier, licking the blood off her hand.
“What’s wrong? Aren’t you attacking?”
The black sickle pierced another chest of a defense member.
Scampelier walked forward and twisted off his head.
Then, tossed it like a ball at Commander Baliat.
A speed that I had no way of perceiving.
Kabam!!!
The impact hit the expressionless defense, and my former teammates’ heads turned into blood and fragments.
“Can this still be called defense?”
Scampelier said with interest.
That was the omen of the sea of corpses, the surfacing foam that preludes the tsunami.