Chapter 93: A Legend's Crushing Might

The elves' sudden appearance caught Ambrose completely off guard.

He studied them carefully, identifying their status from their attire.

"Twilight Wardens of the Court of the Silver Moon?"

This was a squad composed entirely of high-tier elven professionals, the elite of elven society.

Unlike most elves, who were conservative and reclusive, those who aspired to join the Twilight Wardens typically first traveled across the continent to broaden their horizons and accumulate real combat experience. Only after reaching an advanced rank did they return to the Court of the Silver Moon and become true Twilight Wardens.

The Twilight Wardens were also the reason half-elves were so common across the continent.

Adventures were dangerous and exhilarating. When companions lived and fought side by side for years on end, sparks were bound to fly. Elves were beautiful regardless of gender, and no matter how conservative they were, decades of wandering, temptation, and eager advances inevitably wore down their resolve.

After all, romance was part of elven nature. That was how half-elves often came into being.

Because cross-racial births were difficult and often ended in fatal complications, a grim joke gradually spread among other races: half-elves often suffered twice the neglect.

With their deadbeat elven fathers having returned to the Court of the Silver Moon, and with their mothers dead from childbirth, the child would be doubly starved of love.

But regardless of whether the joke had started out of envy or resentment, it made one thing clear: Twilight Wardens were not the sort of elves who simply stayed at home weaving leaves.

Every one of them had survived countless adventures. They were sharp-eyed, quick-handed, and undeniably powerful.

That was why Cicero's expression turned grave after only a single glance at Ambrose.

The young man before him had even more refined features than an elf, yet his body radiated a chilling aura of darkness. This was something Cicero had never encountered in decades of adventuring.

After gauging that malevolent presence, Cicero probed cautiously, "A necromancer, arriving unannounced? It seems that this lord has quite the social circle."

The Porcupine Knight glanced at Ambrose and frowned. "I don't recognize this mage."

During his clash against Ambrose, he had only seen the latter in skeletal form. Now that Ambrose had shapeshifted into a human, the knight could not identify him.

"Can someone explain what's going on here?" Ambrose asked.

He had come to confront the Porcupine Knight, only to find an even greater source of trouble already present. The chaotic scene gave him pause.

Cicero replied carefully, "Nothing more than a friendly exchange. We've concluded our meeting."

The arrogance had vanished from the golden-haired elf's demeanor. He could clearly sense the immense magical power radiating from Ambrose. What he didn't know was that Ambrose's newly repaired body was so fragile that it was leaking dark mana he could not yet fully restrain.

Cicero believed that the young necromancer was just passing through. And since he had already achieved his own objective, there was no reason to spark unnecessary conflict.

Seeing this, the Porcupine Knight's heart began to race.

Wasn't this exactly how he himself had looked moments ago? Cautious, restrained, desperate to avoid conflict...

With a sudden surge of resolve, he shouted, "Master Mage, whatever business brought you here, for the sake of a fellow human, please help me! These elves are trying to seize my land by force. Drive them away, and I'll pay you handsomely!"

The Porcupine Knight had noticed the elves' expressions. They were regarding the lone young mage as though he were a dragon—so he would gamble everything on this slim chance.

Such was the nature of the weak. Caught in a great tide, they knew that hesitation could mean death, but could not stop themselves from trying to thread the needle anyway. The future was a fog of despair; they edged left and right, hoping merely to advance a little further, unsure whether the next step would lead to salvation or the abyss. Even so, they were unwilling to give up without trying.

Ambrose wanted to say that he hadn't come to help. But when the Porcupine Knight said he was willing to pay any price, Ambrose's fingers twitched involuntarily.

He knew the words were probably meaningless, but it was like flattery: even when you knew it didn't mean anything, it was still pleasant to hear.

Good. Now there was no need to decide which side to deal with first.

Cicero reacted instantly. With smooth, practiced movements, he drew the longbow from his back and fired three arrows in rapid succession. The shafts burned with roaring flames. They were clearly no ordinary arrows.

The other elves coordinated with him flawlessly.

Before the flaming arrows could strike, a slick layer of oil spread beneath Ambrose's feet. It made his footing treacherous and would ignite violently from the slightest spark.

Another elf hurled a Silence spell, aiming to seal Ambrose's ability to cast spells.

Though they looked like rangers, these elves all wielded magic with ease. As long-lived beings, elves had a natural advantage in branching into multiple disciplines. When one path stalled, they simply switched to another.

In the past, such a group of coordinated elites would have forced Ambrose into frantic defense. With bad luck, he might even have been overwhelmed.

But now, things were different.

The Golden Throne manifested instantly behind Ambrose. With nothing more than a single Mage Shield, he blocked every incoming attack.

Flaming arrows, oil explosions, magic missiles—under the power of the Golden Throne, his low-tier Mage Shield displayed absurd defensive strength.

Cicero's eyes nearly bulged out from his head. He recognized the Golden Throne as a legendary boon. How catastrophically unlucky did he have to be to run into a legendary mage here of all places?

Legendary might could defy natural law altogether.

The same was true of Black Rose's Death Gaze. Once she locked onto a target, all magical resistance became meaningless. She could turn her target into an undead, completely overturning the fundamentals of necromancy.

That was why legends were known as demigods. Ordinary people stood no chance against them.

Ambrose felt a genuine satisfaction. After all these years as a legend, he was finally experiencing the peak of legendary might.

The Golden Throne blazed with radiance as Ambrose sat unmoving open it. No matter how the elves attacked, they could not break through the thin barrier of his Mage Shield.

Moments later, their attacks began to falter.

Their opening salvo had drained most of their mana and arrows, yet Ambrose seemed perfectly unharmed.

Seated casually on the Golden Throne, fingers interlaced, Ambrose looked down at them and said, "Finished attacking? Then it's my turn."

He snapped his fingers. A cluster of small teleportation circles bloomed in the air before him.

His Zha'Kix Type VI skeletons emerged in swarms. Alongside them appeared a special skeleton clad in a black robe and armed with a bow.

The mantis-shaped skeletons vanished the instant they appeared. Only the faint sound of bone claws skittering across the floor remained. At such close range, the elves had no time to cast detection spells before invisible skeletons pounced upon them.

Screams rang out as several elves were slammed to the ground, fresh blood pouring from multiple puncture wounds.

The luckier ones evaded the initial ambush by instinct. They drew short swords to counterattack—only for the hooded skeletal archer to loose arrows, precisely knocking their weapons from their hands.

Ambrose nodded in satisfaction at the archer. "Looks like you've fully mastered this body."

The skeletal archer was none other than Husky. Ambrose had assembled a skeletal body for him and thrown him into his extradimensional space, which he sped up to its maximum: one day outside was one year within.

Husky had spent several years within that space, learning to sense the world and control his body through soulfire. He was able to detect even the subtlest movement of the elves, allowing for flawless shots.

Strictly speaking, Husky was also a half-elf. Yet he showed not the slightest hesitation in striking down his kin. Bone arrows whistled through the air, pinning the elves' limbs to the floor.

Still, even a few years' worth of training hadn't been quite enough. Though Husky possessed the soul of a high-tier undead, his body had not yet caught up. This skeleton was only marginally stronger than an ordinary foot soldier. He needed more time to condense dark mana and strengthen it.

But once he matured, his combat power would rival that of a death knight. He would be capable of trading blows with high-tier paladins.

As elf after elf fell, Cicero realized he was unlikely to survive. Yet instead of fleeing, he cast a miniature teleport spell at top speed to send the magical contract in his hand away.

Seeing this, Ambrose said in surprise, "I was deliberately holding back. I wanted someone to escape so I could negotiate a ransom with the elves. But you're not planning to run, are you?"

Cicero did not answer. He drew his twin blades and charged. In that instant, he transformed into a swift, agile warrior, slipping past Husky and reaching Ambrose in the blink of an eye.

Runes flared along the blades. Though they were stopped when they struck Ambrose's Mage Shield, Ambrose felt the Golden Throne's power consumption spike sharply.

These were powerful enchanted weapons. The elven elite deserved their name. But even so, the blades couldn't deal any damage. They froze in midair, hovering inches from Ambrose's face.

Ambrose calmly brushed the blades aside and said to Husky, "Bind them all. We'll take them back and deal with them slowly."

Husky bowed respectfully. Ambrose dismissed the Golden Throne and walked over to the Porcupine Knight. "What was that piece of parchment just now? You didn't happen to sign some kind of contract with these elves, did you?"