Wizard: Starting from the Skill Tree

Of course, the Duke did not come alone; Robert and other players from the Star Embers were already prepared outside.

Thousands of priests and guards wearing dark red uniforms formed a defensive formation around the square, with the light of flame magic flickering continuously, illuminating the entire square like daylight.

From the very beginning, the Duke did not involve the people from the Light Sect in this action. Instead, he summoned three thousand Level 1 Sand Servants, along with the core combat players led by Robert from the Star Embers Guild.

The Sand Servants moved like a tide of dark golden color, steadily advancing along the outer streets and corridors of the square towards the main hall. They had no fear, no sense of pain.

Supporting the Sand Servants’ advance was Robert’s player army, more agile, more cunning, and less afraid of death.

A player hit by the Fireball Technique fell amidst the firelight, and shortly afterward, stood up again from a concealed resurrection point on the city’s outskirts, dusted himself off, cursed, and again rushed into the battlefield weapon in hand.

The resurrection light at the point almost never stopped flashing.

The Duke withdrew his gaze from the square, took a deep breath, and then his voice rolled like thunder over the entire Furnace Castle sky.

The announcement declared that Augustus had been personally slain by him, and from that moment, the Fire Sect ceased to exist.

Those willing to submit to the Light Sect could stay, with their original identities and positions remaining unchanged.

Those unwilling to submit could leave on their own; the Light Sect would not pursue and kill.

But those who stubbornly continued resisting with weapons would be executed without mercy.

The battle on the main hall square paused abruptly for a few seconds after this proclamation.

The priests and guards of the Fire Sect looked up at the dome, and when they saw the flagpole hanging with a swaying corpse, countless faces showed the same expression.

Disbelief, fear, then wavering.

The first to drop his weapon was a young priest, who looked very young, his chest still bearing the lowest-tier apprentice mark of a flame symbol.

His magic wand fell onto the obsidian floor with a crisp sound, then he collapsed to his knees.

Then followed the second, third, fourth, as the defensive formation on the square began to unravel from the edges, with more and more low-tier priests and guards laying down their weapons and kneeling on both sides of the square, bowing their heads, not daring to look up at the flag above the dome.

But not everyone chose to yield.

The most core forces of the Fire Sect, those elite Defender Knights Order nurtured from childhood by the sect, who survived countless religious wars, those fanatics tempered in the flames with all their faith, after a brief silence exploded into even more frenzied resistance.

A squad leader of the Defender Knights Order drew his sword and struck down a young priest who had just knelt down beside him, then raised his arm and shouted Augustus’s name, leading his squad to launch a counter-charge against the front of the square’s Sand Servants.

This unit completely disregards retreat routes, charging suicidal into the dark golden tide, carving a bloodied path within the encirclement of Sand Servants.

They knew they would die, but they chose to die on the charge rather than kneeling at the feet of their enemies.

The battle to clear out resisters continued for quite some time.

Robert divided the player army into several squads, coordinating with the Sand Servants to encircle and partition several sub-halls and corridors around the main hall.

The stubborn elements of the Fire Sect, taking advantage of familiar terrain, turned every corridor, every cloister, every chamber into a mini-battlefield.

Players engaged the Defender Knights of the Fire Sect in fierce close combat within the narrow indoor environment, with casualty numbers continually rising, but the teleport light at the resurrection point almost never stopped flashing.

Players, once killed, resurrected to fight anew, while opponent Fire Sect Knights, once killed, were permanently reduced, once wounded, were weakened.

This war of attrition continued until the later stages, when the morale of the remaining resisters of the Fire Sect finally began to collapse, not because they feared death, but because they realized their sacrifice was meaningless.

When the main hall, sub-halls, and surrounding corridors were all under control, Robert hurriedly came forward, armor covered in sword marks and scorched burns, a still-bleeding wound across his face, yet his spirit seemed as invigorated as if he had just drunk three cups of strong tea.

He concisely reported the situation of various areas to the Duke: the vast majority of regions were completely controlled, surrendering members of the Fire Sect were gathered in the main hall for unified supervision, those willing to submit were being registered on rosters, those unwilling were being dismissed in batches.

However, there was still one area not taken—Alberto had retreated with the last few dozen core followers into a secluded church on the west side of the city, activating the internal defense magic array of the church, making it inaccessible to players.

The Duke nodded slightly without saying much, only gesturing for Robert to lead the way.

The west side church was a much smaller building than the main hall, constructed entirely of black volcanic rock, its exterior walls simple and unadorned. But the defense magic array carved inside the walls glowed with dark red light in the darkness, enveloping the entire church in a semi-transparent dark red shield.

Hundreds of players and Sand Servants surrounded the church, with several players squatting at the edge of the magic array, attempting to analyze the array’s core with their spiritual power, progress was slow.

The church doors were tightly shut, and faint figures could be seen moving through the upstairs windows. The Duke walked along the path automatically opened by the players to the empty ground in front of the church, stopped, and looked up at the tightly closed door.

"Alberto," he spoke, his tone as calm as inviting an old friend out for tea, "surrender. Augustus is dead, the Fire Sect no longer exists, continuing resistance is pointless."

Upstairs in the church, a narrow arched window was pushed halfway open.

Alberto’s face appeared behind the window, the old scar on the left side twisted even more hideously under the dark red light of the magic array.

In his eyes, there was no fear, no wavering, only a pure, almost pathological hatred.

He stared at the Duke for a prolonged time, and then burst into laughter, his voice hoarse and mad, like a throat rubbed repeatedly on sandpaper.

"Surrender? Duke, let me tell you, I, Alberto, have only ever knelt before Lord Augustus in my lifetime. Now that he’s dead, do you think I’ll kneel to you? As long as I live one day, there will be no peace for your Light Sect! Even if I die, my followers will continue to fight! You’ll never sit comfortably on the thrones of the Fire Sect!"

The Duke quietly watched him, waited for him to finish speaking completely, and then slightly nodded.

"Alright." He said, "There’s nothing more to discuss."

The Duke stepped back three paces, raised his right hand, fingers spread, palm upward. Metallic yellow sand surged out from the cuff, rapidly coalescing in mid-air.

This time the condensation speed was faster than before, the movements smoother too.

Endless dark golden grains of sand seemed to be drawn by an invisible force, in a breath, they formed into a four-color giant hand much larger than before in the assembly hall.

This giant hand was large enough to encompass the entire church along with the empty ground before it, engulfing them in shadow, as its five fingers slowly spread apart, each finger as thick as an adult waist, with the four-color divine light flowing between joints like four entwining dragons of light, roaring and surging within the palm, turning the surrounding night sky into an aurora of dark red, ink black, pale gold, and earth yellow interwoven together.

The Duke pushed forward with his five fingers.

The giant hand thunderously descended.

The church’s external walls’ defense magic array let out a piercing scream the moment it touched the four-color divine light—that was the energy dying wail from being violently crushed at a rules level in the structure of the magic array.

The dark red shield released by the magic array was shattered layer by layer from top to bottom by the giant hand, the fragmented light shards splattered like heavy rain to the surroundings, pitting the stone slab ground before the church.

The church’s heavy volcanic rock walls collapsed inward under the pressure of the giant hand, fractured, disintegrated, with those age-old rune patterns inscribed within the walls rooted out, turned to ashes and dispersing under the sweep of the four-color divine light.

Through the arched window upstairs, Alberto’s pupils reflected the increasingly larger four-color giant hand, his final expression held fear and anger, along with an indescribable reluctance.

He opened his mouth wide as if wanting to shout something, but before the sound could come out, his body together with the church dome was pounded underground by the giant hand.

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