The spellbound fools tore one another to shreds, forming a pool of blood and gore across more than one hundred meters. At the end, only one man stood, torn by ghastly wounds proving the depth of his struggle. Kilian slapped the man's head off his neck, killing him in a single blow. But even as death took him, his lips remained curved in a foolish smile.

Just like that, the viscount's forces lost 5,000 men. Hidden snipers threw themselves at the ground, hoping to bask in their lord's glory, but instead crashing and adding their corpses to the rancid pile of gore.

One spell, 5,000 victims. A spell of that magnitude had already surpassed all those captains had come across. At least third circle, probably higher, or so they thought. However, they weren't that far from the truth. Third Circle Spells usually cost between 300 and 1,000 dra. However, Profane Allure cost Kilian 2,500, making it close to the dra cost of the weakest Fourth Circle Spells. In terms of pure potency, it rivaled a low-grade Fourth Circle Spell. Truly fit for the fehl race and their outrageous dra reserves.

Having never expected their forces to collapse at such speed and in such a wretched manner, the captains took a moment to process the situation. Once they did, however, they rushed back toward the gates, planning to use their micro transmitters to give the signal for a ranged strike.

What a joke, engaging this foe in close-quarter was nothing short of lunacy! They didn't sign up for that! As Core Templars, the two of them naturally were nobles, key members of Olaf's house, and therefore, in love with their lives.

A commoner's life had little worth. But an aristocrat's was priceless! But as they rushed into safety, two walls threw them into despair. First, their micro transmitter stopped working, preventing them from sending the signal. Second, a massive energy shield formed around the palace, preventing anyone from diving in!

Butting against the shield, the two captains staggered and collapsed onto the ground. Without functional officers to command them, confusion spread among the troops, with many considering making a getaway.

"OLAF! I'M YOUR LITTLE BROTHER FOR FUCK'S SAKE! LET ME IN!!!" The guard captain raged against the ward with his eyes reddened by indignation. Meanwhile, the vice captain's eyes darted between Kilian's incoming form and his superior's fear-driven outburst.

But at that time, empowered by magical devices, a voice boomed from the castle.

"Disgraceful whelp! How dare you use such a profane language in our house! Is this how you answer to our parents' teachings? Worse, the enemy is at our doorsteps, but instead of giving your life for your house, of dying with heroic splendor, you seek escape?!

I abjure you!" Olaf bellowed from his castle while quivering from fright! Horrified, as he witnessed Kilian's performance, waves of terror assailed his mind and heart! Instantly, he'd tried calling the capital, but realized all dra lines no longer functioned! This ward was his final bit of defense, how could he open it for even a second? What a joke!

"Even when women are concerned men know neither friend nor kin, and you think that when my life is on the line, I will remember you? Bastard, I curse you!" Olaf inwardly spat, and still, his legs quivered.

"Soldiers, have no fear, the enemy has exhausted his dra reserves and is now a dry oil lamp! This is the time to muster your strength and attack! Whoever takes his head will receive 3,000 qraftas, be ennobled if they are not, and receive land of their choosing! The survival of Ostria, of your wives and daughters, relies on your brave hands!" Olaf proclaimed, and to back his words, used a second circle spell to create an illusory version of himself.

The fake Olaf landed on the top of the outer wall, galvanizing the troops!

Seeing through the subterfuge, his brother broke into tears!

"Olaf! Damnable bastard! How can you be so shameless?! Stop this charade and let me in!" The poor bastard squealed. But seeing this, Olaf sneered.

"What a moron. Will shame help you when you feed the worms? Son of a bitch, your mother deserves to be dam—oh shit." Only now did Olaf recall they both had the same mother and slapped his mouth in self-admonishment. Meanwhile, two-thirds of the remaining soldiers regained their courage, unsheathed their blades, and submerged Kilian in a hasty melee.

The rest took Olaf's words to heart, and deserted on the spot! How could they forget that they still had wives and daughters? Obviously those were the ones in need of their protection!

Alas, they awoke too late.

"Harebrained creatures," Kilian scoffed, and stretched out his hands, causing crackling sounds to echo from his bones. Controlled by his fleshcrafting abilities, they morphed and extended, protruding from his flesh like razor-sharp spikes.

As the 4,000 soldiers descended upon him, dozens of spike-like bones now protruded from Kilian's body, with those extending from his arms bending into curved bone-blades. Faced with a scene they'd never once met in their lives, those soldiers wondered if the viscount had not cheated them.

But to say nothing of them, even Olaf could not comprehend this absurd change.

"What nonsense is this? Don't tell me he can control his osteoblast cells…" Olaf stammered, unable to accept such a truth. But indeed, he was right. Osteoblasts, osteoclasts, density, and flexibility, with his Lv. 3 Fleshcrafting, Kilian had absolute control of his skeletal structure.

Stomping his foot, Kilian whirled across the soldiers, becoming a hurricane of blades as he tore through their lives. Heads, waists, chests, every time Kilian struck, minced bodies followed. Before the fools even realized what went on, their 4,000 minced bodies formed another pile on the ground. Kilian didn't stop, vanishing to reappear before the 2,000 deserters.

Without a word, he aimed his hands at them, firing myriads of stake-shaped bone projectiles that impaled them all to the last.

"To live like hunting dogs, but die as deserters. Now, this is what I call human dregs," Kilian scoffed and shifted his eyes toward the two captains that still knelt before the shield. But as they witnessed this living incarnation of slaughter step so close toward them, their minds bordered collapse and they kowtowed toward Kilian.

"Sir, if you spare me, I swear to serve you until I draw my last breath! To become your shield against arrows, your sword before your foes, to sweep all obst..." They exclaimed in tandem, but before they could finish their words, Kilian stomped the vice captain's head into a meat paste and kicked the captain's off his neck.

The eye approved, and in that instant, gleamed with crimson light, announcing its rise to the next level.

Kilian then turned his attention toward the energy ward.

*BANG* *BANG* *BANG*

The ringing blast of explosive salvos rumbled as the dra-powered cannons and thousands of various artillery weapons fired at Kilian. Raising his hand, he blocked them all with an energy ward of his own. By the time the last salvo died down, the raised dust vanished, revealing a wholly unblemished Kilian.

"Dimensional Rift," Kilian uttered, causing a ten meters tall, dark-purple space gash to split the ward in two, destroying it on the spot. Seeing this, Olaf despaired. But no amount of distress could stop the inevitable end. Kilian walked into the space gash and vanished within.

It closed after him, but a new, smaller one, instantly reopened right within Olaf's court hall.

There, Olaf, his ravishing wife and barbaric wastrel of a son, all awaited.

"Greetings, lady and gentlemen, now let's begin the game of—how the hell do I survive this shit?" Kilian merrily said, and vanished to reappear on Olaf's viscount seat.