My Joker System: From Low Mana Trash to the Mightiest Wizard!

The Fell Cohorts were lost and could only watch as the Thirteenth Regiment of the Imperial Wizard Army retreated.

They lost all their leaders, and no one was qualified to take over.

Should they give chase and try to rendezvous with the flanking forces, or should they retreat back to camp and wait for further orders there?

The Fellkin Warriors desperately wanted to know what to do.

Their leaders were merciless, and if they chose the wrong option, they would be punished.

Heavy flogging would be the least of their worries by then.

In any case, death was waving, so a majority chose the more glorious way to go out.

If they had to die, then they would do so in battle.

The leaderless warriors of the fell race carefully observed the retreating regiment for a few minutes before carefully trailing them from a safe distance.

At the very least, it didn't seem as though Zephyron was about to make an effort to wipe them all out.

The Fellkin Warriors were right.

The Wind Magna was unwilling to leave Hal Fennec and Ennya Kasai alone, as in the past, these were the very kinds of moments when the fell assassins struck.

Zephyron was a mere human like them.

His heart and mind were in turmoil, and he could hardly think of anything else except the survival of the two Magna Prospects and preventing the entire thirteenth regiment from being wiped out.

If he could reunite with Targon in the east, then things would be easier.

He doubted there was anyone among the fell race who could deal with two Magnas.

At least none in the eastern Maegrath, as the Fellkin's Seres' were, like the majority of his comrades, assigned to the northern seas.

Zephyron was confident that if the Thirteenth and Fourteenth Regiment could converge, the fell bastards would have an infinitely harder time.

Parralen Valley was lost.

However, it had long been, and the location being under the Imperium's control was but a fleeting illusion carefully crafted by the cunning fell race.

Perhaps Targon and his regiment were already on the retreat as well.

It was, after all, highly unlikely that they weren't schemed on, and Targon was the farthest from being as clever as Kalna.

He was mighty in combat, though. Stoic as a mountain and hardy as a boulder.

…Time passed, and the Thirteenth Regiment was granted a somewhat smooth retreat for half an hour.

The Fell Beasts from Parralen Valley remained in hot pursuit, and the Fellkin Warriors trailed behind them, watching their every move from a safe distance.

But aside from that, the march had been peaceful.

Until distant howls and tremors made the Imperial Army wizards' hearts race.

There was no time for Zephyron to explain everything, and the Wind Magna could only allow the unease in the hearts of his soldiers to grow as he ordered:

"Zephyr Battalion, fortify the flanks! Thirteenth Regiment, prepare for battle!"

They've left the heavy artillery and a majority of the Imperial Wizard Army's resources at the battle camp in hopes of a swifter and cleaner retreat.

However, in the end, whatever was after them still managed to intercept them mid-way.

Another horde of Fell Beasts was what it seemed like.

As for how many, only Zephyron and the army officers knew.

There wasn't enough time to relay the information to everyone.

On the positive, the lack of information served to prevent panic, as five thousand flanking Fell Beasts was a chilling cause of concern that threatened the very annihilation of the entire Thirteenth Regiment.

They were exhausted and weary of fighting.

Unfortunately, if they wanted to survive, it seemed that they had to fight more.

And fight hard.

The unsettling, heavy thuds of beastly steps echoed louder in the distance, accompanied by terrifying roars and howls.

A few more minutes later, the Fell Beasts finally came into view, marching out of the grove.

They were the same daunting bastards they fought in Parralen Valley.

But it was their numbers that made the hearts of the wizards of the Thirteenth Regiment sink, their morale plummeting as despair slowly swirled in their hearts.

There were at least five thousand—the same initial, unexpected number they fought in the valley.

The difference, however, lay in the fact that they were fresh then, and so were able to contend.

With a little over a thousand remaining from the Parralen Valley Fell Beasts behind them, how could they still emerge victorious against five thousand more?

A fourth of them had already fallen in combat, and the other fourth was injured.

Weren't they simply doomed?

The cunning bastards actually took the long way around, sneaking from the south of Maegrath to circle behind them.

This maneuver would've taken months.

It was then that even the less intellectually gifted ones realized: everything was a carefully laid trap by the cursed fell race!

Their unease grew, and the grim sense of their impending doom intensified.

Their beloved back home…

Was that hug the final one? That kiss destined to be a mere memory?

Hal and Ennya also came to the same conclusions. However, they didn't react the same as the majority.

It wasn't fear that gripped their hearts but determination.

They didn't want to die, and they wouldn't!

A deep breath from the two Magna Prospects later, the fell creations roared and began their fell charge, drool flying everywhere and teeth clanging like clashing metals, threatening to rip the first human they came in contact with.

From behind, the remnants of the Parralen Valley Fell Beasts and Khatu's subordinates were in careful pursuit, while from the sides and in a thin layer ahead, the Flanking Fell closed in.

Zephyron and his Thirteenth Regiment were caught hard, and their only chance of escape rested on whether they could break through fast enough from the rather thin, beastly ranks in front of them.

Knowing that morale and decisiveness were the key to survival, the Wind Magna made his move, his gaze as cold and cutting as his winds.

Zephyron elevated himself with magic, raising his wand skywards as if asking assistance from the Wind Gods.

The next moment, he weightily dropped his arms forward, aiming at the body of the flanking horde:

"Raging Tempest!"