Chapter 63 - Dawn of the Final Day

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The time for the Ley Point to appear was imminent. To one side, the American soldier with a bat and pistol stood near the bō-wielding man native to the country they were in. On his other, Noah and Tyreth were wielding blades of their own—the latter of course with the most unique weapon there, the Blade of Shadows.

All of them surely knew there was little time left, but at the same time, all were hesitant to be the first to begin what would only become a war. Hands squeezed triggers, gripped weapons, and Eldrian readied his hands. Eyes darted between one another with intensity.

Noah was different. His gaze never cut from Tyreth, and the elf knew that. He felt the spellbreaker's hatred for him, and therefore, he knew he would act first.

His blonde cut swished through the air as he spun on a foot, and thrust his rapier in one swift motion towards the elf nearby, and at the same time, golden bands swirled around the blade to form a dazzling vortex of light. It unleashed a thin blast of energy, which fired like a bullet towards its mark. Sparkling Arrow!

Tyreth only appeared pleased with his calculation. He raised up a hand, and a magical ward that manifested before his fingertips absorbed the entirety of Noah Jackson's spellcasting strike. But that attack was also the fired shot to signal the beginning of the race.

An aura surrounded Eldrian's hands as he started to channel the magic needed to retrieve his staff, however, the nearby soldier raised his pistol and fired with precision—an ordinary gun and bullet. He dropped his cast, and brought up a ward barely in time, and the metal cut open his right shoulder as it disappeared off into the desert.

The trigger was pulled a second time. Nothing happened.

"So you are a wizard," he said. He tossed his gun down to the ground. "Then consider yourself under arrest. My name is Whitfield. Magic is an affront to the land of liberty!"

He gripped both fingers around the metal bat he held instead. The man was quick, and expertly trained, so it was merely seconds before he was on Eldrian with a vertical swing of his weapon. In the blink of an eye, Eldrian was to the side, and the soldier's bat crashed through an illusory clone instead.

It was time to counter-attack. Eldrian reached back with his hand to fire a blast, but the man turned and shattered his casting with a thrust forward of his palm.

"Do you really think a wizard can take a spellbreaker, boy?" Whitfield spoke, though instead of doing so in a mocking manner, he sounded more frustrated then anything—insulted.

Eldrians eyes flickered to the side. He needed to keep watching Tyreth. Fortunately, he was in a heated duel with Noah, though he didn't seem to be doing well. Noah's regular blade couldn't parry any strikes from the Blade of Shadows without being cut into bits, so all he could do was teleport and dodge.

"Eyes on me!" Whitfield shouted.

He was interrupted by a crack against his spine. He fell to a knee, but through the gritting of his teeth, the man rolled to the side to stand once more with an incredible discipline. The one responsible for his pain was the man native to Mexico, and the tip of his staff was thrust forwards.

"God damn it that hurt," the soldier muttered under his breath.

"If anyone has authority here," the moustached man spoke, "It's me. Call me Sandoval. Or just remember me as the man kicking your ass out of my country, American. If you know the tales of Dios Ojo, then you know too much. You're only here to take our power and use it for your own selfish desires."

Eldrian assumed he was talking about the Ley Point.

"I can't understand a word you're saying, amigo," Whitfield barked back.

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