Chapter 43: Student Council War 9
The scent of burning mana and scorched wood had become a constant companion across the shattered battlefield. Wind carried distant echoes of steel, crackling spells, and the cries of warriors on both sides still locked in desperate combat. Above it all, a reddish haze filtered through the branches—residual flame dust from the Phoenix’s earlier wrath. Nature itself seemed to be holding its breath.
In the heart of it, Seraphina moved like a blade through water—silent, fluid, and sharp.
Three Galat warriors flanked a wounded Lucan from Crimson Dawn, their axes and runes gleaming in grim coordination. Seraphina didn’t hesitate. An arrow soared from her hand before her bow even fully formed, striking one squarely in the chest. Before the others could react, she pivoted, loosing two more—one in the shoulder, the other in the thigh. Non-lethal, but decisive.
Lucan looked up, dazed. "Seraphina?"
She didn’t answer. Her gaze swept the clearing.
To her left, more movement. A squad of four Galat side-blades attempting to regroup after losing their commander.
"I’ve got this side," came Liora Nowa’s voice, light and crackling with magic.
She stepped into view from a crumbled grove, her hands weaving shimmering sigils. Behind her trailed three support casters and two lightly armored scouts from Crimson Dawn.
Liora flared her fingers, and the sigils burst outward, forming a prism wall of reflective light. The first Galat soldier ran into it, his sword bouncing back and nearly slicing his own leg.
"Cover and deflect," she told her team. "We make a wall. Let Seraphina pick them off."
As if on cue, Seraphina launched another arrow, this one aimed low, skimming the dirt before bouncing upward into a Galat soldier’s knee. He screamed and dropped.