The Witch’s Convent

The latter took a closer look, nodding slightly, "They are definitely local goods. Boss, you're sharp as always."

After a pause, he continued, “So, boss, how should we handle him?”

The bald man weighed his options and finally closed his eyes again, “Doesn't matter who he is, failure is not an option for this task. Tell the boys, strike first.”

“Knock him out and tie him up, just don’t hurt him. If he does have some background, it’ll be easier to deal with later. If not, we can sell him to Mrs. Casalante; she’ll definitely be interested.” Weapon smuggling, drug trafficking, murder, and robbery—all of these were key sources of revenue for the Dark Intelligence Network.

Naturally, capturing good-looking children of local families and selling them to wealthy aristocrats as playthings was something they did frequently, having long mastered the process.

The skinny man was delighted, nodded, and then retreated to whisper a few words to some of his associates, who nodded in agreement, gripping the weapons at their waists tightly.

As time ticked by, about three minutes later, a human thug with a red mohawk suddenly rushed into the tavern, shouting, “Bad news, boss, Paul is dead!”

This was their signal, and upon hearing it, the bald man’s eyes widened in anger, “Daring to kill my brother? You’re dead!”

With that declaration, the dozen or so thugs in the tavern stood up simultaneously. One quick mover suddenly launched a flying kick at the female half-orc!

Following that, countless long and short sticks rained down on her in a frenzy.

Fac the sudden outbreak of violence, the female half-orc, being battle-hardened, immediately sprang into action. After taking the flying kick, she hurriedly got up, shielding her head with one arm to fend off the blows while retreating to the side. Simultaneously, her other hand reached for her weapon.

Luckily, she was naturally tall and inherited the orcs' tough skin and thick flesh, while these gang members were mostly malnourished from a young age and not very tall. Otherwise, taking so many hits to the head would have rendered her unconscious long ago!

“You all... go to hell!”

The pain ignited her orcish ferocity, and she drew her hard-headed hammer from her waist, recklessly trading blows with each Shanasar gang member, aiming for their heads!

Meanwhile, as this intense fight broke out, another quick-moving thug pulled out a short baton from his waist and swung it hard at the back of Hawthorne’s head!

Bang—

Caught off guard, Hawthorne was struck directly in the back of the head with the baton.

However, at this moment, the spells he had prepared in case of unexpected incidents all came into play!

Crack—

The first to shatter was his pre-cast Cantrip "Blade Ward." This spell was single-use and activated upon taking actual physical damage, absorbing most of the impact.

As a result, the pain he felt on the back of his head was barely more than what he might feel from a teacher’s chalk toss.

And, in addition, another spell activated simultaneously!

Agathys' Armor!

This spell created an invisible protective field that absorbed some of the damage in place of his body. Before this field was completely broken, it would unleash a freezing retaliation against any enemy attacking Hawthorne at close range!

A chill spread out from the center of the baton, and the temperature around Hawthorne seemed to drop by ten degrees instantly. The terrifying cold climbed up the gangster's right hand, turning his entire arm a ghastly pale blue, as if it belonged to someone frozen to death!

Crack——

The could no longer grip the baton, causing it to fall abruptly and hit the ground. The dying nerves sent their last signal of pain to the thug’s brain, provoking a scream: “Ah—!”

He staggered back, clutching his right arm with his left hand, a look of terror on his face: “What—what are you?!”

This scream snapped Hawthorne out of his shocked state. Having grown up in a peaceful era, he had only ever heard of such violent incidents on the news and had never been involved in an actual bloody fight. Being caught off guard just now left his mind almost completely blank.

Now, realizing that his head could have been fatally struck—though it actually wouldn’t have been—he broke out in a cold sweat.

Once he recognized that these gang members' weapons posed him no harm, the frustration of being imprisoned in the convent with nowhere to go, combined with the anger from being attacked, immediately transformed into an intense and immeasurable killing intent!

The powerful and cruel witches bullying me when I’m still so weak is one thing, but for weaklings like you, who I once cut down like mowing the lawn, to think you can bully me?

Unforgivable!

Prepare to die!

He jumped up, placing his hand on the Grimoire in his possession. Without any incantation, a surge of powerful magic erupted from him!
Thunderwave!

Boom——————!

Thunderwave, a first-level spell, releases an immense burst of energy centered on the caster, causing damage and pushing everything around away.

This is a very handy spell, perfect for repelling close enemies, often without dealing lethal damage.

The only downside is it produces a thunderous sound that can be heard for hundreds of meters around.

In the cramped space of the tavern, the thunderous sound became even more impactful, causing everyone inside to clutch their heads in pain!

The worst hit were the gang members who attempted to attack and abduct him, and those trailing behind them. Overwhelmed by the massive energy, they were caught off guard and blasted backwards, violently colliding with tables and slumping over unconscious, fates unknown!

Even the long tables and benches around him were overturned by the force, with objects scattering and shattering on the floor, causing several drunks who had been sprawled across the long table to crash to the ground!

Little wonder, Hawthorne’s Thunderwave is likely at the peak limit of a first-level spell. After all, his key attribute for spellcasting—charisma—is at the maximum value possible for a non-legendary being, a full twenty points!

The continuous commotion quickly drew the attention of everyone in the tavern to this scene.

In front of the counter, the tavern owner Alan, who had been somewhat annoyed by the Dark Intelligence Network causing trouble in his tavern, suddenly straightened up, his eyes filled with shock.

A Spellcaster!

Not one of those ordinary students from Straylight University of Magic, who learned a couple of Cantrips and dared to call themselves Mages, but a genuine Spellcaster who mastered a first-level spell!

Why had someone like this suddenly appeared in my tavern today?

As the most renowned mediator in the South Harbor District, Alan’s discernment was, naturally, far above average. From Hawthorne’s earlier actions and the damage caused, Alan could instantly tell that this person had mastered at least three first-level spells: Mage Armor, Thunderwave, and Agathys' Armor!

This was truly a talent, and moreover, judging by his youthful appearance, it was likely that mastering second-ring or even third-ring spells would not be beyond his reach in the future!

While Alan could discern this much, others, even if not as perceptive, could at least recognize that this young man was not someone to mess with!

The bald man, with the giant eye tattoo on his head, spun around abruptly, his eyes wide open, staring intently at Hawthorne.

He's actually a Mage?!

Though the proportion of true Spellcasters in Liberl Port was just slightly over one percent, they weren’t evenly spread out either.

In the Mithril District, Central District, Black Staff District, and University Town—these core areas of the city—you might find clusters of spellcasters. However, in the four harbor districts, as well as in the Wildlands and the Rubble Zone, it might be impossible to find even one spellcaster among a thousand people.

So, even though these small-time thugs were ruthless killers, they might have lived their entire lives without ever seeing a live spellcaster or witnessing a real spell!

At this moment, countless members of the gang felt a chill of fear in their hearts, unable to even keep hold of their weapons. Although they were cruel and had countless lives on their hands, they were ultimately just uneducated thugs from the lower levels of society.

They had almost never seen a true spellcaster and certainly lacked the ability to differentiate between Mages, Warlocks, and other occupations. Naturally, they couldn't accurately understand their abilities.

Thus, when faced with a living "Mage" who harbored hostility toward them, legendary tales they had heard in their youth—such as “Mages can turn you into a sow with a single incantation”—came rushing back, making them tremble with fear!

Damn it, how did they manage to provoke such a person?

Unaware that these thugs were afraid of him, Hawthorne, being suddenly attacked, was nearly overwhelmed with fear and anger.

Breathing heavily, his eyes were like those of an enraged bull as he stared at the Dark Intelligence Network leader with the giant eye tattoo on his head.

At this moment, he had only one thought in his mind.

Take them all down!