The Witch’s Convent

In an instant, fear surged through Hawthorne's nerves, causing him to dare not look back even once. Panting heavily, he leaned against the wall beside him and struggled to navigate along this extremely narrow path toward the other end.

His lungs felt as if they might explode from the pain; however, despite this, he could only move forward with difficulty, passing through the alley and emerging onto the wider street on the other side.

But at that moment, the environment around him offered no respite.

At the corner to his right, a group of gang thugs came running with torches. Upon seeing him, they immediately began to scream, "Over there, grab him!"

In the pitch darkness, relying only on the dim light from the torches, these thugs couldn't distinguish between enemies and bystanders; they operated under the mindset that it was better to capture the wrong person than let someone slip away, so they struck at everyone they saw!

Hawthorne could only curse angrily, "You worthless bastards, you all deserve to be beheaded by Yuta!"

Yet even so, he had no choice but to turn left and sprint away.

Then, the thugs shouted again, "Crossbowmen, fire!"

Whoosh whoosh whoosh—

This Hawthorne had learned from experience and immediately chanted the short incantation: "Shield!"

Shield!

This was a quick-casting, extremely powerful magic shield that could significantly reduce the physical damage taken by the spellcaster at any moment!

The only downside was that its duration was only six seconds, so he needed to react quickly and assess accurately; otherwise, it would be a waste of two points of Mana.

Just like now—none of the thugs' crossbow bolts hit him, so when the six seconds were up, the shield dissipated, wasting two points of Mana for nothing.

Well, two points of Mana for a little peace of mind.

Ahead was a corner; just as he was about to run around it, he saw bright flames beyond the turn—there were six or seven thugs over there too!

How could these guys be everywhere!

There was no way out now; he couldn’t run another step. Panting heavily, he glanced around and spotted a dilapidated wooden house at the corner, half-collapsed and long abandoned.

He used up the last of his strength to dash into the house, using it as cover, breathing heavily like an ox.

Seeing that he had hidden, the thugs’ courage surged even higher outside.

The few in the front raised their torches in one hand and drew curved daggers from their waists with the other as they cursed and cautiously approached the door: “You little brat, come out if you dare!”

“You can’t escape now. If you beg for mercy, I might spare your life!”

“Come out, I promise that if you hand over what you’ve got, I won’t hurt you!” 

…

Inside the wooden house, Hawthorne listened to the angry curses outside, and the fire in his heart began to rise.

I let a witch hunt me, and fine, but you guys have no idea of your own level and still dare to provoke me?!

Alright, since you're asking for death, you can't blame me!

Enduring the surrounding dust and the faint musty smell of rotting wood, he silently recited the incantation, casting the protective spells Blade Ward and False Life upon himself.

He initially wanted to cast Agathys' Armor as well, but after some hesitation, he ultimately decided against it.

Compared to False Life, the protection provided by Agathys' Armor was extremely weak and could easily be pierced by powerful crossbow bolts.

Moreover, this spell only triggered a strong freezing counterattack when facing melee attacks, making it somewhat wasteful against ranged ones.

Alright, now that his protective spells were fully stacked, it was time for the next move…

The alley was already narrow, and with the enemies densely packed together, Hawthorne recited the incantation and suddenly rolled over, raising his hand—

Buzz—

A circular magic glow appeared in his hand, followed by a burst of intense energy radiating out, shooting straight at the thugs pursuing him!

Boom—!

Instantly, a poor unfortunate in the back row was caught off guard, hit in the chest by the energy, and was sent flying backward. His sternum collapsed, and when he hit the ground, he began coughing up blood, clearly having injured his lungs and likely facing death!

Magic Missile, a practical single-target damaging Cantrip. Furthermore, Hawthorne's current charisma attribute was the highest possible for a mortal at twenty points, meaning its actual power was even greater than that of a heavy crossbow!

This caused the remaining thugs to panic:

"What’s going on?"

"What hit him? Was it a stone?"

"I couldn't see; it looked like—damn, that guy is really strong!"

They had only two torches, and since this was a corner with plenty of shadows covering the ground and scattered debris in the slum, it was difficult to make a clear assessment of the situation.

"Could it be a spell?" one thug suddenly shrieked. "I heard that a group of people got beaten up by a mage a few days ago!"

The bald man had already spread word about being beaten by a young white-haired mage, so when they encountered another white-haired mage, they naturally connected the two incidents!

As soon as this was said, panic spread among them. Seizing the opportunity, Hawthorne cast Magic Missile again, launching a burst of energy at them—

Bang!

Unfortunately, this time it missed entirely, leaving several gang members unharmed.

"Stop talking nonsense! If he was a mage, why would he need to hide in a house?" another thug growled. "He's just a bit strong; no need to be afraid. Charlie and the others are right across from us, and we can sandwich him!"

"He's only one person; he can't escape our grasp!"

The gangs in the slum had hardly ever seen a real mage, so the rumors about their abilities were all over the place.

Even the fight that had occurred at the "Foggy Fisherman" tavern had been severely distorted. Those present believed that Hawthorne, on that day, had merely used an incantation to severely injure the bald man and the others, so they now viewed him simply as a Warrior skilled in throwing stones!

They all crouched down, which indeed caused great difficulty for Hawthorne's attacks. His remaining Magic Missiles couldn't hit again, and on the other side of the entrance, the sound of approaching footsteps grew louder; the opposing force's main group was drawing near!

As he listened to their loud shouts encircling him, Hawthorne peeked out and saw that seven or eight reinforcements were coming, also holding up torches and brandishing knives and crossbows, looking eager for a fight.

He couldn't help but exclaim.

Indeed, he couldn't hold onto his Mana.

Well, I might as well use it here!

With that thought, he silently recited the incantation.

Sleep Spell.