After the black forehead ornament flickered twice, the black-robed man immediately left the Ethereal Plane and returned to reality. However, the Wall of Force spanned both the Material Plane and the Ethereal Plane, trapping him firmly inside with no way to escape.
How could the black-robed man fail to recognize a Wall of Force? He let out a sigh and slumped down against the invisible barrier, looking down at the streets and the crowd below.
He had been moving upward the whole time and had already reached the airspace above the Burrows tavern.
"Why… why is this world so cruel to me…" His face twisted, his eyes filled with endless resentment.
If he had to pick the profession he hated the most, it would undoubtedly be the Warlock.
Spells required brains. Sorcerers relied on talent. But what if you had neither brains nor talent? Then the paths to becoming a spellcaster became extremely narrow, and becoming a Warlock often turned into a last resort.
The Warlock's advancement ritual had once been called a "Forbidden Invocation," because such contracts were rarely equal. Anyone could tell—even without thinking—that ordinary people had no bargaining power.
Why would those powerful patrons lend you their magic and arcane knowledge?
Everything in this world came at a price.
He had sold himself, struggled for years, and finally stood at the pinnacle of humanity. Legend had been within reach in his lifetime—yet who could have expected disaster to strike?
The contract with his fiendish patron… was broken.
Only then did he realize that very little of the power he wielded truly belonged to him. Years of persistence now felt like a cruel joke.
He tried to learn spells on his own, or develop his unimpressive bloodline. Without exception, every attempt failed.
It was only natural. He had never had the talent to begin with.
So he began to frantically hunt for resources, searching for a way to change everything.
From that moment on, he had known this day would come. But to be thwarted on his third attempt—and by a genius Sorcerer at that—tore open the scar in his heart once again, leaving him deeply stifled and resentful.
"Next time… you won't be so lucky…" he muttered.
Inside the tavern, Anser saw the black-robed man vanish from the Ethereal Plane, only to be captured alive by the force cage. He immediately burst into laughter.
'I thought you were something special.'
He shoved the remaining half-bottle of Greater Healing Potion into Alton's hands, then blasted open the ice blocking the doorway with two casts of Burning Hands.
With a loud bang, the tavern door was forced open from the outside as a group of halflings rushed in—only to find the ground completely frozen. They lost their footing and slipped all over the place, many of them shivering uncontrollably.
But when they saw the scene inside the tavern, their faces instantly filled with anger. Drawing their blades, they surrounded Anser.
"He's a friend!" Alton hurriedly got up to explain.
Anser managed to slip away. With no time to deal with the halflings, he hurried out of the tavern and onto the street. Looking up, he saw the black-robed man imprisoned more than ten meters above the tavern.
The man had already removed his hood, revealing a somewhat sickly human face. Aside from his unsettling gaze, there was nothing remarkable about him.
Their eyes met—one calm and confident, the other cold and sinister, filled with killing intent.
The dice spun rapidly. After a moment, the target's information appeared:
[Star Pirate Captain, Fiend, Level 18 Warlock (Fiend Patron)]
'So strong… but why is he a fiend?'
He clearly looked human.
'No wonder Hold Person didn't work on him.'
What Anser was thinking about now was how to kill him once the Wall of Force ended. Control and distance were key—he had to lock the enemy down from a safe distance and burst him down in a single wave.
If he gave him even a chance to cast, a simple teleport spell would make everything pointless. Not to mention, the man was a captain—he might even have reinforcements.
'I definitely need to pick up something like a planar lockdown spell in the future to prevent enemies from escaping.'
The reason spellcasters were so hard to kill was largely because of teleportation. If they couldn't win, they just ran. Even other spellcasters couldn't always counter it—let alone martial classes.
With that in mind, Anser activated the True Sight Ring again, consuming a charge to refresh his Truesight.
Then he cast Fly, rising to just a hundred meters above the Wall of Force, looking down at the Warlock from above.
The sky was dim. Lights dotted the streets of the Burrows district below. More than a hundred halflings pointed at the black-robed man in the air, murmuring among themselves.
Alton also ran out of the tavern, followed by two halflings, speaking quickly about something.
Before long, the crowd rapidly dispersed, leaving a large open space.
'Nicely done.'
Anser praised them silently. No longer waiting, he cast an innate spell. Magic surged around him as he struck his chest, activating the Robe of Stars.
On the front of the robe, a star quietly shattered, transforming into seven glowing darts that shot straight toward the Wall of Force.
At the same time, he immediately dismissed the Wall of Force and cast Hold Monster as an instant action!
"રાક્ષસ"
Innate Spell + Metamagic: Quickened Spell, Heighten Spell + Hold Monster!
The moment the Wall of Force disappeared, the seven glowing darts and an invisible wave struck the Warlock almost simultaneously.
The Warlock seemed to have anticipated this. Holding a tarot card, silver mist rippled around his body.
He curled his lips into a smirk and gave Anser a deep look, as if trying to engrave his face into memory.
But in the next instant, his smile froze.
His body went numb. He could not speak, nor could he move a finger. The magical effects around him flickered briefly before dissipating.
Boom, boom, boom—
His energy shield shattered instantly. The seven glowing darts struck his head, face, and torso almost simultaneously. Blood exploded outward as his body accelerated downward.
[You cast Heightened Hold Monster on the Star Pirate Captain. The target failed its Wisdom saving throw.]
'Did you really think I only knew one 5th-level spell?'
Anser's eyes were cold. Ignoring the cost, he continued casting.
Metamagic: Quickened Spell, Empowered Spell + 5th-level Fireball!
A bright flash shot from his fingertips, catching up to the falling Warlock in an instant before exploding violently. A blazing fireball engulfed him completely, like a small red-and-yellow sun rising.
[…The Star Pirate Captain takes 59 fire damage. Current HP: 67/149]
The Warlock let out a miserable howl, flipping over and landing on his feet. His charred fingers tightened around the tarot card as he began chanting, his voice hoarse and unpleasant.
Seeing this, Anser's thoughts shifted, and a faint magical light slammed into the Warlock.
Counterspell!
The Warlock's mind trembled. His incantation broke, his magic destabilized, and the spell failed.
Anser gave him no chance to react. With a raise of his hand, another Fireball descended, exploding into a massive sphere of flame over twenty meters wide, glowing red and gold as waves of heat surged outward.
The cost of 5th-level spells was too high. Anser's magic was running low, and his head throbbed slightly. He stopped casting and instead activated the Robe of Stars again, unleashing the remaining five 5th-level Magic Missiles in succession.
Wave after wave of missile storms plunged downward. The dense whistling and impacts made one's scalp tingle.
Two flashes of magical light flickered on the Warlock's body—but quickly faded.
After that, there was no movement.
[Target killed. Gained 5100 experience points]
The onlookers in the dock district and Burrows district fell completely silent. It had been a long time since they had witnessed such a brutal magical bombardment.
In the past, the Rock of Bral had many spellcasters, since spelljamming helms required them to operate. But now, although there were still many magical ships, the place had lost its former vitality.
In the air, Anser looked at the twisted, mangled corpse and inexplicably let out a sigh of relief.
He had truly feared that the Warlock might have a second phase—transforming into a fiend and fighting him again, or summoning some powerful fiend to turn the tide.
If that had happened, he could only have fled in disgrace—running as fast as he could. He had very little magic left.
Fortunately, the worst-case scenario did not occur.
The Warlock was dead.
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