Chapter 12: Mind Blast

The two hobgoblin wolf riders in the lead couldn't brake in time and landed directly in the greasy substance. Both the hobgoblins and their dire wolves tumbled like rolling gourds; the two hobgoblins were thrown seven or eight meters away, dazed and unable to get back up for a moment.

The others, seeing there was no way to change direction, kicked their dire wolves hard and leaped with all their might, preparing to jump straight over.

Even with the burden of a heavy, sturdy hobgoblin, it wasn't particularly difficult for a dire wolf to jump six or seven meters, given their advantage of long legs and high shoulders.

But they forgot that the Knott cavalry unit had two spellcasters. Just as they took off, a thick spider web over ten meters in diameter appeared out of thin air, standing eerily in mid-air. The four hobgoblin wolf riders who had cleared the Grease spell all plunged headfirst into the web, one after another.

No!

One of them made an unexpected reaction: the hobgoblin warlord. The longsword in his hand suddenly ignited, radiating scorching flames, and he slashed heavily at the web in front of him, carving out a hole just large enough for him and his giant dire wolf mount to squeeze through.

For the hobgoblins and dire wolf mounts trapped in the web and the Grease spell, the warlord's actions had catastrophic consequences.

Both the spider web and the Grease spell were composed of greasy substances, which were highly flammable.

One second, the web was just rapidly spreading and burning.

The next second, because the sparks touched the grease on the ground, a sympathetic detonation occurred, igniting the entire web. The hobgoblins and dire wolves struggling within became human and wolf torches, rolling and howling frantically on the spot. The appetizing scent of roasted meat wafted from them.

In this scene, no one felt an appetite; there was only a bone-chilling horror.

While the lethality of a Fireball spell is certainly powerful, its intensity is so great that it leaves victims no chance to react, usually turning them into charred corpses and fragments on the spot.

The scene before them, however, had a greater visual and auditory impact, stimulating the nerves more intensely.

Those hobgoblin soldiers who had been holding on with their last shred of willpower completely collapsed, scattering in all directions.

The wretched, panicked state of their retreat was no better than the little goblin fools they had slaughtered earlier.

The raging fire severely hindered Gavin and Zaranda’s pursuit of the hobgoblin warlord.

Seeing the giant dire wolf take a few leaps and prepare to disappear into the distance with the warlord, Gavin grew anxious. He hadn't settled the score from his past life yet! How could he let him just run away like this!

His deep blue eyes flashed with tangible light, channeling the monstrous hatred of ten years of enslavement into the most substantial force, which exploded inside the brain of the giant dire wolf beneath the hobgoblin warlord!

*Pfft! Pfft!*

Two streams of blood sprayed from Gavin's nose. He felt his head buzzing, as if a firecracker had gone off inside it.

Mind Blast!

He had successfully cast it again—the psychic ability he had tested at the cost of his own life in his second life.

It was just that this violent power clearly exceeded Gavin's current physical limits, resulting in a powerful psychic backlash.

But he was in Faerûn now, possessing magical medical means. The dizziness in his head did not hinder his body's instinctive reaction. He reached into his combat potion pouch with practiced ease, pulled out a small steel vial, and poured the crimson potion inside into his mouth.

The giant dire wolf, as the target of the attack, was in an even more terrifying state. Not only was blood spraying from its nose, but blood was also pouring from its eyes and ears.

If Gavin’s head felt like it had a firecracker in it, the wolf’s felt like it had a double-bang firecracker; its entire brain was turned into mush. Its front legs went soft, and it plunged headfirst toward the ground, carrying the hobgoblin warlord with it.

The hobgoblin warlord hadn't become the leader of a hobgoblin warband—where strength is everything—by luck; he possessed immense personal martial prowess. Facing the sudden situation, he remained calm amidst the panic. Pushing off with both hands, he managed to dismount just before the giant dire wolf hit the ground.

*BOOM!*

The next second, a deafening roar rang out beside the hobgoblin warlord's ears.

The physical instincts of an extraordinary warrior were faster than the warlord's brain; he dodged to the side.

Zaranda, following closely behind, saw an incredibly bizarre sight.

Gavin had clearly just pulled the trigger of his gnome fire-musket toward the empty space beside the warlord.

But in the next instant, the hobgoblin warlord actively shifted his pace and ran right into the muzzle of the gnome fire-musket.

It was as if the hobgoblin warlord had lost the will to live and had actively stepped forward, taking the iron sand bullets sprayed by the musket full in the face.

It looked like a very fantastical scene, but if one unraveled the secret, it wasn't so incredible.

It was a small trick mastered by high-level professionals, especially powerful warriors.

After activating a class template, the body synchronizes with magic, gaining numerous benefits such as faster use of divine spells and magic potions, class leveling, datafication of physical awareness for real-time monitoring and enhancement, magic synchronization skill enhancement, attribute boosts, feat enhancements, and so on.

But there is a small side effect: magic itself is inanimate and can be consciously deceived.

Gavin had just exploited this point. He gambled that the hobgoblin chieftain had an evasion feat and had strengthened his magic's sensitivity to self-protection. He made a feint with his spear to activate this passive feat, then predicted the warlord's evasion position and fired.

There was a lot of gambling involved, especially with the predicted position; the success rate was only fifty percent.

Today, the Goddess of Luck, Tymora, was on Gavin's side.

The unreliability of those gnomes was well-deserved.

Gavin’s internal evaluation contained far more joy than mockery.

This gnome fire-musket hadn't considered the recoil at all, blindly pursuing high powder capacity and large ammunition loads.

The powerful recoil generated by the explosion of a large amount of alchemical gunpowder numbed his entire left side, and his left arm, previously injured, was shattered again.

If the recoil was this terrifying, the force it generated was equally powerful—the hobgoblin warlord's face was the best proof.

There were no fewer than ten pits of varying sizes on it. The most miserable part was his eyes; they had been blown out on the spot. One had flown off somewhere, and the other had popped out of its socket, dangling outside. The scene was as gruesome as it could possibly be.

Everyone present was a veteran of many battles; the scene before them was child's play, and none of them took it to heart.

*ROAR!*

The hobgoblin warlord let out an angry, wild roar, and his hand-and-a-half sword flashed with scorching flames again, dancing frantically.

He knew he couldn't escape today.

Even if he died, he wouldn't go down without a fight; he would take the little thief who had ambushed him along with him.

Regrettably, Gavin had far more self-awareness than the warlord imagined. The gap in strength between the two was simply too great; the opponent was a bona fide tenth-level extraordinary warrior. A solid hit from him would send Gavin straight to his grave.

From the very beginning, Gavin had only intended to delay the hobgoblin warlord's escape and strike once before retreating.

Blinding the opponent was purely an unexpected bonus.

"Trying to drink a potion? Not a chance!" Zaranda roared, her spear transforming into a javelin as she hurled it.

The hobgoblin warlord, who was preparing to drink a potion to heal his wounds, had to pause his actions and adopt a defensive stance, relying on his keen intuition to forcefully deflect the javelin.

In that moment of delay, Zaranda arrived, her one-handed sword swinging down viciously with the momentum of her warhorse.