How much impact does the death of a single person have on a team?
It depends. Sometimes, it's negligible. Other times, it's the very spark that causes everything to collapse.
Think of it like a shallow wound, if it's on the back of your hand, it may heal on its own without even needing a bandage. But if that same cut were on the heart, the strain of constant beating would cause massive internal bleeding, robbing the person of any chance of survival.
What Allen had done wasn't just leave a shallow cut on the vampires' heart, it was more like driving a knife straight into it.
A snake cannot move without its head. Why? Because the head coordinates the entire body. Well, that old saying isn't exactly accurate, most headless things are dead anyway and can't move at all... Ahem, Mr. Nearly Headless Nick, no offense meant.
Back to the point, even a trained army can fall into chaos when its commander is taken out. So what more can be said for this group of vampires, half of whom were sent on this mission with barely any real combat experience?
As their vampire leader burst into a cloud of blood, all the vampires instinctively turned their eyes to where he had been. But instead of their leader, all they saw were the scattered bats he had turned into, and amidst them, a glimmering silver light reflecting the pale moonlight, like a blade piercing through their very eyes. That silver light was held by a young wizard.
Under the terrified gazes of the vampires, the boy had cast just one spell, and with it, he destroyed most of the bat clones. These weren't normal vampire illusions either; under the power of that terrifying incantation, the bats didn't multiply as expected. Instead, they simply fell to the ground like ordinary creatures, lifeless.
Their only remaining hope, the final clone escaping in the form of a bat, was barely a thread. If the boy's casting had been a little slower, their leader might have truly gotten away. Even then, it would have been with severe injuries and a recovery time too long to even imagine.
But alas, a crow put an end to that final sliver of hope. With a sharp caw, the last clone plummeted like a bird struck mid-flight.
Under their disbelieving stares, the once-mighty vampire clan leader had fallen.
After a moment of silence, like the first chunk of snow falling in an avalanche, the vampire formation, which had previously kept the werewolves at bay, suddenly crumbled.
Some vampires immediately turned into bats and shot up into the sky, not willing to remain in this cursed battlefield for even another second. Their leader's death whispered death itself into their ears.
Others rushed toward Allen in a frenzy, enraged and eager to avenge their fallen leader. The weapon that had crumbled into silver powder in his hands only fueled their thirst for revenge.
The last group, mostly those who had awakened fragments of ancient vampire memories in the earlier battle, held their formation. Their minds were still foggy, but they understood the importance of maintaining order in this critical moment.
And Allen, the one who started it all, was now staring regretfully at the silver blade that had crumbled into powder in his hand.
"That was three Galleons worth of Silver Sickles…" he muttered bitterly. Sure, it had come from that kindly old Auror, but Allen had no intention of returning it. As far as he was concerned, it was his property now.
Grumbling as he picked up an item the vampire leader had dropped while fleeing, Allen cursed the system in his mind.
Why could he use Mother Wheel's skills shortly after acquiring them, but spent three whole years mastering Ryze's spells? Simple, because the system was trash!
If the powers of heroes were like books stored in a vast library, then attempting to use those powers was like writing a thesis based on those books.
Buying a hero wasn't just about gaining entry to the library, it also came with a helpful reading list. The more expensive the hero, the more detailed the list, and the easier it was to master their power.
But once the recommended books were exhausted, Allen had to rely on his own intuition to explore the vast sea of knowledge and find the materials that fit him best. That's why mastering cheaper heroes was such a pain.
As for the three free heroes? The system's attitude was basically: "Here you go. Figure it out yourself."
Moments before the assassination, just to be safe, Allen had burned through 45 shimmering silver coins. And with that offering, the countless insights he had accumulated over the years using Garen's powers finally came together, like loose pearls suddenly strung into a necklace by a sturdy thread.
Of course, none of this would've been possible without the sacrifice of Cake-kun (may he rest in peace) and the generosity of a certain anonymous Auror.
The ordinary silver-tipped spike, powered by Garen's Decisive Strike, had forced the vampire leader to use his trump card ability just to stay alive. And Allen had even gained a small boost to his physical stats, thanks to Varro's cheer of approval in his mind.
Still, he was furious.
How many painful moments does a person experience in life? Allen didn't know, but this one was easily among the worst.
He'd killed a boss, and it dropped nothing.
Literally nothing. Aside from the one item the system needed, quietly lying in a small pouch, there wasn't even a single knut to be found.
Of course, this wasn't a game. Why would a dignified clan leader carry money around? That would be ridiculous! And as for treasures? Come on, they look better displayed at home, not schlepped around on missions.
That's how Allen comforted himself… while staring at the swarm of furious vampires now charging at him like lunatics.
Already annoyed at the lack of loot, Allen stood up, drew his wand, activated Phantom Step, and sprinted… in the opposite direction.
You think he'd fight those guys head-on? Not a chance. Just because they were dumb didn't mean they weren't powerful. He wasn't an idiot!
••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
Fifteen minutes later, in a quiet grove, a cold, emotionless voice echoed, one that sent chills down every vampire's spine.
"Seven."
Another vampire fell, entangled and torn apart by enchanted vines.
That was the seventh time this voice had spoken in the past five minutes.
There's an old Eastern proverb: Never enter a forest casually.
Too bad these vampires had never heard it.
So it was no surprise that, as their numbers quickly dwindled from all sorts of hidden attacks, panic set in.
When that voice called out for the twenty-third time, the vampires finally snapped. They scattered into bats and fled in all directions.
Hidden in the shadows, Allen let out a sigh of relief and touched the small sapphire-set ring on his finger, half of a fairy charm fused with a sapphire.
If those vampires hadn't left, he would've had to dip into his precious stash of gold coins meant for crafting a Goddess's Tear potion. And blue potions weren't cheap.
Once he'd recovered a bit of mana, Allen stood up and turned back toward the clan's camp.
The battle wasn't over yet.
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