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A groan escaped Arthus’ mouth, followed by a handful of blood that fell on his feet.
Arthus frowned as he looked at his bloody feet, panic creeping on his face.
‘What the…?’
He was in disbelief.
Arthus put his hand on his chest, swiftly covering the puncture wound to stop the blood from flowing like a stream.
To Henry, Magic Missile was among the easiest spells, 2nd-Circle magic at best, but to his enemy, it had been more powerful than an arrow shot by a master archer.
Arthus quickly concentrated divine power into his wounded chest. His flesh quickly regenerated, the wound closing up as it healed.
Arthus was bewildered by this turn of events, breaking out in an intense cold sweat as though he were standing in the rain.
He pulled his hand away from his healed wound and frowned once again. Then, in a peremptory tone, he demanded, “What the hell did you just do?! How were you able to…?!”
Arthus didn’t get to finish his question, for Henry already had his finger pointed at him once again, his smile cold.
“You…!”
“So it was true.”
Pnggg- !
Henry’s fingertips glowed again.
A beam of light shot forward, and Arthus, realizing the seriousness of the situation,...
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