Mystic Calling：Stone of Glory-Chapter 224: Wha… what the hell?!

For mage-type heroes, unless you’re talking about someone with insane personal combat power, numbers mean absolutely nothing in front of them. One well-placed area-of-effect spell, and boom—doesn’t matter how many enemies there are, the weak ones get wiped out in an instant.

That’s something warrior-type heroes just can’t pull off.

And that’s exactly why, at the same level, mage heroes are way more intimidating—way more dangerous—than any other class.

No exaggeration here:

The type of hero that gives lords the biggest headaches, the ones they fear and dread the most...

Are mages.

Because with just one devastating spell, they can obliterate tens of thousands, even hundreds of thousands—hell, millions—of troops in a flash.

And all those troops? That’s money.

Gone.

Sure, low-tier units aren’t worth much individually, but when they die in droves? That adds up fast.

One spell, and a whole chunk of your army’s gone. Another spell, another chunk. Who the hell can afford that?

No one. No one can survive that kind of loss.

"What a terrifying hero..." murmured Mareth, the merfolk hero standing beside Queen Thalassa. His eyes were locked on Cicero and Elyra, awe written all over his face. "That kind of devastating area magic... I’ve only ever seen it from the Grand Archmages of the Tower faction..."

Ethan turned his head slightly, giving Mareth a curious glance. He hadn’t expected the guy to have actually witnessed the Tower’s Grand Archmages in action. That must’ve been... what, ten thousand years ago?

At least.

"ROAR! ROAR! ROAR—!"

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Meanwhile, the battle raged on.

Elyra, who had opened the fight by dropping what was basically a magical nuke, had completely drained her mana. She’d pulled back to the rear lines to rest and recover—she’d be back in the fight soon enough.

In the meantime, the battlefield had become a stage for Cicero, Balthazar, and Auremax to show off.

Balthazar didn’t have much in the way of AoE spells, but his single-target damage? Off the charts.

He went straight for the tougher units—12th-tier Naga Swordmasters, or the occasional lone 13th-tier Kirin.

One swipe of his claws, and they were done for.

Even if one hit didn’t finish the job, a couple more would. Either way, they weren’t getting back up.

No contest.

On the Crimsonstar Kingdom’s side, the only ones who could even try to stop him were Thalric and that 14th-tier Sacred Kirin, a Mythic Unit.

But both of them were completely tied up, locked in their own brutal fights. No backup coming.

Which meant Balthazar was basically an unstoppable juggernaut on the battlefield.

Wherever he went, he left a trail of death and destruction.

His claws were soaked in enemy blood—so much that even the ocean itself had turned a deep, horrifying red.

The scene was absolutely brutal. Visceral. Unforgettable.

This was the Behemoth way of fighting.

Pure, unfiltered violence.

No tricks, no finesse—just raw power. You go in swinging, and if you flinch, you’re dead.

Compared to that, Cicero and Auremax almost looked... gentle.

Low-key, even.

In truth, both Auremax and Cicero were no slouches when it came to close-quarters combat—hell, they were downright powerful. But the way they chose to fight now leaned heavily on magic.

Wherever they moved, enemies died quietly—eerily so.

Cicero drew his power from the Sacred Realm.

Auremax, on the other hand, wielded the might of Wind Magic.

The Gold Dragon race was born with an innate mastery of magic, and Wind Magic was their specialty.

What made Auremax truly terrifying, though, wasn’t just his offensive spells—it was his ability to cast massive, army-wide support magic.

Right at the start of the battle, he had already blanketed Ethan’s entire side—every Hero Unit, every soldier—with a barrage of Wind-based buffs.

Mass Haste, Wind Barrier, Evasion Boost... you name it. At least five or six different enhancements were stacked across the entire army.

And the effect? At minimum, a 20% boost in overall combat effectiveness—across tens of thousands, maybe even hundreds of thousands of troops.

That kind of power wasn’t just support—it was transformation. It turned a regular army into something approaching a legion of Hero Units.

"ROAR!"

"RAAAHH!"

"SKREEEE!"

...

By now, the tide of battle was crystal clear.

But without a direct order from the Crimsonstar Kingdom’s Grand Marshal, Thalric, their troops kept fighting—fearless, relentless.

Every time a wave of soldiers was cut down, another wave surged forward to take their place, trying to overwhelm the enemy through sheer numbers. But it was obvious—they were running out of bodies.

Between Balthazar’s rampage, Auremax’s magic, Cicero’s divine power, and the relentless assault from their own army, the Crimsonstar forces were being crushed.

Their numbers weren’t just dropping—they were plummeting off a cliff.

The balance of power had officially tipped.

And then—

"Alright. Let’s end this."

"Triple Divine Storm!"

Elyra, now fully recharged with mana, stepped forward again.

With a flick of her hand, she unleashed another apocalyptic spell—three overlapping Divine Storms slammed into the battlefield like a wrathful god’s judgment.

The sea itself trembled. Waves exploded outward as the magic tore through the air, a blinding storm of divine energy engulfing everything in its path.

The Crimsonstar army, already battered and broken, was hit with another cataclysmic blow.

Screams of agony echoed across the battlefield as countless units were shredded by the storm. Their bodies disintegrated under the sheer force of the spell, their souls ripped from the battlefield and sent hurtling back to their respective Creature Dwellings in the distant Crimsonstar Kingdom—gone, just like that.

When the storm finally faded, the ocean was nearly silent.

The battlefield had been wiped clean.

Only a handful of high-tier units remained—some 11th-tier Naga Swordsmen, a few 12th-tier Naga Swordmasters, and the beleaguered 13th-tier Kirin and 14th-tier Sacred Kirin, along with Thalric and a few other Hero Units, still clinging to life, making their last desperate stand.

On Ethan’s side?

Losses hadn’t even reached ten percent.

And most of the fallen were low-tier units, below Tier 11.

It was a total blowout.

A landslide victory.

But just as Ethan turned his attention to the other side of the battlefield—where Thalric, Roland, and Seraphina were locked in combat—his expression suddenly shifted. His body tensed, and his eyes widened in disbelief.

"Wha... what the hell?! Roland and Seraphina... even together, they’re losing?!"