Four Split Personalities

Five minutes...

For a whole five minutes, three hundred seconds, over seventy attackers led by Breil Blackhoof were pinned down by a Dwarf barely over 120 centimeters tall, unable to advance even an inch.

Keep in mind that there wasn’t a single weakling among these people. Even setting aside the epic Breil Blackhoof, at least sixty percent of the remaining were high-level professionals, and the others were all adept at the peak of the middle stage, yet none could cross the ’one-man defensive line’ in front of them. No matter how much they advanced or flanked, as soon as they crossed a certain distance, a shield would brutally slam into them out of nowhere—lightly keeping them in place, heavily sending them flying back with swollen noses and bruised faces. Fatal injuries were few, but they just couldn’t get past!

During this, the attackers also tried assaulting Mercury Core Fernan directly, but to no avail... No, there was absolutely no effect. No matter how many surrounded him, none could inflict the slightest injury on him. Swords, magic, thrown alchemy props, indiscriminate area attacks—there would always be shields, big or round or square, that appeared in front of Dwarf Duke Fernan, with others flipping around the ’defensive line’ untouched.

Not only that, but whenever those shields flew back, if there were too many around Mercury Core, they’d even knock over a few unlucky ones from any angle before returning to their master.

Moreover, soon after launching their attack, the assailants discovered a chilling fact: the Dwarf Duke wasn’t controlling his shields through any supernatural means. Whether it was large broad shields, small round shields, or ’discus’ shields, none were imbued with even a trace of magic power or anything else. They were just tossed out ordinarily, then changed angles by hitting something and flew back to Mercury Core after multiple attacks.

Whether they hit someone’s head, chest, knee, shoulder, or lower abdomen, or another shield if nothing else was available, they clung to anyone trying to pass like bone-gnawing maggots, then returned to Fernan like homing birds.

Led by Breil Blackhoof, a few smart individuals noticed that the flight paths of these shields were entirely controlled by simple calculations of strength, speed, and angles. Apart from physically intercepting them or ensuring they weren’t hit by any, there was no known way to neutralize them.

But those fast, ferocious, and numerous shields were impossible to dodge completely—at least for those present. Blocking them wasn’t too difficult, but catching them was also unrealistic. Those spinning round shields would retreat upon contact—or rather, fly off at a touch, leaving no chance to capture them. Even high-frequency attacks or spells with slowing attributes were futile because there would always be another one, two, or three shields howling into to knock their ’ambushed companions’ back to their master.

And the architect of it all was that damn Dwarf!

While using one or two shields he always held in his hands to block various attacks, he continuously spun and tossed the shields flying back to him, directing other shields in mid-flight or throwing them at attackers who were too close or too far from the defensive line, effortlessly controlling this not so large battlefield with calm and indifference.

No one knew how strong Fernan truly was, because from the beginning, he had never used any attack that could demonstrate his ultimate strength or allow one to judge his tier level. He kept repeating the actions of blocking and intercepting.

That was already enough. Merely blocking and intercepting, Mercury Core Fernan had perfectly controlled the situation.

This was the terrifying aspect of Fernan Shield Art. It didn’t need immense strength to easily dominate a battlefield; the specific extent of dominance depended on the user’s ability.

With the strength of Mercury Core Fernan, even if Breil Blackhoof and his men tripled in number, the situation wouldn’t change. Perhaps, none of them would die, but they would still not be able to cross.

That, right there, was the so-called Empire Iron Gate.

[We can’t keep this up. The lord didn’t mention anyone like this interfering. We’ve already been delayed so long, and if we keep dragging this out, not to mention the mission, it’ll cost everyone...]

Breil Blackhoof, who was past the phase of ignorant fear, now harbored apprehensions. Seeing the necessity to make a swift decision, he heavy-handedly knocked himself back three steps (Dwarf Duke Fernan didn’t move) and loudly declared, "Abort the plan, we’re retreating!!"

As soon as the words fell, those attackers already knocked into the shadows raced away with surprising speed along the original path. In their eyes, the small figure was like a massive, endless wall, a chasm they could never cross no matter how hard they tried.