Chapter 53
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Chapter 53: The Advantage of Super Transmutation
One man, one steed, one sword—under the assault of the Flame Guards in their crimson armor, they stood like an unyielding reef against raging tides. The scarlet waves shattered and retreated repeatedly.
Facing seamless attacks from both close and long range, Midi chose the simplest solution—tearing open a flaw.
Though Flame Guards excelled at mounted combat, their warhorses struggled in darkness. Midi’s Blood Fang Panther granted him absolute speed advantage. The Flame Guard captain recognized this immediately, ordering roaming gunslingers to lay down suppressing fire while elemental mages cast area spells at strategic points. Heavy Knights moved to block and encircle.
The plan failed completely.
Midi saw through their tactics instantly. Instead of speed-based evasion, he charged straight into their lines and launched relentless assault.
Ice Binding Arrays spread under melee fighters’ feet, freezing movements and impaling dozens with ice shards. Nether Flame Arrays erupted beneath mages and gunslingers, flames forcing constant repositioning.
The nameless greatsword in Midi’s hands carved through armor and flesh alike. Against the panther’s speed, even proud Heavy Knights crumpled like parchment.
Flame Guards failed to contain him. Midi kept piercing their formation like living blade through soft tissue. The panther’s claws and sweeping greatsword mowed down exposed ranged fighters like wheat.
Within minutes, thirty Flame Guards fell. Midi remained unscathed—deflecting attacks behind his massive blade while the panther’s steel-like fur shed bullets effortlessly.
Fenrir Sais stared in disbelief. "Elites? You call these elites? Press the attack! This is our chance to destroy our greatest enemy! Not one step back!"
"Master Fenrir… his level’s too high," the Flame Guard captain grimaced. "Without proper depth, our warriors can’t hold."
"Too high?"
"That’s Kazan’s Cursed Blade." The captain sounded defeated. "Requires level 30 minimum. He wields it like feather."
Midi above level 30? Ice filled Fenrir’s veins.
A week before academy trials, he’d been level 16 nobody—Fina’s deadweight. Now level 30 after one transmutation?
Pride refused acceptance. That groveling weakling surpassing him? Yet the carnage proved true—the level 30 greatsword harvesting lives with every swing.
Impossible! Impossible!
Fenrir’s jealous glare could’ve killed Midi a hundred times over.
Truth was, Midi hadn’t reached 30. His physical attributes simply exceeded the sword’s requirements. Currently level 28 after jumping from 24 post-transmutation.
Constant combat and leadership accelerated growth, but true catalyst was being Super Transmuter.
Initially clueless about super transmutation, Midi and Fina learned through Mist Sorceress Alice’s arrival. They began harnessing this trait deliberately.
Level 30 capabilities at 25 were mere bonus. Midi’s mysterious demon god and Fina’s vast magic reserves already defied norms—super transmutation merely amplified existing gifts.
But limits existed. If talent alone trumped levels, why have levels? Even geniuses faced level suppression—they just handled it better.
True power growth required leveling. For low-level adventurers, super transmutation’s greatest gift was this accelerating edge.
Fina now only needed to refine her magic to level up directly. During the battle to capture Joseph Castle, merely gathering magic for her attacks had already made this Queen of Magic level up, bringing her to level 28.
The Mist Sorceress Alice also possessed super transmutation abilities—something entirely new to the reincarnated Midi. In their previous lives, since neither Fina nor Midi had achieved ideal transmutations, Alice had never mentioned this, likely to spare them regret.
But now, Alice openly shared that whenever her Summoned Beasts grew stronger through battle, they channeled magic back to her, letting her level up. After tonight’s night attack, the Mist Sorceress would likely reach level 29, just a hair’s breadth from level 30.
For Midi, super transmutation meant every battle, sword swing, and use of magic built up his leveling power. Combined with his mysterious demon god that could Consume other entities—be they gods, magic, or holy light—and return it to him, Midi became the fastest leveler among the three.
Rising four levels in one go was something the Midi of his past life could barely imagine.
Yet now, it felt entirely natural.
Meanwhile, Sigmund and Lilian—once his equals—lagged far behind at level 24.
Even Fenrir Sais, Midi’s greatest past-life enemy and architect of countless tragedies, stood only at level 23.
To the present Midi, it felt like gazing down from a height.
Fenrir sensed this disparity—and it enraged him.
*No! I’m the strongest! The one deserving awe and fear! How dare some Count’s brat challenge me?*
Gritting his teeth, he watched his crumbling formation and gripped his sword hilt, itching to charge forth and shred Midi himself.
A Flame Guard captain moved to stop his reckless young master—but Fenrir suddenly froze, face paling with unmistakable terror.
The Nightblade Leopard Cavalry had arrived.
Leading the charge, Klasty swung his Spinning Blade in a silver arc. Behind him, thirty elite cavalry unleashed their blades, creating an unrelenting wave that battered the soldiers. The Flame Guards’ formation began disintegrating instantly.
"Orders, Lord Midi?" Klasty shouted.
"Full assault," Midi answered, flicking blood from his greatsword.
"Not taking prisoners?" The Elf hesitated, recalling reports of a high-value target.
"Capture if possible. Kill if not. Fight without restraint."
Nodding at Midi’s crow-delivered instructions, Klasty signaled the advance. Blades whirled as the greatsword led the charge.
"Master Fenrir…" A Flame Guard shielded him, expression grim. Even the Crimson Flame Legion’s elite shouldn’t collapse this fast—yet here they were. The guard readied himself to die slowing Midi’s advance.
"RETREAT! NOW! Rally all troops to protect me!" Fenrir barked, pallid face betraying his feigned composure.
Before he finished speaking, Midi—bolstered by Elven reinforcements—smashed through the Heavy Knights’ line.
Their gazes met: past and present nemeses locked in one frozen moment. To Fenrir, the black-haired boy’s piercing stare felt like the eternal ice of the Stru Mountain Range.
His last shred of pride shattered. Without a word, Fenrir spun and fled—abandoning subordinates, vengeance, and dignity—running solely to survive.
