Miracle Card Shop: All My Cards Can Be Actualize-Chapter 439:

Thwarted by the soldiers' relentless assault, the shrouded mage retreated deeper into the shambling horde, seeking cover. But he wasn't finished yet. With a frustrated growl, he began chanting a complex ritual. Magic flowed through pre-engraved pathways etched onto the ground, fueling his dark magic and accelerating the flow of blood from the pulsating mound in the center of the room.

The consumption of mana seemed to invigorate him for another attempt.

Ragnar, sensing a shift in the dark energy, tore his gaze away from the carnage. With a determined stride, he marched forward. Reactivating two of his runestones, he transformed them into a mighty axe. From his coat, he drew the buckler – the very one gifted to him by Daniel back when Daniel was just entering the Curtained World.

Card: Spellguard Buckler

Picture: The silvery-red metal buckler boasts a strikingly intricate design that catches the eye. Two distinct glows emanate from the surface of the shield, one a deep blue and the other a fiery red. The anti-magic insignia emblazoned on the center of the buckler adds an extra layer of protection, rendering it capable of neutralizing low-level spells.

Rarity: Rare

Type: Artifact - Equipment

Mana Cost: 1Fire, 1Water, 1 Non-Element

Description:

Equip Creature Get +0/+1

Opponent spells that target its or the equipped creature need to pay 2 more mana or their spell will get canceled.

Flavor text: This buckler is the benchmark tool for the mage to test if they are powerful enough or not.

Ragnar channeled the power of three more runestones, conjuring a magnificent suit of armor reminiscent of the Vikings who once roamed the British Isles. Runes inscribed upon its surface pulsed with arcane energy, fortifying Ragnar's strength and physical prowess.

"Keep these lad safe, Lady Penthesilea," he instructed, his voice firm. Penthesilea stood poised, her spear gripped tightly, a battle axe strapped to her back.

"I don't think they need protection," she observed, "but I'll remain here in case some strong monster jumps up and targets them before joining you." With a nod, she took her position guarding the troops.

Ragnar propelled himself towards the shrouded mage in a single, powerful leap. The mage, sensing his approach, reacted swiftly. With a barbed incantation, he ripped a ribcage from an undead nearby, transforming the bones into a volley of razor-sharp daggers that he hurled at Ragnar.

Undeterred, Ragnar raised his buckler. The bone shards disintegrated into harmless dust as they entered the three-meter ward surrounding him. He charged forward, his axe a blur of deadly intent. The mage attempted to erect a wall of bone as a defense, but Ragnar met it head-on. His buckler smashed through the barrier, reducing it to dust in a single blow.

The mage, realizing escape was futile, attempted to raise his shield. But Ragnar was also a veteran warrior other than a mage. With a swift change of stance mid air, he slammed his buckler into the mage's shield, shattering it with ease.

"Impossible!" the mage shrieked, scrambling backwards. But Ragnar was relentless, his speed and strength overwhelm the mage. The axe in his hand arced through the air, severing the mage's right arm at the elbow in a spray of blood.

"Arrrrrrrrgghghh!" A guttural scream tore from the mage's lips as his robe tore open, revealing a man of middle age, not unlike Ragnar himself.

His body, however, was a canvas of raw, arcane power. Numerous heretical symbols from the hellish realm were etched into his flesh, pulsing faintly. Several blood pockets made of flesh stitched into his body beating like the mound in the middle of the room. Whether these served to augment his magic or were a grotesque byproduct, Ragnar could only guess.

But Ragnar recognized this man's face—it was Alexander Vance, the founder and CEO of Vance Armory Corporation. How had Vance transformed into a mage without proper training? Ragnar couldn't fathom it.

"That was... Disgusting, Vance. I don't know how you can become a mage without proper training, but your body is repulsive," Ragnar commented disdainfully at the mage's altered form before rushing toward him.

Alexander Vance showed a trace of anger but quickly retreated out of Ragnar's reach, maintaining his composure. He then headed straight for the giant mound in the middle of the room, floating above it as he let out a bone-chilling laugh.

"Heh heh heh, Ragnar Stenmark... I never expected you to be one of us mages. How does it feel, the life of a mage? Exhilarating, isn't it?" Alexander Vance asked with a laugh, concealing his anger and plotting his next move.

Ragnar ignored the question, recognizing it for a stalling tactic. With a flick of his wrist, he hurled his axe. It found its mark, embedding itself deep in Vance's shoulder blade. A frustrated click escaped Ragnar's tongue. He'd aimed for the head, but Vance had been too quick, tilting away just in time to avoid his own impending death.

"You… foolish fool!" Vance roared, the amusement in his voice replaced by a manic glee. "Ragnar, answer me! What is your greatest fear?" He ripped the axe from his wound and tossed it aside before diving headfirst into the pulsating mound. A geyser of blood erupted as the flesh knitted shut behind him.

Ragnar recalled his axe, his gaze fixed on the writhing mound. Meanwhile, the remaining undead shuffled towards him, he easily dispatched them. He tossed his axe in a deadly arc, the weapon spinning like a whirlwind before returning to his hand, each kill fueling the growing unease within him.

The mound's rhythmic pulse quickened, a crimson aura emanating from it. Blood-red mana ripped from the undead, draining them of unlife as it fed the monstrosity within the mound. The horde withered away, their lifeless husks collapsing as their animating essence was siphoned.

The staccato rhythm of gunfire finally ceased as the last undead crumpled to the ground. Soldiers swapped empty magazines and doused their overheating gun barrels with cooling liquid. Penthesilea, her gaze fixed warily on the pulsating mound, approached Ragnar.

The mound's throbbing intensified, a frantic counterpoint to the diminishing sounds of battle. The crimson fluid feeding it visibly thinned, its consistency thickening as the entity within began to coalesce.

"Destroy the flesh mound! Now!" Ragnar roared the command, his voice laced with urgency.

Ragnar didn't know the precise nature of the pulsating mound, but a cold dread gnawed at him.