Unknowingly, the offensive and defensive battle of Konola City had continued for an entire day.
The two suns, "Mira" and "Casa," were already beginning to set on the horizon. Only then were the guards of Konola City finally able to gradually repel the enemy's assault for the day.
At this stage of the battle, both sides were exhausted. Even professionals with strong recovery abilities were starting to feel overwhelmed due to constant mental tension.
The war still continued, but now the soldiers—whether the enemy troops who had started the battle with high morale, or the defenders who had once trembled yet fought with desperate determination—had both become numb and sluggish.
The city wall and the ground were covered with dried blood. A strong metallic smell rose from the red-brown stains, and together with the charred skeletons still releasing faint wisps of black smoke, the entire scene silently told the tragic story of this war.
Finally, as the sky grew darker, the retreat horn sounded from the horizon.
The enemy decided to temporarily withdraw.
Large numbers of enemy soldiers, their armor stained red, retreated from the walls while holding iron swords still dripping with blood. The surviving guards of Konola City shouted a few cheers at this symbolic victory before collapsing weakly against the corpse-covered wall.
For today, the battle was finally over.
Punk stood quietly on the city wall.
Around him were countless scattered pieces of flesh. If ordinary soldiers were standing on a pile of corpses, Punk was practically standing in a pool of minced meat. Yet his clothes remained perfectly clean.
The reason was simple—his Mage Armor almost completely covered his body.
As the sun "Casa" slowly sank below the horizon and the last ray of twilight disappeared from the pitted, blood-soaked walls of Konola City, the exhausted soldiers raised their heads and piously thanked the gods for their "kindness."
Seeing this, Punk curled his lips in disdain.
He kicked away half of a blood-soaked head and calmly walked down the stone steps of the wall, which had become slippery due to layers of half-dried blood.
"So real battle is the best way to practice spells."
After clenching his clean palm slightly, Punk could clearly feel that his strength had improved.
A full day of combat had given him valuable battle experience. He could now better calculate spell timing and spell selection during combat, and his understanding of magic had deepened significantly.
At this moment, Punk had advanced to a Level 6 Trainee Mage.
Despite the tragic atmosphere covering the entire city, Punk felt no sadness at all. Even though cries of grief echoed throughout Konola, he remained relaxed and satisfied.
But when Punk passed by a certain shop, even his cold and ruthless heart felt a faint ripple.
Compassion.
"No… no… the weak are not worthy of my pity."
Before him stood a wooden house crushed by a massive boulder. The cracked shop sign could still be barely read.
It said, in clumsy handwriting:
"Lycarta Barbecue Shop."
It was the small barbecue shop that Punk had actually liked quite a lot.
Now it had been completely destroyed by a boulder, and blood had soaked the ground, flowing out from the cracks between the rubble.
Punk quickly cast a divination spell capable of identifying individuals through blood.
The result was exactly as he expected.
Both the barbecue shop owner and the little girl with big bright eyes—the one who had once said to him in a tender voice, "Big brother is so pretty"—had already been buried forever beneath the boulder.
"Rest in peace, poor little fawn… and rest in peace, delicious barbecue."
Punk stretched out his hand and gently touched the massive stone covered in dust and blood. Then he turned around and continued walking toward the city square.
"Am I not also one of the weak?"
"In a war like this, my little bit of power… is insignificant."
"Wars… are truly unpleasant."
"Especially wars that make you feel powerless."
In the city square, the defense forces were distributing food.
On the Pheren Plane, whenever a city entered a wartime state, all strategic resources—especially food—had to be handed over to the army.
According to wartime rationing rules:
Professionals received food first
Nobles came second
Soldiers followed
Commoners received whatever remained
To prepare for a potential long siege, all food had to be strictly rationed.
In the large square, groups of commoners stood in long lines beside porridge stations built from broken wooden planks. Each person received only a small bowl of watery porridge made from a little wheat and a few scattered vegetable leaves.
Meanwhile, professionals collected their meals from a temporarily requisitioned shop.
Punk grabbed a greasy plate, cast a Cleaning Spell, and then calmly selected his dinner.
The food options were limited.
The staple was three pieces of wheat bread. It seemed the baker might have died during the battle, because the bread was poorly baked and shaped so strangely that it looked almost abstract.
The side dishes included bacon, ham, and pickled radishes.
Punk selected several slices of good smoked bacon and returned to the blood-stained city wall to eat.
For most professionals who lacked experience, such a gruesome environment would ruin their appetite.
But Punk had already experienced many brutal battles.
It didn't bother him at all.
Ignoring the strange looks from several apprentice-level professionals, Punk sat down and used a relatively intact corpse as a table, eating calmly with large bites.
As a border city dependent on leather exports, Konola had never possessed large grain reserves.
Most of its food was normally imported through canals from other agricultural cities.
Although some farmers grew Ququ wheat, its yield was extremely low. At this time of year, the wheat fields contained only young seedlings, which were completely useless as food.
Yet Konola City now had one hundred thousand soldiers who needed supplies.
"And with the current stockpile, the food will last at most one week."
Punk quickly calculated the situation.
"So even if the enemy simply surrounds the city without attacking… the food shortage alone will destroy Konola."
As long as the enemy didn't make a major mistake, the city was already doomed.
"But what does that have to do with me?"
Punk chewed a piece of salty bacon and made a decision.
Once he killed fifty professionals and exchanged them for a spell from Mage McNeesey, he would immediately leave Konola City—and even leave the Kingdom of Camos, which was destined to become unstable.
Instead, he would travel to the nearby Kingdom of Dylan.
After reaching this conclusion, Punk raised his head and glanced around at the other professionals resting under the wall.
"It seems their thoughts are similar to mine."
"After today's battle, even these hot-blooded baboons have finally sobered up."
While Punk continued planning strategies for tomorrow's battle, a familiar voice suddenly sounded nearby.
"Hello~~ Long time no see, Brother Punk!"
The voice came from the stairs leading up to the city wall.
Although the greeting interrupted Punk's important thoughts, what annoyed him even more was that he immediately recognized the owner of that voice.