[Basic Combat Strategies] (2)

As Phaistos arrived in his room, he immediately began studying his new manual. He carefully opened [Basic Combat Strategies] and started reading the first chapter, which provided an overview of the fundamental principles of combat. The text was dense but captivating, filled with knowledge and illustrations depicting various combat scenarios and tactics.

As he delved deeper into his reading, Phaistos found himself absorbed by the wealth of information contained in the manual. The strategies focused not only on physical prowess but also on mental acuity, decision-making, and anticipating the opponent's movements. He realized that mastering these strategies would require not only practice but also a deep understanding of human nature and psychology.

This allowed Phaistos to perceive the art of war in a new light. As a young boy, he also aspired to prove himself on the battlefield. This sentiment was further exacerbated by the stories his father told him from his time in the army. He had always wanted to follow in his father's footsteps. Thanks to this book, he felt he truly understood what his father meant when he said that war was not a matter of muscle.

Hours passed, and Phaistos was so absorbed in his reading that he didn't notice the time flying by. It wasn't until he heard a soft knock at his door that he looked up, surprised. It was Kibi, who had come to check on him.

"Phaistos, you've been in here for hours. We were starting to worry," Kibi said with a smile. "So, how's the grimoire?"

"It's incredible," Phaistos replied, his eyes shining with excitement. "The depth of information is beyond anything I imagined. It's not just about combat techniques but also about understanding the mind of your opponent." As Phaistos marveled at all the discoveries he had made, he realized that despite the time that had passed, he hadn't even finished the first chapter.

In reality, he had read only a tenth of it. Yet, he would have sworn he had read a good hundred pages. He decided to share his impressions with his friend.

"Kibi, you won't believe it," Phaistos began, his eyes wide with surprise. "I feel like I've been reading this grimoire for hours and I haven't even finished the first chapter. In fact, I've only read a tenth of it!"

Kibi chuckled softly. "I know, I had the same sensation with my own grimoire. The instructor who told us about the library explained that the books are directly translated into our brains thanks to the [magical language] spell. However, the spell doesn't just do that. It also arranges the different words into a sequence of pages. Of course, the books are made from a special material that allows the process to happen naturally, otherwise, you would have noticed an anomaly. In reality, the language inscribed on the pages of your manual is written in characters so small that there are several million on a single page. This allows for space-saving."

Phaistos listened attentively to Kibi's explanations, fascinated by the complexity of the magic involved in the grimoires. "That's really incredible," he said, reflecting. "That explains why I feel like I'm reading so much more than what's actually written on each page."

"Exactly," Kibi replied. "It's a very advanced magical technique, from what I understand, that allows for storing an enormous amount of information in a small space. That's what makes these grimoires so precious and powerful."

Phaistos nodded, still impressed by what he had just learned. "I'm going to have to get used to this new way of studying," he said with a smile. "But I'm ready to take on the challenge."

Kibi smiled and placed a hand on Phaistos' shoulder. "You've already made a lot of progress. Keep it up, and you'll become an exceptional mage."

Encouraged by his friend's words, Phaistos decided to rest for the night so he could continue his studies the next day with a fresh mind.

That night, Phaistos fell into a deep sleep, his mind still filled with the strategies and knowledge from the grimoire. He quickly found himself plunged into a vivid and gripping dream.

In his dream, Phaistos stood on a vast battlefield, surrounded by armored warriors. The sky was dark, streaked with lightning, and the air was heavy with tension. Before him stood an enemy army, ready to attack. He recognized this scene: it was one of the illustrations from the grimoire he had studied earlier.

Phaistos stood at the vanguard of a demonic army, surrounded by terrifying creatures that seemed straight out of the darkest nightmares. Their red eyes glowed with a malevolent light, and their scaly skin reflected the flickering torchlight. Creatures with bat wings, horned demons, and sinister specters formed the ranks of this infernal legion. Each of these entities wore black armor encrusted with shimmering runes, emitting an aura of dark power.

The ground around Phaistos was burned and barren, marked by the claws and hooves of the demonic creatures. The air was thick with the smell of sulfur and ashes, adding to the oppressive atmosphere. Above him, the sky was obscured by swirling black clouds, streaked with red lightning, as if the entire world was reacting to the presence of this malevolent army.

In front of him, Phaistos could see a camp filled with green-skinned creatures, a horde of goblins, orcs, and trolls preparing for battle. Their yellow eyes glowed with malice and cruelty, and their protruding fangs added a touch of savagery to their faces. They wore rudimentary armor made of thick leather and crudely forged metal, giving the impression they had been hastily assembled from scavenged materials.

The goblins were small and agile, equipped with short daggers and poisoned darts. They moved quickly, their nervous movements reminiscent of rodents. The orcs, more imposing, wielded heavy axes and long swords, their knotted and powerful muscles visible under their green skin. The trolls, gigantic and massive, carried enormous clubs capable of smashing the sturdiest shields to pieces.

Despite their disorganized appearance, Phaistos knew these creatures were formidable and ruthless fighters. Their ranks seemed endless, a green tide ready to surge onto the battlefield. Their leader, a massive orc with scaly skin and a piercing gaze, stood at the front, wielding a serrated blade in his right hand and a staff in his left, roaring orders to his troops.

After a few more shouts from the enemy leader, the battlefield fell into a solemn silence. A traveler passing by and observing this scene by chance wouldn't believe their eyes. How such a mosaic of the most hideous creatures could create such a beautiful tableau was beyond comprehension.

However, for the actors in the scene, this was not the sentiment they felt. For them, there was only the anxiety of battle and the rage to win. Each heartbeat resonated like a war drum, fueling their determination. Adrenaline flowed through their veins, sharpening their reflexes and heightening their emotions. The deafening noise of clashing weapons, the cries of pain and triumph, and the acrid smell of blood and sweat created a suffocating atmosphere of chaos.

Each soldier fought not only for survival but also for honor and glory. Gazes were fierce, jaws clenched, and muscles taut. There was no room for doubt or fear; only skill and cunning would determine the victor. Thoughts were focused, each movement calculated to inflict maximum damage on the enemy while preserving their own life.

The rage to win burned in their hearts like an insatiable fire, pushing them to go beyond their limits. Every wound was ignored, every pain suppressed, as they focused solely on the ultimate goal: crush the enemy and claim victory. Faces were marked by the intensity of the battle, with expressions of fierce determination and unwavering resilience.

For them, this battle was all that mattered, and they were ready to sacrifice everything to emerge victorious. The anxiety of battle and the rage to win formed an explosive cocktail, giving the soldiers almost superhuman strength and resolve. Memories of the outside world faded, leaving only the present moment, where every decision could make the difference between life and death.

As the scene seemed frozen as if a god himself had paused the moment, Phaistos slowly reached for the weapon on his back. As everyone's gaze seemed to focus on him, he carefully unwrapped the cloth that surrounded his weapon. Gradually, it began to reveal itself.

Phaistos' trident, a weapon of rare beauty and great power, emerged from its coverings. Its polished steel shaft gleamed with a silver sheen, reflecting the lightning that streaked the dark sky. The three points of the trident were sharp and perfectly balanced, each adorned with engraved motifs representing waves and ocean currents. At the center, a blue gem was inlaid, shimmering with a mysterious light as if it contained the power of the oceans.

The trident was held by a reinforced wooden handle, designed to provide a firm and comfortable grip. Magical runes were engraved along the shaft, faintly shimmering as if waiting to be activated by Phaistos' will. As he brandished his weapon, an aura of power seemed to emanate from the trident, filling the air with palpable energy.

As he raised his arm high, he shouted, "Kill them all."

With his few words, a titanic battle was about to begin.