Wizard:Start as a Potion Master

At West Virginia Lake, Gu Ke the sorcerer, seeing the increasing number of people approaching the Four Seasons Garden entrance, urgently turned to the girl beside him.

"We must enter the garden quickly."

However, just as they moved, two one-star bloodline warlocks appeared, blocking their path.

Gu Ke's expression darkened with annoyance. "Still haven't learned your lesson? Flying Ant Curse!"

From his sleeves poured an unending stream of black flying ants, swarming toward the two warlocks.

Meanwhile, the Church of the Storm forces collided head-on with the Supreme Cult's followers in a brutal skirmish.

The Church was indeed seeking the ruins, but their primary mission was to ensure no one else obtained it—and if necessary, destroy it entirely. Thus, upon encountering the cultists, there was no hesitation in engaging them in combat.

The Church's soldiers, one hundred in number, were well-trained and equipped with fine steel swords and shields made from ancient, sturdy wood. These were elite troops, handpicked from the Achaea Diocese.

Alongside them were the ten Blessed Knights, each more formidable than ordinary knights. Their physical attributes far surpassed those of mundane warriors, each boasting a base stat level of 4 or higher. These seasoned warriors were battle-hardened veterans.

The cultists, despite their powerful bloodline warlocks—three one-star and one two-star—were at a disadvantage, as most were occupied with fighting Gu Ke. Faced with the relentless assault of the Church's knights and soldiers, the majority of cultists were swiftly cut down by the Church's blades.

Overseeing the chaos was Rachel Komnenos, a green-haired noblewoman of the Komnenos family. She observed the scene with a yawn, her face marked by disinterest.

"A three-way brawl, huh? Honestly, I find the Church of the Storm the most irritating of them all."

Rachel lazily twirled a strand of hair between her fingers. "I've never liked them, even though half my blood is Storm Kingdom. The other half? From the God of Law's people. Oh, and there's a dash of royal blood in there somewhere. Not that it matters anymore."

She turned to her cultists. "Prepare the sacrifices, my little lambs. Draw life force from the two-legged sheep."

"Slaughter all the enemies. This wizard's ruin belongs to us."

At her command, the cultists, previously holding back, began drawing life force from the captured villagers they had prepared as living sacrifices. Painted with arcane symbols of offering, the villagers screamed in agony as their life essence was drained, their bodies collapsing lifelessly.

Empowered by this stolen vitality, the cultists unleashed a barrage of spells. No longer constrained, the warlocks cast their magic relentlessly, transforming the battlefield into a storm of destructive spells.

Archbishop Achaea, witnessing this macabre display, was livid. Until now, the Church had dealt with "wizards" and "heretics" in a calculated, ruthless manner, burning them on stakes or hanging them at their leisure. But these were true cultists—bloodline warlocks—and their powers were a direct affront to the Church's authority.

For the first time, Achaea faced an enemy that could rival the Church's power.

"Those monsters cannot be human," he roared. "The God said that humans cannot wield supernatural power. Knights of the Storm, soldiers of the Church, do not falter! They have their sacrifices, but so do we."

At his command, the Church turned to their gathered peasants—faithful worshippers of the Storm God.

Seeing the villagers' confusion and terror, the Archbishop shouted, "Your faith is your weapon! Raise your prayers to the heavens. Call upon the Storm God's blessing to banish these abominations!"

To Rachel's surprise, the villagers complied. Led by the priests, the common folk knelt in the midst of the battlefield, clutching their sacred texts and fervently reciting their prayers.

"Storm God, only You can grant victory to the weak over the strong. Only You can aid the poor against the rich."

"With Your name, we smite our enemies!"

"Storm God, You are our strength. None can stand against You."

"No matter how strong, talented, or proud, all are but frail lambs before the Storm God. The powerful will wither, the wealthy will decay, and the wise will falter."

"Storm God, make us weak, humble, and pure. Let us remain as children in Your sight, for we possess the most precious gift: the heart of innocence."

As the villagers chanted, their blind devotion and unwavering faith began to manifest. A holy aura, faint and unseen by mortal eyes, filled the battlefield.

The bloodline warlocks, previously devastating with their Cold Gale magic, found their power waning. The cultists' connection to the energy world was weakened by the overwhelming force of blind faith.

For the Church, this shift was a boon. Unlike the cultists or Gu Ke, their strength lay in their martial prowess. With the warlocks weakened, the knights surged forward, their swords cutting through the enemy ranks with brutal efficiency.

One one-star bloodline warlock attempted to draw more life force from the sacrificial villagers to fuel his spellcasting. But the interference from the villagers' faith caused his Cold Gale spell to falter.

The delay cost him dearly. A Blessed Knight lunged forward, slashing him across the chest. Though his resilience saved him from instant death, the wound was deep.

Yet, this newfound advantage for the Church came at a steep cost. The villagers, brought to the battlefield as living shields, were left unprotected. Cultists and warlocks, seeing an opportunity, slaughtered many of them in a desperate attempt to counter the Church's rising strength.

The Archbishop, focused on victory, made no effort to protect the villagers. For the Church, these faithful were expendable. The Storm Kingdom's population was vast, and replacements for the fallen were plentiful.

Rachel Komnenos observed the scene with a frown. She realized something critical.

"Is the Church strong?" she mused. "Not really. They're just a bunch of knights and foot soldiers. But their greatest strength is dragging you down to their level and beating you with experience."

The prayers of the faithful had created an oppressive atmosphere, stifling both magic and bloodline abilities. But the Church thrived in close combat, turning the tide in their favor.

Rachel barked an order. "Kill the villagers praying to their god. Wipe out those fools, and the Church's power will crumble."

Hearing this, Archbishop Achaea shouted a counter-command. "Don't look back! If we turn to protect them, we lose."

"Keep pushing forward. Slaughter the heretics and those who stand with them. Even if they're villagers, their deaths will weaken the enemy!"

The battlefield descended into chaos. Villagers, realizing their predicament, fell into despair. Regardless of which side triumphed, it seemed their lives were forfeit.

In the midst of the carnage, one thought lingered in their minds:

"Are we doomed to be cannon fodder, sacrificed for the ambitions of others? Is there no one who can save us?"

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