0% As the curtain of moonlight descended, two n stood atop the night’s stage.
A swordsman wearing a pure white mask, and the other, a tall, middle-aged mage.
Their atmospheres were starkly opposed. While the swordsman struggled to maintain his composure, the mage made no effort to conceal his excitent.
That disparity sent a chill through my bones. Forcing down the tremor in my chest, I steadied my breath.
After all, I was the swordsman behind the mask. And the man across from , radiating killing intent, was none other than a mage who bore the title of Archmage.
It would’ve been strange not to be tense.
And soon enough, my instincts proved justified.
I didn’t even get a mont to curse my luck.
The instant I hurled myself aside by pure reflex, an explosion rang out. With a deafening boom, dirt and stone erupted into a storm, pelting the earth like a violent downpour.
From the center of the blast, electric sparks crackled fiercely.
I hastily scrambled to my feet. Cold sweat I hadn’t noticed was already sliding down my back.
I’d missed any signs of the spell right up until it triggered.
Even if no incantation was needed, I had never seen magic cast at such a speed. Odds were, it had sothing to do with Sir Reynold’s past as a rcenary.
rcenaries always stood at the frontline.
That was usually the reason people hired them in the first place.
You couldn’t risk valuable personnel in dangerous places. So instead, they sent people whose deaths didn’t matter. That’s why people turned to the likes of ‘rcenaries’.
Their way of life was built on trading their lives for gold. On battlefields where every second counted, leisure was an impossible luxury. Thus, they must have endlessly sought ways to cut their casting tis down to nothing.
And the result of that brutal effort was now right in front of .
The ground had ruptured as if struck by artillery. This sudden ambush ca imdiately after my provocation—so swift it was practically instantaneous.
For an enraged Archmage determined to kill, that brief mont was more than enough.
Then his furious roar struck my ears.
“You dare sully Elsie’s na with that filthy mouth?! Now pay for insulting Rinella’s bloodline with your life!”
I didn’t even have ti to respond. All I could do was hurl myself aside once again.
Boom, Boom, Boom!
This ti, three consecutive blasts ripped the earth apart. Just the residual currents alone were strong enough to make my muscles spasm uncontrollably. A direct hit would’ve knocked out for sure.
Even amid the chaos, my mind desperately raced.
Was the princess’s theory correct?
It seed likely enough. This man could fire off such powerful spells without even chanting. Neither Da Irene nor Celine could possibly match him.
Even I was barely holding on.
But I had no ti to dwell on it. During the triple explosion, I noticed mana rapidly gathering around Sir Reynold.
He was dual casting.
My hand instinctively reached for my waist. I wanted to avoid revealing my identity at all costs, but I no longer had the leisure to do so anymore.
The air shrieked in protest.
Like a streak of light, my hatchet tore through the air in a perfect straight line. Despite my obviously intended trajectory, Sir Reynold’s expression didn’t flicker in the slightest.
The source of his confidence soon beca clear.
Clang! My thrown hatchet spun through the air, struck by a whip of lightning. While I was still reeling from the sight of raw electricity exerting physical force, my airborne hatchet was drawn—like tal to a magnet—into the tip of the whip.
“Well, you’ve got so skill! Though of course, not enough to talk shit about my niece!”
I couldn’t tell whether that remark was praise or mockery.
But honestly, I had bigger problems. The lightning whip was cutting a wide arc through the air—coming straight for .
An imaginary trajectory etched itself across my retinas.
Should I intercept it with my sword?
It was impossible. The sword was a conductor. One touch from that monstrous whip and I’d be electrocuted on the spot.
If only I could throw my hatchet instead...
But unfortunately, my hatchet had already beco part of the whip and it was now hurtling back toward . I couldn’t even guess how it worked—even the principle of the movent within stillness had completely failed .
In the end, all I could do was duck low and roll across the ground.
It was then that I noticed a change in the lightning whip.
The long, continuous stream of electric current abruptly broke apart. The fragnts quickly reshaped themselves, forming nurous lightning spears.
As expected of soone who bore the title of Archmage. He was freely altering the form of his magic.
Even as I found myself impressed, I nearly let out a curse. My grip tightened instinctively around my sword.
Anyway, dodging was no longer an option.
Six lightning spears had filled my field of view. Assuming each spear followed its own trajectory, my escape routes were effectively nonexistent.
My opponent was a seasoned mage who’d crawled through countless battlefields. Assuming the worst-case scenario was only logical.
Silver aura surged to life like wildfire.
The flas enveloping my blade shone brighter and clearer than ever before. Its power had no doubt increased just as much.
I hadn’t tested it yet, but it was the only card left up my sleeve.
Initially, I only planned on provoking him. But soon enough, I found myself facing a threat to my very life.
No matter how angry he is, he surely wouldn’t kill his future nephew-in-law... right?
I had planned to take off the mask right before things turned fatal. The last thing I wanted was to die while provoking a comrade’s uncle—what a pointless way to go that would be.
Still, I had no intention of taking off the mask so obediently.
I hadn’t gathered enough intel yet. I needed to rile him up more, push him into a real fight—only then would Sir Reynold reveal his true capabilities.
First, I let out a shout.
“Are you trying to kill ?!”
“Then what, did you think I’d let you live? After you dared lay a hand on our Elsie...!”
At my brazen remark, the veins in Sir Reynold’s neck bulged. Maybe he was too worked up—his concentrated mana was starting to waver. I seized that opening and focused my mind on my aura.
Shackle and Liberation.
It was the secret technique known only to three Masters on the entire continent. I chose to put my faith in the latent power of this skill.
And then—one more thing—
Within the sluggish flow of ti, a faint line traced itself in the air. The trajectory of the incoming spear beca vividly apparent.
My aura that had been rising like a shimring heat haze compressed into sothing dense—so solid it could have been mistaken for silver crystal. I swung my sword diagonally with everything I had.
It was the technique—Shackle.
A sharp clang rang out as one of the lightning spears was deflected.
It couldn’t even graze my gleaming silver blade.
For the first ti, a crack appeared in Sir Reynold’s composed expression.
“What?”
But it was too early for him to be surprised.
The lightning spear, which had been spinning in the air, reoriented itself—pointing straight at once again. It didn’t take long before all the six spears simultaneously aid at my vital points.
The aura that had been tightly clinging to my blade now unraveled like mist.
It was the technique—Liberation.
As my sword carved through the air, it left a trail akin to a river of stars. The lightning spears trembled erratically upon contact with the silver mist, then shattered spectacularly just before touching my blade.
Even I was taken aback by its sheer power.
To think it could shatter an Archmage’s spell this easily?
Granted, it might not have been his full-strength—but the important thing was that I had scattered highly concentrated mana. And once the technique transitioned into Liberation, the range of its effect had grown significantly.
Amidst the scattering shards of lightning, a single hatchet shot up into the air.
And then with a sharp thud, my cherished weapon landed perfectly into my outstretched hand.
Sir Reynold looked at now with a far more cautious gaze.
“Silver aura and a secret technique infused with such profound mysteries...”
His blue eyes then halted on the hatchet in my grip. At this point, concealing my identity had beco utterly pointless.
Then ca his heavy question.
“What exactly are you playing at?”
I remained silent for a brief mont. I wondered what I should say, but only one clear thought ca to my mind.
“Want to keep going?”
My voice was brimming with suppressed fervor.
Now I was starting to understand. What I needed wasn’t just experience fighting demonic beasts or demonic humans.
But stronger opponents.
I lacked real combat against those who had touched the depths of truth itself. Those abominations created by the Dark Order could never give that.
At my provocative response, Sir Reynold let out a wry chuckle.
His face grew somber as he shut his eyes. It was as if all strength drained from his sturdy fra.
And then—after a brief pause—
The Archmage’s eyes reopened, blazing with a fierce blue fla.
Demonic Eyes—a phenonon that manifests only when beings of imnse mana finally unveil their true intent.
His hand slowly reached beneath his cloak, fumbling for sothing.
“......Sounds good. I’ve been itching to beat the bastard who stole our Elsie.”
“Weren’t you begging soone to take her off your hands before?”
“Yeah, well, that was before so smooth-talking punk went and completely chard her. What was I supposed to do? Even if I didn’t like it, I had to live with it.”
Whirr—clack.
The rod the middle-aged man drew spun once in the air before falling into place. The short, pitch-black rod strangely seed to absorb all the surrounding light. Even at a glance, it was clear—this was no ordinary item.
And sure enough, the mont it appeared, the very density of mana in the air began to rise—to the point it was almost suffocating.
It felt like drifting through air thick with moisture. My lungs swelled harshly, barely managing to pump oxygen into my brain. Could this be what it feels like to stand in the center of a tidal plain as the flood rolls in?
One by one—
Circles of blue current began to line up behind the Archmage. Their glow was so intense, it drowned out even the moonlight. In the end, a total of eight luminous circles hovered ominously behind the middle aged man.
A circular formation—the shape that symbolises truth and completeness.
As I struggled to steady my quickening heartbeat, Sir Reynold asked in a perfectly calm voice.
“Let ask you just one thing... Was it true?”
There was no need to clarify what he ant.
He was referring to the provocation I’d thrown out earlier. The vulgar remark that his niece was ‘incredible’—words I’d hardly uttered before in my life.
Of course, it had been a lie.
As if I could ever be involved with soone like Senior Elsie so casually. Yet despite that, my lips, unconsciously, curled up into an insolent grin.
“Yeah, it was no joke. Especially her skin—it was so soft...”
“I see.”
Sir Reynold gave a few slow nods, as if taking it all in—then flashed a chilling smile.
With the gaze of a predator.
“You’ve earned a death sentence.”
Ah... now this is getting interesting.
The mont I bit down on my wicked grin, my vision was flooded with white.
A storm of light rushed toward .
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