The Departnt of Creation is made up of artists. Their magecraft is born from art, and fighting an enemy is like using the art they've created to remove or assimilate foreign objects that interfere with their artistry.
Take, for example, the elderly woman whose na is renowned throughout the entire Mage's Association. She has dedicated her life to the art of painting. Once she picks up her brush, the surrounding mountains, rivers, heavens, and stars all beco her canvas. When the painting is complete, her enemies are defeated.
Byron, who also hails from the Valualeta family, is similar. Although he lacks the overwhelming presence and skill of Lord Valualeta, his essence and philosophy aren't much different.
Byron's art is soap bubbles—though they look fragile, they are not as delicate as they seem.
Soap bubbles are beautiful, reflecting a flickering light that complents the surrounding mist, radiating a dreamy array of colors.
As the middle-aged gentleman struck the ground with his cane, countless soap bubbles erged from the mist, converging from all directions to form a beautiful bubble belt that encircled the invaders' vanguard.
"To make the weather your ally, I have to admit you're impressive. Though this region is naturally prone to fluctuating weather, it's the first ti soone has made such a grand spectacle. But if you think that Iselma is powerless, you're gravely mistaken."
The invaders, now silent and cautious, watched the approaching soap bubbles intently. It is common knowledge among magus that triggering unknown magecraft without preparation is foolish.
However, just because they wouldn't trigger it doesn't an Byron was willing to spare these damned invaders.
His situation was already dire enough. Last night's social event had been a great success, marking the peak of his life with both fa and fortune. But the very next day, sothing like this happened.
As the head of the Iselma family, he knew the real-ti of Golden Princess' death. The one who appeared last night was indeed an impostor. However, that was an Iselma family secret. If revealed, it could destroy this family.
Byron couldn't allow that. Though he was a democrat at heart, he had always taken pride in his bloodline. To him, democracy was rely a tool to win favor. In the end, history and lineage would still take precedence, for that is the essence of magecraft. This ideological divide was the fundantal reason for his estrangent from Lord Valualeta.
For Byron, neither the culprit nor the truth mattered; what mattered was keeping the Golden Princess' secret. To this end, he redirected the conflict towards the El-lloi Classroom, hoping to provoke a struggle between Lord Valualeta and Waver, thereby distancing himself and his family from the situation.
Who would have thought that Waver would be so perceptive, imdiately spotting the flaws in the Golden Princess? His students, too, were formidable, almost overwhelming him. He barely escaped with his life. Lord Valualeta, out of respect for the family connection, helped buy him so ti, only for these ignorant fools to appear.
Anger was secondary; the critical issue was that he had no room left to retreat. He knew Lord Valualeta's nature—she would only extend an olive branch to those with power. Helping him once was already a favor. If he failed again, he would truly be excluded from the core of Valualeta family.
So, whether to vent his anger or to protect his family and position, he had to win—and win impressively.
"What do you think of Iselma's ruby?"
Bryon softly chanted the na of the spell.
The next second, the soap bubbles burst.
Pop, and nothing more.
No surge of magical power, no erging monsters, not even a shockwave—just the natural bursting of a soap bubble.
Yet, this seemingly ordinary burst caused several invaders to clutch their throats and collapse.
"Byron!!!"
The remaining invaders were enraged, retaliating with crackling bolts of lightning.
Byron was prepared, having already surrounded himself with a layer of soap bubbles for protection.
These soap bubbles had been specially treated; under the influence of the weather, the electric power that could turn a person to ashes was dissipated as the bubbles burst. Had it been a one-on-one fight, Byron would have already won.
But there were too many enemies and too much lightning. The bubbles couldn't fully withstand the assault, blocking seventy percent of the attack, but the remaining thirty percent struck Byron, bringing the sturdy gentleman to his knees.
"You're just a washed-up collector hiding in the countryside!"
The fallen attackers slowly recovered and, along with their enraged comrades, began forming a new spell.
Having witnessed the soap bubble attack once, they had already deduced its chanism—the soap bubbles destroyed the oxygen in the air, suffocating the enemy.
Now that the mystery was solved, the invaders had no reservations and were ready to seize victory in one fell swoop.
Though he dodged in ti, Byron's shoulder was burnt, and while not entirely incapacitated, he was significantly weakened. Clutching his charred shoulder with one hand, he repeatedly struck the ground with his cane with the other.
The soap bubbles doubled, forming a rainbow-colored fortress before the enemy.
After enduring the lightning once, Byron had gained so understanding of their technique. Now, it was a contest between his art and their magecraft—who would last longer?
—That is if there was no external interference.
"There you are!"
A clear voice echoed from the mist-shrouded forest, causing Byron to pause in surprise—what were they doing here?
"Who's there?"
The nearest three invaders turned and unleashed a bolt of lightning.
"Whoa! That was close!"
The voice's owner seed startled but appeared unhard.
"So you're the ones who made that massive black cloud? Impressive. This is a ritual magecraft that even the Clock Tower rarely tests."
As the voice spoke, its owner erged from the bushes—a blonde boy, wearing a disarmingly innocent smile, completely out of place on the battlefield.
"But your efficiency could use so work. The seventh and twelfth targets are still..."
Before the boy could finish, a new wave of lightning struck.
"Let finish!"
The boy exclaid, dodging left and right.
"We have nothing to discuss with Iselma's lackeys."
"No, no, I'm not with Iselma."
There wasn't a trace of fear on the boy's face, even as he was illuminated by the lightning. While dodging, he still found ti to give a mock salute to the bewildered Byron.
"Flat Escardos of the El-lloi Classroom, under the orders of the most powerful, greatest, and invincible professor in the Clock Tower, I'm here to join the battle!"
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