NOVPUBWhoooosh...
A surge of crimson-black mana erupted, coiling around Ghislain’s body like a living entity.
In a matter of moments, his entire frame was shrouded in the undulating aura of dark mana. Only his eyes remained visible, burning bright red with a terrifying glow.
He looked like a demon risen from the depths of hell.
“What the hell is this lunatic doing...?”
The sheer sight of him made Delmuth flinch momentarily. Even as a seasoned mage, he had never encountered anything like this.
The only thing he could tell was that this opponent’s power rivaled his own, even when Delmuth had fully unleashed his magic.
No, perhaps it was even stronger.
The mere thought sent an involuntary shudder down Delmuth’s spine. He clenched his teeth in frustration.
“A bastard like you, a Master? Ridiculous!”
There had been rumors about the Count of Fenris being at Master-level, but Delmuth had dismissed them as exaggerated tales.
Now, however, he saw the truth firsthand. For someone to hold their ground against him at this level meant they had undeniably reached the realm of Masters.
But he couldn’t accept it. Admitting it would mean he, Count Desmond, and even the Duke’s family had made a grave mistake.
They should have killed this man first—before stirring rebellion in the North or preparing for civil war.
Who would have thought it necessary back then? Only a few years ago, Ghislain had been nothing more than a mockery, a laughingstock with one nickname:
"The Wastrel of the North."
They had all been deceived. The entire world had been fooled by this man.
But there was still a chance to rectify this.
“Fine. I’ll end this right here.”
Delmuth descended slowly to the ground, carefully conserving even the slightest bit of mana.
He needed every ounce of power to finish off this now-stronger foe.
Ghislain stood still, waiting for Delmuth to land. He knew exactly what the mage was planning, and he agreed with it entirely.
There was no point in wasting time on minor tactics.
The moment Delmuth touched the ground, Ghislain’s body flickered and disappeared.
Boom!
A black demon streaked through the air like a beam of light. Delmuth, recognizing the threat, quickly thrust out his hand.
“Flare!”
Zzzzzz—!
A beam of searing fire shot from Delmuth’s palm, aimed directly at the oncoming Ghislain.
Power clashed against power in a cataclysmic explosion.
KABOOM!
Ghislain’s advance slowed under the immense pressure of the beam, which continued relentlessly, pouring toward him.
Shrouded in crimson-black energy, Ghislain raised his sword, cutting into the beam.
Rrrrrip!
The fiery energy split apart, veering to the sides and destroying everything in its path, incinerating buildings and earth alike. Spectators screamed, scrambling to escape the blast radius.
Yet, Ghislain pressed forward through the beam’s force, step by agonizing step.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
Each step brought him closer to Delmuth.
“Hngh...”
Delmuth realized that this alone wouldn’t be enough to stop him. He needed stronger magic—something far deadlier.
"I must kill him in one blow."
While one hand maintained the fiery beam, Delmuth began gathering mana in the other.
Rumble...
The seven rings encircling his heart glowed fiercely, spinning faster than ever before.
The first ring rotated, pulling mana from within his body. The second ring amplified the power twofold.
With each additional ring, the flow of mana grew exponentially stronger, surging like a violent torrent within him.
The seventh ring spun, reaching its peak. With no more mana left to draw from his body, Delmuth began pulling energy from the surrounding environment, draining it at an unsustainable rate.
It was more power than his heart could endure.
Drip...
Blood streamed from Delmuth’s nose, ears, and mouth. His eyes were bloodshot, with burst capillaries staining them crimson.
Even so, he pushed his body beyond its limits, drawing out every last ounce of power.
Crack! Shatter!
The air around him distorted under the immense pressure, rippling as the balance of mana in the vicinity broke apart.
Rumble...
In his free hand, an inferno began to take shape—a blazing sphere of superheated fire. It was Inferno, the most destructive magic of the 7th Circle.
"Not enough. It’s still not enough."
He needed more power. It had to be stronger.
Stronger, so he could obliterate this demonic enemy in one strike.
Boom... Boom...
Even as Delmuth prepared his ultimate spell, Ghislain continued slicing through the beam and advancing toward him.
"Just a little longer."
Delmuth’s preparation took more time than he expected. The force of his own spell delayed him, proof of how overwhelmingly powerful it was.
And yet, despite the delays, he maintained his composure. Only a mage of the 7th Circle could manage such an attack while preparing another spell in tandem.
Not even Illois, the Duke’s 7th-Circle Master, could unleash something like this.
In terms of raw destructive power, fire magic stood unrivaled.
But Ghislain, too, was pushing past his limits. His mana reserves were nearly depleted.
― Master! You’re burning through mana too quickly!
Dark’s voice rang out in alarm, but Ghislain merely bared his teeth in a defiant grin.
“Amplify my power.”
― Master, if you keep this up, you’ll die!
“Do it!”
― Ugh... Fine! Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you end up dead!
Despite his protests, Dark had no choice but to obey. If Ghislain perished, so would he. Adding more power seemed like the only viable option.
Dark reluctantly reached into the depths of Ghislain’s soul, drawing out fragments of buried emotions.
Whooosh...
A single memory sparked to life within him, igniting an all-too-familiar emotion.
Rage.
The emotion Ghislain had experienced more than any other in his life.
Fueled by his anger, his body and soul burned as if they were kindling, amplifying his power to dangerous levels.
Boom!
Ghislain took another step forward. The ground beneath his foot cracked and split apart, and his pace quickened.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
― Master! Your muscles are tearing apart!
― Your bones are fracturing and splintering!
― Damn it, how are you still moving?!
Ghislain’s body was a wreck. His muscles shredded, his bones fractured, but he continued forward, undeterred.
"Kill him."
Delmuth had to die. This opportunity couldn’t be wasted. Only then would the coming war become more manageable.
At first, these were rational thoughts—strategic reasoning from a mind still intact.
Now, however, Ghislain’s mind was consumed by a singular thought:
"Kill the enemy in front of you."
It wasn’t difficult. He had killed this man before in his past life, splitting him from his head to his waist.
The fury within urged him on, demanding he finish the job as he had before.
Boom!
Another step forward. His body was beyond destroyed, numbed to pain, but the crimson-black energy surrounding him grew sharper, brighter, and deadlier.
The Aura Blade extended further, lengthening with each step.
Seeing Ghislain draw near, Delmuth’s eyes widened.
There was no more time. Letting the Count of Fenris get any closer was too dangerous.
The mana Delmuth had gathered would have to be enough. He had never accumulated this much power in his life.
He, too, was on the brink of collapse, pushing far beyond his limits. Even if he won, he would likely be bedridden for months.
“This is the end, you brat!”
A triumphant smile spread across Delmuth’s face as he lowered the hand maintaining the fire beam and unleashed his other.
Before Inferno could unleash its searing flames and reduce everything to ash...
Slash!
Something cut through Delmuth’s body before the spell could even activate.
“What...?”
The last thing Delmuth saw was Ghislain standing a short distance away, his sword raised mid-swing. The crimson-black aura extending from the blade stretched several meters, slicing his body cleanly in half.
Whooosh!
The immense mana Delmuth had gathered exploded outward, scattering in all directions like shattered glass.
Delmuth’s bisected body, split from crown to torso, was instantly consumed by the surrounding flames, turning to ash in mere moments.
At the same time, the crimson-black darkness enveloping Ghislain slowly began to fade.
“......”
The onlookers were silent, stunned by the outcome.
Though it felt like an eternity to both Ghislain and Delmuth, for the audience, it had been over in an instant. Delmuth had cast his magic, Ghislain had charged through it, and then he struck.
That was all they could comprehend. Such was the nature of battles between superhumans—a realm of combat fought on an entirely different plane of perception, in a time and space incomprehensible to ordinary people.
Hubert, trembling uncontrollably, muttered under his breath, “He... he really is a Master...”
He had slain a 7th-Circle mage alone. No matter the method, such a feat was impossible for anyone but a Master.
In this moment, the rumors of Ghislain Fenris’s Master-level abilities were no longer just hearsay; they had been proven beyond any doubt.
The Crimson Tower mages, paralyzed by fear, began retreating.
“The Tower Master... he’s dead...”
“Killed by the Count of Fenris...”
“This has to be a nightmare...”
To them, Delmuth had been the true pinnacle of the North’s power. While some dismissed Ghislain as “the North’s greatest swordsman,” they had always scoffed at the notion.
After all, there were only two 7th-Circle mages in the entire kingdom—Masters in every sense of the word—and Delmuth was one of them.
It was natural for them to believe Delmuth was the strongest. Yet now, that same man had been defeated, slain by none other than the once-derided “Wastrel of the North.”
As the Crimson Tower disciples stood in shock, Ghislain raised his sword, pointing it directly at them, and roared:
“Gillian!”
“Yes, my lord!”
“Kill them all.”
“As you command!”
Clang!
Gillian, armed with twin axes, surged forward like a thunderstorm. Fenris knights and soldiers charged in unison behind him.
Buzz—!
As they ran, the knights activated the magical engravings on their armor, triggering powerful dispel spells—designed specifically to counter mages.
“Wha—what’s happening?!”
The Crimson Tower mages froze in panic, watching in disbelief as the knights charged toward them. They had come here with the intent to annihilate their opponents, never imagining the tables would turn so violently.
Even the Scarlet Tower mages were dumbfounded. Hubert stammered as Ghislain, stumbling from his wounds, approached him.
“W-wait... What is the meaning of this...?”
Before Ghislain could respond, a blood-curdling scream pierced the air.
Despite the presence of two 5th-Circle elders among the Crimson Tower mages, they were overwhelmed by the sudden ferocity of Gillian and the knights. Their enchanted armor, made of galvanium, rendered most magic ineffective.
In truth, the Crimson Tower mages were already in disarray. The shock of their Tower Master’s death had shattered their morale, leaving them defenseless against the onslaught.
While Gillian engaged the two 5th-Circle mages, the knights and soldiers systematically slaughtered the remaining Crimson Tower disciples.
“Please! Spare me!”
As the cries of the dying filled the battlefield, Hubert, trembling with fear and anger, shouted at Ghislain:
“Count Fenris, what are you doing?!”
Hubert’s head spun in confusion. He had known Ghislain to be reckless, but this was outright massacre.
Killing Delmuth could be justified as a duel, but slaughtering the rest of the mages lacked any legitimate pretense. Such an act would inevitably provoke the other mage towers and regions aligned with the Crimson Tower, drawing their ire and escalating tensions further.
But Ghislain offered no reply. No, he couldn’t.
Hack! “We’ll... discuss this later...”
He collapsed to the ground, coughing up blood.
His body was utterly broken, incapable of holding itself upright any longer.
“My lord!”
Vanessa shoved Alfoy aside and rushed to Ghislain’s side. The shrunken, frazzled mage toppled to the ground where she had left him.
Grabbing Ghislain, Vanessa shouted urgently:
“He needs healing, now!”
Hubert nodded frantically. “Y-yes! Let’s heal him first!” 𝙣𝒐𝒗𝒑𝒖𝒃.𝙘𝙤𝒎
Every potion prepared for potential injuries during the duel was poured into Ghislain. Vanessa forced his mouth open, pouring the liquid in, while mages crowded around, casting haphazard healing spells.
But Ghislain’s condition was far beyond what potions or amateur magic could fix. His internal organs, bones, and muscles were all irreparably damaged.
"Damn it... I might really die this time."
He had no mana left to fuel his body’s natural recovery. Every ounce of power had been burned in the battle, leaving him utterly depleted.
It had been years since he’d sustained such severe injuries. Fighting a 7th-Circle mage was no trivial feat.
"If I lose consciousness now, I might never wake up."
Even if he survived, falling into a coma for an extended period was a very real possibility. Clutching Vanessa’s wrist with what little strength he had left, he rasped:
“Keep talking to me. Don’t let me fall asleep. If I pass out, I might not wake up.”
Vanessa nodded vehemently. She needed to keep him conscious, no matter what.
"What do I do? What can I say to keep him awake?"
She needed something—anything—for him to focus on.
"I’ve got it!"
A sudden idea sparked in her mind, and she blurted it out:
“My lord! Listen to me and think carefully! You absolutely cannot pass out, understood?”
“...Fine...”
“If there are four times as many chickens as ducks, nine fewer ducks than pigs, and the total number of ducks and pigs is 67, how many legs do all the animals have?”
“...”
Ghislain stared at her blankly, his face a mixture of disbelief and exhaustion. Everyone around them shared the same stunned expression.
Moments later, Ghislain gave up entirely, closed his eyes, and fainted.
“Ahhhh! My lord!” Vanessa’s panicked scream echoed across the battlefield.
Elsewhere...
“So you’re saying the Tower Master has gone to Brivant?”
Amelia’s question was met with a nod from Glenn, a Crimson Tower elder currently in her service at Rayfold.
“Yes, to crush the Scarlet Tower completely.”
“The Count of Brivant and the Royalist faction won’t sit idly by,” Amelia pointed out.
Glenn smirked faintly. “Of course, they’ll pressure us and impose sanctions, but they won’t be able to act immediately. They’ll waste time on investigations, and all we need to do is stall.”
“Ah, so you only need to hold out until civil war breaks out?”
“Precisely. But to endure until then, we’ll need substantial funds and supplies. Most of our trade connections have already been severed.”
“Hmm... So you expect me to procure those for you?”
Glenn nodded. “You’ve already claimed this territory, my lady. As per our agreement, you’re obliged to support us in place of Count Desmond.”
Amelia, now the Countess of Rayfold, smiled softly at his words, seemingly unfazed by his condescending tone.
“Was it truly necessary to act so hastily? This only alerts our enemies to be more cautious.”
“Have you forgotten the Duke’s orders? The Scarlet Tower must be neutralized before the civil war begins. Their mages could pose a significant threat if they align with the Royalist lords.”
Amelia nodded thoughtfully but abruptly changed the subject. “By the way, where do you think the Tower Master is now? Has he arrived?”
“He should be reaching Brivant about now,” Glenn replied confidently.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, we’ve planned everything down to the minute. But, my lady, we must act quickly to ensure—”
Amelia interrupted with a cold smile. “Oh, I’ll act quickly, all right. Starting with cleaning up the beggars who keep whining to me for money.”
Her chilling grin froze Glenn in place.
