The secret plane's clearing was a tableau of destruction, the air thick with the mingled scents of scorched earth, spilled blood, and the faint, electric tang of dissipating spells.
Leylin stood at its edge, his black robe a shadow against the gnarled trees, his gaze fixed on the smoldering pit where Torash had met his end.
The ground bore the scars of their clash craters, uprooted shrubs, and the faint shimmer of residual magic.
With a flicker of intent, he unleashed his summons: Great Withering Mankestre, Black Horrall Snake, and three Level 3 acolytes including recently deceased Torash who materialized in a surge of ethereal energy, their forms coalescing with a low, ominous hum. They surged forward, a relentless tide aimed at Silver-Claw Saurun and the red-haired girl.
Saurun and the girl barely had time to register Leylin's powers, their focus consumed by the onslaught bearing down on them.
The two sresolve Great Withering Mankestre with its spectral, sinewy bulk and Black Horrall Snake with its gleaming obsidian scales slithered past Saurun, their attention locked on the red-haired acolyte.
She was a master of runes and curses, her grey robe adorned with faint etchings that glowed briefly as she scrambled to react. But her arsenal lacked the raw firepower or defensive might to withstand such an assault.
Her hands fumbled for a scroll, her voice rising in a hurried chant—"Runis prote—!"—but the words faltered as Black Horrall Snake struck. A horn atop its head flared with a crackling burst of "Lightning Blaze," a searing bolt that tore through the air.
It slammed into her chest, ripping through fabric and flesh with a wet crunch, sending her sprawling in a spray of blood and singed hair. Within seconds, the serpents converged, their fangs and coils rending her apart, leaving only a tattered heap where she'd stood.
Meanwhile, Saurun faced Leylin's trio of acolyte summons, their relentless advance a wall of menace. The bear-modified summon loomed with a hulking frame, its fur matted with scars, claws glinting like daggers. The lightning adept Torash crackled with blue sparks, arcs dancing between its fingers, while the fire spell specialist's hands glowed with an ember-red hue, heat shimmering in the air.
They attacked without restraint, heedless of injury—puppets driven by Leylin's will. Saurun roared, his silver right hand slashing forward, its scaled surface reflecting the dim light, claws extended in a deadly arc.
He revealed his trump card—a left hand claw, shrouded in shadow and dripping with a dark, viscous poison potent enough to trouble an official Magus.
It lashed out, sinking into the bear summon's flank, black ichor spreading through its form. The summon staggered but pressed on, unfazed by the toxin, its claws raking Saurun's chest in return.
The fire spell acolyte hurled a blazing orb—"Ignis Sphera!"—that erupted against Saurun's side, scorching his robe and searing flesh with a hiss of burning skin.
Torash followed, a bolt—"Electro Pulse!"—crackling into his shoulder, forcing a grunt of pain as his body jolted.
Saurun fought back with feral desperation, his claws tearing through the bear summon's torso, reducing it to a dissipating husk, while a swipe of his poisoned claw melted the fire acolyte into a puddle of ash and shadow.
But the cost was steep—his breaths came in ragged gasps, blood trickling from gashes across his arms and chest. The final blow came from Torash, its lightning ability flaring in a brilliant arc—"Thunderstrike!"—that pierced Saurun's chest, hurling him backward to collapse in a lifeless heap, his silver claw twitching faintly in the dirt.
In mere moments, both foes lay dead, their bodies broken amidst the clearing's ruin. Leylin stepped forward, his expression calm as he channeled his soulbound power: "Summon!"
Dark tendrils snaked from his palms, binding Saurun's and the girl's souls to his space with a faint, ethereal shimmer. He glanced at the carnage, then at his stats
[Leylin Farlier: Grand Knight. Level 3 Acolyte. Summons (8)—Great Withering Mankestre, Black Horrall Snake, Black Steed, Level 3 Acolyte (Bear-Modification), Level 3 Acolyte (Fire spell, unnamed), Level 3 Acolyte (Torash), Level 3 Acolyte(Saurun), Level 3 Acolyte (Rune and curse spell, unnamed). Strength: 8.5, Agility: 7.1, Vitality: 7.0, Spiritual Force: 15.4. Magical Power: 15. Status: Healthy.]
'Two days until the plane reopens,' he mused, the faint thrill of his growing arsenal lingering in his chest.
Minutes later, Jayden stirred, his groan cutting through the silence as he pushed himself upright. "What happened? Where's Torash?"
His voice was hoarse, confusion clouding his dirt-streaked face. His hand flew to his chest, fingers brushing the cracked wooden talisman still nestled there, its faint glow reassuring him.
He patted his sack—intact—and exhaled a shaky breath. "This… an intense battle. Who saved me?" His gaze swept the clearing, taking in the craters, the bloodstains, the faint wisps of smoke curling from the ground.
Footsteps crunched nearby, and two acolytes emerged—grey robes marking them as Sage Gotham's Hut. "An Abyssal Bone Forest acolyte! Kill him!" one barked, excitement lighting their eyes as they began Rank 0 incantations, energy flickering at their fingertips.
Jayden sighed, his hand closing around the talisman once more, vines stirring faintly beneath his touch as he braced for another fight.
Two days later, the wilderness beyond the secret plane glowed with a harsh yellow hue, gusts of wind whipping granules of sand across the barren expanse.
No creature dared linger—moles, ants, all had fled the oppressive aura radiating from the shrinking portal.
Siley stood before it, his bald head gleaming faintly, eyes fixed on a silver hourglass hovering midair. Golden sand trickled downward, its final bead falling with a soft Di!
"Time's up," he intoned gravely. "Let's receive our acolytes."
Guru smirked beside him, his white brows stark against his weathered face. "Anxious, Siley? Every minute in there, another of your acolytes falls heads for Sage Gotham's gates."
Nicola, the blonde chairwoman, joined in, her smile edged with malice. "Your lambs are meat on our board now. No survivors, perhaps?" Siley's face twitched with regret.
"Nicola, still clinging to old grudges?"
"I've forgotten them," she snapped, her expression icy. "But I'll raze your academy—Lighthouse or not, there's always a next time."
Siley's features hardened. "If you dare target what I've spent my whole life to built, you're my eternal enemy."
Her laugh was bitter. "Arrogant as ever, thinking the world spins for you. It sickens me, I'll see your life's work in ashes!"
Guru at the side interrupted Nicola."Earlier you stopped me and Siley from fighting, but why is it that you can't endure it now?"
"My reason for stopping you was because I want to take action myself!" Nicola's maniacal look grew even stronger.
"Enough!" A dense black colour descended, and covered the sky in an instant.
Amidst the darkness, there was a bright green light that came from within, revealing a figure that was wrapped in black robes. (Image)
"Sir!" The three chairmen bowed.
They were only rank 2 Magus, yet this person in front of them was a true rank 3 Magus! Every level in the Magus World had an obvious difference like that between the sky and earth.
Previously, it was this Sir that suppressed the 3 of them to mediate the war.
"Since my Lighthouse of the Night has already stepped in, any conflicts that arise after is deemed as a provocation to us, as the contract and date are still effective." he warned, his presence a suffocating weight.
This feeling of imminent death finally brought Nicola out from her madness.
"From now, activate the spell formation, and receive the acolytes within the secret plane!"
"Yes, Sir!"
Inside the plane, Leylin sat cross-legged, studying a Rank 1 spell on the A.I. Chip's display when his badge glowed.
Fluorescent light engulfed him, lifting him skyward in a shimmering bubble.
He glanced out, seeing other acolytes rising like stars against the plane's gloom.
"The calm brought by the death of many is strangely soothing." he murmured, then dispelled his Shapeshifting spell. His face contorted, height stretching until he resumed his true form Leylin Farlier, Potioneering acolyte.
"Before becoming an official Magus, it is best to maintain a low profile. There won't be anything wrong with that!" Beware of Jayden's grim outcome being targeted by an official magus, Leylin steeled his heart with this resolve.