Chapter 24
BOOOM!
Lucas burst out of the smoke cloud like a comet, his cloak flaring behind him, silver hair whipping wildly from the force of his spin.
His wand flickered erratically, unstable arcs of mana sparking from its tip like lightning off a damaged circuit.
Without pause, he cast in rapid succession—his voice cutting through the roaring battlefield like a whip.
[Mana Spell: Dragon]
[Mana Spell: Barrier]
[Mana Spell: Chains]
A radiant sigil flared beneath him with each word, momentarily dyeing the air in a kaleidoscope of glowing blues and silvers.
Below, Leo's boots cracked the ground as he steadied his stance.
His weathered grip tightened around the hilt of his broadsword, and his narrowed eyes reflected the approaching chaos.
With a roar, he slashed upward in a wide arc.
A blade of moonlight erupted from the steel—pure, sharp, and beautiful in its lethality.
The crescent-shaped energy surged upward like a wave about to swallow the sky, colliding with Lucas' hastily-formed barrier.
CRASH!
The barrier shattered like glass, fragments dispersing into particles of light.
But the arc didn't last long beyond that—Lucas had already raised his hand, and a monstrous construct of mana had taken shape.
The Mana Dragon roared.
It was enormous—serpentine in structure.
The pressure it exuded cracked the surrounding air, sending distorted ripples through the sky.
Its roar wasn't just sound; it was a command, rattling the lungs of everyone who heard it.
But Leo was already gone.
With a flash and a deafening SNAP, he vanished, leaving a thunderous echo in his place.
A trail of lightning bloomed behind him in jagged arcs as he reappeared beside the dragon's torso, dashing sideways across thin air like it was solid ground.
He wasn't going for the dragon.
He was going for Lucas.
His instincts had honed in on Lucas' descent point—and in a blur, he was there.
But Lucas had anticipated it.
[Mana Spell: Chains]
From thin air, glowing runes pulsed—and mana-forged chains whipped toward Leo like serpents, their ends tipped with glowing hooks.
Leo twisted, body flattening mid-motion, shoulder grazing past the snare with millimeter precision.
A second chain nearly wrapped around his ankle—but he kicked it downward, vaulting himself forward again.
Lucas had just landed, wand low, cloak settling—when he flicked his wrist again.
[Mana Spell: Mana Slashes]
From the wand tip, blades of pure mana howled outward, fanning across the sky in a staggered spread.
Leo didn't flinch.
His body moved like water around the blades, slipping between the whistling cuts with inhuman precision.
One slash grazed his shoulder, singing his coat—but he was already upon Lucas.
Their eyes met—just for a flash.
And then Leo's sword glowed with raw thunder.
A single blow. The finishing strike.
But—
[Mana Spell: Greater Barrier]
BOOOOM!
The sword struck an unseen shield with the force of a cannonball.
The barrier held—but barely.
Cracks spidered out instantly, and the impact unleashed a dome of compressed wind that howled across the training field.
Dust flew.
Debris shot outward like bullets.
The very ground beneath them split in fractured lines.
Leo tried to recoil—but Lucas was faster.
[Mana Spell: Explosion]
Mana surged in a blinding pulse—then detonated.
KRAKOOM!
A shockwave erupted like a small bomb.
Leo's body was flung backwards through the air, spinning uncontrollably, limbs splayed as smoke trailed from his scorched coat.
But Lucas wasn't finished.
His body lit up with layered glyphs.
[Mana Spell: Greater Body Enhancement]
[Mana Spell: Reinforcement]
[Mana Spell: Acceleration]
Power coursed through his limbs.
His muscles tensed, boots skimming the cracked ground—and he vanished in a blink.
Midair, Leo was still twisting, barely managing to stabilize his body—when Lucas reappeared beneath him, wand already drawn back.
[Mana Spell: Burst]
A focused blast of mana fired point-blank.
BOOM!
Leo's sword snapped up, absorbing the blow—but the impact still hurled him backward again, faster than before.
His back smashed into a floating mana platform—and before he could rebound—
[Mana Spell: Greater Barrier]
[Mana Spell: Chains]
A translucent dome locked around him.
Chains surged inward, wrapping around his arms, legs, and waist with brutal efficiency.
Leo struggled, face tense, but the bindings held firm.
On the ground, Lucas slowly approached, wand still raised, a confident smirk playing on his lips.
He exhaled through his nose and chuckled.
"Looks like I win again, old man."
Leo sighed. "How does a mage like you keep up with a Knight like me?"
Lucas grinned. "That's my little secret."
He dispelled the chains and barriers.
Leo dropped to the ground, dusting himself off.
"Don't forget," Leo said, "you have a dinner party tonight."
Lucas nodded, wiping sweat from his brow.
But his mind was already elsewhere—on the continent's balance of power.
There were only two empires on this continent.
The Sky Empire, where Lucas currently lived in the east.
And the Masara Empire, ruling the west.
For generations, these two colossal powers had stared each other down across the continent—neither able to defeat the other.
War had become meaningless.
But Lucas doubted the official story.
He had theories—dark, quiet ones.
Perhaps this land wasn't simply isolated by geography.
Maybe it had been sealed long ago, locked away from the rest of the world by forces long forgotten.
Strange, powerful creatures roamed the seas.
No ship had ever returned after sailing too far.
That had become an unspoken law of nature: do not cross the edge of the world.
But Lucas didn't care about the ocean—at least not yet.
For now, his focus was on power.
Knowledge.
Growth.
And the structure of the Sky Empire itself.
The hierarchy was like this:
Barons ruled over towns and villages.
The lowest rung of nobility, yet still above the common folk, they were the teeth of the system—biting into every field and furnace to extract coin and order.
Viscounts controlled cities, managing ten or more Barons beneath them.
Their duties were political and practical alike—ensuring taxes were paid, militias trained, roads built, and dissent silenced before it ever sparked into fire.
Counts governed multiple cities—equivalent to small countries—commanding the Viscounts.
They were warlords in everything but name, with banners that stretched across entire provinces and legacies forged in both gold and blood.
Dukes oversaw the entire realm's flow of commerce, law, and military.
There were five in total, and their influence rivaled the Emperor himself.
Titans in human skin—each one a living institution.
In public, they knelt.
In private, they whispered, maneuvered, and ruled.
But above all, beneath only the Emperor, stood one figure:
the Marquess.
The Marquess controlled the Dukes.
He was the real power behind the throne.
A phantom king in all but crown.
The puppet strings tied to every arm of governance ultimately led to him.
And the current Emperor was dying.
Time was eating the man alive.
Soon, a succession crisis would break out among the royal family.
Either they'd tear each other apart—or unite under a single heir.
Lucas couldn't allow either.
"The royal family must collapse from within," he thought coldly, fingers interlocked as he stared out over the city from the tower balcony, where the wind pulled at his silver cloak.
He didn't want just a new king.
He wanted chaos.
Distrust.
Bloodline politics so tangled that no clear ruler could emerge.
He wanted the nobles to stop scheming in shadows and start bleeding in hallways.
He wanted the Empire to scream.
Because in the end, the throne was never decided by the family itself—but by the Marquess.
Only the Marquess could choose the next Emperor.
Only someone who could defy the Marquess would be seen as worthy.
Which meant...
"To destroy the royal family, I must twist the mind of the Marquess. Make him question their worth."
And that wouldn't be easy.
Marquesses could only be replaced by members of the royal family—an irony that made revolution nearly impossible.
Nobles could challenge and rise through merit, but only up to the rank of Duke.
The Marquess remained untouchable.
Lucas sighed to himself, watching the sun dip beneath the clouds like a blade vanishing into its sheath.
"What a troublesome goal I've set for myself."
But he already saw the cracks.
Arrogance in the younger princes.
Paranoia in the older ones.
Sisters setting spies on brothers.
Hidden affairs.
Forgotten bastards.
All kinds of rot, hidden beneath velvet and gold.
His plan was to widen them—cultivate conflict within the royal bloodline, and pit them against the Marquess.
If he could make that trust crumble...
"Even 1000 years of tradition can fall."
Only then would he have a chance.
A chance to rise above them all.
A chance to claim the Empire.
A chance to sit—not beside the throne—but on it.