by M Sisa
“You’ll have to entertain me I guess.”
Alecto was about to cast another spell when a hand grabbed his shoulder, and upon turning to look, someone slapped his cheek.
“Chryselle.”
Her eyes were red from crying.
“I told you to stop!” she shouted, her voice almost pleading. “Please! Just stop!”
Alecto saw the torn talisman on the ground. As expected of one of the elders of Wizzert City. A normal magician would have taken at least an hour to unshackle himself from that spell.
Seeing the pitiful face of his sister, Alecto decided that he had done enough. He was feeling good today too, so he decided to stop. These two brats were lucky that he was feeling magnanimous today. On normal occasions, he would have killed them without hesitation.
He was the Master of the City of Magic. Even the King was unable to touch him. Even if he killed these two on broad daylight, who would be there to stop him?
“Fine.” Alecto pulled out a handkerchief and wipe the tears on his sister’s face. He looked up. It was already dark. “It’s time for dinner. Let’s go back. You still have to meet with the other Elders after this.”
Chryselle sobbed. She looked at the pitiful states of the brothers. One was unconscious on the ground, while the other one was squirming from excruciating pain, his arm twisted in a different direction.
She did not want things to become like this.
She only wanted to see the magic formation drawn on the parchment.
“I will call for a healer,” she said to them. “I’m sorry.”
She bowed her head. She did not know healing magic, and she was not carrying any potions with her. She decided to go back and ask for help from her fellow magicians.
The two magicians from Wizzert City left the alley and disappeared from sight.
Unbeknownst to her, after that, Alecto stopped the healers and other magicians from coming to help the two. They were left there in the alley, their bodies battered and unable to move.
***
The night passed but Austen and George did not come back to the inn. The next day, worried that they somehow got lost inside this large city – or maybe got themselves into trouble – Lark ordered his men to look for the two.
Several hours passed and Lark heard the news. One of the servants found the two in the temple, recuperating after passing out in an alley. Lark, along with Anandra, immediately went towards that place.
Upon seeing the state of Austen and George’s bodies, Lark’s pupils shook. They looked as though they had been hit by a speeding carriage. Their bodies were currently wrapped in bandages as they laid on the bed. The scent of medicinal incense filled the entire room.
“What happened?” said Lark.
The priest shook his head. “It seems they got into a fight with the magicians of the City.”
Lark’s face turned grim. Anandra, who stood next to Lark, had the same grim expression.
There was no way it would be a fight. It would be nothing but a one-sided slaughter. After all, these two had yet to properly learn magic from him. There was no way they could put up a fight against a magician from this city.
Seeing this, the elderly priest sighed. His eyes were filled with understanding as he looked at Lark. “I understand that you’re angry seeing them like this, but young man – don’t do it. It will lead to nothing but an endless loop of violence.”
“Did they tell you what exactly happened? Who did it to them?”
The priest shook his head. “They did not tell me the specific story. All they told me was they were trying run away from somebody when a magician assaulted them. That kid over there—” he pointed at George, “—he was severely injured himself, but he kept begging us to prioritize the treatment of his brother first.”
Lark was sure that Austen would have done the same for George.
These two brothers are really…
“Priest.”
The priest stared at Lark, wordlessly urging him to continue.
“Thank you for taking care of them,” said Lark. He bowed ninety degrees. “Thank you for taking care of these two. I will make sure to compensate you for this. I promise.”
Just by Lark’s clothes alone, it was apparent that he was from a wealthy family, a noble. He did not expect someone with such status to bow his head for the sake of his men.
“The Church of the Water God is open to everyone. If you are really grateful, pray.” The priest gently smiled. “I am sure that the God Nareus will be delighted to have a devout believer.”
“I will do that.”
Lark did not believe in Gods, but if his benefactor – this priest who saved his disciples – wanted him to pray to repay this kindness, then he would do so.
“Ah dear me.” The priest stared at the incense. “It has run out, eh? I will take a couple more of them. The two of you can sit over there while you watch over the patients.”
The priest opened the door. “Please excuse me.”
After the elderly priest left, Lark approached Austen and George’s beds. The priests of the Water God treated the two, but their injuries were so severe that it hardly made a difference.
“You’re going to heal them?” Anandra remembered the time when Lark healed him. His wounds back then were definitely more grave than this since it was inflicted by the basilisk. He could still remember the warm sensation back then when Lark’s mana enveloped his entire body.
Lark nodded. He pressed a hand on Austen’s chest. A magic circle started forming underneath the patient’s bed. Anandra stood next to the door to prevent the priest from entering while the treatment was going on.
After healing the major wounds on Austen’s body, Lark went to George’s bed and started healing him. The twisted arm was reverted to its previous state.
George groaned. He started to open his eyes.
“How are you feeling?”
The first thing George saw was the worried face of the young man in front of him.
“Young Master?” George blinked several times. He looked around. Stone walls. The scent of medicinal incense. “Where am I?”
He remembered what happened last night. George immediately sat up then groaned when pain assaulted him.
“I healed the major wounds,” said Lark. “But it will still take some time before your body’s fully healed.”
He pushed George back into the bed. With serious eyes, he asked, “What happened last night?”
George averted his gaze.
Lark looked at him with eyes filled with understanding. “George, I cannot help you if you won’t tell me what happened.”
Like a father trying to comfort a child, Lark patiently waited for George to tell him the full story. Eventually, George conceded.
After hearing the story straight from George’s mouth, Lark’s eyes were filled with murderous intent for a moment, but he quickly hid it.
“A magician from the Tower of Magic,” mumbled Lark. “Red hair, with a crescent scar across his eye.”
He remembered the description given by George. Red hair was not rare, but it was not common either. And when coupled with the characteristic scar, it should be possible to find the perpetrator.
Lark patted George’s head. He looked at Austen still sleeping on the bed. “The two of you did well.”
These two were in this state because they did their best to protect the secret. The magic formation written in the parchment was nothing but common knowledge in the Magic Empire. Even if these two screwed up and it fell into the enemies’ hands, Lark had no intention of blaming them. Their lives were far more important than that.
But the mere fact that they fought for their promise with their lives on the line tugged at his heart. An indescribable warmth filled Lark.
“Anandra, you stay here and watch over these two.”
Anandra nodded his head. “As you wish, Young Master.”
“Young Master.” George started to turn pale. “Y-You’re not going to figh
t that guy, right?”
He remembered how brutal that magician was. Furthermore, he used peculiar magic unseen by the naked eyes. Although the Young Master was strong, George had this feeling that that guy was stronger.
“I won’t,” Lark lied. “So, don’t worry and get some rest, recuperate. I will be back later. I promise.”
The priest finally came back with the incense. He froze the moment he stepped into the room. One of the gravely injured patients had woken up.
“I will be back later.” Lark tapped the priest’s shoulder. Upon turning his back on George, his eyes turned predatory. “Please take care of them for me.”
The priest momentarily felt his hair stand on their edges. “Of course. That’s the will of the Water God.”
“Thank you.”
After leaving the temple, Lark went back into his room in the inn. He took out the mana stones obtained from the basilisks.
He had been trying to postpone his consumption of these stones to reduce the rebound as much as possible. But now, the time to use them had finally come.
My current body should be able to handle the effects by now.
The rebound, even if present, should be minimal now. This was the result of him not neglecting training his physical body even for a moment.
“A magician from the Magic Tower, huh?”
He planned on staying in this city for only a day, but he had changed his plans. He decided to get back at that bastard who made Austen and George like that.
Chapter Nine
Forcefully expanding his mana pool using the high-grade mana stone took several hours. By the time Lark was done, it was already midnight. Lark looked at himself in the mirror. His naked body was flushed and filled with sweat, with steam rising here and there. He could feel his muscles screaming, his heart pounding loudly.
Thankfully, his trained body was now capable of handling the rebound from forcefully expanding his mana pool. If it were half a year ago, he would have died in an instant.
Lark breathed in and out. He stabilized the erratic flow of mana inside his body, condensing them into a single point. He clenched his fists. Right now, his mana pool was almost comparable to that of Austen’s. It should be possible to cast a Grand Scale Magic or two.
Lark donned a black cloak and a black mask. He jumped through the open window of the inn and disappeared into the night.
As he was heading to the Tower of Magic, Lark felt a presence following him. It was the same person who followed their group from Blackstone Town.
How long are you going to follow us?
A bit annoyed, Lark cast concealment magic on his body. He blended perfectly into the night. The one pursuing him stopped in its tracks. Right now, it was still carefully maintaining its distance.
Now, let’s see who you are.
Lark’s pursuer started moving again, towards the place where Lark’s presence first disappeared. Still under concealment magic, Lark soon saw him.
A man in his middle fifties. His black hair had occasional strands of white, his muscular jaw filled with scars. Underneath his worn-out cloak, Lark could make out his well-toned body. He looked like a serf, but the aura he was forcefully trying to suppress was that of a strong fighter. Someone who had taken numerous lives before.
Was he an assassin? A spy? Lark had yet to find out.
Lark patiently waited in the dark, his body completely concealed by his magic. The man looked around, frowning. He was probably surprised that he lost Lark completely.
Who are you?
Lark firmed his foot on the ground, and in the blink of an eye, shot himself towards the man. He pulled his sword out of the scabbard and slashed at the man. To his surprise, the man twisted his body to the side at the last moment, then leapt backwards.
Lark almost whistled. There were no unnecessary movements from the man. Although he was taken by surprise, he managed to evade the attack by intuition alone. It went to show the massive experience the man had in the battlefield.
“Who are you?” said Lark. He was currently wearing a cloak and a mask, but this person was still following him.
“Just a random passerby,” the man shrugged.
“Stop the crap.” Lark’s blade reflected the moonlight. Thankfully, there were no passersby in this particular street right now. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll make you spit it out.”
The man took out a short sword inside his cloak. Despite being suddenly cornered like this, he remained calm and stoic.
Silence befell the two. They simply stared at each other, gauging even the subtlest movements of their opponent. A cold breeze blew, and as though it was the signal, their blades clashed, creating sparks with each strike.
He’s skilled.
It took several more exchanges before Lark realized that the man was on par with him in terms of swordsmanship. He was a lot weaker than Sword Saint Alexander, but his skills with the sword was good enough to keep Lark at bay.
“A knight?” said Lark.
He noticed that the man flinched. It was probably spot on.
Sparks flew as the two exchanged strikes with each other. A bit annoyed, Lark finally decided to channel mana into his sword, sharpening its blade several folds. He planned on destroying his opponent’s weapon in a single instance and end the fight.
But to his surprise, mana also enveloped the man’s sword. This made it possible for him to parry Lark’s attack.
Lark frowned. If pure swordsmanship wouldn’t work, then he had no choice but to resort to magic.
Three magic circles formed around them – one on the ground and two in the sky. The man’s eyes widened upon realizing that Lark was casting magic while fending off his attacks. It was a seemingly impossible feat, especially considering the fact that what he used was chantless magic.
Sensing that things were becoming dangerous, the man channeled a large portion of his mana into his sword and struck at Lark. Lark temporarily felt his hands going numb from impact, his feet skidding on the ground.
Lark’s spells were almost complete when the man suddenly took out a scroll from his cloak and quickly tore it open.
“You really can’t trust rumors,” said the man. “I mean no harm. Forgive me for this insolence of mine.”
The torn scroll turned into blinding particles of light. Lark momentarily closed his eyes, his senses expanded to its utmost limit to parry any incoming attacks.
By the time the particles of blinding light dissipated, the man could no longer be found. Although Lark could still feel the man’s presence, it was getting fainter by each passing moment.
“He ran away,” mumbled Lark. He wiped a bead of sweat on his forehead.
Were all knights as strong as that one? Lark wanted to find out.
That man was skilled. It would have been a stalemate if they fought with just swordsmanship alone. Unfortunately, he escaped, and Lark had no way of finding out the truth of the matter.
He remembered the words uttered by the man before he escaped.
You really can’t trust rumors. I mean no harm. Forgive this insolence of mine.
Those words felt genuine, since during their fight, Lark did not feel an ounce of killing intent from that man.
Then, a spy.
This was his current conclusion. A knight sent out to observe him. But for what? As far as Lark knew, he was a trash disowned by his own family. A vindictive moron thrown away to a faraway town.
Was it from his father, the Duke? From a rival family? Or maybe…
From the King.
He was among the candidates after all.
There were so many questions, but he held no answer.
Lark sighed. He unsheathed his sword and looked up into the sky. The two moons were full tonight.
It’s a good warm up, I guess.
After stretching his neck for a bit, Lark made his way towards the center of the city – towards the Tower of Magic.
Standing on top of a nearby building, Lark stared at the entrance b
elow. Two men wearing blue robes were standing guard by the entrance, and at the back of their robes was the insignia of a silver wing - the symbol of the Tower.
Unlike the desolated street where Lark and the unknown man fought, this place was bustling with life. Numerous passersby filled the streets. Carriages were also seen every now and then.
Lark patiently waited for an opportunity to gather information regarding his prey. Eventually, a magician from the Tower left the building, his hand holding a bag. He was probably going to the Residential District.
When the man reached a dark and quiet street, Lark filled his fist with mana and stealthily struck the man’s abdomen. His body lifted off the ground for a moment, vomitus flew out of his mouth, and his eyes rolled to the back. That single strike made him lose consciousness on the spot.
Lark caught the falling body and dragged it away into an alley. Several cats ran angrily meowed before scurrying away after seeing Lark.
Lark place the body on the ground, and using magic, poured cold water on his face. The man twitched then coughed. He shook his head, sprinkling water around. His chest rose and fell in quick successions.
“Awake?” Lark looked down at him.
The man quickly sat up, his eyes filled with fear. “W-Who are you?”
Lark’s black get-up probably instilled great fear within him. The man trembled upon realizing that they were currently alone in this alley.
“Answer my question and I’ll let you go.” Lark’s face was concealed by a mask.
There was a pause. The man gulped down.
“A man with red hair, red eyes. A crescent scar runs across his eye.” Lark’s voice was ice cold. “Tell me where I can find him.”
The man’s pupils shook. Despite his wobbling legs, he slowly sat up. He breathed, “The Master of the Tower. The Grand Magician, Alecto. Why are you looking for him?”
Lark raised his brows. He had not expected to get an answer this easily. What surprised him the most was that the person he was looking for was actually a bigshot in this city. He was such a revered magician that he was even given the title ‘Grand Magician.’
It was one of the several titles granted to his oldest disciple, Pollux. The magician who managed to live for almost a thousand years after Lark died.
