The night air was thick with the scent of blood and smoke, the campsite a chaotic tableau of shattered lives under the flickering glow of a dying bonfire.
The crackle of flames mingled with distant screams, a stark contrast to the serene starlit sky above. Leylin reclined on his cushioned chair, its soft velvet a quiet luxury amidst the carnage, his posture relaxed yet commanding.
His dark robes absorbed the firelight, casting his sharp features in shadow, his dark eyes glinting with a detached curiosity. A delicate teacup rested in his hand, its chamomile steam curling upward, and as he sipped, the warmth soothed his throat, grounding him in the midst of chaos.
His heart stirred with a complex mix of indifference and calculation, the scene before him a grim reminder of the world's brutality.
Xiu! A red arrow sliced through the air, piercing the carriage driver's neck with a sickening thud. The man clutched at the wound, blood frothing at his lips, his eyes bulging as he gasped, desperate for one last breath of the night's cool air. His body slumped, lifeless, and Leylin's gaze flicked to the scene, his expression unmoved.
"What a bloody scene," he murmured, his voice low and contemplative, a trace of wry amusement threading through it as he took another sip of tea, the porcelain warm against his fingers. His heart remained steady, untouched by the violence.
The camp erupted into pandemonium, men and women fleeing in all directions, their cries a discordant symphony of fear. The second arrow only deepened the chaos, scattering the once-jovial travelers like leaves in a storm.
Leylin's lax demeanor stood in stark contrast, a solitary island of calm, yet no one spared him a glance, their focus consumed by survival.
'They run, but to what end?' he thought, his thought a quiet reflection, a flicker of pity buried beneath his pragmatism. He didn't intervene—not out of sadism, but cold necessity.
The Yale family, behind these three Acolytes, had an official Magus, one who would hunt any survivors with relentless cruelty.
'Saving them would only delay their torment.' Leylin reasoned, better a quick death than torture.
Leylin can't be expected to save everyone, protect them, then proceed to take care of them, accompanying them to their destination and fight with a offical magus for a couple of stranger mortals.
If he save them now, and abandon them then the Yale family would surely catch them and torture them to oblivion for information.
The thought of letting them die quickly was merciful in its own grim way, his resolve unshaken as he watched the camp empty, leaving only the crackling bonfire and abandoned wine flasks.
Crash! Three figures emerged from the forest's shadows, their black robes billowing, each bearing the embroidered emblem of a dodo-bird—a family crest.
Leylin's enhanced vision pierced the darkness, noting their middling years, two men and a woman, the latter's lips smeared with lipstick so vivid it resembled fresh blood.
'Family-trained Acolytes.' he noted. They lacked the polish of academy students, their casual attire a mark of their origins, yet their Level 3 status hinted at either talent or expulsion.
People like them aren't proper students, but not amateurs either.
"Miles, come out! We know you're inside the horse carriage!" the silver-haired man called, his voice smug, his laughter grating as he took a triangular formation with his companions, encircling the merchant's cart.
Boom! A fiery red fireball answered, bursting from the carriage, and the silver-haired man dodged, his robes singed. The carriage shattered, and a black figure—Miles, the white-bearded old man—leapt through the gap, Ivy clung to his waist.
The woman Acolyte smirked, chanting a speed-reducing spell, and a murky green light slowed Miles to a crawl. The bowman's eyes flashed, and another red arrow flew, piercing Miles' left chest with a wet pu, drawing a groan as he collapsed, blood pooling beneath him.
"Run! Why don't you keep running?" the singed man snarled, his voice dripping with malice as he drew a curved blade, hacking at Miles' left leg with a sickening ka-cha.
Ivy was blood-splattered, she screamed like a pitiful child and immediately fainted.
The bowman licked his lips, his voice leering, "Such a beautiful little girl, killing her outright is such a pity. Why don't you let me have some fun first?" His lustful grin widened.
"It's your call, we have plenty of time," the woman replied, her voice casual, her guard down.
"What a tragic sight," Leylin said aloud, his voice lazy but laced with a quiet menace, drawing their attention.
The three Acolytes froze, shock flashing across their faces. "You… you actually didn't run away?" the singed man stammered, his voice trembling with disbelief, his eyes wide as he struggled to comprehend Leylin's calm.
"Just right, I wish to loosen my muscles after pursuing this old geezer," the woman said, her voice sultry but predatory, her lipstick-smeared lips parting as she eyed Leylin, desire and hunger in her gaze.
His Warlock charisma, heightened by his advancement, had drawn many admirers, but her brazenness repulsed him, a sour twist in his stomach.
"Pathetic." Leylin said, his voice a silent scoff
"Summon," Leylin said, his voice resonant with authority, spreading his hands as a massive astral snake erupted from his shadow.
The Black Horrall Snake, now a Rank 1 beast, materialized, its sleek, inky scales glinting, its presence a crushing weight that silenced the camp.
The Acolytes paled, their breaths catching, and the silver-haired leader collapsed, his voice a terrified squeak, "Of… Official Magus!" His heart pounded, fear radiating from him like a beacon.
"Lo… Lord! Please pardon our accidental intrusion!" he begged, his voice quivering, desperation cracking his smug facade.
Leylin's gaze was icy, his heart unmoved. "I can't do that," he shook his head, they have seen him used summoning skill.
Although summon magic isn't rare per say especially for Official Magus but Leylin didn't want any trouble, its best to keep his trump cards hidden.
Especially an instantaneous summoning spell that can call upon a rank 1 beast, its unheard off, even as an innate spell.
This is a sign of a rare advanced meditation technique, its best to not keep evidence. This is why Leylin make sure to kill anyone who witness his summon magic, although as a magus now he has enough strength to protect himself but caution is always a good trait in this world.
He glanced at his Knights—Greem and Dexter's Grand Knight strength, the others' prowess, capable but outmatched against Acolytes.
'If they were stronger.' he mused, 'I wouldn't need to act for measly acolytes who don't even have proper training.'
The Black Horrall Snake vanished into the void, its Shadow Stealth cloaking it in darkness. In an instant, it struck, its jaws crushing the bowman's head with a sickening crunch, blood and bone spraying.
The woman screamed, but the snake's tail whipped out, snapping her spine with a brutal crack, her body crumpling lifelessly.
The silver-haired man, realizing escape was futile, kowtowed, his voice a frantic plea, "Lord, we are from the Yale family… Our family head is also an official Magus!"
"So?" Leylin's voice was cold, a single word heavy with dismissal, his heart untouched by the man's desperation.
"Wait! Wait! I have the secret imprint of our family's head!" the man cried, his voice breaking, holding up a trembling hand.
Leylin's eyes narrowed, recognizing the tool—a unique sigil for Magus communication. His own imprint, crafted with pride, was a coiled serpent wreathed in shadows, an army of spectral warriors at its base, a symbol of his dominion and mystery.
"Kill," he commanded, his voice low and final. The Black Horrall Snake coiled around the man, its body contracting with merciless force, crushing him into a bloody pulp, the sound a wet, final note in the night's violence.
Leylin rose from his chair, his robes rustling, and approached Miles and Ivy, the little girl still unconscious, tear tracks staining her face.
Miles, bloodied and broken, stared up, his voice a shocked whisper, "Lord… Lord Magus!"
Obviously, he never thought that this person who rode the other horse carriage was actually an official Magus, the revelation shook him.
Andry, one of the young Knights, knelt beside Miles, his voice steady but heavy, "Milord, the injury is serious. A commoner would die instantly. Even as a Level 2 Acolyte, he has hours at most."
Andry's father was a well known herbologist in his town, very knowledgeable doctor, unfortunately he choose to serve a wrong lord dying a brutal death and his son sold as a slave.
Leylin has allowed Andry to learn herbs from Anna and also given a few books about magical herbs, mortal potioneering and some books on medicine.
Leylin nodded, he had known Miles' fate. Of course, Leylin could cure the old geezer but he had nothing to value, his prior injuries and lack of Warlock bloodline rendering him worthless for research.
"Give him this," he said, his voice gentle but pragmatic, handing Andry a vial of vitality potion.
Andry fed it to Miles, and Leylin approached Ivy, waking her with a soft touch.
"Grandpa Miles!" she cried, throwing herself at him, her voice raw with grief, her sobs piercing the night.
Miles' face flushed with life, the potion a temporary spark. "Good child," he said, his voice quivering with love, his wrinkled hand stroking Ivy's head. "This… This Lord Magus, could you send her to the Great Canyon Margaret, to where Marian is…?" His plea was earnest, his eyes pleading.
"I can," he said after a pause, his voice calm, nodding in agreement.
Miles grabbed Ivy's hands, his voice urgent, "From today onwards, listen to this Lord. Remember, you must obey every word, do you understand?" Blood seeped from his lips, his strength fading, and Ivy sobbed, "I… I understand…"
Miles smiled, gratified, before his eyes closed forever.
"Grandpa Miles!" Ivy's wail echoed, and Leylin stood aside, giving her time, and after her sobs quieted, he spoke, his voice gentle, "We had better bury your Grandpa Miles. Also, what is your name?"
"Ivy, sir!" she replied, her voice hoarse but brimming with respect, despite her not being even an acolyte, her upbringing in a Magus family was evident.
An hour later, Anna led Ivy to a freshly carved gravesite, crafted by the Knights.
Leylin sat in his carriage as he watched, his eyes a tapestry of detachment, but softened enough to allow a small act of kindness.
"I am ready to go." Ivy wiped her tears as she looked towards the carriage and Leylin.