'This black-haired youth… something was off about him.'
Quaiesse maintained an outward calm, but deep within his ruby-red eyes, a flicker of profound unease surfaced.
Earlier, he'd dismissed the stranger as a boastful fool, riding high on a modicum of talent. But the sheer magnitude of power displayed – the elaborate magic ritual, the summoning of angels, the relentless barrage of spells against the gray-robed mage – was staggering.
The sheer mana expenditure should have left any normal caster gasping on the floor. Yet, this Lyle showed no sign of exhaustion. Not a tremor, not a bead of sweat.
'An innate talent? Some ludicrously powerful magic item?'
'Whatever it is…'
The level of threat Lyle represented now demanded an immediate report to the higher echelons of the Scripture.
A cold knot tightened in Quaiesse's stomach. But this… this private operation of his?
Reporting it would be suicide. Not only would he be stripped of his position within the prestigious Black Scripture, but the disgrace would cascade down onto his entire family.
'Perfect. Just perfect.'
A meticulously planned, near-certain operation, derailed by some inexplicable, overpowered lunatic.
"Basilisk!" Quaiesse snarled, his voice losing its cultured edge, raw fury bleeding through. His crimson eyes blazed.
"ROOOARR!"
The ground shuddered as a colossal, ten-meter-long basilisk materialized before him, its stony hide radiating menace.
The earth continued to tremble.
"Magma Drake!"
A smaller, but no less terrifying, drake covered in pulsating crimson scales appeared beside the basilisk, heat shimmering around it.
In the blink of an eye, Quaiesse stood shielded by four monstrous lizards: two water drakes, the immense basilisk, and the smoldering magma drake.
But he wasn't finished.
Raising his right hand, Quaiesse focused. A ring adorning his middle finger, intricate and undoubtedly expensive, shattered into glittering dust. A surge of amplified power washed over him.
"Hellhound!"
"Bog Leviathan!"
"Obsidian Scarab!"
"Venom Weaver!"
"Blighted Treant!"
"Manticore!"
A cacophony of roars, shrieks, and guttural bellows erupted from the surrounding wetlands. Ten nightmarish creatures, ranging from three-meter-long horrors to the ten-meter behemoth basilisk, materialized around Quaiesse.
The air itself curdled under the weight of their combined, savage auras. These were apex predators, territorial lords – now unnaturally gathered in one place.
An oppressive silence descended. Birdsong ceased. Insects burrowed deep. The primal inhabitants of the marsh recognized the presence of overwhelming predators.
"Ten monsters? So this is the power of a Black Scripture member," Lyle murmured, a rare flicker of genuine surprise crossing his face. His eyelids gave an involuntary twitch.
Scanning the terrifying menagerie through his unique interface, their levels flared in his perception – all above Level 20. The colossal basilisk, a true terror, pulsed at Level 28. His gaze settled on the identifier hovering above Quaiesse: Intermediate Class: Beast Summoner.
"Try not to gawk," Quaiesse's voice, dripping with forced superiority, cut through the tension. He stepped forward from the protective phalanx of slavering beasts, a brittle smile on his lips.
"You aren't the only one blessed with… unconventional advantages. Consider witnessing this power a privilege." He gestured grandly at his monstrous army.
"Now, perhaps you'd care to revise your earlier statement? Who exactly is going to die?"
"You're definitely stronger than the gray-robed clown," Lyle conceded, exhaling slowly. He met Quaiesse's gaze squarely. "But the answer remains the same. It's still you."
Silence, thick and heavy.
Then, chaos erupted.
"KILL HIM!" Quaiesse roared.
Ten monstrous forms lunged forward with earth-shaking force.
"Fifth-Tier Magic—" Lyle's own mana surged in response. Fiery motes sparked to life around his arms, swirling rapidly over his chest, coalescing into the roaring form of a draconic inferno.
This was his passive ability, [Elemental Shift], reshaping the inherent lightning aspect of "Draconic Thunder" into pure "Draconic Flame."
His earlier experiments with the [Silver Knight Lance], cycling through elemental properties, had yielded useful data. Wind offered raw destructive power, but fire… fire brought glorious, chaotic area denial. And "Dragonic Thunder" was never strictly single-target anyway.
Whoosh!
As the draconic fire took shape, a second torrent of power manifested. Howling gale-force winds whipped around Lyle, sculpting themselves into a second, roaring draconic form – this one of pure, cutting tempest.
Fire and wind spiraled upwards from Lyle's form, converging mid-air. The resulting fusion crackled with exponentially amplified, terrifying power. Two distinct spells, woven simultaneously!
Any conventional mage would have balked. Simultaneous casting of different spells defied the very laws of magical theory. Techniques like [Twin/Triplet Maximize Magic] could replicate a single spell multiple times, but this was different.
This was the fruit of the [Mad Archmage] passive: [Spell Preload]. He'd used the earlier verbal sparring not for intimidation, but to secretly bank this second spell.
"Dragonic Flame! Dragonic Tempest!" Lyle bellowed, unleashing both Fifth-Tier spells at once.
The twin forces collided and merged mid-air. It was like dumping pure oxygen onto a raging bonfire. The fireball exploded outwards, swelling into a monstrous, four-meter-tall head of pure, incandescent flame.
BOOOOOM!
The flaming leviathan crashed into the charging monstrosities. The resulting detonation was cataclysmic. A tidal wave of fire obliterated everything in its path. Trees vanished into ash. Undergrowth evaporated instantly. The marsh itself seemed to scream as it was scoured clean.
The agonized shrieks of the summoned beasts were horrifyingly brief, swallowed by the all-consuming inferno. A Fifth-Tier spell was beyond the defenses of mere Level 20 creatures. Combined with the amplifying synergy of fire and wind? It was annihilation.
As the blinding light and heat subsided, a vast, smoldering wasteland stretched before Lyle. The forest was gone, replaced by scorched earth and drifting embers.
Fwoosh!
A figure shot upwards from the charred ground, trailing smoke and desperation. Quaiesse, looking like a nobleman who'd tumbled through a fireplace, rocketed skyward.
'Flight magic item.'
Lyle noted, unsurprised. The lack of an experience notification had already told him the Black Scripture member wasn't finished. Someone of that caliber, especially one specializing in summoning and control, would have layered defenses. Vanishing into the sky was a predictable, if annoying, tactic.
"Flight!" Lyle commanded. Mana enveloped him, lifting him off the scorched earth.
"You two." he barked at the Principality Angels hovering nearby. "Guard the gray-robed idiot! The other, retrieve the twins!"
With that - he shot upwards, a vengeful comet chasing its prey.
"Curse that abomination!" Quaiesse snarled, his usually immaculate golden hair a wild, singed mess. The once-fine, magically imbued grey cloak he wore – a costly treasure offering [Invisibility], [Anti-Divination], and significant physical protection – was now a tattered, smoldering rag flapping uselessly in the wind. It had barely withstood the dual Fifth-Tier assault before failing utterly. He ripped it off with a snarl of disgust and let it fall.
His heart bled more than his singed skin. Ten monsters! His carefully curated collection, painstakingly gathered over years to cover every conceivable tactical scenario… gone. Poof. Smoked like cheap jerky.
This wasn't just a defeat; it was a catastrophic, wallet-melting disaster. Over half his combat effectiveness lay dead on that charred field below.
'This makes no sense!'
The thought screamed in his mind, overriding the pain.
'That power… that endurance… he's hiding something monumental!'
Whoosh!
The sound of pursuit sliced through his panic. Quaiesse glanced back, his blood running cold. Lyle was closing fast.
'Damn it all!' He fumbled, ripping a ring from his left thumb. With a flick of his wrist, the gemstone on his left index finger flared.
"[Sacred Light]!"
Blinding, searing radiance erupted from Quaiesse's hand, aimed directly at his pursuer.
"Persistent little peacock, aren't you?" Lyle grunted, instinctively shielding his eyes. His mind raced, scanning his interface.
Quaiesse was a walking armory of magical trinkets, making his moves frustratingly unpredictable.
A [Beast Summoner]/[Beast Tamer] backed by the resources and training of the Black Scripture wouldn't have the standard weaknesses of a typical Hero-tier human. His survival instincts and combat adaptability were top-tier.
One thing was crystal clear: Quaiesse could not escape. The fallout would be apocalyptic. His deepest fear wasn't just the Scripture; it was the potential for Quaiesse to somehow alert Slane Theocracy instantly. His eyes darted past the "[Sacred Light]" notification on his interface to the new one popping up:
[Skill Identified: Water Lizard's Veil]
[Requires Intermediate Class: Hunter]
[Current Conditions: Not Met…]
['Genius' class activated.
Base class transformed. Skill now learnable.]
[Learn Skill? Cost: 3 Skill Points]
'Another Intermediate Class.' Lyle processed rapidly. 'Beast Tamer, Beast Summoner, Hunter.'
The structure of Quaiesse's power snapped into clearer focus: one Base Class supporting two potent Intermediates.
Lyle halted his ascent abruptly. The blinding light faded. The sky ahead was empty. Quaiesse had vanished. No shimmer, no ripple, just vast, empty blue sky and the whistle of the wind. Lyle hovered, senses straining. He lacked dedicated detection magic. Even if he had it, Quaiesse, with his [Hunter] class, undoubtedly possessed countermeasures.
'Which way did he run?' The obvious thought surfaced.
'No.' Lyle's eyes narrowed, a spark of insight flashing. Quaiesse had seemed to flee, but his third class was [Hunter].
Running from a mage was tactical suicide. If he were Quaiesse, having just burned his strongest summons and his fancy cloak, invisibility wouldn't be for escape. It would be for…
"[Sixth Sense]!" Lyle whispered the command.
An intangible wave pulsed outwards from him, forming a five-meter sphere of hyper-awareness around his body.
'There!'
Silent as death itself, Quaiesse materialized behind Lyle, having circled around during the light burst. A dagger, wicked and purple with some vile toxin, gleamed in his hand.
"[Swamp Leviathan's Crushing Jaws]!"
Quaiesse hissed, pure venom in his voice. He drove the poisoned blade towards Lyle's spine with all his strength. "DIE!"
CRACK!
A burst of white light coalesced instantly. A Third-Tier [Flame Archangel] manifested directly behind Lyle, taking the lethal strike meant for him.
The purple dagger punched through the angel's silver breastplate with horrifying ease. The summoned guardian dissolved into motes of light.
The split-second barrier was enough. Lyle, moving with a caster's instinctive evasion, blurred sideways, putting precious distance between himself and the assassin.
[Death Orb: 50 → 25/280]
"[Dragonic Thunder]!" Lyle roared, whirling around. Brilliant blue lightning crackled violently down his arms, coalescing into a roaring dragon-shaped bolt of pure energy that lanced towards Quaiesse.
"[Basilisk's Stone Mantle]!" Quaiesse screamed, his crimson eyes wide with shock and fury as his invisibility dropped. Jagged plates of rock-like scales erupted across his skin.
KRA-KOOM!
"ARRRGHH!" The thunderous impact enveloped Quaiesse. Lightning seared across the stone scales, charring them black, the concussive force driving the air from his lungs in a strangled cry of agony.
"You really are a stubborn one, Blondie," Lyle observed dryly, though a muscle twitched near his eye. The Death Orb was critically low. Only 25 points left – enough for one more Fifth-Tier spell. This relentless opponent was pushing him harder than anyone before.
"Who are you?!" Quaiesse choked out, the stone scales receding to reveal horrific burns covering his body. His face was a mask of pain and twisted rage. "No nation... no known power... breeds monsters like you!"
Crack.
Another ring on Quaiesse's right hand fractured, crumbling to dust between his fingers.
"[Crimson Owl's Blitz]!" He spat the words, ignoring his injuries, the poisoned dagger still gripped tight in a trembling hand. His expression was pure, feral desperation.
Flicker!
Quaiesse didn't vanish; he simply reappeared impossibly close behind Lyle, far faster and nearer than before – a desperate, magical teleport fueled by dying artifacts.
But Lyle's [Sixth Sense] had already mapped the space. He didn't need to turn. A spear of condensed, howling wind materialized in the air before him.
"[Tempest Knight Lance]!" Lyle commanded.
THWOOOOM!
The lance of compressed hurricane-force wind launched backwards with devastating speed and power, tearing through the air towards the spot Quaiesse occupied.
At point-blank range, with the lance moving at supersonic speed, even a deflection ring was useless. Quaiesse had no time to react, only to realize his fatal miscalculation.
IMPACT!
The Tempest Knight Lance punched through Quaiesse's chest. The sheer concussive and cutting force erupted outwards, nearly cleaving his torso in two. Blood and gore sprayed in a grisly fountain.
"GAAAAAAH—!" The scream was cut short, replaced by a sickening crunch as Quaiesse plummeted like a broken doll, slamming into the marshy earth below with bone-shattering force.
As darkness encroached, the dying nobleman's fading crimson gaze struggled to focus on the blurred figure hovering high above. A final, grim calculation flickered in his dimming mind.
'The mission... exposed... perhaps... salvageable... blame... plausible...' His lips, flecked with blood, twisted into a grotesque, rictus grin. A wet, bubbling chuckle escaped him. "Heh... You'll... learn... soon enough... fool... what you've... truly... awakened..."
THUD-CRUNCH!
The sound echoed through the suddenly silent marsh.
Lyle hovered for a split second, momentarily taken aback. Quaiesse hadn't even tried to defend against that final blow. It was almost… intentional.
"Damn it!" he hissed, diving towards the impact crater.
He found Quaiesse at its center. The Tempest Lance had done its brutal work. The nobleman's chest was a ruinous cavity, held together only by shreds of flesh and sinew at the edges. His breathing was a shallow, wet rattle, his life force fading fast.
Without hesitation, Lyle yanked out vial after vial of [Greater Regeneration Potion], uncorking them with his teeth and dumping the shimmering liquid over the catastrophic wound.
Letting Quaiesse die here was not an option. If he perished, the Black Scripture would know.
Their Captain handled resurrections. And then there was the real nightmare:
Thousand Leagues Astrologer. That scout with the bizarre 'scholar' outfit – undoubtedly wielding relics of the Six Great Gods. If she could observe battlefields across kingdoms, pinpointing the Great Wetland would be trivial.