Sunstone Manor.
Angus, now fifty-five years old, narrowed his eyes as he read the report handed to him.
"You're telling me the mist over the Forsaken Abyss clears once every fifteen years—for half a day?"
"Yes, Imperial Teacher," the man said, still kneeling.
"We kept watch as ordered. Just moments ago, we witnessed it firsthand."
Even recalling it made the man tremble. "As the fog lifted, a faint light rose from the depths. With telescopes, we saw something... unbelievable."
He paused, then continued slowly, as if afraid his words might shatter the memory.
"Some saw vast mountains, with ancient structures buried inside them. Others saw sprawling cities stretching across open plains—glowing, alive, with a population that must number in the millions. A few even witnessed cities floating in the sky, ringed with light, filled with strange birds and beasts flying freely."
He bowed his head. "Each saw something different. But it was all… beyond reason."
Angus stayed quiet, though the corner of his mouth nearly twitched. He already knew. But hearing it confirmed still sparked something in him.
"And? Any progress getting to the bottom?"
The man paled. "We've tried. Ropes, climbing gear, reinforced baskets."
"But once we reach a certain depth, a violent wind tears everything apart. It cuts through even our toughest armor like paper."
Angus didn't scold. He merely gestured, letting the man leave.
As the doors closed, Angus looked out toward the east.
'So it's true.'
He whispered to himself with a calm certainty—
"Then I'll wait for you… just like last time."
....
Fifteen years later — Oremaw City, Grizzle Kingdom.
The once-crowded city now lay in eerie silence.
A month ago, by order of the Imperial Teacher, most citizens were relocated to nearby cities—officially, to avoid an oncoming "disaster."
Not everyone believed it.
For those who refused, Angus didn't force them. He simply advised them to dig bunkers beneath their homes if they insisted on staying.
Many laughed it off as the ramblings of an old man, but Angus didn't argue.
He was seventy now. He'd done all he could.
Hidden in the alleys and rooftops, his specially-trained troops—prepared for decades—waited silently.
Everything was in place.
Then, as expected, beneath a full moon, the sky split with fury.
"Hogar Rhoen! Don't test me!"
Yanek's voice cracked through the sky.
Suddenly—
"Da da da da—!"
Thousands of guns opened fire at once. Fire tore through the night like a storm, bullets raining upward in waves.
But when the smoke cleared, there was no blood. Only shimmering ripples danced around the Magicians—some unseen force had blocked everything.
They floated there, untouched.
Yanek raised a brow, intrigued. He lifted a soldier off the ground with a flick of his hand and pulled the rifle from his grasp.
Examining it closely, he muttered, "So they replaced spell arrays with mechanical parts... used explosions instead of spiritual energy."
He nodded thoughtfully. "This... roughly matches the first-stage strength of a Magician."
Then he sighed, disappointed.
"Who'd have thought the mortals cast into the Aether Dimension would come up with something so intricate..?"
"But outside this realm, it's just junk."
As the rifle vanished into thin air, his voice turned cold.
"These insects dared raise weapons against us, Magicians?"
"I felt a twinge of guilt earlier. Now? They've earned what's coming."
High above Oremaw City, Yanek stared down at the sea of mortal soldiers cloaked in armor. A sneer played on his lips.
He extended his right hand, fingers dancing swiftly through the air as glowing sigils formed in the void.
Tiny embers lit up the darkness—first a few, then hundreds—erupting into massive fireballs that crackled with life.
"Wyrmspeak." His voice boomed coldly.
The fireballs pulsed, fusing together like living muscles, until a massive dragon made of flame emerged in the sky, its eyes fierce and fangs bared.
With a roar, the beast coiled and dove.
"Boom!"
The city buckled beneath its fury. Buildings collapsed like brittle clay, torn apart with no resistance.
Flames—alive, angry—spread like a tide, devouring everything. In mere moments, Oremaw was a burning hellscape.
Yet Yanek, floating in the sky, frowned.
'That's odd, I cast my spell at full power.'
'As a Peak-Stage Wizard, my magic should have obliterated everything.'
'And yet—'
'Many of these soldiers survived, far more than I expected.'
'Sure, they'd taken cover, used strange defenses—but that shouldn't have been enough.'
'Not against me.'
His eyes narrowed.
'Something isn't right.'
Suddenly, a glint caught his attention.
A small metallic object floated toward him—one his mana had instinctively deflected midair.
He called it into his hand, inspecting it.
The moment he recognized what it was, his expression darkened.
"Blood…"
He looked around again—this time not with scorn, but with sharp caution.
"These weapons…" Hogar muttered, his expression darkening as he examined the shattered remnants of a bullet casing in his palm.
"They're soaked in mortal blood—infused with Terrene Mist."
He glanced at Yanek, eyes narrowing.
"We'd barely arrived, and they were already waiting. With Terrene Mist in play… this was planned."
"There's no way these mortals acted alone."
Yanek's expression tightened. "You think a magician's guiding them?"
Neither said it aloud, but the thought gripped them both.
'It's an ambush.'
They exchanged a look—silent understanding forged from a century of shared paths and rivalries.
The Arcanist Method was worth fighting over. But dying here? That wasn't part of the plan.
"We shouldn't stay," Hogar said under his breath.
Just then, the guns roared back to life.
Rounds blazed upward from the ruins below, as if triggered by their hesitation. The timing was too perfect.
"They know what they're doing," Yanek said quietly. "We need to fall back."
They turned to retreat—when a voice rang out across the city.
"Hogar Rhoen! Yanek T'soan!"
"If you flee now, the entire Arcane World will know you've obtained the Tier 3 Arcanist Method!"
It echoed from all directions, cold and deliberate, etched with certainty.
The two Magicians froze midair, eyes wide in disbelief.
"That's impossible…" Yanek whispered.
"Only the two of us knew about the Method. No one else was there. Unless…" Hogar's voice trailed off as his expression turned to horror.
'Unless someone had been watching all along.' Both came to the same terrifying conclusion.
Their minds spiraled—memories flooding back: the betrayal in the Cave Mansion, the stolen Method, the desperate escape to the Aether Dimension.
'How could anyone have found out?'
'Who is behind this?'
Before fear could fully settle, dozens of artillery shells streaked through the night, blazing arcs of fire across the sky—heading straight for them.