An old man with a mane of crimson hair emerged from the shadowed depths of the Endless Forest. He rode high above the treetops, balanced atop a massive sphere of blazing fire. The oxygen around him warped and hissed as the heat consumed it, leaving a shimmering trail of distortion in his wake. From his speed and trajectory, it was clear he was heading straight toward the Sinux Magic Tower.
His flight was swift but rigid, lacking the effortless grace of those with true mastery over aerial movement. Such spells were notoriously complex, and executing them flawlessly typically required rare, high-grade magical equipment. Without it, even the most seasoned Magus was bound to suffer in maneuverability.
I couldn't find any evidence of Arthur's death, the man thought grimly. His body was torn apart, scattered across the forest floor, picked clean by beasts. No bones intact—nothing I could use to witness his final moments. That young upstart is craftier than I expected.
His face twisted in anger as he considered the implications. This was Erick—a Rank 1 Magus and the mentor of Arthur. Their master–disciple bond was shallow at best, but Arthur had been valuable. Their arrangement was simple: in exchange for Erick's resources and guidance to reach Rank 1, Arthur would serve as Erick's representative in an upcoming family plane invasion.
Plane invasions were no small matter. They involved powerful outsiders breaching a world, seeking to conquer its native races. Even for skilled Magi, the mortality rate was grim. For Erick—whose talents leaned far more toward magical theory than battle—such an invasion was a death sentence. Arthur had been his ticket out of that fate.
At first, Erick had intended to take swift revenge on his disciple's killer, regardless of the reason. But when he discovered the culprit was a runemaster, his plan shifted. Rather than killing outright, he would find a way to capture this Zatiel, bring him before his family, and trade the man's talent for his own reprieve from the coming war.
That plan had collapsed the moment he realized the divination spell to view a person's final moments required a mostly intact corpse.
If I can't take you alive, I'll strip you of everything you own. No one has that kind of ability from talent alone. Rage and greed burned together in his eyes as the city surrounding the tower came into view.
Half a kilometer from the tower's perimeter, Erick slowed. A middle-aged man hovered in the air ahead, as though waiting for him.
Erick stopped his advance, keeping his expression calm while quietly letting his power rise. "To what do I owe the honor," he said with icy politeness, "of being greeted by the famous Poison Wind Jhon?"
Jhon's easy smile didn't falter. "I heard Magus Erick was paying our tower a visit. I thought it only polite to welcome you."
"Enough," Erick snapped. "You know why I'm here. Hand over the apprentice who killed my disciple, and I'll leave. Refuse, and I won't hesitate to use force. You're not part of the Imperial Family—your tower connections won't save you." The air shimmered around him as flaming whips coiled into existence, writhing like serpents in anticipation.
Jhon's expression shifted into something sharper. "As it happens, I've been meaning to test a new skill. Your timing is perfect." He raised his hands, and glowing green orbs of compressed wind formed in his palms, their surfaces writhing like miniature storms.
The air between them tensed. Then Erick struck first.
The flame whips shot forward like enormous fire serpents, their heat distorting the air as they snapped toward Jhon.
Jhon countered instantly—his right hand conjuring a whirling wind vortex to deflect the flames, while his left hurled the glowing green spheres straight at Erick.
Erick tried to sidestep, but the maneuverability of his fireball was limited. The green orbs cut through the air faster than he could turn. Just before they could strike, he gathered his power and roared—
"Flame Repulsion!"
A wave of fire exploded outward from him in all directions, vaporizing the orbs and charring the air. Using the burst's momentum, he lashed his flame serpent forward again, forcing Jhon into a momentary bind, then swept his arms in a wide arc.
"Meteor Shower!"
The sky above darkened as dozens of blazing meteors appeared, hurtling down in a wide spread toward Jhon. The sheer area of effect made dodging nearly impossible.
Erick allowed himself a thin smile. This wouldn't kill Jhon, but it would make him sweat.
The smile vanished when he saw Jhon grin instead.
What's he—
A faint glow flared around Jhon's legs, and then, impossibly, the man began leaping into the air as though invisible steps supported him. His movements were fluid, precise—each jump perfectly timed to slip between the descending meteors. The few that came too close, he twisted around with acrobatic ease.
Recognition hit Erick like a blow. That's a rune…
Jhon closed the distance in seconds.
"Poison Hurricane!"
From Jhon's hands erupted a roaring, emerald-green tempest. The wind tore at Erick's robes, the poisonous energy in it making the ground below shrivel and rot where it touched. The force slammed into him, ripping him from his perch on the fireball and driving him hard into the earth.
For a long moment, nothing moved but the swirling green storm.
Then a furious voice bellowed, "Coward!"
A column of flames roared skyward, dispersing the poison wind. When it cleared, Erick stood again, wrapped in a thin, flickering cloak of fire. He was still on his feet, but patches of his skin had turned a sickly green, the flesh already starting to decay.
"Enough," Jhon said evenly. "Your rank spell is barely holding together. If you keep fighting, you'll lose."
"Bold words," Erick spat, "from someone hiding behind a youngster's runes." His tone dripped with envy as he glanced at Jhon's legs—still faintly glowing with the effects of Aerial Walk.
"If you want to continue, I'm ready," Jhon replied, lowering his hands but not his guard. "But hear this—Lord Clive has given strict orders. The runemaster Zatiel and his associates are not to be harmed." His aura receded as he spoke, though his eyes remained sharp.
The name hit Erick like a bucket of ice water. Clive was a Rank 2 Magus. Erick might be willing to gamble against Jhon, but crossing someone of Clive's caliber was pure suicide.
His flames dimmed. With a final sneer, he turned without a word and streaked away from the tower, the fireball carrying him back over the city's edge.
Yet even as he fled, his eyes smoldered—not with heat, but with avarice.
If you think this is finished, boy… you're gravely mistaken.