Chapter 68
The argument didn't stop in the training hall.
It moved upward.
A few hours later, the academy's senior instructors, faces red with anger and pride still bruised, marched straight into Dean Samantha Hale's office. Among them was Instructor Gorram Vale, his right arm wrapped in thick bandages, metal braces supporting his wrist. Every step he took looked painful.
The door slammed open.
"This is unacceptable!" one professor snapped. "He assaulted students!" another barked. "He destroyed academy property!"
"He humiliated an instructor!"
Victor Rudd was already inside the office, standing beside the dean's desk. He didn't flinch.
Samantha Hale didn't answer immediately.
Her face was pale.
Her eyes were locked on the tablet in her hands.
The professors paused.
"…Dean?" Gorram growled. "Are you listening?"
She raised a hand slowly.
"Wait," she said. Her voice was tight. "Before you speak again… you need to see this."
She turned the tablet outward.
"This footage has never been released to the public. Not to students. Not to teachers. Not even to most of the Agency."
Victor Rudd folded his arms. "It's classified Delta Rift material," he said. "But you insisted on understanding why Magnus Zhou is untouchable."
The room darkened as the tablet connected to the wall display.
Static.
Then,
A ruined city appeared.
Not a city of humans.
Black stone towers. Twisted trees. Crimson skies split by lightning.
A timestamp flickered:
DELTA RIFT – INTERNAL RECORDING – YEAR
The camera shook violently.
Screams echoed in the background.
Not human screams.
Shrill. Insect-like. Endless.
A group of Awakened fighters appeared on screen—dozens of them—backed into a broken plaza. Their armor was cracked. Their mana was flickering weakly.
A voice whispered from the recording:
"…We're down to fifty-five…"
The camera turned.
Something walked through the smoke.
Not running.
Not charging.
Walking.
A lone figure moved forward through a swarm of Noids like a tide breaking against stone.
Each motion was simple.
Each strike final.
No shouting.
No rage.
Just execution.
The professors stared.
The video jumped forward.
Bodies piled like hills.
Noids collapsing by the hundreds, by
Dark elves fell in rows, cut down before they could even scream.
A counter appeared in the corner of the footage:
ENEMY ELIMINATIONS: 1,247… 11,000… 204,600…
One of the professors whispered,"…This isn't possible…"
The camera zoomed out.
The scale became clear.
Not dozens.
Not hundreds.
Thousands.
A battlefield so wide it swallowed the horizon.
The voice from the recorder trembled:
"He's… still moving…"
Another cut.
Days later.
The same figure stood alone amid a wasteland of corpses. His armor was cracked. His cloak burned away. Blood, black and red, soaked the ground around him.
A list appeared:
AGENCY CONFIRMED SURVIVORS: 55CASUALTIES: CLASSIFIED / INDETERMINATESUBJECT: CLASSIFIED : CODE NAME: MAVERICK HUNTER
Then another line:
ACTUAL COUNT: 56
The camera shifted.
The figure turned slightly.
For the first time, his face was visible.
Younger.
Colder.
Magnus.
Silence filled the dean's office.
The professors couldn't speak.
Victor Rudd finally broke it.
"That battle erased nearly six thousand Noids," he said."And over a million dark elves."
Gorram's knees weakened.
"…And he was alone?"
"Yes," Victor said. "The other fifty-five survived because he stood in front."
Samantha Hale lowered the tablet.
"The Association hid him," she said quietly. "Not because he failed…"
She looked at them.
"But because no one wanted to admit a single awakened human did that."
The room felt smaller.
"Now," Victor added, "you want to discipline him… for disciplining children who think they're strong."
No one argued.
Gorram Vale clenched his bandaged fist.
"…He hit me like I was nothing."
Victor nodded.
"That was mercy."
Samantha Hale closed her eyes briefly.
"Then his methods…" one professor whispered.
"…are the methods of someone who knows what waits outside," the dean said.
She straightened.
"And he will continue teaching."
No one protested.
Outside the office, the academy bell rang.
Two hours had passed.
And Magnus Zhou was already back in the training hall,
Waiting.
The training hall was quiet except for the low hum of reconstruction, the smell of fresh mortar and scorched stone lingering in the air. Magnus waited at the center, his presence commanding even without words. His eyes swept over the 4th-year students as they trudged in from the dormitories, their steps heavy, dragging the fatigue of earlier drills and their lingering fear of his discipline.
On the floor in front of him lay small, unassuming devices: bracelets and anklets, each compact but glowing faintly with embedded runes. Magnus raised a hand, and with a subtle flick, all the devices hovered slightly off the ground, showing the students that his telekinesis could manipulate with precise control. The items were deceptively simple in appearance, but each carried fifty kilos of gravitational resistance, Magnus explained, and they would increase half a kilo every day. Removal would not be permitted.
The students' eyes widened, some whispering nervously to each other.
Magnus' voice was calm but edged with authority:
"These are not punishments," he said. "They are tools. You have grown complacent. Five years you've spent within the Academy, and many of you think the Rift no longer poses a threat. Yet the manifestations remain, scattered, unseen, waiting. This exercise ensures you remember weight and resistance are always present. Your body must never accept weakness."
One of the taller students muttered under his breath, "We can't remove these?"
Magnus' gaze sharpened, cutting through the hall. "No. You adapt. You grow. Or you fail. Your choice."
He gestured again, and the bracelets and anklets floated toward the students, guided perfectly to their arms and legs. Every piece clicked into place with a subtle hum, the gravitational force pressing against their muscles. The students groaned as the first immediate resistance made even standing a labor.
Magnus watched silently as they adjusted, his eyes noting the hesitation, the shifting balance, the strain in each step. His telekinesis allowed him to fine-tune placement without contact, ensuring the weight was distributed evenly, yet relentless.
"This will teach you control, endurance, and respect for power," Magnus continued, his voice carrying through the hall. "Your abilities were never granted for vanity. They are weapons. Tools. Responsibilities. Treat them as such. Those who think otherwise will fall first."
Several students looked up, their usual arrogance tempered by exhaustion and the unrelenting presence of their guide. Magnus did not offer comfort, did not smile. His discipline was direct, his expectations absolute.
He stepped back, folding his arms, his eyes sweeping over all 150 students standing, kneeling, or wincing as they adjusted to the new burden.
"When the Training Facility is fully restored," Magnus said, "I shall return. Until then, consider this your task. Adapt, endure, or be left behind. Class dismissed."
The students stared in silence, some sinking to the floor to rest, others struggling to lift themselves fully under the resistance. Not one dared speak out of turn. Outside, the construction crew continued repairing the hall, the sounds of hammers and drills clashing with the tense, expectant quiet of the newly disciplined 4th-year students.
Magnus watched for a moment longer, ensuring every student understood the weight, both literal and metaphorical, of what they had just received. Then, with a calm nod, he turned and walked toward the door, leaving the hall charged with discipline, fear, and the first real taste of what it meant to endure under his guidance.
The 4th-year students staggered under the oppressive weight strapped to their arms and legs, the gravitational resistance pushing their muscles beyond normal limits. Each step became a deliberate effort, the strain visible in every motion. Some hunched over, hands gripping their knees as they tried to regain balance, while others shuffled forward slowly, almost dragging their legs across the cracked tiles of the training hall.
A tall, broad student tried to sprint toward the dormitories, but with the weight pressing down like iron, his usual speed reduced to a slow, plodding pace. Sweat streamed down his face, arms quivering with each step. Behind him, a shorter, stockier student leaned forward, staggering with every step, his feet scraping the floor as if each movement required all his focus just to avoid collapsing.
A few of the students simply fell to the ground outside the hall, sitting in the open air. They leaned back against the walls, chests heaving, muscles shaking violently from exertion. Some hugged their knees, panting, while others lay flat on the sun-warmed ground, unable to lift themselves even to sit upright.
Those who moved toward the dormitories did so in staggered lines, each one careful not to trip over the heavy gravitational cuffs. Arms swung awkwardly at their sides, feet barely clearing the floor. Every doorway, every step, became a test of endurance. Occasionally, a student let out a low groan, another simply muttered curses under his breath, the fatigue of carrying twice their body weight evident in every movement.
Even as they reached their designated spots, some to rest, others to regroup, the weight continued to push down, a constant reminder of Magnus' discipline. No one dared rush or complain aloud; the memory of the day's lessons, his authority, and the burning awareness of their own limits kept them in silent obedience.
Outside the training hall, the sun beat down on those sitting on the steps, their legs splayed awkwardly, heads tilted to the sky. Small clouds of dust rose around their boots as they moved, each motion deliberate, careful, and slow. Even in exhaustion, a few glanced around, eyes still wary of Magnus' gaze, knowing this was only the beginning of a training designed to forge strength, endurance, and respect.
By the time the construction crew had finished patching up the hall, most students had settled into their positions, either in the dormitories or sitting outside, but all bore the marks of the weight: trembling arms, sweat-soaked uniforms, and faces pale with the strain of carrying twice their own body mass. Each movement was a battle, each step a reminder that endurance and discipline were now the currency of the 4th-year students under Magnus' command.
The day ended with bruised egos and shattered arrogance.
For Magnus, there was an unfamiliar sensation settling in his chest, not pride, not rage, but something closer to relief. Acting the way he did, imposing fear and order, had stirred emotions he normally struggled to name. Instead of analyzing them, he let them exist. It felt… simpler. Honest.
When Alexa and Kaelin finally stepped out of the academy's main classroom building, the sky had begun to soften into late afternoon gold. Students passed them in quiet clusters, whispering about the training hall, about the crater, about him.
Magnus was waiting near the steps, standing still with his hands in his pockets, as if nothing extraordinary had happened.
Alexa spotted him first.
She slowed, then puffed her cheeks slightly in a pout.
Not anger.
Not accusation.
Just… that look.
The one that said,I know it was you.And I don't know how to feel about it yet.
Magnus met her gaze calmly.
Kaelin glanced between them. "You… uh… caused quite a day."
Magnus tilted his head. "I corrected one."
Alexa walked up to him, stopping a step away. Her eyes searched his face, as if trying to see the battle, the fire, the violence still lingering there.
"You made noise," she said quietly."And fire.And a crater."
Magnus nodded once. "Yes."
She crossed her arms, still pouting. "That's… very you."
He waited.
She didn't scold him.Didn't lecture.Didn't demand explanations.
That was the thing about Alexa, she trusted his reasons, even when she didn't like the method.
"You're not bad," she said finally. "Just… risky. And weird. And dramatic."
Kaelin snorted. "That's the nicest insult I've ever heard."
Alexa ignored him and looked back at Magnus. "You always have a reason. Logical. Clean. Cold."Then softer,"But sometimes… scary."
Magnus considered that.
"My anger is inefficient," he said. "So I do not use it. Today was not anger."
"What was it, then?" Kaelin asked.
"Correction."
Alexa sighed and stepped closer, lightly bumping her shoulder against his arm.
"You know what I hate?" she muttered."You're unpredictable."
She glanced up at him.
"…And that's what I like about you."
Magnus blinked once.
Unpredictable.
Calm.
Not cruel, just absolute.
That was how she saw him.
They stood there together as students passed, the academy buzzing behind them. No alarms. No chaos now. Just the hum of a system forced back into order.
Kaelin stretched his arms. "Well. First day back and you traumatized an entire year level."
Magnus replied, "They will remember it."
Alexa smiled faintly. "And they'll graduate."
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the academy grounds.
Magnus looked at the two of them.
Not comrades.Not subordinates.Not anomalies.
Just… people walking beside him.
And for once, the emotions he felt didn't need a name.
As they walked across the academy grounds, the atmosphere around them had changed.
It wasn't loud.
It was… careful.
Groups of students spilled out of their classrooms, uniforms wrinkled, faces tired, but when they noticed him, their steps slowed. Conversations thinned into whispers.
"That's him…""The guide…""The one who broke the wall…""He beat the fourth-years…""Even Vale couldn't touch him…"
Magnus felt it before he saw it.
Fear.
Not panic, Respectful fear.
The kind that kept people standing straighter.
First-year students froze when they recognized him. Some bowed their heads awkwardly. Others pretended to check their communicators. A few openly stared, wide-eyed, as if trying to memorize what danger looked like in human form.
His name passed from mouth to mouth like a warning.
"Magnus…""Magnus Zhou…""Did you hear what Magnus did…?"
It sounded heavy when they said it.Deep.Harsh.Like something carved into stone.
A boy whispered, "His name sounds like a war beast."
A girl beside him muttered, "It fits…"
Even second-years instinctively stepped aside to clear a path.
Kaelin noticed first. "You've become… a campus legend. In one day."
Magnus didn't respond.
Alexa glanced around, noticing how the students avoided his gaze, how their shoulders stiffened when he passed.
"They're scared of you," she said quietly.
"Yes," Magnus replied. "They should be."
She frowned slightly. "Not… too much, though."
Magnus looked at her. "Fear keeps them alive. Comfort makes them slow."
That answer didn't sit easily, but she didn't argue.
A group of third-years ahead suddenly went silent as Magnus approached. One of them nervously saluted.
"S-Sir."
Magnus stopped.
They froze.
"You are blocking the path," he said.
They scrambled aside instantly.
"Yes, sir!"
When he passed, they exhaled like they had survived something.
Kaelin chuckled under his breath. "You didn't even threaten them."
"I didn't need to."
Alexa watched their reactions with mixed feelings. "You know… to them, you're not a teacher."
Magnus glanced at her.
"You're… a disaster waiting to happen."
He thought about that.
"Disasters are honest," he said. "They do not pretend to be safe."
They reached the edge of the central courtyard. The shattered training hall roof was visible in the distance, cranes already surrounding it. Students stared at it like a battlefield memorial.
One first-year whispered, "That was one swing…"
Another murmured, "What happens if he gets serious?"
Magnus heard them.
He didn't turn.
Alexa slowed her pace slightly and leaned closer to him. "Your name really does sound scary, you know."
"Magnus," he said. "It is simple."
She smiled faintly. "No. It sounds like… something you don't want chasing you."
Kaelin grinned. "Like a barbarian king."
Magnus didn't deny it.
They continued walking, shadows stretching long behind them, while behind their backs the academy rewrote its rules in whispers:
Don't mock the guides.Don't skip training.Don't test the man named Magnus.
And for the first time in years, the students of Overflow Academy understood something clearly:
Power without discipline was useless.
And the one enforcing that truthdid not need to shout.
The paths split at the academy gates as Kaelin turned toward the residential wing and lifted a hand in farewell, joking that Magnus should try not to traumatize the entire student body tomorrow. Magnus gave a faint nod and replied that he made no promises.
Alexa smiled at Kaelin and told him to get some rest, teasing that he looked like he had fought a wall, to which Kaelin answered that he had, Magnus's wall, before shaking his head and walking off. When they were alone, the silence felt different, softer than the training hall and warmer than the classroom. They walked side by side toward the old district where the streets curved into familiar corners and the city lights grew gentler instead of harsher.
Alexa lightly remarked that he had scared half the academy, and Magnus corrected her by saying he had disciplined them. She pointed out that he had broken a building, and he answered simply that it had been in the way, making her laugh quietly as she shook her head. She told him that when she stood in front of her class that day, the students thought she was one of them, the same age with the same fears and confusion, and that when they asked why she deserved to guide them, she realized she did not guide them because she was stronger but because she had survived being lost.
Magnus considered this and said she guided with care while he guided with pressure, and she replied that this was why they worked together, he stopped them from destroying the world, and she stopped them from destroying themselves. They reached the coffee shop, unchanged with its wooden tables, crooked menu board, and smell of roasted beans and sugar, and Alexa softly said this was where everything started.
Magnus remembered her apron, their first awkward conversation, and the way she had watched him like a puzzle instead of a threat. They sat by the window as Alexa ordered two coffees and sandwiches, and Magnus watched people pass outside, unaware of rifts, power, or bloodlines, and for a moment, he almost felt normal.
After a few quiet hours, Magnus and Alexa made their way back toward his apartment. The city had shifted into evening by then—lights glowing in windows, traffic thinning, the air cooling just enough to feel gentle on the skin. Alexa walked a little closer to him than usual, her arm brushing his sleeve as if she were making sure he was still there. She knew he would leave again soon; she could feel it in the way his thoughts wandered and in the silence he carried with him. She did not ask where he was going. The call had been personal, and important, and she respected the weight of it.
Inside the apartment, the world felt smaller and quieter. Alexa set her bag down and turned to him without saying anything at first, studying his face like she was memorizing it. Then she stepped closer and straightened his collar, brushed invisible dust from his shoulder, and fixed the loose strand of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was a simple gesture, but it carried intention—her way of saying she would take care of what she could before he went back to doing what only he could do.
"You don't know how to rest," she said softly, not accusing, just stating a truth.
Magnus looked at her. "I know how," he replied. "I just don't always choose it."
She sighed and pressed her forehead lightly against his chest. "Then at least let me send you off properly."
She moved around the small kitchen, reheating leftover soup, handing him a cup of water, making him sit even when he resisted. Her care was quiet and practical, the kind that didn't need dramatic words. When he finished, she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, watching him like she always did—like he was something rare that might disappear if she blinked too long.
"You're not telling me where you're going," she said, not bitter, just observant.
"It's better that way," Magnus answered. "For now."
She nodded. "Then promise me something."
"What?"
"That you come back. Not because you have to. Because you want to."
He hesitated, then answered honestly. "I do want to."
That seemed to be enough. Alexa stepped forward and hugged him, tight but brief, like she was sealing the moment in place. "Then go," she said quietly. "Do what you need to do. Just don't forget… this is where you return."
Magnus rested his hand on her head for a moment, feeling the warmth, the weight of something human anchoring him. "I won't," he said. "I know where home is now."
When he turned toward the door, Alexa didn't follow. She stayed where she was, watching him leave with the same calm trust she always gave him—not because she wasn't afraid, but because she chose to believe in him anyway.
After a few quiet hours, Magnus and Alexa made their way back toward his apartment. The city had shifted into evening by then—lights glowing in windows, traffic thinning, the air cooling just enough to feel gentle on the skin. Alexa walked a little closer to him than usual, her arm brushing his sleeve as if she were making sure he was still there. She knew he would leave again soon; she could feel it in the way his thoughts wandered and in the silence he carried with him. She did not ask where he was going. The call had been personal, and important, and she respected the weight of it.
Inside the apartment, the world felt smaller and quieter. Alexa set her bag down and turned to him without saying anything at first, studying his face like she was memorizing it. Then she stepped closer and straightened his collar, brushed invisible dust from his shoulder, and fixed the loose strand of hair that always fell into his eyes. It was a simple gesture, but it carried intention—her way of saying she would take care of what she could before he went back to doing what only he could do.
"You don't know how to rest," she said softly, not accusing, just stating a truth.
Magnus looked at her. "I know how," he replied. "I just don't always choose it."
She sighed and pressed her forehead lightly against his chest. "Then at least let me send you off properly."
She moved around the small kitchen, reheating leftover soup, handing him a cup of water, making him sit even when he resisted. Her care was quiet and practical, the kind that didn't need dramatic words. When he finished, she leaned against the counter and crossed her arms, watching him like she always did, like he was something rare that might disappear if she blinked too long.
"You're not telling me where you're going," she said, not bitter, just observant.
"It's better that way," Magnus answered. "For now."
She nodded. "Then promise me something."
"What?"
"That you come back. Not because you have to. Because you want to."
He hesitated, then answered honestly. "I do want to."
That seemed to be enough. Alexa stepped forward and hugged him, tight but brief, like she was sealing the moment in place. "Then you have to go, you cant keep them waiting" she said softly. "Do what you need to do. Just don't forget… this is where you return."
Magnus rested his hand on her head for a moment, feeling the warmth, the weight of something human anchoring him. "I won't," he said. "I know where home is now."
When he turned toward the door, Alexa didn't follow. She stayed where she was, watching him leave with the same calm trust she always gave him, not because she wasn't afraid, but because she chose to believe in him anyway.
Magnus turned around and gave Alexa a warm, lingering kiss, the kind that carried both promise and restraint. He slipped on his jacket, brushed his thumb along her cheek once more, and stepped out into the corridor. The door closed softly behind him, and he walked down the narrow staircase that led toward the back exit of the small bar he owned.
The moment his foot touched the last step, the world folded.
There was no flash, no sound, just absence.
And then presence.
He stood inside the director's office of the Awakened Association Agency.
Kirha Smith stood slightly behind him, her hands folded in front of her, eyes sharp and alert. She glanced at Magnus with a mixture of recognition and respect—the kind reserved for someone whose reputation preceded him. Even in the dim light, the way she carried herself spoke of discipline and experience, tempered by the exhaustion of years spent tending to the most dangerous of awakened cases.
Robertson's gaze did not waver. His voice, low and deliberate, cut through the stillness. "We received reports… the situation at the second stronghold site has escalated."
Magnus' eyes narrowed slightly, scanning the room with calm precision, as if weighing each presence, each detail. The quiet hum of distant machinery from the medical wing punctuated the tense air.
Beside him was a woman Magnus had seen before.
She straightened the instant she noticed him.
"K–Lord Magnus," she said softly.
Her voice was steady, but her body bowed instinctively.
She was Kirha Smith, twenty-six years old, married, with a son barely three. Her eyes were sharp but tired, the kind of tired that came from watching someone important slowly weaken. She was not awakened, but she carried herself with discipline learned from a household that understood power.
"I remember you," she said. "From before… when great grandfather still walked without a cane."
Magnus inclined his head slightly."Kirha."
She lowered her gaze. "Thank you for coming."
Robertson exhaled slowly. "our benefactor came as soon as I requested ."
Magnus' gaze remained fixed on the elder's monitors, his posture relaxed yet precise, like a predator assessing a cornered prey. "Complicated how?" His voice was calm, measured, but carried the weight of authority that made even Kirha hesitate.
She swallowed softly, choosing her words carefully. "The wound… it isn't just a physical injury. It's layered with a cursed mana signature. It reacts to external energy, any attempt at traditional healing, or awakened interference, triggers instability. If left unchecked, it will consume him from the inside, slowly and painfully."
The shift was instantaneous. Magnus' figure blurred for a moment, and then the dim, incense-scented office was replaced by the bright, sterile lights of the hospital wing. Monitors beeped rhythmically, the soft hum of ventilators and medical machinery filling the room. The smell of antiseptic was sharp, biting, yet somehow grounding.
Elder Javed Suleiman lay in a reinforced recovery bed, bandages layered over his wound, which still pulsed faintly with the cursed mana. Nurses and aides moved around him quietly, all under his authority, yet their movements were careful, measured, as if sensing Magnus' presence even before he spoke.
Magnus stepped forward, eyes scanning the elder's vitals, the curvature of the wound, the faint aura flickering like a shadow beneath the skin. The staff maintained a respectful distance, their posture tense but disciplined, knowing this was no ordinary visitor.
Kirha was already at the bedside, her hands poised over the equipment, monitoring his status. "The ward is fully secured," she said. "No one outside authorized personnel may enter. I've briefed the head nurses."
Magnus spoke softly, to himself as much as to Kirha: "Solis designed this for disruption. He intended for anyone who interfered to fail. We cannot give him that satisfaction."
The staff felt the weight of his words. Even seasoned doctors and nurses, accustomed to noid attacks and awakened interference, instinctively stepped back, as though a force they couldn't name was pressing down on them.
they all move walked out of the VIP room, while Robertson Suleiman and his
daughter Kirha remained , Magnus saw the curse and was annoyed
Magnus' fingers hovered over the invisible thread, his senses attuned to the almost imperceptible hum of cursed energy. It was thin, delicate—a spider's silk in form, but lethal in function. The thread pulsed with a quiet, malevolent life, writhing as if aware of his presence.
Elder Javed convulsed violently on the bed, his body twisting under the curse's resistance. Beads of sweat formed along his brow, his breaths ragged and shallow. The ward seemed to contract around him, lights flickering with the erratic surge of residual mana. Nurses instinctively recoiled, their instincts screaming that this was no ordinary spiritual contamination.
Magnus leaned in, calm and deliberate. His eyes narrowed as he traced the thread, recognizing the design instantly. "This is why the elder is deteriorating," he muttered. The cursed tether had anchored Javed's life force to an external source, a conduit for pain, for weakening, for control. Without severing it, any medical intervention would be futile.
With a controlled exhale, Magnus' hand descended. His fingers brushed the energy thread, and in an instant, he felt its resistance, a subtle but sharp tug, like pulling a live wire of pure darkness. With a precise cut of motion, almost surgical in its subtlety, he snapped the tether. The thread vibrated once, then evaporated into nothingness.
A silence fell. Javed's convulsions slowed, his body sagging onto the bed with an exhausted sigh. The cursed pressure dissipated, leaving only the lingering aftertaste of dark mana in the air. Magnus straightened, his eyes scanning the area, catching the faint echo of divine protection lingering around the thread's remnants.
"It seems a lesser god is protecting that Jarek Solis," Magnus said quietly, almost to himself. The words carried weight, not arrogance, but observation. The force behind the curse wasn't natural, nor mortal. It was deliberate, calculated, and powerful enough to leave traces that only someone of his perception could detect.
Kirha exhaled, relief flooding her features. "The anchor… it's gone. The curse, he's not being drained anymore." Her voice was trembling, though she tried to maintain composure.
Magnus' gaze softened slightly as he looked at Javed, whose breathing was returning to steady rhythm. "It won't be easy. That Solis has layers of protection we're only beginning to understand. But for now, the elder can focus on recovery. That tether… it was the key."
He withdrew his hand, the faint shimmer of mana fading from the room, leaving only the steady beeping of monitors and the quiet, controlled breathing of a life no longer under siege.
Magnus' voice lowered, almost a whisper, heavy with warning. "If he has a god protecting him—"
"Wait."
The word came out sharp.
His hand snapped upward, fingers closing around empty air.
To everyone else, it looked like nothing.To Magnus, something was moving.
The air distorted, bending like heat above fire. A semi-transparent shape struggled in his grip, rippling between worlds, trying to slip free. Magnus tightened his hold.
Then—
Snap.
The sound was slow and wet, like brittle branches breaking under pressure.
The thing was forced into reality.
A small, twisted form materialized between his fingers—skin dark as burned coal, eyes glowing sickly red, horns crooked like broken nails. An imp.
It screamed.
Not a human scream—high-pitched, shrill, vibrating with unnatural hatred. Its body convulsed as Magnus' grip crushed its invisible bones.
"I was only obeying!" it shrieked, voice cracking. "Orders! Orders from my master!"
It spat curses at him in a warped tongue, shadows leaking from its mouth. The temperature in the room dropped as its presence became fully anchored.
Magnus did not flinch.
He applied just a little more pressure.
The imp howled in agony, its limbs twitching wildly. "Stop! Stop! I'll say it! I'll say it!"
Magnus' eyes darkened. "Say it."
The imp screamed the name.
The instant it did, the room trembled, just slightly, like something far away had noticed.
Magnus' expression changed.
Not anger.Not shock.
Confirmation.
"So," he murmured, "high-rank demons are bound to you now."
That knowledge settled like a blade sliding into its sheath.
The imp tried to laugh, blood-black ichor spilling from its mouth. "Too late—"
Magnus closed his hand.
The creature collapsed inward, crushed into itself as if gravity had decided it no longer deserved form.
It turned to ash.
The remains drifted to the floor like burned paper, leaving only the smell of sulfur and something ancient and wrong.
Silence reclaimed the room.
Monitors continued their steady beeping. Javed's breathing remained calm. The curse was gone—but the threat had revealed itself.
Magnus straightened slowly.
"A lesser god," he said quietly, "and now demons tied to his name."
His gaze hardened.
"That means this is no longer just a hunt."
He looked toward the window, toward a world still pretending nothing had changed.
"It is a declaration."
Magnus exhaled slowly.
"The king of tricksters… such a nuisance."