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...
The secret plane stretched vast and foreboding under a sky tinged with an unnatural, bruised hue, its air heavy with the lingering echoes of violence.
Within its twisted expanse, the third and final day of the bloodbath unfolded a relentless dance of death where acolytes clashed in fleeting, explosive skirmishes.
The terrain, a patchwork of jagged cliffs, dense forests, and shimmering pools, bore the scars of their fury: scorched earth, shattered trees, and the faint magic spells dissipating into the stillness.
Leylin moved through this chaos with a predator's grace, his black robe billowing faintly as he surveyed the carnage he'd wrought, the Greed Wand dangling loosely in his grip.
Before him, a brown-haired acolyte from Sage Gotham's Hut trembled, his red-trimmed uniform clinging to his sweat-soaked frame. His wide eyes shimmered with terror, fixed on Leylin as if staring into the maw of a nightmare. (Image)
"No—no, please, don't—" he stammered, his voice a broken plea swallowed by the plane's oppressive silence. Leylin's gaze was cold, unyielding, a cruel glint flickering within as he raised his wand.
"Expelliarmus," he intoned, his voice a low, savage drawl. The spell erupted from the Greed Wand in a surge of crackling energy, striking the acolyte's head with merciless precision.
The force was catastrophic, his skull burst apart in a spray of blood and bone, fragments scattering across the dirt like grim confetti.
The acolyte crumpled, lifeless, his body a twitching heap at Leylin's feet. Leylin crouched, his expression one of detached boredom as he plucked the red, crescent-shaped badge from the corpse.
"A Level 2 acolyte," he muttered, twirling it between his fingers. "Mere three points." He needed fifty contribution points to secure Grine Water, a safety net for his ascent to Magus if his experiment fails and so far, he'd amassed thirty-two, culled from a trail of Level 1 and 2 acolytes, with one Level 3 among them.
The tally was satisfactory, but not his true aim. "Grine Water's just a fallback," he mused, his tone laced with quiet confidence. "If my Branded Swordsman experiment succeeds, I'll trade for my contribution points for a Rank 1 spell instead, it's fifty points as well. Far more useful."
He rose, brushing dust from his robe, his mind already drifting to the traps he'd sown across the plane. His mastery of runes and inscriptions, honed through relentless study, had turned this battlefield into his domain snares invisible even to seasoned Level 3 acolytes.
Time was his ally; the bloodbath's final day stretched before him, and he was in no rush.
Boom! A sudden explosion rumbled in the distance, a sharp, resonant crack that cut through the stillness. Leylin's head turned, a flicker of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Oh, so I caught one," he said, his lips curving into a predatory smirk.
With the Greed Wand swinging idly in his hand, he strode toward the sound, his steps deliberate, unhurried.
The trap's site revealed itself soon enough, a clearing ringed by jagged trees, their bark blackened and peeling. At its center lay a tattered body, the air thick with the stench of charred flesh and ozone.
Leylin approached, his boots crunching against the singed earth, and bent to inspect the badge pinned to the corpse's shredded grey robe. He clicked his tongue, a faint note of irritation in the sound.
"An Abyssal Bone Forest acolyte," he said, straightening. The trap's indiscriminate nature was its flaw, friend and foe alike fell to its jaws, and this time, it had claimed one of his own academy's number.
A Level 2 girl, her badge useless for points.
He nudged the severed head with his foot, rolling it over to reveal a face he vaguely recognized pale, delicate, now frozen in a rictus of shock.
"Oh, isn't this the girl behind Merlin?" he murmured, tilting his head as memory stirred. "One of Kroft's students, I think." Her name eluded him, a trivial detail unworthy of recall. He crouched again, grasping her hair to lift the head, his other hand tracing the cold, lifeless curve of her cheek.
"Ah, such a shame for a pretty girl to end up like this," he said, his voice dripping with mock pity, though his eyes remained devoid of regret, flat, unfeeling mirrors of his ruthless pragmatism. Death, ally or enemy, was merely a means to an end.
A sudden glow flared at his waist, one of his runes pulsing a vivid red, a warning sigil he'd crafted to detect strong presences. Leylin's gaze sharpened, a thrill of anticipation curling through him.
"Oh, it seems two strong ones are here now," he said, tossing the head aside with a casual flick. It thudded dully against the ground as he rose, dusting his hands.
"Should I leave, or should I hunt?" The question hung in the air, answered by the savage glint in his eyes as he slipped into the shadows, his movements silent and predatory.
He crept through the undergrowth, the plane's twisted flora cloaking him in darkness, until he spied them two Level 3 acolytes, their energy waves pulsing strongly.
The boy he recognized instantly: Silver-Claw Saurun, a name etched in the academy's dossier of notable threats. His right hand gleamed silver, its metallic sheen reflecting the dim light, a testament to his mastery of beast transfiguration. Clad in Sage Gotham's red-trimmed robes, he exuded a raw, bloodthirsty aura. Beside him stood a grey-robed girl from Whitewoods Castle, her uniform pristine despite the chaos, her posture suggesting a support role.
Leylin didn't know her, but her presence alongside Saurun marked her as no weakling.
They stood near one of his traps, its runes faintly glowing yet intact, untriggered. The girl's sharp eyes traced its lines, her lips moving in a silent assessment.
"She's the one who spotted it," Leylin thought, his mind calculating. "Some skill in inscriptions, then."
Her gaze shifted, locking onto him as he emerged from the shadows. "Oh, isn't this the alchemy master, Leylin Farlier?" she said, her voice carrying a mix of recognition and wariness.
Leylin stepped fully into view, his stance relaxed, the Greed Wand twirling idly in his hand. "Alchemy master is too high a praise," he replied, his tone smooth and deceptively mild. This was his turf, riddled with his traps—he had no need to hide.
Saurun laughed, a harsh, grating sound that reverberated through the clearing. He knew Leylin too, one of their top targets, a Level 3 genius whose name carried weight and danger.
Fear was absent from Leylin's eyes, even facing two foes. He assessed them coolly: the girl, likely a support caster; Saurun, a body-modification brute.
Neither wielded spell mastery or raw power sufficient to threaten him. Saurun's excitement was palpable, his bloodlust rising like a tide. Known as a ruthless killer, even among the Light Magi of Sage Gotham's Hut. It's rumored he once razed a village of mortals for resources, his brutality a whispered legend.
Without a word, he dropped into a fighting stance, his silver claw quivering as it extended, fingers elongating into razor-sharp talons. (Image)
He lunged, the claw slashing toward Leylin with lethal intent, while the girl began chanting, her voice weaving an enchantment. Leylin's glance flicked to her, his knowledge of curses gleaned from Magus Estelle's books ringing a warning. It was abyss curse magic, potent and insidious; capable of sapping the target of his physical strength, he couldn't let it take root.
As Saurun's claw closed in, Leylin sidestepped with Grand Knight agility, raising the Greed Wand.
"Portego," he intoned, the blue barrier flaring to deflect the strike with a resonant clang. In the same motion, he pivoted, his hand lashing out to deliver a vicious slap across Saurun's face, a blow powerful enough to rupture eardrums and enrage the brute.
Saurun staggered, off-balance, and Leylin seized the opening, casting "Blood Mass." A corrosive wave of crimson energy surged forth, its acrid power clawing at Saurun, who dodged with a defense scroll, the spell grazing him. (Image)
Leylin sprinted toward the girl, closing the distance as Saurun roared and charged from behind. With a flick of his wrist, Leylin crushed a rune plate and hurled it at her, a cloud of grey smoke billowed forth, acrid and choking.
She inhaled unwittingly, her chant faltering into a fit of coughs, her rhythm shattered.
Saurun's claw swiped again, but Leylin sidestepped and drove a kick into his side.
Although Saurun damage power is admirable, and enough of a threat to rip the strongest Grand Knights apart, but his physical stats rival that of a mid level knight only, against a Grand Knight agility it was quite lacking.
The blow landed with a dull thud, barely fazing Saurun's enhanced frame. The girl, recovering, began chanting anew, only to double over, vomiting blood as her eyes burned.
"Poisoned?" she gasped, realization dawning. "He poisoned me?" The smoke had carried a subtle toxin, insidious and swift.
Leylin activated an inscription on a nearby tree—one he'd lured Saurun toward unleashing a burst of flame. Saurun parried with his silver claw, the spell's weak damage merely a distraction, but it bought Leylin time.
He turned to the girl, casting "Expelliarmus" with a flick of the Greed Wand. The force slammed into her, staggering her as the poison sapped her strength.
A Shadow Slave flickered into existence, drawing the distracted Saurun's attention, and in the chaos, Leylin closed in behind the girl.
With a sabre, one-time-use shimmering with inactivated runes he stabbed through her back, the blade piercing out her stomach. With a brutal yank, he tore upward, splitting her from gut to skull, her body falling in two bloodied halves.
Saurun roared, fury igniting his full power. His silver claw gleamed as he charged, but Leylin met him with the sabre, now activating the runes, its magic flaring as he slashed severing Saurun's right hand in a spray of blood.
"No!" Saurun bellowed, waving the stump, but his left hand shifted, turning silver with blackened tips a hidden trump card, laced with Shadow and Toxic elements.
Within the academy, all the apprentices knew that Saurun's achievements in Transfiguration far exceeded that of other similar disciples and that his right hand could transform and become a sharp, incomparable killing machine.
However, all of the acolytes were deceived by Saurun. His left hand was the real trump card. Not only could he use beast transfiguration for his silver-claw attack, it even had a Shadow and Toxic element that Saurun had paid a high price for.
He lunged, aiming for Leylin's abdomen, a desperate bid to trade blows for survival. The poison, a secret honed at great cost, could even trouble an official Magus if it breached the skin.
Peng! Leylin's expression remained impassive, his fast reflexes kicking in as he sidestepped the strike, the claw grazing the air inches from his robe.
"Expelliarmus!"
Saurun was thrown backwards, Leylin glanced at the blood coating his crumbling sabre, dipping a fingertip into it, then raised the Greed Wand. "By the blood of the fallen," he intoned, his voice low and resonant, "I summon the Blood Demon's wrath. Curse this soul, Saurun, strip his strength, bind his powers, let his essence wither under crimson chains."
The curse took hold, a faint red mist coiling around Saurun, seeping into his wounds. His body sagged, his movements growing sluggish, his power draining as the spell took root.
Weakened, bloodied, and heavy-limbed, Saurun faltered. Leylin stepped forward, withdrawing a long dagger from his robe, he swinged it in a swift arc
Peng!—and Saurun's head flew, tumbling meters away, its unresigned expression frozen in wide-eyed shock.
His headless corpse knelt before Leylin, blood pooling in a dark, glistening tide.
Leylin stood unscathed, his breath steady, the bodies of two Level 3 acolytes at his feet. "That's enough points, I guess," he said, his voice calm, almost bored, as he wiped the dagger on Saurun's robe, the crimson stains blending with the fabric.