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...
Leylin stood amidst the shadowed recesses of the secret plane, his boots sinking slightly into the damp, blood-stained earth.
Before him lay a modest pile of spoils, glinting faintly under the plane's eerie, diffused light.
"Not bad," he muttered to himself, his voice a low hum of satisfaction tinged with a flicker of curiosity. His bright brown eyes swept over the items: a dagger etched with swirling runes, its blade pulsing with a dark, abyssal aura; the severed remnant of a silver palm, its metallic sheen dulled by congealed blood; and a scattering of manuals and spellbooks, their leather covers worn yet brimming with potential.
The corpses of the two acolytes he'd felled Silver-Claw Saurun and the girl from Whitewoods Castle sprawled nearby, their lifeless forms a testament to his ruthlessness.
These weren't mere trinkets; they were the treasures of potential Magi from enemy academies, each artifact a prize wrested from their dying grasps.
The dagger, held by the female acolyte which she unfortunately couldn't use before Leylin killed her, thrummed with the power to summon abyssal energies, its accompanying reagents vials of black ichor and shards of obsidian perfect for amplifying curse magic.
Leylin's fingers brushed the hilt, a faint thrill coursing through him at the thought of weaving such dark arts into his arsenal. Then there was Saurun's silver palm, a marvel of transfiguration fused into his flesh.
Leylin had hacked it free with surgical precision, marveling at its properties as he separated them: the Shadow element's stealthy grace and the Toxic element's lethal venom a poison so potent it could serve as a trump card in Magi level battles.
"Quite interesting things," he said aloud, his tone laced with a hungry fascination as he sifted through the manuals, their pages promising forbidden knowledge.
Even the corpses themselves held value prime material for dissection, their secrets ripe for his study.
With more than fifty contribution points now secured, Leylin felt a quiet confidence settle over him. The deaths of Saurun and the girl might draw the ire of their mentors, but he shrugged off the thought with a dismissive smirk.
Under Chairman Siley's watchful eye and Dorotte's protective shadow bolstered by the Lighthouse of the Night's mediation, any Magus bold enough to strike at him within academy bounds would face dire consequences.
And beyond these walls? Leylin's resolve hardened, a steely glint in his gaze. He would ascend to Magus rank, whether through the Branded Swordsman path or another, rendering such threats moot.
The points were a means to an end, Grine Water or a Rank 1 spell but his true ambition stretched far beyond.
Two days later, the wilderness beyond the secret plane shimmered under a harsh, unforgiving sun, its bright yellow rays casting stark shadows across the desolate expanse.
Gusts of wind swept through, carrying granules of sand that stung the air, a gritty haze that drove even the hardiest creatures—moles, ants, scorpions into hiding.
The secret plane's entrance pulsed faintly, a shrinking maw of rainbow-hued light, its edges quivering as if alive, ready to seal shut.
Before it stood the three Rank 2 chairmen Siley, Guru, and the golden-haired woman their usual bickering silenced by the presence of a black-robed figure. They saluted him with stiff reverence, their postures rigid under his gaze.
The man's dark green eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity, piercing and predatory. When they swept over Siley or the others, a shiver rippled through them, as if they'd been snared by some ancient, ravenous beast. (Image)
His voice, deep and commanding, cut through the wind. "Activate the spell formation and receive the acolytes within the secret plane!"
"Yes, Sir!" the chairmen replied in unison, their tones hushed with deference as they turned to their task.
Deep within the plane, Leylin crouched in an underground cave, its damp walls slick with moisture and faintly glowing moss.
He'd carved this refuge with care, laying illusion runes subtle, shimmering inscriptions that cloaked the entrance in a mirage of solid stone, repelling intruders with whispers of disorientation.
Since slaying Saurun and the girl, he'd retreated here, not merely to bask in studying his spoils, but to evade the escalating danger of the bloodbath's final days.
By now, he knew, the enemy acolytes had banded together, forming group spell formations Level 2 and 3 acolytes weaving their power into coordinated assaults. Their numbers could overwhelm even a Rank 1 Magus, forcing a temporary retreat. Wisdom, not cowardice, had driven him underground.
He knelt beside a mangled corpse one of his earlier kills, its flesh splayed open under his precise cuts. A scalpel gleamed in his hand, its blade tracing the contours of muscle and sinew as he dissected with clinical focus, the air thick with the coppery scent of blood.
Suddenly, a wave of dizziness washed over him, his vision blurring at the edges. The badge pinned to his chest flared with resplendent light, its black surface pulsing like a heartbeat.
"Oh," he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he steadied himself, "the teleportation array? Is it time already?"
The light intensified, enveloping him in a radiant cocoon. His body lifted from the cave floor, weightless, ascending involuntarily as the spell took hold. (Image)
Floating within the bubble, he glimpsed other acolytes across the plane rising similarly distant figures encased in light, scattered like stars against the dim horizon.
The rainbow-colored exit loomed ahead, dazzling and surreal, and Leylin's calm deepened, his thoughts drifting inward.
The bloodbath was over; his harvest was complete. A quiet calculation simmered beneath his composed exterior, tempered by the anticipation of what lay beyond.
With a lurch, he materialized outside, the dizziness lingering as he stumbled forward onto the sun-scorched wilderness. The scene was unchanged: the three academies arrayed in a tense triangular standoff.
Sage Gotham's Hut and Whitewoods Castle stood shoulder to shoulder, their acolytes glaring across at Abyssal Bone Forest Academy with unified hostility. Acolytes poured from the exit, limping or striding back to their professors, their numbers dwindling with each arrival.
Leylin's gaze flicked to the black-robed man ahead of the chairmen, his presence dominating the field.
"This? A Rank 3 Magus?" he wondered, his thoughts a mix of awe and caution. Dorotte's warnings echoed in his mind, there is an undisputed rule to respect the hierarchy, tread carefully among Magi especially higher rank ones, even their mere presence is enough to crush an acolyte.
He dared not dwell on it further, reining in his curiosity.
Shua! A white blur materialized behind him, Dorotte his skeletal frame draped in robes, green embers flaring like underworld flames in his sockets. A bony hand clapped onto Leylin's shoulder, firm and cold. (Image)
"It's good to see you're alright, little Leylin," Dorotte rasped, his borse voice carrying relief beneath its gravelly edge.
Leylin nodded, a faint smile softening his features as he met his mentor's gaze.
"Good to be back, Teacher," he replied, his tone steady.
He stood beside Dorotte, the skeletal hand lingering protectively a silent warning to any who might challenge his protégé.
Dorotte knew Leylin's strength, the blood he would have spilled inside, and as a teacher, he'd shield him from reprisals. To let harm befall him here would slight both White Bones Dorotte and the academy's honor.
The toll became starkly clear as the trickle of survivors slowed. Abyssal Bone Forest Academy's ranks were decimated war and bloodbath combined had gutted their numbers. Behind the professors, only a handful of acolytes remained, their robes torn, faces etched with gloom, wounds seeping through hasty bandages.
The enemy chairmen smirked, their delight palpable. Dorotte sighed, a hollow, rattling sound, his embers dimming briefly. "It seems we've suffered a great loss this time," he said, his voice heavy with resignation.
"I fear Abyssal Bone Forest might soon have more professors than acolytes."
Leylin tilted his head, his tone light yet pragmatic. "Then Teacher will have to make a few rounds to the Chernobyl Islands, won't he?"
Dorotte chuckled, a dry, crackling sound. "Talented ones like you are rare even on the south coast, let alone that barren wasteland. But you're right, I'll be busy soon, scouring for new blood."
Dorotte's gaze drifted to the exit, searching idly. "It seems Jayden won't be coming, is he gone?"
"He wasn't particularly strong, but I hope my fellow apprentice is alright. He kept the environment warm among us."Leylin's response was instant, his voice smooth and tinged with feigned concern.
Dorotte chuckled, "I hope so too, he had a way of livening things up."
Leylin expression was soft, eyes wide with a wistful curiosity looking at the entrance, but Dorotte wasn't fooled. He knew Leylin's indifference ran deep; Jayden's fate was a footnote to him, nothing more. Most probably, Leylin was the one who killed him.
"Alright!" a voice boomed, cutting through the murmurs. The black-robed Rank 3 Magus stepped forward, his dark green eyes sweeping the field.
"After my detection, there are no more surviving acolytes inside. Seal the exit!"
Silence fell, thick and heavy, before the enemy camps erupted in cries of dismay.
"Silver-Claw Saurun? Hurry and come out!" a professor bellowed, desperation cracking his voice. "He's a genius! How could Abyssal Bone Forest defeat him?"
"Alina? Where is she?" another wailed, her tone sharp with grief.
"Morphis! Morphis, where are you?" a third called, his shouts fading into the wind.
Abyssal Bone Forest's professors, by contrast, remained subdued. The losses were severe, but their reactions were muted resigned, almost expectant.
Even Kroft, Merlin's mentor, merely gasped softly, a quiet "Such a pity" escaping his lips as he learned all his students, including the potioneering prodigy, were gone.
Enemy professors glared at the survivors, their eyes alight with hatred, one locking onto Leylin. He stood pristine robes unmarred, charm radiating, a stark contrast to the battered remnants around him. Their fury simmered, palpable and raw.
Dorotte bristled, stepping forward as silver beast claws shimmered faintly along his back. "Inside the secret plane, one must take responsibility for themselves in the bloodbath," he growled, his voice a protective snarl. "Do you wish to violate the agreement?"
"Enough!" The Rank 3 Magus's command sliced through the tension, a sliver of his spiritual force rippling outward, dousing the professors' rage like cold water on embers.
Weng Weng! The air hummed with his power.
"I've said to abide by the agreement!" he snarled, his growl a primal threat.
Guru stepped up, bowing hastily. "Sir, please forgive my professors," he said, his voice tight with urgency. "They're emotional over their prized students' loss."
"Just this once!" the black-robed figure snapped, his eyes flashing. "If not, I'll extract your soul and roast it in the abyss for ten thousand years!"
The threat hung heavy, silencing all dissent. Soon, Leylin and the survivors were herded back to Abyssal Bone Forest Academy, their steps weary under the professors' guidance.
Leylin glanced around fewer than fifty acolytes remained, a pitiful fraction of the thousands a healthy academy might boast. The enemy had nearly devoured their successors, though their own losses half of their two hundred tempered their victory.
Detached, Leylin followed Dorotte, his expression serene, untroubled by the enmity he'd sown.
"Eventually, the professors will find out who killed who," Dorotte said, his voice a low rumble of caution. "Nothing stays hidden from a Magus for long."
"Hn," Leylin replied, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, his tone coolly defiant. "That's assuming another doesn't act first."
Dorotte's embers flared, a spark of amusement in their glow. "I still have to settle the score for my talented apprentice Jayden with you."
"Ten thousand magic crystals," Leylin offered, his voice flat but edged with a playful challenge.
Dorotte laughed, a dry, crackling sound. "Sure, I can make do with that, but I'd need the same to shield you."
Leylin shook his head, his tone firm yet tinged with wry humor. "I think I'm fine with the ancient agreement in place. I would need a year to scrape together ten thousand crystals. I'd rather not add another ten thousand. Rune prices will drop soon and many resources would be available for much cheaper, we would usher in an era of explosive growth and without magic crystals in hand it would be a huge loss."
"Hehe," Dorotte chuckled, his mandible clacking. "Though they're bound by the agreement and the Lighthouse of the Night, Magi can find ways if they're willing to pay. Not acting themselves, perhaps, but nudging outsiders or the black market to settle scores."
"By then, I hope to succeed," Leylin said, his voice steady, brimming with quiet resolve.
"It'd be better for you," Dorotte agreed, his tone softening with a hint of pride. "Want to exchange in the trading center first?"
"No," Leylin replied, his voice thoughtful, almost distant. "I'm not sure what to get yet, Grine water, rank 1 spell model or something else, I'll decide later."
"Then back to your room to rest tonight," Dorotte said, his embers glowing warmly. "I've prepared the experiment materials, we'll start tomorrow."
Leylin's brow arched faintly. "I don't see the two Grand Knights. Did you use them, Teacher?"
Dorotte's laughter rasped again, the green embers in his sockets dancing with mischief. "Hehehe…" The sound lingered, a cryptic promise, as his mandible cracked ominously.