Rogue Mages.
That wasn't a title to throw around lightly. Just the existence of one was enough to make the Ten Great Magic Academies dispatch a Master-level.
But it needed to be clear: simply going rogue or refusing to join the Academies wasn't enough to earn that name. For most low-level mages, the academy or the Royal Court would just put out a warrant, and as long as the mage didn't fight back, they'd just be forced into an academy or made a war mage for the Batis Military. Rarely did anyone actually end up in prison.
After all, what normal prison could hold a mage?
And if someone was strong enough that arresting them was decided to be more trouble than it was worth, the academies might just keep watch from a distance to avoid unnecessary risk. As long as that mage wasn't breaking any laws, they were usually left alone, even if they didn't belong to a mage family or serve in the Batis Military.
But Rogue Mages were a whole different story.
They didn't just refuse to be managed. They broke the laws of the kingdom and the academies for their own gain, no matter the consequences. Whether they supported warmongers, became one themselves, or used forbidden rituals, their actions were always driven by their thirst for magic. The difference was, mages inside the academy system knew when to stop, to avoid chaos.
Rogue Mages just didn't care.
So why were Rogue Mages seen as such a huge threat, even though they were just individuals?
The answer was simple.
If a weak mage went wild, causing destruction wherever they liked, the Academies would deal with them—sometimes within a single day of hearing the news. But Rogue Mages had their title because those usual methods didn't work on them. Being rogue meant that, no matter how hard the academies or the nations they allied with tried, these mages couldn't be caught.
That's what made them dangerous—and why the title "Rogue Mage" was so feared.
"Still… even if we're talking about Rogue Mages, isn't this a bit much?" Mulvin looked over at Lazitha, reacting to her theory.
He added, "I knew something was off when classes got suspended, but to attract the academy's attention like this..."
"Not unless we're the ones being targeted." Another voice made both Lazitha and Mulvin turn.
It was Eredim.
He walked over, adjusting his glasses as Lazitha greeted him.
"Eredim, they dragged you into this, too?"
"Of course, hardly anyone was excluded," Eredim answered.
Mulvin, on the other hand, lifted an eyebrow.
"It's a bad habit to eavesdrop, professor. But I am curious what you mean by 'targeted.' Who in their right mind would go after Takerth? Even the Rogue Mages with grudges against the Ten Great Magic Academies—those who actually hunt other mages—wouldn't be so obvious about it. That would be asking to get crushed." It was like the difference between a serial killer who simply preferred certain victims when the chance came up, and one who deliberately hunted a specific group. Even the most dangerous Rogue Mages fell into the first category.
Targeting the academy meant inviting it to come down on you—hard.
Before Eredim could answer, Lazitha spoke up.
"I guess we're about to find out."
The entrance hall of Takerth Academy was large and almost circular, with hallways branching off in every direction—two to the left, two to the right, and several more in between. There were even two staircases that led up to a kind of pseudo-second floor, halfway between the first and the real second floor. But the most striking feature was the massive set of doors at the very front and center, nearly half as tall as the hall itself. They led to the grand staircase that spiraled through the entire academy.
Using that staircase, you could reach every floor without touching the other stairways, and it was the only way up to the Headmistress's office.
Right now, the quiet murmur of the staff and professors faded as those heavy doors clicked and started to open. The motion was smooth—perfectly made doors that never scraped the floor, with hinges so silent it was hard to tell where the opening sound was even coming from.
Regardless, it got everyone's attention.
A faint tapping of a staff against the ground echoed through the now silent hall. A man with slicked-back brown hair, tied into a ponytail, walked out.
Everyone recognized him right away.
Vice-Headmaster Vlaslor.
Despite his title, he looked like he was in his mid-twenties, just like most Archmages—always appearing younger than people expected. His expression was calm, almost serene, but his sharp, emerald-green eyes missed nothing. His clothes, unlike Eveline's, were exactly what you'd imagine a renowned mage would wear: floor-length robes layered over each other, held by a thick belt, with whites, browns, and touches of gold and green.
The most curious thing about him, though, was what hung at his side—a small chain wrapped around a book barely bigger than his palm. It dangled and shifted as Vlaslor stopped in front of the crowd, his staff tapping the floor one final time.
"Thank you all for answering this summons. I know many of you have other matters to deal with, so I won't waste time or beat around the bush. This gathering, though called by me, is an order from the Headmistress herself. That alone should tell you how… delicate this situation is." Just mentioning the Headmistress was enough to shift the mood in the hall.
"What sort of situation could possibly require such a large-scale gathering?" Asked a Master-level knight standing near the front, not far from Vlaslor.
Vlaslor glanced at him.
"Well, I'm sure you've all noticed the storm raging outside, haven't you?"
Lazitha, still with Mulvin and Eredim, frowned. Even from across the hall, her voice reached every corner thanks to the same spell Eredim used for announcements during the Live Examination.
"Of course we have. I'll admit it's unusual for a storm that size to appear in this region, but from what I can tell, there's nothing else remarkable about it."
Vlaslor nodded slightly.
"That's true. I imagine none of your passive sensory spells—or the academy's—have picked up anything truly strange about it."
He tapped his cane against the ground. The sound was soft, but it seemed to echo. Just in front of him, a bright light appeared, then quickly expanded. It looked like a slice of space was suddenly lit up, turning into a screen that always faced whoever was looking, no matter their angle.
The image on the screen showed the storm. Vlaslor's spell gave everyone a clear view from high in the sky, right up close to the blanket of clouds and the flashes of lightning rumbling inside. The picture was so vivid that if it weren't for the silence, it would have felt like he'd conjured an actual storm indoors. But still, even as everyone stared at the display, nobody could sense anything unusual.
Then Vlaslor reached out his hand and passed it straight through the image.
It was like watching someone stick their hand through a borderless television screen. Even though the clouds in the real sky were still hundreds of meters away from the position where the image was being recorded, Vlaslor's hand seemed to ignore the distance. Like how you could seemingly squeeze the sun with your fingers if you held them up to the sky, his hand grabbed and scraped at the clouds. A small indent formed, probably invisible to anyone looking up, since it was only the size of a hand.
When he pulled his hand back, a patch of cloud was resting in his palm—pulled right out of the image, as if the screen had become a portal.
"There. You all should be able to sense it now," Vlaslor announced. His words sparked confusion among everyone in the hall, as they stretched out their senses and narrowed their spells, focusing on the spot in the clouds he had scraped away.
"W- What!?" Someone blurted out, clearly shocked. Similar reactions echoed through the room.
What they felt was a massive, self-replicating mana formation made up of countless smaller formations—like endless gears working together to form a huge mechanism that was still growing. It was so subtle in a single area that anyone below Master-level would never have noticed it. As for the Master-level knights and mages, the reason they hadn't detected it before was because of the clouds Vlaslor had just removed.
With that barrier gone, everyone could quickly unravel how the spell worked.
"Something like this..." Eredim muttered, not finishing his thought, but his tone said enough.
The mana formation itself had three basic functions: enhancement, absorption, and concealment.
Magic could break the normal rules, generating power from seemingly nothing. Mana was everywhere, flowing through all things, and was practically inexhaustible.
The first thing the mana formation did was, inside the storm, create the perfect conditions for lightning. That's why what should have been a regular storm had become a thunderstorm of unusual strength. Some of that energy was released as lightning, but most of it was absorbed by the mana formation and used to help it spread. Mana could change into different elements and forms of energy, and it could also turn material things back into mana.
Normally, this kind of transformation would only last for a short time, because the spirit suppression effect would eventually reverse both changes, causing the energy gained from turning lightning into mana to be lost as everything returned to normal. That's where the mana formation's second function—concealment—came in. The storm's outer layer acted like a cloak, not only hiding the strange activity inside from even Master-level mages but also slowing down the spirit suppression effect by making the clouds look and act as normal as possible, while keeping magical traces to a minimum.
The result was a storm that looked ordinary, but was much more powerful—and growing stronger by the minute.
Of course, the system wasn't perfect.
The mana formations couldn't repair themselves. Adding that feature would make the whole thing easier to detect. Instead, they simply replicated faster than they were worn down by the spirit suppression effect—at least at first. The suppression effect was still getting stronger, just slowly, and eventually it would outpace the mana formation's ability to spread. When that happened, the whole storm and its magical structure would fall apart.
Only Ancient Magic could last forever.
But until that day came—a process that could take days or even weeks—the storm would rage on, threatening to devastate the area around Arlcliff City.
"But something's off," Mulvin muttered, his eyes narrowing in thought.
Lazitha nodded.
"Yeah, I agree. Even with the mana formation in play, all it really does is boost the storm, replicate itself, and hide what it's doing. It doesn't actually create the storm clouds. If it did, it would get suppressed by the spirits even faster and wouldn't last a day unless a Master-level mage was constantly modifying it." Of course, no Master-level mage could adjust a mana formation that often on such a huge scale.
By all rights, this storm should've faded away a long time ago.
"Unless there's something else going on," Eredim said.
Others in the hall seemed to reach the same conclusion, but there was no need to say it aloud, because Vlaslor began to speak.
"As I'm sure many of you have realized, something like this can't be created—or maintained—by any ordinary mage. The fact that this storm has lasted so long points to a larger group behind it. They must be keeping the cloud cover going. I've confirmed it myself: even though the storm has spread across a good chunk of the region, it's centered right here, on Arlcliff City. That means, unless we stop the ones creating the clouds, this storm will keep going until the spirits suppress it." It went without saying that waiting for that to happen wasn't an option.
After all, nothing was stopping the group behind this from doing the same thing somewhere else, or starting again once the spirits had done their work and dispersed.
Nobody knew exactly who they were or why they were doing it, but there was no doubt—only Rogue Mages would dare pull off something like this.
Vlaslor tapped his staff again, making the image vanish and the patch of cloud in his hand dissolve into nothing.
"That's why you were summoned here. Even if we can protect Arlcliff City, we can't allow the rest of the region to suffer because of magic. So, the Headmistress is giving you a direct order: you're to go out, find the Rogue Mages propagating this weather spell, figure out who they are and what they want, and then eliminate them with extreme prejudice." Vlaslor's words sounded almost heroic, but his meaning was clear. They couldn't allow the region to be destroyed because of magic, and only because it's magic.
"While you're away, classes will be suspended, and Takerth Academy will be placed on lockdown for the safety of the students and the school itself. High Sentinel Zedem and the Academy Security Team will be in charge. This is the top priority—until this is resolved, everything else comes second." And so with that, the summoning came to an end.
There was a brief moment where Vlaslor and the other staff and professors discussed the situation among themselves before he excused himself to report back to the Headmistress. Zedem would be starting the lockdown soon, and the announcement would go out to all students. If Arlcliff City—and especially Takerth Academy—were being targeted, then there had to be more to the Rogue Mages' plan than just destruction.
Still standing with the others in the hall, Lazitha let out a sigh.
"What the hell are they up to, pulling something like this? They must've known it wouldn't stay hidden for long."
"Of course. Rogues wouldn't be so dangerous if they were simple-minded. But I agree—I can't imagine what kind of plan would involve drawing all of Takerth Academy's attention on purpose," Eredim admitted, clearly still thinking it over.
"A lure, maybe? Their real target could be us, or they're hoping to leave the academy vulnerable," Mulvin offered, though even he sounded uncertain. Even if every Master-level mage and knight left, the Takerth Academy Council alone was enough to stop any attack. And with the Headmistress still present—a Grand Arcanist—breaking into Takerth was impossible.
Lazitha shrugged slightly.
"Well, whatever their goal is, I guess we'll find out soon enough. Honestly, it's been a while since I could openly use my magic. What about you, Eredim?"
Eredim adjusted his glasses, tilting his head before nodding.
"It has been some time. I'll admit, my progress has stalled without any real challenge."
Mulvin grinned.
"Should we turn this into a wager, then? When was the last time we bet on something like this?"
"Probably since you lost the last one, a few decades ago," Lazitha teased, a smirk appearing on her face.
"Fair enough. Though unlike you two, I can proudly say I haven't been slacking off."
"Oh?" Eredim raised an eyebrow.
"Alright then, I suppose a wager could be fun."
=====================================•=====================================
"You're leaving now?" Celia asked, sitting on Magnus's bed as she watched him get ready.
Magnus gave a small nod while pulling off his shirt.
"Mhm. What I'm doing tonight isn't exactly legal, so I'd rather take advantage of the storm and the cover of night."
Celia tilted her head, looking puzzled.
"Okay, that makes sense... but why are you getting undressed?"
He tossed his shirt aside.
"The mask Luden gave me should work like the one I use when I'm Cain. It creates false clothing. It's safer if I'm not wearing anything real if I get cut or leave something behind."
Realization dawned on her face.
"Oh, so nothing can be tracked to you."
"Yeah, pretty much." With his last layer removed, Magnus held out his hand. The mask Luden had given him appeared—pure white and smooth, with a fixed, eerie grin carved into its surface.
The moment he put it on, the perception distortion of the mask activated right before Celia's eyes. Like something out of a dream, layered robes in pale whites and ivory draped over his body. Long sleeves flowed down to his wrists, and the hems trailed close to the ground. Across the outfit were intricate embroidered scenes—like a theatrical tale stitched into the fabric, filled with characters and ancient imagery. The entire ensemble was nearly monochrome—whites, grays, and just a touch of black in the sash that tied it all together.
Even his shoes had changed, replaced by wrapped boots that matched the loose-fitting pants the mask had chosen for him. There was no trace of Magnus left—at least not one you could see.
He glanced at himself, spun around once, then looked back at Celia.
"This'll take some getting used to... but I think I like it. What do you think?"
His voice was different now. Not the flat tone of Cain, but something more theatrical—like a stage performer speaking to an audience.
Celia stared at him for a moment before saying, "If I saw you in a dark alley, I'd probably scream... then shoot you."
Magnus laughed behind the mask.
"Perfect. I need them scared if I want to get what I'm after."
Her smile faded slightly as concern crept into her voice.
"Just be careful, okay? Even if you can heal, I don't want you coming back covered in blood."
He glanced her way. The mask's hollow eyes hid whatever expression he might've made, but his voice carried enough warmth.
"As you wish."
And with that, he vanished—teleporting out of Takerth Academy and into Arlcliff City.
In an instant, Magnus stood atop a tall tower overlooking a stretch of the Lower City—the part where his target waited. Rain poured down in steady sheets, thunder rolling overhead as flashes of lightning lit up the skyline. He looked down at the maze of buildings below.
"Now..." He murmured, voice low beneath the mask.
"Which emotion should I let take charge this time?"