When he heard the messenger's words, Sunny didn't slam the table in anger, nor did he rush madly toward the arena.
At that instant, dizziness overtook him.
It was as if the blade that had been hanging above his neck for so long had finally fallen—there was a momentary sense of release, but also an overwhelming confusion and dread so intense that he could barely breathe.
Hen Gedymdeith… Of course Hen Gedymdeith was important.
He was the very reason Sunny could now control Ban Ard, stand shoulder to shoulder with the legendary mage Ortolan, and command the warlocks who scurried about in panic.
If Hen Gedymdeith hadn't been gravely injured while resisting the Wild Hunt, then every sorcerer would still be bound by the ancient codes laid down by that most legendary warlock of old. No one would have been able to act beyond his will.
It was precisely because Sunny held Hen Gedymdeith' life and death in his hands that Ban Ard, whether those who supported or opposed him, had no choice but to obey.
Even Ortolan and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization had chosen to ally with him for this reason—because Hen Gedymdeith was under his control.
He held all the initiative.
Sunny had thought he understood perfectly how crucial Hen Gedymdeith was to his position.
By inviting in a third power—Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization—he had reshaped Ban Ard's fragile political ecosystem into one centered around himself, perfectly balancing both sides and consolidating control over power and resources.
The radicals of Ban Ard followed his lead, while the opposition—who once feared Hen Gedymdeith—now began to fear the Cooperative and Ortolan, and thus feared him as well.
To Ortolan and Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, Sunny was the face of the greatest supernatural faction on the Continent—Ban Ard itself. His voice carried weight.
Though, as contact between Ban Ard and the Cooperative increased, that delicate informational barrier began to crumble.
The opposition discovered that the Cooperative and Ortolan were not wholly on his side.
And the Cooperative and Ortolan discovered that Sunny could not truly represent all of Ban Ard.
However—
Before that barrier completely collapsed, a new nexus of interest arose: the Sorcerer Kingdom.
This new dream replaced the crumbling wall, becoming a fresh balance point between the three factions.
Once the Sorcerer Kingdom was founded, no matter how Ortolan, the Cooperative, or Ban Ard's opposition grumbled, they would have to acknowledge him—the founding monarch of the first realm ruled solely by warlocks.
For now, there was no better timing—and no better man—for such a task.
After all, only Kaedwen had fallen among the northern kingdoms, and the invading Aedirn, for many reasons, could not occupy it completely.
The rampaging Wild Hunt forced the nations to seek scapegoats and shields.
It was the perfect chance—one unseen in any chronicle—to create a nation belonging only to the sorcerers.
Even Sunny himself was, in every sense, the perfect fit.
Though not as powerful or renowned as Hen Gedymdeith or Ortolan, he nonetheless held sway over Ban Ard—a faction whose strength and prestige were at their historical peak.
The kings and other extraordinary forces would not fear expansion; they would expect internal struggle and infighting to consume the new kingdom for years.
Compared to Ortolan, Sunny's relative weakness made him easier to ally with.
And within the warlocks themselves, a surging radical movement needed a political spokesman to elevate their cause.
It was a perfect political balance.
This equilibrium—this masterpiece of manipulation—was something he took more pride in than all his magical accomplishments combined.
And within this structure, there was no longer any place for Hen Gedymdeith.
At least, that's what Sunny had believed.
But now, in the instant when Hen Gedymdeith might truly slip from his control, he suddenly realized that the magnificent palace he had built—with all its gilded pillars and grandeur—was made not of steel and stone, but of stacked blocks.
So fragile that a single push could bring it all down.
Yet what he could not understand was—why would the Wild Hunt, or whatever monster it was, set its sights on Hen Gedymdeith?
It was absurd—like a Drowner swimming all the way from the northern Dragon Mountains of Kaedwen, down the Pontar River into Temeria, sneaking into Vizima itself just to taste a bite of fresh royal flesh.
"Sunny!"
A sharp slap on his lower back jolted him from his thoughts.
Miguel stood beside him, eyes urgent, signaling for him to focus.
Sunny came back to himself at once.
At some unknown point, the grand gate of Ban Ard Academy had fallen silent—so quiet that the screams and cries from afar seemed to belong to another world.
The mages who had come to report were long gone, and the next group stood hesitantly in the distance, afraid to approach.
They did not yet understand what it meant—that the guards of the arena had been knocked out.
But the instinct of every young warlock, those who had only just stepped beyond apprenticeship, whispered danger to them.
The warlocks from the Rissberg Group were far less restrained, staring at Sunny with open mockery and ridicule.
Ortolan's aged eyes were fixed on him, cold and utterly devoid of warmth.
"Say something, Sunny! Tell them what to do!"
Miguel's voice echoed inside his head, igniting his rising panic.
Yes! I must act! I must do something!
It was only that the arena guards had been incapacitated—Hen Gedymdeith might still be fine…
Clinging to that thought, Sunny forced calmness onto his face, nodded slightly toward Ortolan, and said, "I have some matters to attend to. I'll take my leave first."
Before his words even faded, he turned and strode quickly toward the depths of Ban Ard Academy.
"You've forgotten something!"
Ortolan's aged voice stopped him mid-step.
Sunny turned back.
"Send word to gather every warlock in Ban Ard," Ortolan said coldly. "You guard me so tightly, yet a monster—one you claim came from nowhere—could stroll into Ban Ard and find Hen Gedymdeith so easily?"
Sunny froze. He hadn't expected Ortolan, of all people, to offer something genuinely constructive instead of seizing this chance to strike at him.
"To work with a schemer like you isn't pleasant," Ortolan snorted, "but it's still better than dealing with Hen Gedymdeith. His stubbornness keeps the world of sorcerers stagnant—and has cost humanity countless chances to evolve."
Sunny nodded slightly, then turned his gaze toward Miguel.
Miguel strode to the side and gave orders to the other warlocks of the radical faction.
"Sealing off only the academy is far from enough," Ortolan said before Sunny could even speak. "Blockade the entire city of Ban Ard."
Sunny's expression darkened with mixed emotions.
Ortolan gave a cold snort. "Every brick and stone of Ban Ard was built under my and Hen Gedymdeith' supervision. Did you really think your petty tricks could escape my eyes if not for the greater good of mankind?"
He continued, his tone chillingly calm. "But don't worry too much. When Ban Ard City was built, we made certain preparations. The underground structure's area far exceeds that of the surface."
"I'll also send men from Rissberg Group's Civil Cooperative Organization, and some of the test subjects, to join the search. They won't esca—"
Before Ortolan could finish, chaos erupted around them.
"The Wild Hunt! The Wild Hunt is here!"
The warlock who had run out of Ban Ard to report the disturbance in the arena pointed at the sky, his voice breaking with terror.
Ortolan and Sunny both froze, then jerked their heads upward.
The bright morning sky, awash with crimson light, was suddenly swallowed by thick storm clouds.
From the darkening heavens spread a pale, ribbon-like streak of light—twisting and writhing like a serpent.
The wind howled, carrying the rolling clouds across the sky until even the faintest glimmer of daylight was devoured.
A thunderous boom split the air.
Lightning flashed—and upon that serpentine trail of light, shadowy silhouettes appeared: riders, countless and terrifying.
Their helmets bore cracked horns and tattered crests of feathers. Beneath their ashen masks, their pallid faces gleamed faintly, and their skeletal steeds wore rotting shrouds.
The Wild Hunt, which had fled so miserably from the Withered Forest, had suddenly reappeared—here, over Ban Ard.
A violent wind swept through the city, crushing pressure descending from above. It felt as if the very heavens were falling.
Bolts of lightning slashed through the black sky.
The roaring wind grew louder—
No, not mere wind, but ghostly singing—an eerie war chant thick with killing intent.
This was not the same Wild Hunt that had fought passively in the Withered Forest.
Now, they formed a disciplined battle line across the sky.
Their skeletal steeds galloped in rhythm, their charge like thunder, their tiny figures fearless as they hurtled toward the city below.
And that aura—there was no sense of futility in it, only a dreadful certainty: whatever stood in their way would be crushed to dust.
Damn it! The Wild Hunt!
I knew they wouldn't retreat so easily!
Sunny's thoughts screamed as he stood frozen, helpless.
He didn't know whether to draw his staff and defend the city from the airborne Hunt—or rush to the arena and confront the one beneath it… the creature that had come for Hen Gedymdeith.
Then—
"I don't care why that cursed Wild Hunt wants him," Ortolan's hoarse voice rang out behind him. "And I don't expect you to stop them. I have only one demand…"
"Do not let Hen Gedymdeith leave Ban Ard alive!"
The veins on Ortolan's ancient temples bulged, his voice thundering as he roared at Sunny:"Go!"
Sunny reacted instinctively, dashing toward the academy's gates.
As he ran, he turned back—and what he saw would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Contrary to what he had expected, Ortolan didn't order his strange flying beasts to attack, nor did he command the warlocks of the Rissberg Group to counter the Hunt.
Instead, he simply waved his hand and shouted,"Don't let even a single fly leave Ban Ard!"
At his signal, both monsters and Cooperative warlocks scattered across the city's streets.
Then, from Ortolan's aged lips, came a cascade of incantations—deep, resonant, and impossibly fast—echoing like rolling thunder.
In the blink of an eye—
The entire city of Ban Ard trembled beneath the dim light of the stormy sky.
Scarlet beams flared across the cityscape amid screams of agony and terror.
Those beams converged upon Ortolan's hand, coalescing into a massive, jagged blood-red spear.
With a furious roar, Ortolan hurled the spear toward the descending skeletal riders,a titan casting down lightning upon dragons.
In that moment—
Time itself seemed to stop.
All sound vanished.
When… did Ortolan inscribe such a massive ritual array beneath my Ban Ard?
That was Sunny's last thought before he left.
-----------------------------------
In the vast, ancient, and decaying temple—hidden in an unremarkable corner—a faint violet glow traced intricate lines across the smooth stone floor, forming a mysterious magic circle.
A low "hum—" filled the air.
Dust rose and scattered in the vibrating air as several figures cloaked in black star-embroidered robes appeared within the circle—it was Sunny and his subordinates from the radical faction.
The underground temple was riddled with traps, but it was impossible for him to walk through the long and winding corridors every time he came to see Hen Gedymdeith.
Thus, in a concealed location, he had set up a short-distance teleportation circle unaffected by spatial restrictions.
As soon as Sunny materialized in the underground hall, he turned sharply toward the Temple of the Ancient Elves.
From within the temple flickered a faint, bluish glow of magic—a sign that made Sunny exhale in relief.
A barely perceptible pressure rippled through the entire subterranean complex, making it tremble faintly—then, as quickly as it came, all returned to silence.
There was still time… Sunny immediately ordered the other warlocks and guards to heighten their vigilance, then hurried straight toward the temple's front gate.
But he had taken only a few steps when he noticed something was off.
By the time they neared the long staircase leading to the main entrance, Ban Ard, who was leading the way, suddenly halted and raised a shimmering magical barrier in alarm.
"Dean, the stones—"
Before the warlock could finish, Sunny shoved past him, and his face twisted in shock.
The four Gargoyles that had once stood as temple guardians now lay shattered—limbs torn apart, bodies broken into unrecognizable fragments.
The ground from the staircase all the way to the temple entrance had been gouged open by some immense and violent spell, leaving behind a deep scar of destruction.
Miguel crouched beside the trench and pressed his hand to its edge.
"It's still warm. The intruder hasn't left yet…"
Before his voice even faded—
"After them!"
Sunny threw another layer of violet-red magical shielding around himself, then charged into the temple without hesitation.
Miguel and the other warlocks and guards quickly conjured protective wards and followed close behind.
The centuries of silence within the Elven temple were shattered as Sunny's group rushed through the ancient corridors, past the ruined, unrecognizable statues of saints in the main hall.
The bluish magical glow grew brighter ahead, and the oppressive pressure unique to a powerful magical source grew heavier, almost suffocating.
After bursting through a collapsed courtyard—
Sunny and the radical warlocks suddenly froze mid-stride, instinctively looking upward.
The glow of magic—gone.
The crushing aura that had made the entire subterranean temple tremble—vanished as well.
"No—!"
Sunny's face twisted in fury and dread as he screamed.
In the next instant—crack, crack, crack—a string of sharp sounds broke through the silence.
The gemstones fastened along Sunny's chest shimmered with radiant magical light, detaching themselves and shooting toward the place where the blue glow had vanished.
Then—
"Boom—!"
A deafening explosion tore through the underground hall, shaking the ancient stone walls as if the earth itself were roaring.
........
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