Vacuse sighed.
It's been a while since he admitted defeat, but now he must, and in such a way that he must not get killed. And it was far more difficult than he expected now that he was looking into the eyes of a fifth circle Magus.
Vacuse grimaced, and his hand went to his sleeves instead of his fingers, and a moment later, a jingling sound echoed out.
Magus Valthorne's eyes flashed, and he blurred forward, his hand dripping with flashes of magic light, but it was too late. "What is this?"
He was now staring at a box of fog that seemed to be made of some hardened substance. "A spatial magic? This must be an artifact, and what a strong one! This will take time for me to break."
Magus Valthorne was feeling disappointed with himself. He should have just gone along and ripped the Red Marchant's limbs away. Maybe that would have stopped him from causing more trouble.
