Two factions clashed in a deadly game—knights and sorcerers mere pawns in their gamble. A small, unexpected incident had disrupted the board. Beneath his mask, Throne smirked. "Sorry, but I'm the one playing this game now." His hand shot out, pinning the knight before he could charge into certain death. "Once we leave the town, the enemy will be exposed. Do you remember the clue I mentioned?"
The knight nodded, eyes wide. Before he could speak, the sorcerer bolted south, shouting over his shoulder. "The clue's in the swamp!"
That night, chaos erupted in the magic town. Sorcerers, warriors, and merchants flooded the streets, drawn by the uproar. They gathered on high ground, whispering theories. Most assumed it was a Haligtree spy causing trouble. Those in the know were just as baffled—their plan had suffered a hiccup.
Level 2 Instructor Wayne hadn't died quietly in the library. The Redmane Knight hadn't held the attackers at bay. Instead, they'd fled together. Grand Sage Edred stood atop the spire, silent as he absorbed the report. That bookworm shouldn't have survived. How had a Glintstone Sorcerer, engrossed in his reading, escaped assassination?
The plan had been clear: the Redmane Knight would've been locked in a brutal fight, and Edred's forces would've rounded up the rest. "Grand Sage, the enemy's retreating. Should we move?" The attendant's voice cut through his thoughts. Elite soldiers lurked in ambush throughout the town. Plans were ready.
Capturing prisoners would've been ideal, but failing that, they could pin the crime on their political rivals. "Where did they run? And what's with that Glintstone Sorcerer?" "Reports say they're heading for the swamp. Witnesses spotted traces of Haima Classroom sorcery." Haima Classroom?
Edred frowned. Wayne had been hiding his strength. Heading for the swamp..."It might be tied to that clue. Follow them. Keep your distance—don't engage unless you spot a Sage-level leader." His voice was cold. Throne was bait to lure out the enemy's leader.
Even if they didn't bite, he'd still find the 'clue' through Throne. "Yes!" The attendant turned to leave. "Wait." Edred called him back, adjusting his collar. "If possible, ensure the instructor survives. He must be high-ranking at the academy."
Throne's physique didn't match a Battlemage of Haima. Cross-classroom magic wasn't something a Level 2 Instructor could pull off. Edred didn't want a falling out with Raya Lucaria Academy.
As whispers spread through the night, Edred hesitated. A bird landed on the mountains north of town. 'Sage' Campore plucked the secret letter from its leg. After a glance, he sneered. "The assassination failed. That old bastard Edred's playing a double game."
He didn't know the Grand Sage was just as confused. To Campore, Throne was Edred's blade, aimed not just to frame them but to wipe them out. The setup was obvious—that Glintstone Sorcery was bait. Still, he'd bite. He had his own plans.
Killing them directly would be good, but even if he didn't, he'd have uncovered a hidden threat. "Lord Royal, you don't have to run now." He glanced at the grey-robed Sage beside him—tall, square-faced, bearded, looking more butcher than scholar. The attackers were all from his faction.
The plan was simple: Royal would flee, faking fear of punishment to shield the Primeval Sorcerers. The trail would go cold. Case closed. The Grand Sage would claim victory by dismantling a formidable rival faction. Clean. Efficient. Over.
Royal's voice dropped to a whisper. "Edred and that instructor—they've been working together. They know the clue." He paused, piecing it together. As an insider, seeing Throne's escape route laid the puzzle bare.
The clue? The Kindred of Rot. A bug had died at Glintstone Sorcerer's hands. "If Sellia investigates, those bugs won't take it lightly."
The blue-robed Sage chuckled, rubbing his hooked nose. "Mutual utilization. They'll handle their own loose ends." He shrugged. "This works in our favor. The Grand Sage's focus is on the swamp. But are you really going through with it?"
Royal's eyes gleamed, a flicker of doubt shadowing his anticipation. "This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. Edred's already plotting to wipe us out. We can't retreat now—we hit hard." Campore's voice was steady, decisive. Even if the Grand Sage outmaneuvered them, this opportunity was too good to pass up.
Royal's gaze shifted to the distant spires. His fists clenched. "Find Gowry. Get the bugs to retreat. Keep them away from Sages Town. As for me—"
"I'll free Master Lusat." Under the same night sky, each faction moved with its own agenda. Edred was in the dark, unable to decipher Throne's motives or identify the true enemy.
Throne, however, saw it all clearly. He knew exactly what lurked in the swamp. "Lure the snake out, then borrow a blade to kill the bugs."
Sellia's infighting didn't concern him. Neither did Radahn's side. If the Night Sorcerers and the bugs tore each other apart, it was no loss to him.
Footsteps echoed, swift and sharp.
Throne glanced back at the figures trailing behind. He knew their allegiance. The Grand Sage's people—finally catching up. They hadn't attacked yet. That told him everything. Only the knight seemed confused. "Why are they following us?"
"Dunno. Maybe they're scared of us." Throne's reply was offhand. He leaped off a stone platform, bare feet sinking into the muck. They weren't here to kill—not yet. They'd wait for their leader.
"We're on our own." Throne rose slowly, muddy water dripping from his robes.
The knight landed heavily beside him, splashing mud onto his white hood. He didn't bother wiping it off, focusing instead on channeling magic into his shield.
Swish. Swish. Swish. Leaves rained down, shredded midair. Throne rolled aside as the knight raised his shield. "Charge!"
"Don't let them surround us!" the knight bellowed, his voice cutting through the chaos. He clearly saw the trailing sorcerers as enemies.
Mud flew. Sparks erupted from the knight's azure shield. Even his towering frame couldn't stop the force driving him back. Throne extended his staff, cyan magic swirling.
Cannon of Haima!
The arcane projectile arced into the forest, its descent marked by the crack and crash of falling trees. The knight's sword sliced through the air, unleashing a serpent of fire that writhed and hissed through the woods. The barrage ceased, leaving a momentary silence. They seized it, stepping deeper into the swamp. Around them, tree trunks burned like torches in the dark. No one was there.
The foul stench of black mud clung to the air. Blood stained the ground, but there were no bodies. Throne wasn't Sellen. He didn't possess the ferocious magic of 'Comet Azur.' That a mere Cannon of Haima could force them back—it meant something.
The knight flicked his longsword, growling, "They're luring us deeper."
"Yes. And we have no choice."
Throne glanced back. The high ground teemed with Night Sorcerers—at least a hundred of them. There was no retreat now. The bow was drawn; they had to move forward. He plunged ahead, and the battlefield twisted into a strange tableau.
Behind them, the pursuing Night Sorcerers hung back, maintaining a careful distance. In the center, Throne and the Redmane Knight pressed deeper into the swamp. Ahead, another group of Night Sorcerers harassed them, retreating at the slightest hint of resistance.
The swamp's dense canopy choked out the moonlight. Throne lost track of time. Beside him, the knight panted heavily, admiration flickering in his eyes. Even he struggled with this relentless march, yet the so-called 'frail' sorcerer moved without breaking a sweat. Throne adjusted his hood, ignoring the dagger embedded in it.
The blade jutted from his forehead like a grotesque horn. Strange, he thought. This is the swamp's core. Where are the Kindred of Rot?
He felt watched, but it didn't matter. As long as they kept pressing forward, they'd find them eventually. Avoid his gaze if you could, but those hundred Night Sorcerers behind them weren't blind. What puzzled him was the enemy's decisiveness—how they'd retreated so cleanly, taking even the bodies with them.
"Knight Ayla, how far to Sages Town?" The knight, a seasoned veteran of the area, didn't need a map. "Ten miles, give or take. Wait—is the enemy's lair there?" "If I'm not mistaken, yes." Throne's voice was calm. Ten miles—a reasonable distance.
The knight's rugged face paled, then flushed with frustration. He was the most bewildered man here. "Then why are we still moving forward? Are we just walking into death?"
"We're seeking life in death."
Throne stared into the pitch-black forest ahead. The glintstone pebbles had stopped firing three minutes ago. His expression shifted. He reached up, slowly pulling off his hood. Even in the chill of late autumn, sweat plastered his hair to his face.
"W-what's wrong?" The knight wasn't stunned by Throne's true face—he sensed something far worse. He glanced forward. Shapes flickered in the dark forest. He looked back. The pursuing sorcerers had stopped in unison.
An atmosphere called battle intent spread from both sides, like pincers closing in on the center—on them. "This is the limit of their tolerance. We can't go any further." Throne pressed his ring, drawing two katanas and letting them hang at his waist. As a battlefield sorcerer, wasn't it normal to hack people with a sword?
He wasn't some confused knight. He could see it now—the blocking side wasn't retreating. Their goal had been to draw the Grand Sage's main force here. That was enough. The pursuing troops were baffled by the anomaly, but Throne just gripped his sword hilt and smiled bitterly. A real jinx, that's what he was.
Why lure the Sellian garrison away? Why fight here? Where were the Kindred of Rot? Questions tangled in his mind, tied to the merchant's third piece of intel. Simple, brutal—Master Sorcerer Lusat still had consciousness.
Timeline discrepancies breed errors. Throne knew better than to trust memory blindly. When things turned strange, that deadly third piece of intel surged into his thoughts, anchoring him. He wasn't lost like the knight.
A hundred battles had sharpened Throne's instincts. Tonight hadn't gone as planned. For all three factions, something unexpected had happened.
He pieced together the intel, analyzing quickly. Something was off. Those Primeval Sorcerers were stirring trouble. "What now? Can I still make it back? If Lusat emerges, who stops him?"
Throne melted into the shadows of the trees.
Worst of all, he was caught in the center of the clash. The first blow was coming for him. He hesitated, then inhaled deeply. "Knight Ayla, are you ready to die for General Radahn and Caelid?"
The knight turned, his rugged face twisting from shock to resolve. "Since my oath, I've been ready!"
"Good." Throne clapped, laughing. A gray-robed figure flickered in the shadows, vanishing into the air. He bent, hand tightening on his sword hilt. "When the fight starts, cover my retreat."
It sounded like a line for desertion. They weren't friends, let alone allies. The knight's lips tightened. "Even if Sellia's hiding some conspiracy, it's none of your concern. I'll keep fighting, no matter what you're planning."
"Are all knights so dense?" Throne threw his head back, laughing. Suddenly, he gripped his sword. "Thanks!"
Clang—
The blade left its sheath, a cold flash in the night, slicing toward the knight's back. Moonveil moved too fast, too sudden. The knight froze.
Then, a spark erupted in the air. A blurred figure was flung aside.
Throne watched mud waves bloom, as if an invisible person rolled across the ground. Night Sorcery. Turning intangible? Not fully invisible. Without a word, he drew star-frost and hurled a magic ball. Boom! Cannon of Haima.