The Sage's Seething Rage
Malia Arishion lived up to his title as a Sage, displaying no emotion whatsoever, as if he had transcended such petty human feelings entirely.
But that was merely the image he projected to the world. The reality was far different.
"I hope you're telling me this report is wrong."
"……"
"Or else, I might just lose my temper and kill you right here."
Crack! Crunch!
"……Guh!"
Unrestrained violence and barbarity.
That feral, beast-like savagery was his true nature.
The mana in the vicinity warped, clamping down on the throat of the reporting mage like a vice.
The mage clawed at his neck with both hands. His mana surged in resistance, but it was laughably inferior compared to the Sage's realm.
"……."
The Sage stared impassively at the mage dangling in midair, gasping his last breaths.
Death?
To a being who had surpassed human limits, it was utterly natural—something to be toyed with at will.
The realm of the gods!
Yet that divine scheme had been ruined by some lowly impostor. He had to be killed. No—all the information he'd stolen had to be reclaimed.
'If this gets out…….'
Even a god would plummet from grace. Gods weren't infallible. Even gods could be forgotten.
Just like the War God, who had chosen to vanish into the annals of history.
The War God endured as an object of terror thanks to his monumental achievements and long history, but Malia had only recently ascended to godhood.
And separate from himself, his family's position wasn't all that secure right now. If anything, it was precarious. He had to be careful.
'No. It doesn't matter.'
Once this experiment concluded successfully.
And if he unearthed the 'true traces of a god' he sought and made them his own.
It would be more than possible.
Knock knock.
Someone rapped at the door. With a mere glance from the Sage, it swung open.
In walked Bulria Arishion, eyes bloodshot from another sleepless night, dark circles hanging low.
"……Father."
"Ah, my son. You've finally arrived."
"Guh! Cough, cough."
The Sage rose from his seat. At the same moment, the mana strangling the mage's throat released. The mage hastily teleported away to escape.
Ignoring him entirely, the Sage approached his son.
Like a doting father, he placed both hands on Bulria's shoulders.
"Are you alright? How's your studying going?"
"……Yes."
"Good. I've heard the rumors—you took top marks in Basic Mana Control. I'm so proud of you."
Honestly, it was disappointing. Top of one class? He should be soaring beyond every class, the academy's undisputed star. But since he'd been born before fully attaining godhood, there were bound to be shortcomings.
Still, no matter. He was his flesh and blood, heir to noble lineage. He'd surely grow into a powerhouse worthy of the family name.
"No, I'm still sorely lacking."
Exactly. Lacking. But he was young yet, so the Sage could afford to wait with paternal benevolence.
"Right. Prepping well for the exams?"
"……Of course."
"Professors? You don't need to impress the likes of them. But exams matter. They're not just the academy's judgment—they're the world's verdict on you. You must take first place. We've let things slide during class assignments. Understood?"
Madness flickered in the Sage's eyes. Overwhelmed by the crashing wave of dread, Bulria couldn't meet his father's gaze.
What if someone else had witnessed that? They'd all say the same thing.
That guy's a Sage?
Madness and violence utterly at odds with the title.
Bulria feared that father more than anyone.
Yet even he understood one thing his father drilled into him.
Be the best. In a world that had no place for anything less, you had to be number one.
But sometimes, he missed the old days—the father who had stopped him from crossing that unbreakable line in pursuit of power.
"Ah, right. I have some information for you. Come here."
Donning his 'affectionate mask' once more, the Sage guided Bulria to his chair.
As Bulria sat, his eyes caught a screen displaying four figures locked in combat.
'……Those bastards?!'
Bulria's eyes widened. One wore a mask, identity unknown, but the other three were familiar.
The Witch of Lust, Medeya.
The Serpent Assassin, Black Mamba.
The Dongil-dong thief, Sauraba.
All heavyweights in the underworld. He even knew Medeya personally, so he was well aware of her prowess.
And yet those titans were being torn apart mercilessly.
Black Mamba lunged and died. Medeya ambushed and fell.
-KABOOOM!
A massive red sword aura cleaved Medeya in two. Then Sauraba, fleeing, met the same fate.
Bulria swallowed dryly.
At minimum a High Knight. But with that fluid combat skill…… perhaps even……
'Master-level knight.'
A realm rivaling great archmages. Why would such a powerhouse raid the Back Alley, slaughtering its bosses and crumbling the place?
Who the hell was he?
No known powerhouse wielded red mana. Red mana itself was rare, infamous as an ill omen.
'Arcana, the War God.'
The strongest—and worst—god, also called the God of Destruction and Slaughter.
No one feared that god more than black mages and back-alley criminals.
The War God symbolized not just war, but direct judgment and execution of the wicked.
The God of Light forgave sins, offering redemption—killing only those fools who spurned it. But the War God granted no such mercy; he simply slew.
Seeing that blood-crimson mana, chills raced across Bulria's skin. It evoked rivers of red blood.
'……Why the hell would a monster like that show up there……'
Had those idiots somehow provoked the guy's family?
"Son. See enough?"
"……Yes. Who the hell is that guy……."
"That's not the point."
The Sage pointed at the screen. It had frozen on the man mid-downswing, red sword aura wreathing his blade.
Bulria scrutinized him.
Jet-black robe, glimpses of a uniform beneath, pure white sword coiled in red aura, dark red mask, long limbs suggesting at least 180cm tall.
Who was he?
"What does that red aura look like to you?"
"……Divine Power?"
Bulria instantly regretted his answer.
Divine Power? Ridiculous. No holy knight wielded anything like that.
"No. That's mana."
The expected reply came. The Sage, still smiling warmly, flicked his finger.
The figure on screen stirred slowly.
Space around him faintly distorted. The condensed mana was warping the very air.
"I first thought it was the War God's Divine Power, but no. The War God's doesn't twist the surroundings—it devours them."
"……Have you seen it?"
"Not in person, but in records. My great-great-grandfather…… that pathetic family head was crushed by a War God priest and left notes. From those, mana like that can't be the War God's Divine Power."
Great-great-grandfather? From what Bulria recalled, that head was hailed as the greatest mage in history.
And he'd beaten him? Sounded like a total rout.
How strong was that priest?
"But in this continent full of weaklings, he ranks pretty high. So, what do you think?"
"……Impressive."
"No. Wrong. We mages aren't like those brutish fools. We're precise, efficient. That's a 'forbidden' movement. I'm showing it to you so you learn what not to do."
Bulria couldn't quite follow. His father was a magic supremacist. He used to think the same.
Until that boy, Eugene, utterly crushed him—planting seeds of doubt and self-reflection. He'd pulled all-nighters studying, researching……
For the first time, he'd hit a 'wall'.
'……Kinda reminds me of that bastard.'
The silhouette, build, sword, aura—all worlds apart. So why did Eugene come to mind?
Why?
It soured his mood. Deeply.
"Son."
"Yes, Father."
"Remember that man."
The Sage's eyes locked onto him.
"He dared meddle in our grand ambitions without knowing his place. When we find him, kill him. And find him."
Mad eyes, mad voice. The air and mana grew heavy in an instant.
Bulria's breath caught.
This was his father, without question. So why did terror make his legs quake?
"Figure out how he knew our plans, how he ruined them, and who he is. Got it?"
"……Understood."
The duke's goals went beyond creating or controlling ancient monsters.
They were to bypass the cavern's guardian, research the suspected 'altar' within.
But with the city sunk, all structures were lost.
"You must. Must find him."
All Bulria could do was nod.
What if he fell short of expectations?
He didn't want to know.
A memory surfaced unbidden: corpses on an altar fueling a glowing magic circle.
The backdrop? This very office.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
Hummm! Sunday evening. Eugene burst into Nipella Aoman's office, sword in hand emitting a clear ring.
Nipella, buried in overtime work, blinked in surprise.
Thud!
……Papers he'd just processed were refilled.
No, wait—a mistake. Different papers. A spike in workload brought a twinge of despair, but the boy's eyes sparkled too brightly. Nipella settled for a light cough.
"……What is this?"
Clearing his throat softly, he asked. Eugene grinned ear-to-ear, pulling out a single sheet and handing it over.
"Take a look."
Ancient Monster Creation Plan
……What was with this chuunibyou title?
Nipella skimmed it without his monocle, then widened his eyes at the contents, adjusting it hastily.
Shocking stuff. His specialty was magical engineering, but he'd minored in magical research and could support in combat emergencies. He understood every detail.
"What is th……."
Illegal—no, bordering on black magic research and results.
Where the hell did this come from?
'……No way?'
Just yesterday, Eugene had headed to the Back Alley. Rumors said it had collapsed.
He hadn't just wrecked the place—he'd stolen these documents too……?
How?!
"Proof. Evidence of what those bastards were up to."
Eugene's eyes gleamed as he spoke.
Come on! Crush 'em for me!
Hummm!
The sword in his hand rang out purely, as if thrilled.