Invitation from the Magic Tower (4)
“I’ll show you clearly what a combat mage’s battle looks like.”
Whoosh.
He vanished?
For an instant it felt as if his body had simply ceased to exist. Then his voice rang out from directly overhead.
“Strike, Magic Missile.”
Ten Magic Missiles shot down from the air, streaking straight for Ellen’s head.
Stone.
Ellen did not flinch. He blocked the assault cleanly, answering each circle with magic of matching rank.
“Pierce, Ice Spear.”
This time the voice came from his right. When Ellen turned, four Ice Spears were already flying toward him.
Faster than I expected.
He stretched a hand toward the icy lances.
Protect.
A translucent wall of mana rose and stopped every sharp tip cold.
But before the shattered ice could even hit the ground, the man’s voice once more filled the arena.
“Grow, Entangle.”
Wind Cutter.
Slash.
Vines that had erupted beneath Ellen’s feet were severed by the Wind Cutter. The cut lengths of vine dropped to the floor with a soft patter.
Twitch. Twitch.
The severed vines writhed and crawled. Ellen never noticed. He was already weaving defensive magic against Titermir’s next assault. In that brief window the vines reached his feet.
Got him.
Titermir crowed silently and immediately began another incantation.
“Burn like the sun, Flare.”
He had expected Ellen to cut the vines with Wind Cutter from the start. The Entangle had been bait; once it was severed, the true attack would come. The moment the vines seized Ellen’s ankles, a fifth-circle offensive spell would reduce him to ash without a trace.
Only then did Ellen notice the vines coiling around his feet.
Damn it—Fireball.
He swept his hand in a hurry. The fireball that bloomed from his palm incinerated the Entangle that had been lunging for his ankles.
It was not enough. While he burned the vines, Flare’s roaring flames rushed in to swallow him whole.
BOOM.
The instant the fire struck Ellen, a thunderous explosion shook the entire arena. Smoke billowed up and stole the spectators’ view.
“To last this long against a high-ranking combat mage’s continuous assault… it seems his skill isn’t pure bluster after all. Still, he won’t hold much longer.”
“There’s a reason they’re called combat mages.”
“That fellow looked like he couldn’t even keep his head straight under Lord Titermir’s attacks.”
The crowd was certain Ellen was doing nothing but scrambling to block.
“Surviving this far is already praiseworthy enough.”
“Insolent brat! Serves him right. Now do you understand the power of the Magic Tower?”
“He got lucky in the war, scored a few merits, and let it go to his head.”
Spectators poured scorn on Ellen from every side, already convinced of Titermir’s victory.
“Now you know why you failed the Magic Tower’s entrance exam.”
Rick Chedleton’s mockery carried all the way to Prince Romiu, who was watching the duel.
“Is Sir Veritati going to lose without accomplishing a single thing?”
Romiu looked at Ahner. Worry filled the knight’s eyes. From where he sat, Ellen had simply been beaten senseless by a Tower mage until the match ended.
Ahner’s reply made Romiu’s eyes go wide.
“No, Your Highness. He is a far greater powerhouse than any of us imagined.”
“You mean Sir Veritati hasn’t lost yet?”
Hope brightened the prince’s voice; he wanted Ahner’s certainty.
“Not only has he not lost—if anything, the present situation can be read as him winning.”
Ahner’s gaze sharpened. He was no expert on mage combat, yet his sense for battle itself was second to none, and that sense told him Ellen held the upper hand.
By then the dust that had blanketed the arena had mostly settled.
“The reason I failed the Tower’s exam, you said?”
Gulp.
The spectators swallowed hard. They had believed him fallen, yet his voice still carried.
“Has it never occurred to you that the exam itself might be flawed?”
His tone was flat and cold.
“Do you really think you’re all that impressive?”
The last of the dust drifted away. Ellen stood exactly where he had been—not a single scratch on him.
Is he a monster?
Fear finally crept into Titermir. High-speed movement through martial arts combined with linked low-circle spells had accomplished nothing. The entire approach had been designed for personal combat; even a seventh-circle archmage would have felt pressure. The final strike using Entangle had seemed a perfect ambush. Knowing Ellen cast without chanting, Titermir had deliberately launched a high-circle spell. It had failed spectacularly.
Blocking a fifth-circle Flare meant Ellen had used a fifth-circle defensive spell—yet there had been absolutely no time to chant it.
He doesn’t need chants even for high-circle magic? Is that even possible?
Titermir averted his eyes. The thought that he might actually lose began to crawl up his spine.
Fireball.
Ellen’s hands moved lightly. At the same moment the Robe of Silence he wore gave off a faint gleam.
Thump. Thump.
More than ten Fireballs rose above his head—spells that incorporated the black-magic formulae Proveng had taught him.
Does he think I’m frightened? Or is he aiming for something else entirely?
Yet the instant of fear Titermir had felt made him relax when he saw mere Fireballs. A dozen or so of them could not harm him in the slightest.
“Guard, Protect.”
BOOM!
The Fireballs smashed into the translucent barrier. The explosion was loud, but no direct damage reached him.
What did he expect to achieve with only ten Fireballs? Did he honestly think that would be enough?
An unidentifiable unease prickled him—the sense that he was being thoroughly underestimated.
Whoosh.
That thought turned to regret a heartbeat later. Another ten Fireballs appeared.
Fireball.
In less than a second, ten more took shape.
Fireball.
Ellen produced them without pause. The black-magic formulae made the spell absurdly efficient; the mana required for five ordinary Fireballs now created ten.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The Fireballs hammered Titermir’s Protect without rest. The explosions never stopped. Already the ground around him had become a sea of fire from the flying embers.
Crack.
“Guard, Protect.”
Boom.
The moment one Protect shattered, Titermir summoned another—yet he could not withstand a volume of Fireballs so great it felt infinite. The new barrier shattered almost as quickly.
“Hiiik!”
An unrecognizable whimper tore from Titermir’s throat.
Terror.
Fireball was the most basic of offensive spells—efficient, frequently used, thoroughly familiar. Yet when that same spell repeated without end, it felt like the eighth-circle magic Hellfire.
Titermir was terrified of Fireballs.
He lost count of how many had been cast. Unable to match Ellen’s pace, he finally took a fireball full in the body.
“Aaaagh!”
One direct hit meant the next wave of fireballs struck just as hard.
FWOOSH.
It felt as though an explosion had gone off. In the center of the arena a pillar of crimson flame roared skyward.
The referee stepped onto the field.
“Titermir Jay—judgment: unable to continue combat.”
As the words left his lips, gasps of astonishment burst from the crowd.
“What did you think of the duel?”
“Father, I still cannot understand why Sir Veritati failed the Magic Tower’s examination. His unshakable composure was magnificent to behold.”
Romiu’s eyes sparkled.
The moment the match ended he had hurried straight back to the palace, eager to tell his father everything he had witnessed of Ellen.
I’ve never seen his eyes shine like that except when he’s reading.
Alberto was pleased by his son’s reaction. Timid by nature, the boy had always been afraid to take interest in anything. Now that same boy was beginning to show genuine curiosity about another person.
“Good. I hope you grow closer to him.”
“I too wish to become closer to Sir Veritati.”
Romiu had come to admire Ellen with all his heart. The young man was the same age as himself, yet he possessed every quality Romiu had so desperately longed for.
“You’ve done well. Rest for today.”
“Yes, Father. Your son will take his leave.”
Thud.
Even after Romiu departed, the smile lingered on Alberto’s face.
He is even more extraordinary than I thought.
Barely past twenty, still a boyish youth—yet nothing about his path was ordinary.
I’m glad I forged the connection early.
Alberto felt gratitude toward Akard for discovering him.
By now the Magic Tower must be in an uproar.
Their pride rivaled that of royalty itself, and high-ranking mages were the very source of that pride. The Prode Magic Tower boasted the greatest number of high-circle mages on the continent.
Lately the Tower’s attitude has been grating on me. I should thank him for this.
From time to time the Tower Master even dared challenge the king himself. Alberto had already decided the Tower’s growing influence needed to be checked—and Ellen had just done the work for him.
I’ll keep him close and continue restraining the Magic Tower.
“Hah… hah…”
Early morning. Harsh breathing echoed through the garden of Ellen’s mansion.
Thud.
He collapsed onto the grass as though flinging his body down.
My martial arts aren’t improving any further.
Two months had passed since the duel at the Magic Tower. Across both of his lives, it had been his first spar against a true combat mage.
The hit-and-run timing, the efficient use of magic—every part of it was lethal.
Above all, Ellen had felt himself outmatched in pure physical technique. For a single instant he had completely lost track of Titermir’s movement. Had the man’s skill been even slightly higher, the situation could have turned truly dangerous.
I have no choice but to seek that man out myself.
In his previous life he had learned an incomplete martial art. Only by mastering the rest of it could his physical technique grow.
“Hoo…”
The breath that had climbed to his throat finally settled. Ellen pushed himself up and started toward the mansion.
“Mind opening the gate for me?”
Ellen turned toward the voice coming from the front gate. A man stood there.
“Bentler? What brings you here?”
Despite the blunt tone, Ellen’s face was bright—filled, more precisely, with anticipation.
“Did you find your master?”
It was Bentler, the man who had been guarding Ethan of House Gronlead.
“Thanks to you I was able to locate my master. I came to offer my gratitude.”
Bentler bowed his head.
“Come inside. We can talk over tea.”
Ellen quickly unlatched the iron gate.
At last… can I finally complete this unfinished technique?
The thought that he could grow stronger still made his heart pound.