Chapter 172
Chapter 172
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 172
Chapter Title: The World's Strongest Spirit User (7)
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Time rewound just a little.
The midsummer sun had passed over the western mountains, but the sky wasn't fully dark yet.
Michael, having received Atma's invitation, left Anton behind and headed alone to the Sperius family estate.
Whether it truly counted as an "invitation" was somewhat questionable. He'd sent word suggesting they meet face-to-face, and the very typical response had been to drop by whenever time allowed. When the investigation stalled with no progress, he'd shamelessly asked directly when a good time might be, and only then had he barely gotten a reply about having some tea.
No offer of a meal, the time slot set for after evening when it was just tea or nothing, singling out only Michael and excluding Anton... it all felt so blatantly reluctant that it bruised his pride terribly. But what could he do? The desperate one had to endure.
"This way, please."
"Mm."
After following a long path to the rearmost area from the main gate, they arrived at the rear garden.
Passing through a small wooded fence revealed a spacious garden, with a detached pavilion at its center. It was a two-story house plenty roomy for one person, but considering the scale of the entire family estate, it felt modest.
The servant who had guided him there retreated entirely outside the garden, and Atma emerged from within himself.
"You've come?"
"Thank you for the invitation."
After a brief exchange at the doorway, the two moved to the first-floor parlor.
The house was dimly lit, not because it was dark outside the windows, but because Atma hadn't bothered lighting any lamps despite the encroaching dusk.
Watching Atma fetch tea leaves himself from a cabinet in the small kitchen adjoining the parlor, Michael suddenly asked,
"You don't keep any servants?"
"I don't like others invading my space."
"Makes me feel bad for intruding."
"It's fine. I don't handle the trivial household chores myself either. I'd hire help if needed."
Michael knew gem-rank mages were all notoriously eccentric, but most wouldn't say it so bluntly even as empty words. This guy was brutally honest.
Whether Michael grumbled inwardly or not, Atma returned with the tea set.
Everything seemed fine, but where would the hot water come from? Then he realized it wasn't necessary.
Whoosh!
Flames slithered out from Atma's sleeve like a small serpent, coiling around the base of the teapot.
The fire heated only the pot without scorching the table or tray.
For Atma, famed as a fire spirit user since his youth, handling flames was child's play.
"……."
A subtle silence hung in the parlor until the tea steeped. Atma didn't seem in any hurry to talk, and Michael was deeply pondering how to even begin.
Finally, as the tea filled the cups, Michael took a sip, and his words came unstuck.
"It's been ages since we last met."
"Indeed. I can barely recall how many years ago it was."
"Even longer since we sat like this and talked."
Fortunately, Atma didn't outright refuse conversation, so they managed some back-and-forth.
The fire spirit lingered, steadily supplying heat to the teapot and illuminating the parlor like a lantern.
As old men do when they meet, they reminisced briefly about their youth, both momentarily lost in wistful nostalgia, forgetting the present.
The regrettable part was that today's meeting hinged on that old connection from their younger days, but even then, they hadn't been particularly close.
In short, they couldn't chat through the night like true friends. There simply wasn't that much material.
Just as the conversation's momentum peaked and topics began to dry up, fortunately for Michael, Atma broached it first.
"If you're not planning to wrap up and leave around now, it's about time you got to the point. What's the real story you want to tell?"
"What else? It's about the ongoing investigation."
No point beating around the bush, so Michael was straightforward.
"Even though you've stepped back from the front lines, Lord Atma, you still wield great influence in the family."
"And?"
"So if you stepped in more actively, wouldn't our investigation wrap up faster?"
"Isn't it the opposite?"
Atma smirked wryly.
"From what I hear, after rummaging through Rius Merchant Guild and finding nothing, now you're targeting our family."
"Of course it'd irk you. So the quicker it ends, the better."
"No. We've said we know nothing, yet the church insists on pressing the investigation. That's the problem."
"Isn't blindly backing off after one denial the real issue? If you're innocent, just cooperate fully."
"That's what I'm asking—how much more cooperative can we be? Shall I hand over my grandchildren? Take them and torture away?"
"Listen, Lord Atma."
Michael shook his head.
"That's not what I meant. This involves magic soldiers. You know how fanatical the church gets over demon-related matters."
"……."
"Even the church, which usually avoids clashing with great houses, won't let this go until innocence is proven beyond doubt."
"……."
After a silence, Atma let out a heavy sigh and rose.
Pacing to the now pitch-black window, he muttered,
"…Yeah, you're right. The church I know would absolutely do that."
"If you're clean, you can negotiate concessions from the church later. If there's rot at the root, it's a chance to cut it out."
"No helping it… now that it's come to this……."
Michael's one mistake was assuming Atma's soliloquy was a reaction to his own words.
After staring at the dark garden outside for a while, Atma turned and faced Michael.
"Very well, Sir Michael. I've heard good counsel, so I'll return the favor."
Michael's hopes rose, expecting a pledge of cooperation. Then came the odd words.
"Just as the church rages madly against demons, demons are equally insane with the desire to crush the church."
Before the words fully landed,
the darkness outside the window came alive, surging toward Atma.
"What?!"
In the split second Michael leaped up in alarm, Atma was completely engulfed in shadow.
Before Michael could even step forward, it evaporated him away.
Frozen mid-motion, Michael muttered in dazed disbelief,
"What… is this……?"
The cryptic final words from Atma lingered meaningfully, but before he could ponder them, his mind tangled in chaos from the sudden disappearance.
But no time for deep thought was given.
Apart from his stalled brain, his warrior instincts screamed warnings fiercely.
Michael reflexively whipped his head toward the danger.
The instant he spotted the fire spirit swelling rapidly on the table,
Boom!
The pent-up flames erupted at once, blasting everything around.
Chairs, table, walls, floor, ceiling, Michael's unsheathed sword, and Michael himself.
A short while later.
Michael was locked in a desperate struggle.
He never imagined they'd invite him only to launch such a brutish ambush. That gap against the Sperius family, who had prepared traps in advance, decided the flow.
Even as the pavilion exploded entirely, Michael endured with his bare body, showcasing astonishing tenacity.
Protecting himself with aura didn't fully block the burns. He had the stamina to fight through injuries, but his clothes were naturally shredded.
His cherished sword took a direct hit from the initial blast, then got wrecked by the horrific heat—utterly beyond salvage. Enough to bring tears of blood.
Of course, injured and unarmed, a gem-rank warrior's monstrous physical prowess didn't vanish. He could smash ordinary assaults with ease.
The problem was the follow-up barrage wasn't ordinary.
Whoosh!
The wind spirits' gusts were strong enough to hurl one or two grown men airborne.
No matter how monstrous Michael's strength, without footing, resistance was futile. Jumping was practically sealed.
So he needed solid ground at least.
Shhh!
Earth spirits toyed with the floor. The footing that should support him slid arbitrarily or sank like sand—utterly unreliable.
Roar!
With ground and air mobility fully restricted, the fire spirits inevitably charged, blinding his vision and stealing his breathable air.
"You… cowardly bastards……!"
Michael counted five spirits: two wind, one earth, two fire. Each at least gold-rank.
The Sperius family's five golds, all gathered here.
Handling different elements yet coordinating excessively well—like a perfect role division to pin down one absolute powerhouse. No way this infuriating synergy came from a day or two of practice.
Even so, Michael was confident he could break through. Wounded and weaponless, he'd never once doubted facing five golds.
He'd nearly done it once earlier.
The final block came because the gold forces weren't just spirit users—magic soldiers threw themselves in to buy time.
Any delay allowed the real attacks to hound him mercilessly.
Boom!
Seizing the blinded moment, a torrent of flames poured from above.
Michael stomped the ruined terrain, leaping aside barely in time. Even shielded by aura, searing heat scorched his skin.
If the golds grabbed his ankle, it was worse; even without, Atma's spirit assaults poured relentlessly—truly nightmarish.
"Huff, huff, huff."
If this persisted, he'd wither to dust.
Yet no breakthrough in sight.
The honest warrior's way of smashing through with raw power was perfectly countered—no room to even clash.
Whether by magic soldiers or whatever, the area was shrouded in dark curtains, cut off from outside. Anton's help was impossible.
The only option: wait for the gold spirit users' mana to deplete. Without this damn synergy, he could escape easily.
But could he last that long?
Forcing his heavy body and mind onward, Michael pressed his desperate fight.
Then, suddenly.
Boom!
A deafening explosion echoed from above.
Michael's head snapped up reflexively.
His honed senses sharper than ever caught moonlight and starlight.
He instinctively knew the roar was the dark shroud bursting.
Because the spirits' attacks momentarily dulled. Not the Sperius family's intent.
Boom boom boom!
Successive blasts and dazzling fireworks from the sky temporarily banished the darkness.
Two black shadows plummeted from the heavens like falling stars, landing beside Michael.
A suspicious duo in black robes, hoods, and masks dove sharply, slowing gracefully at the last moment to touch down.
"Said you were off for tea, but you're making quite the racket, huh?"
"……!"
Recognizing Galen's teasing voice, Michael's eyes widened. The companion was obvious. Up close, faint stigmata gleamed in her eyes.
"Treatment first! Those burns are severe."
"W-wait. I'm fine."
Michael stopped Lilia as she rolled up her sleeves.
Until moments ago, he'd been solo tanking. If she left to heal and he stepped out for treatment, Galen would be alone again.
"Not a critical wound. Treatment can wait—"
"Aw, we've got time for that, right, brother?"
"Of course. Those guys are still dazed anyway."
Yet neither Lilia nor Galen seemed worried. The enemies appeared briefly flustered by the shroud's breach, but the confusion wouldn't last.
"By the way, Sir Michael. All those guys are foes, right?"
"One and all."
"No dilemma then. Heh, not even minutes since I said I wouldn't use attacks."
Galen shrugged, glancing back—the direction from earlier battle.
"Gah?!"
A scream erupted from there.
Whoever—robed, so likely a mage—their body pierced by shadow blades, shrieking.
"Alright, one down."