Chapter 329
Chapter 329
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 329
Chapter Title: Assembly (2)
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Raniel van Trias.
Ashen Tower's Next Mage Tower Lord.
She gazes up at the tower looming before her.
The tower soars skyward as if to pierce the heavens. For Raniel, the tower known as the Ashen Mage Tower carries profound meaning.
The place where her life as a mage began.
The place where she first set foot on her path of magic.
How much time had she spent inside that spire? Memories from her days as Next Mage Tower Lord—clashing wits with the elders, dominating the mages to lead her research—flash through her mind, drawing a smirk from Raniel.
Once, it had been her mage tower.
Yet it was also the mage tower she had walked out of on her own two feet.
Raniel steps toward the Ashen Mage Tower.
To show the shadow that had seized it that the Ashen Mage has returned.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ Guuung.
The ground trembles, and the doors of the Ashen Mage Tower swing open.
She had incinerated the shadows creeping along the outer walls with flames, but inside, they still cloaked everything in thick darkness. Staring at the viscous sludge, Raniel slowly closes her eyes.
"Huu..."
One deep breath.
Raniel opens her eyes. Blue irises tinged with gray gleam in the gloom. Then, a madman's voice reverberates through the mage tower.
🗣️ MADMAN'S VOICE 🗣️ "Welcome, Ashen." The madman bellowed.
🗣️ MADMAN'S VOICE 🗣️ "To my mage tower." Shadows blanket the area surge upward.
2.
Fighting a mage on their home turf is an incredibly disadvantageous affair. This situation is no different. The Ashen Mage Tower has already fallen into the madman's grasp.
Every circuit within the Ashen Mage Tower.
Spells designed to intercept intruders, myriad wards protecting research data—they all respond to the madman's shadows. Beyond the surging shadows, grotesquely warped circuits glow ominously.
"Heh."
Raniel lets out a hollow chuckle.
She couldn't help it.
Most of the circuits the madman wielded were ones she herself had inscribed. Her eyes could clearly see what they would unleash.
Magitech golems rise from the floor.
Mana clumps honed to razor-sharp spear points target Raniel. She sweeps her gaze over them and lightly stomps her foot.
Kung.
With that alone, the nearly complete circuits dismantle entirely. Raniel taps the floor with her toes, then settles into her stance.
Facing a mage with magic in their domain is folly—but this domain is Raniel's as well. The mage tower's layout is etched vividly in her mind.
The shortest path to the top floor.
Just as she imprints that route and prepares to accelerate, Raniel freezes. Something has caught her eye.
"......"
The Ashen Mage Tower was swallowed by shadows in an instant.
Naturally, mages still lingered inside. Collapsed and unconscious, they enter Raniel's field of vision.
Shadows pierce their bodies.
The shadows drain the mages' mana.
Mana-sated shadows swell grotesquely. What do engorged shadows become? The answer is obvious.
Crack.
Something erupts from the sludge coating the ground.
Knights clad in rusted armor.
Unfamiliar crests adorn the headless knights' plate. Raniel recognizes them instantly—the emblem of the ancient kingdom, Arcadia.
"...A necromancer?"
Raising the long-dead.
But to Raniel's eyes, this was no mere necromancer. Their forms were woven from shadow, more akin to familiars.
Fundamentally necromancy, fused with the Summoner's arts. Neither lacked mastery. First-rate, at a glance.
'But...'
It didn't end there.
The shadows seizing the mage tower and hijacking its circuits embodied the wizard's craft. The parasitic tendrils evoked the shaman.
Wizard, Summoner, Necromancer, Shaman...
Mages devote lifetimes to mastering a single class, yet this madman commanded at least four. All at peak proficiency.
"......"
Raniel falls silent.
The longer this dragged on, the worse it got for her.
Dozens, hundreds of mages filled the tower... Rescuing every one parasitized by shadows stretched time too thin.
Raniel decides.
Her task now: carve a path for her followers. Leave the rest to them. Do what only she can.
Accel.
Accel, accel, accel...
She stacks reinforcement spells atop one another.
Ash rises around her feet; Raniel grinds it down with her heel. The spot where she steps ignites, flames spreading outward.
She clears the way.
The path to the top.
Raniel glares straight ahead. Churning sludge, knights bursting forth, writhing tentacles—countless obstacles bar her path.
Kwaang.
Raniel kicks off and charges.
Each footfall leaves searing red prints that burn bright. The knights can't even react. Fire-touched tentacles burst into ash.
The flames refuse to die.
Fire links to fire, birthing an inferno.
The blaze carves a single path upward. Leaving her trail in its wake, Raniel ascends to the top floor.
To hunt the madman.
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ The mage tower's pinnacle.
The madman eyes a seed of magic just beginning to sprout. It hasn't germinated yet. Under normal circumstances, it would have long since, but with his plans awry, time remains.
And the intruder who breached this tower has no intention of granting that time.
Kung, kuwoong.
The tower shakes relentlessly.
Barriers erected, familiars summoned to block—none halt the intruder's advance even a second. She barrels through everything.
"A variable."
The madman's lips twist.
"A variable, indeed."
In this moment, he recalls the past.
Memories from when he still bore a name. Distant days in Arcadia.
"I created the King of Ten Thousand Demons." "Before the perfected god, the world will drown in black. No one can halt the curse's march. You're finished." He recalls the voice of that accursed mage who seized his collar amid those shouts. Savors it with a chuckle.
"Think this is the end? That everything falls to your schemes?" Ashen locks of hair.
"Don't make me laugh." Golden eyes.
"The variable you never foresaw. Never planned for. Never dreamed of." The Ashen Mage, Cardi van Armiel.
"I'll be your variable." "The one to shatter your plans utterly. To deny all you've built." "The Ashen will tear it all down." The madman remembers vividly those who stood with the Great Sage then. He hasn't forgotten that radiant brilliance. How could he? It seared his retinas raw.
The Hero, Ganikalt van Galatrik.
The Sorcerer, Belial van Dragonic.
The Saintess, Glorea Bell Armias.
The Great Sage, Cardi van Armiel.
They led that dazzling light and foiled his plans. Heroes who halted a world's plunge into ruin. Recalling their fates, the madman erupts in laughter.
He yearns.
Yearns desperately.
For that radiant light to emerge once more—only to be devoured by shadow and twisted into corruption. For broken heroes' screams to ring in his ears.
He prays fervently.
Praying thus, the madman lifts his head.
"Yes."
The tower's quaking has ceased unnoticed.
Someone has set foot on the top floor.
The madman regards his visitor.
"It came to this, as expected."
The madman's gaze pierces souls.
It beholds the auras of the living. Auras born of a soul's purity, scaled to its nobility.
He has beheld countless heroes.
Countless paragons.
Yet for centuries, none matched the brilliance of the four who slew the Demon King. All fell short. He found no aura to sate his longing.
Until now.
Here it stands—the reward for centuries of waiting. Blinded by its intensity, the madman laughs. He spreads his arms wide.
"Raniel van Trias."
The Ashen Mage.
Heir to the Ashen will.
The child to become my variable.
"I've been waiting for you."
The madman rises.
Twisted circuits erupt skyward from the sludge. Ancient runes scar the blood-red conduits. Hundreds fill the chamber.
One of only two grand archmages in Arcadia.
The first madman to claim that title in mortal flesh welcomes his distant successor.
3.
One by one, they converge before the mage tower.
Kalt arrives first.
En route, he felled dozens of turncoats. Shaking blood from his blade, he exhales sharply. The beast hordes pressing them have noticeably thinned.
'Now, what's left...'
Kalt looks up.
The mage tower scrapes the sky.
Shockwaves burst repeatedly from its peak. Mana's aftershocks ripple the air.
'...Chilling.'
That place is another world now.
The mana erupting there defies all reason. Kalt swallows dryly and glances back—footsteps approach.
Familiar faces.
"This must be the place."
"...Up there, Professor Lania."
Sorcerer, Belnoa.
Apprentice Hero, Chloe.
"Belnoa, you made it too."
"...Aren't you using that sword? You drew it, right?"
"Axe feels better for now. That sword? One swing breaks every bone. Hurts like hell..."
Warrior, Rak van Grace.
"Looks like it, doesn't it?"
"Oh, Your Highness..."
"No time for greetings. Things look urgent."
Stella, Fourth Princess Aila.
Aphria Academy's students gather in turn. Varied origins, diverse stations... but all pupils of the same master. They exchange bitter smiles.
Lania van Trias.
They answered Aphria's nightmare summons.
They turn to Kalt.
...Kalt, who mingled with Raniel and thus often crossed paths with Aphria's students. Not as intimately as Raniel, but he'd watched their growth up close.
Do they possess the skill to enter here?
Risky, perhaps—but Kalt won't stop them. He trusts his senior's judgment. Kalt steps forward toward the tower.
Its entrance gapes like a maw of fangs.
The moment he crosses the threshold, surging shadows greet him. Dozens of familiars erupt from them. Headless knights shambling about—ghastly sights.
And one more thing.
Flames rage amid them.
A trail of fire stretches upward. Kalt scans his surroundings, assesses. Analyzes the mission Raniel left behind.
As her tracker and adjutant, the Ashen Mage's expectations are clear to Kalt.
Whoosh.
Kalt swings his sword once, adjusts his grip.
"No need to watch your flanks or rear."
Kalt declares.
"Just charge straight ahead."
I'll handle sides and back.
The hostages here? I'll save them.
"Go."
Kalt kicks off.
"I'll clear the path."
Feeling the others follow, Kalt cleaves the lead headless knight's armor. The silvery arc flows smoothly, unrelenting.
He tramples the bisected plate and plunges into the knights' midst.
Shraaaaa!
The silver trail dances wildly.
With the blade inherited from the noblest paragon, Kun Tel, Kalt forges a path for the divine ones. So the flames on the floor burn brighter, fiercer, unbroken.
Kalt swings.
The paragon's sword carves a silver sword-path, cleaving the shadow-shrouded tower. Along the Ashen Mage's trail—and the paragon's guarded way—the divine charge forth.
Toward the mage tower's pinnacle.
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