Return as a Mythical Archmage Chapter 60 – This Fortress is Ours Now #1

The fortress was larger than expected. Barracks where soldiers lived, warehouses stocked with food and weapons, workshops for construction and repairs, and even quarters for all the support staff who kept the massive army running. With towering walls encircling it all, calling it a village would hardly be an exaggeration.

In other words, it wasn't hard at all for Lawrence and Ades to hide themselves.

Lawrence eyed the black mages guarding the gate, along with their undead minions.

"Whew, looks like it's time for the holy meat to shine here."

"I've been meaning to ask—why do you keep using that meat thing anyway?"

"It handles great. Not too violent for a mage to wield."

"Well... yeah, fair enough. Still, you gonna get a proper weapon eventually? With your talents, you could craft something yourself."

Of course. Lawrence nodded lightly. This meat was just a product of grinding and experience points, after all.

"Let's go. Gotta open that gate quick."

"Right. I'll take the black mages. You smash the undead with that meat."

"Got it."

The two gripped their weapons and split—one to the walls above, one below.

Ades's shadow-stepping footwork was mesmerizing no matter how many times Lawrence saw it. If I could learn that with an artifact someday, I could sneak up silently and blast them with spells.

When I get back to the family, time to splash some cash. Vowing to stockpile materials in his subspace, Lawrence moved.

Iron mages' signature: straight-line speed. Boom!

The ground-shaking launch echoed loudly. At the same instant, silent daggers sliced through the darkness from above.

"Guh—urk!?"

"Grrrgl..."

Muffled death rattles reached his ears just as Lawrence's spell and meat struck.

"Holy grenade toss!"

Crunch!

The meat chunk exploded on impact like a grenade, showering the undead's skull. Those hit by the fragments melted away.

Amid the stench of rotting flesh, Lawrence tossed aside the now-bony meat and eyed the gate.

Rumble...

Inside, black mages were still battling each other fiercely. They were fighting hard now, but they'd notice something was off soon enough. He had to seize control before that.

"This side's clear."

"Same here. Just need to open the gate, right?"

"Double locks—yours and mine. Hurry."

Lawrence and Ades worked frantically to unbar the walls.

Clank and grind!

Heavy chains rattled as the fortress gate swung open. Lights flickered from both sides at once.

"Caught quicker than I thought."

Lawrence glanced at the distant allied soldiers, pulling out the last troll meat from his subspace. Next time, ogre ribs? Numbers 7 and 8 were the priciest...

"Ades, hold till reinforcements arrive."

"They're sharper than expected... not total idiots, huh."

"Circle back. I'll handle the front."

"Hah, you know you're just eleven, right?"

Like the world cared. Lawrence smirked and began defending the gate.

Crackle!

He swapped artifacts.

Black mage earlier—now holy mage, maybe. Plenty of capacity left.

"There he ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠is—!"

"You bastard! Which tower are you from!?"

"Dragon Tower, assholes."

With that, Lawrence unleashed his spell. Pure white light erupted from his fingertips.

#2

Those heading to the fortress saw it. The closer they got, the louder the chaos from within—and as visibility cleared, it sharpened into focus. The once-sealed gate stood wide open.

"Faster! Move it!"

"Camp's too far out, isn't it!?"

"That's standard, you idiot—!"

That urgent, huh. A kid mage had slipped inside alone.

That dummy really...

Huff, huff. Loria, who'd focused solely on magic studies, felt the dark sky spin. Had she ever run this hard? Not even during the subjugation battle—with escort knights always at her side.

Back home, gotta start exercising. Did my siblings all go through this? Did Lawrence... know something like this was coming?

Breath burning her throat, she didn't slow. Legs numb, barely distinguishing her will from momentum. This mission taught her war's brutality firsthand.

"We'll breach first! Cadets—draw swords!"

"Yes, sir!!"

Argon Bredley charged with a roar, cadets drawing blades behind him. Battle mages shone in the fray, but knights outpaced them in evaluations for a reason. Their advance was tank-like, horse-speed without mounts.

Knight cadets stormed the hill to claim the gate. What they witnessed: the brightest light amid the undead.

"Die! Hahaha—how's the meat taste!?"

"That kid... could make a fine knight, no?"

One hand holy light, the other massive meat chunk—Lawrence rampaged through foes. Undead recoiled from swings; black mages recoiled from divine power.

Weaving gaps, he delivered iron justice.

"Join up! Young master, leave it to us now!"

Argon Bredley—top instructor at the Imperial Central Academy, dubbed Sword Ghost—leapt into the fray.

Veteran of countless fields, he'd taken the instructor role to temper his spirit toward mastery. Raising cadets honed his mind; drawing out their final pieces was his duty.

Once a sword-mad specter, Argon's aura crashed on black mages.

"Haven't tasted action in ages!"

"Whoa, instructor's eyes are spinning again!"

"Fall back! Grab that young master—or Lawrence, whatever!"

Lawrence got nabbed by Beatrix's grip, dragged away.

"Hey, what gives!"

"Good work. Watch now."

Lawrence looked where Beatrix pointed. A ghostly sword dance unfolded.

He didn't know the North Duke's flair. Never shared a ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠battlefield.

He had never truly witnessed such overwhelming, domineering strength. Seeing it with his own eyes carried a completely different weight than mere rumors. This… was it.

That's... how true masters move.

To Lawrence, the body was a mass of light. His special eyes—seeing what others couldn't—widened in awe at the artistry.

Mana-roadless, yet he understood mana deepest.

Oh...

Only gasps escaped. Argon's blocks, dodges, slashes—simple links, impossibly fluid, beautiful.

The answer came naturally: mana-body harmony.

Unconsciously, Lawrence memorized every motion.

Growth accelerated. Lawrence dismissed the messages, etching Argon's every move.

"Gaaah—!"

"Filthy vermin! Did you laugh like this sacrificing humans!? Heartless scum!"

Argon mercilessly judged the black mages. Those slaughtering innocents for their ends, fanatic tools awaiting Amon's salvation. Did they deserve to beg for their lives after crushing ordinary dreams?

"Let go. Time to pitch in."

"Fine."

Beatrix released Lawrence's nape without protest. Watching him charge, he flexed his tingling hand.

Strong grip too. More knight than mage material.

#3

The battle ended in a flash. The walls had blocked them—not fear of the black mages inside.

Commanders especially marveled at Lawrence.

"Eleven? Where's the kid in that?"

"Promising lad. Church training could make him the greatest holy knight ever."

"Heh heh, mind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠your words. He chose Iron Tower."

In their makeshift HQ, commanders chatted. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Operation done—now planning next steps. But with battle heat lingering, talk centered on Lawrence.

"Two years, right? Then I'll visit Montemer myself."

"Sword and magic? Magic swordsman. Better ring than battle mage, elder."

"Heh heh heh—cut the crap."

Their banter sparked, future plans hinging on it.

Iron Tower Master fiddled with Lawrence's gift.

"Rest today, then head straight to the domain capital."

"Why rush?"

"Might uncover black mages' backs. Can't trust anyone—spies among us maybe."

Thus, he hastened. Loria said black mages hit after Deferter vanished?

Perhaps...

His eyes gleamed. Lawrence might think similarly—sharp kid.

Curious now: what was that boy pondering post-battle?

The subject in question was—

"Whoa, loot here, materials there!"

Buried in subspace hauls, plotting next artifacts. Now a 4th Circle mage, after all!