Chapter 264
Chapter 264
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 264
Chapter Title: Paltenoia, The Empire's Demise (2)
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Of course, the imperial palace wasn't some friendly village hall that anyone could just stroll into. Even Duke Erb, the empire's elector and the most powerful warlord in the area right now, had to wait months for permission to enter without issue.
In normal times, an elector's request for an audience wouldn't take that long. This meant the palace was under near-total lockdown, almost sealed off.
With things like this, knocking on the palace gates directly was out of the question. And at a time when the Church was openly hostile to the emperor, trying to get in as a cleric was impossible.
‘But an experiment or two is worth a shot.’
Fernandez cracked his knuckles and stared straight ahead. Paltenoia was the heart of modern civilization, a place brimming with knowledge that could rebuild half the civilized world from ashes in half a century.
On top of that, the empire boasted the finest magical forces of the age. Combining those factors gave him more than enough options to count on two hands.
‘Hope you’ve all been well.’
Fernandez smirked faintly as he stepped into the dim alleyway.
* * *
Bastis Street, seventh alley, third door. Staring at the faded blue door with its peeling paint, Fernandez felt a wave of nostalgia. He hadn’t visited at this time, but he’d spent quite a while here once.
Back in his previous life. Before he’d operated under the name Feizashi. It was a refuge during his long wandering days as a mage, right after barely escaping his master’s clutches.
This was the very spot where the fancy name Kalmburg Magic Academy had been born. Among the countless magic academies in Paltenoia, it was where the rejects who couldn’t join the mainstream ones gathered.
The so-called Shadow Academy. Unlike its grandiose name, it was a hideout for mages abandoned by their schools. Wandering mages, black mages, and those who’d broken sect rules or tried to steal secrets swarmed the place.
-Creeeak.
That was why they shunned outsiders to the extreme. Most residents were wanted criminals, many with kill orders straight from the Church.
“Welcome… who might you be?”
The interior looked like nothing more than a rundown, bare-bones inn. One waitress wiping tables with a ragged cloth, an old man dozing by the hearth, and a bartender fiddling with cups at the kitchen bar—that was it.
“I’m looking for someone.”
“Does this look like a detective agency to you?”
“Then do you have a room?”
“No rooms for the likes of you!”
The waitress grumbled. No normal traveler would stumble here, so a stranger almost certainly meant a mage. And to exiled mages, an unfamiliar mage was no different from an enemy.
“Marlin. You’re being too stingy.”
“!! Who are you!”
The waitress’s eyes sharpened instantly. She backed away fast, pulling a short wand from her bosom. At the same moment, the man from the kitchen and the one dozing by the hearth fixed hostile glares on Fernandez.
The Shadow Academy—hideout for exiles, criminals, and wandering mages. If a stranger waltzed in and used a real name instead of an alias or title, it wasn’t good.
The room’s atmosphere froze in an instant.
Fernandez calmly scanned his surroundings. Two peering down from upstairs, one in the kitchen, one at the counter. Four hidden, prepping spells; the two in front were decoys.
A textbook setup, familiar as ever. The same venerable tactic from Kalmburg Magic Academy’s early days.
Mana flows were crystal clear to him. All magic left traces somehow. Even without signature spells, repeated casts revealed the caster’s unique ‘habits.’
The stroke angles, mudra biases, circuit orientations...
Fernandez chuckled and pointed into the air. First, the one casting visual occlusion.
“Gilson Rignas. Your Second Conversion Clause is too sluggish.”
He dragged his extended finger downward, and the weaving spell unraveled. A horrific scream echoed from above. Backlash from forced interruption mid-cast.
“And what’s with this sloppy execution? Fix that habit—it’s causing severe mana leaks, no real output. Bram Petas. Try again.”
He flicked his other hand outward, slipping in mana wedges. Everyone here was a mage; they could sense or see mana flows, however faintly. They instantly grasped how clean and refined the technique was.
Casting magic was easy once learned. Build the circuit to channel required mana into the formula, and anyone could do it.
But dismantling an active spell mid-cast required at least two levels higher skill—an advanced art.
If mana arrows met bowstring circuits, mana wedges were like batting arrows mid-flight. Timing, understanding, sense—all had to be perfect.
Yet the two lurking upstairs were neutralized in seconds. Overwhelming. Two wedges had shredded their entire spell arrays.
No one here could stop someone of that caliber in combat magic. The ambushers lost their will, and the tense atmosphere deflated.
“Who might this esteemed guest be…?”
Marlin swallowed a groan and barely opened her mouth. That skill wasn’t for just any sect head—it was too high. He looked barely twenty to thirty. Mana felt scant, yet the technique was unbelievable.
“Always the same question. Who are you? What’s your affiliation? Come on, does identity matter to our kind?”
“…No. Power does.”
“And profit matters more than that. Right?”
“My question was foolish.”
Marlin led the Shadow Academy. She’d spent nearly a decade here as a wandering mage and planned ten more.
History said so. And a decade later, when Fernandez hit middle age, she’d met a man and leaped forward.
Fernandez at 29. Under the man called Feizashi Wildcast. As an early member of the infamous Kalmburg Magic Academy.
She wasn’t stupid.
“What do you want from us?”
Stupid wandering mages died as guests. Long survivors were wise by necessity—they knew how to live.
Fernandez smirked at her sudden deference.
“I need manpower for an experiment.”
* * *
That evening after the strategy meeting, Abel had voiced her worries while listening to Fernandez.
“Won’t it be tough? Will they even respect the Church’s authority?”
“No chance. Even third-rate black mages in back alleys resist inquisitors on sight. If the emperor’s a devil worshiper too, they won’t comply easily.”
“Legitimacy is a survivor’s problem, Fernandez. Entering their den alone is too reckless.”
Abel was one of the few who knew his physical state. He was a monster who returned intact from near-death scrapes, but the cost shaved his lifespan—she couldn’t ignore that.
But Fernandez shook his head.
“Better without others.”
“What do you mean?”
“A few days ago, battling that demon I chased—I had some realizations.”
* * *
Exorcising the demon, Fernandez felt strange fulfillment and omnipotence. Like his past life’s signature spells. An ecstatic, world-dominating spiritual high.
It meant the magic was perfectly executed. Feizashi scoffed, but deep down agreed. It was pioneering new mana circuit use.
Divinity repels mana. He’d relied on external tools for limited magic before… but not then.
Lying abed for days, replaying the fight, Fernandez coldly analyzed why.
‘This… might be big trouble?’
-A very possible move. Just like me.
‘Like me.’
-You are me—what nonsense?
The spell was impromptu genius: inspiration, wit, and perfect timing. Most magic inventions started that way, but great mages dissected ‘happy accidents’ into their own power.
Fernandez and Feizashi sketched the scenario on drafting paper, diving deep into research. His broken body left little else to do.
-Scribble, scribble.
Dozens of diagrams flowed from his hand. Flat on paper, but his mind held the original 3D arrays.
‘Replace invasive curses with mana, eject them while wedging each with mana spikes to neutralize. Connect spikes into a 3D spell array.’
-Use the caster-target link to guide the strike zone.
‘Targeted attack ritual complete.’
High-level curses had caster-victim links—the curse’s chain. Curses didn’t just afflict soul and flesh; they worsened organically per the caster’s will.
Seize that chain in the process. From seizure, it’s no longer the caster’s leash—it becomes their noose.
‘What to call it? Needs a cool name.’
-Agreed.
Feizashi cackled. Mages’ real challenge wasn’t inventing or analyzing mysteries.
It was naming. They shouted signature spells not for show like knights tossing gauntlets.
‘Honor.’ ‘Vanity.’ Pure desire crystallized in ‘cool signature spell names.’ Once registered with academies, they etched into magic history—mages staked lives on great names.
‘Feizashi’s Grasp of the Five Thrones. Feizashi’s Chains of Hatred, Feizashi’s Banishment, Feizashi’s Barakbar’s Crimson Spear…’
-All my masterpieces. Lifelong beauties. Refined spellwork—artisan craft for connoisseurs.
‘…Fernandez’s Crimson Spear.’
-That rips off Barakbar’s Spear. Self-plagiarism is a mage’s sin.
‘Fernandez’s… Guiding Spear.’
-Was twenty-year-old me this uncreative?
‘Shut up a sec. Oh, Fernandez’s Reversal. How’s that?’
Hunter-prey reversal. Caster-victim flip—clever, refined? Fernandez thought so; Feizashi glared coldly.
‘Just shut it. Fernandez’s Reversal it is.’
-Fine.
Linking mana wedges into arrays was from past-life Menderson’s idea. Menderson died before inventing it this life—why waste knowledge?
‘Mine’s even more efficient.’
-No, way less.
Feizashi tsked. Expose to curses on purpose, repurpose them? Only thrice-wiser mages could pull it off.
Better dispel curses beforehand than expose to steal them. Skill gaps meant avoiding spells entirely.
But Fernandez couldn’t use magic… so he’d tank curse loads with raw durability.
-You’re killing yourself out there.
‘Too late to conserve—how many extra days would it buy?’
Fernandez chuckled, brushing his hands. Yeah. Best option. Couldn’t use in real combat yet—time for utility tests.
* * *
“……?”
Abel slowly rebuilt the complex idea in her head. Mages gushing new spells sounded like gibberish to laymen.
Abel knew little magic. To her, mages were shady, inscrutable types. She preferred honorable knights.
But the man she loved was a pure mage, so she mustered max comprehension, mulling his ramble.
“So… you mean get cursed, then throw it back?”
“No. Not just return it—fragment the curse formula, rebuild into new magic, then blast attack spells. Bypasses enemy magic resistance and defenses, hits the core.”
“Don’t compare spells to arrows. Confusing. But… did I get it? You have to get cursed first?”
“Exactly.”
“…And then dismantle and extract it from your body?”
“Spot on. Tricky, delicate part.”
Like a craftsman boasting work, pride shone on Fernandez’s stoic face. Abel continued slowly.
“And that came from the last battle?”
“Precisely, deepening the magic system born there.”
“Backlash same as before, then?”
“Backlash? Ah, yeah.”
“…‘Yeah’?”
“…Yea…h…?”
“Hah.”
Abel laughed brightly, sighing.
She eyed him up and down, checked his arms, hands—touched silently.
“No issues moving? Pain? Discomfort?”
“Perfectly fine.”
“Good. Explains your weird ideas. Follow me.”
“Where?”
“Training grounds.”
Sweat might spark healthier thoughts.
Abel turned and left the meeting room.
That night, Fernandez learned firsthand how Abel became King Dane’s swordmaster.