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Chapter 4
Casting wide-area magic meant staring clearly into the imagined world within one’s mind and pouring in all the mana accumulated thus far, forcing it into reality.
It was also a grueling process of doing everything alone.
How much mana one could amass with the talent they were given.
How quickly and delicately they could shape the imagined world into reality.
The rank of a mage was decided by such standards.
Norfin had just passed the beginner stage and stepped into the level of a mid-ranked mage.
It was also the period in a mage’s life when all kinds of temptations of the world reached out their hands.
“The master of the world of water sources must be me—Norfin.”
For Norfin, who wanted to link every water source on the continent to his inner world and rule over them, the temptation offered by the Empire was sweet beyond compare.
“If only the territory of the Kingdom of Azrion can be annexed to the Empire, all the rivers of that land shall belong to you.”
He could not refuse the proposal of the Empire’s supreme commander, Marquis Bueno Arzen.
It was the chance to claim dominion over Azrion’s plentiful water sources.
Without having to ask anyone’s permission or mind their reactions, Norfin could draw every river of Azrion into his imagined world, drying them up at will—or summon forth floods whenever he pleased.
It was practically the authority to manipulate drought and abundance as he liked.
Thus, joining hands with the Empire to achieve his ambitions was only natural.
“Was it arrogance he called me? Pitiful arrogance?”
Norfin recalled the words of the Archmage of Ruslan Tower, who had clicked his tongue at him before his departure. A thin smile tugged at Norfin’s lips.
“Just the petty spite of an old man trying to hold back a disciple who wants to surpass him.”
Empire, kingdom—it was all the same.
Mages who had seized opportunities had already expanded their inner worlds and made names for themselves.
Too hasty? Would chasing dreams without restraint only lead to a fall?
“Damn old man. If he could see this outcome, he’d never dare to say that.”
That river, said to be too fast-flowing and abundant to be bound by magic—what had become of it?
He had turned it into a steppingstone for Imperial soldiers to trample Azrion’s forces.
“And on top of that, I even received such equipment… ha ha.”
The wave-hued robe gifted by the Empire eased the mental strain of casting.
And the staff, inlaid with a blue jewel?
It boosted his mana, amplifying the power of his conjured blizzards as he pulled them from the imagined world into reality.
Had he stayed cooped up in the Tower, he might have only gotten his hands on such things ten years later.
“For now, I can freeze just part of the river, but if I lead the Empire to victory, gain dominion over the water sources, and expand my inner world…”
He would rise beyond high-rank, to the level of a Tower Master.
Youngest Tower Master Norfin!
That day was not far off!
“But then… why is it so noisy?”
A sharp, unsettling noise grazed his ear. But he could not focus on it.
He could not afford to break his concentration and immersion—not even for the fleeting vision of the future he had drawn.
He was still only mid-ranked.
To cast such wide-reaching magic, he had no room for distraction.
Buuuuuum—!
If he was to avoid drowning the Imperial troops upon the frozen river, he needed to reach a state beyond concentration, into selfless transcendence.
That was why the approaching melody of death no longer reached Norfin’s ears.
“Shit!! Stop him!!”
“Lord Norfin!! You must dodge!!”
“Get a grip, you lunatic mage!!”
***
“…I told you. I’m on your side… kuhuk!”
Rian pulled his sword free from the abdomen of the elite soldier who had rushed him, coughing blood.
“That insane bastard…”
“How are you even standing?”
“This makes no sense…”
They all stared at Rian as if seeing a ghost.
It was true—their comrades’ blades had been faster. They had stabbed and slashed before him.
And yet… five men lay dead already, now joined by the one who had just collapsed with a hole in his belly. Six in all.
Each had landed a blow, only to be slain in return.
“Was I arrogant? Too careless?”
Perhaps so.
His opponent’s movements had not been especially quick, nor their strikes particularly strong.
But arrogance and carelessness had birthed these results.
Rian had traded his flesh for their lives.
One strike for one kill.
To spare an enemy charging in for slaughter on a battlefield drenched in death? That itself was arrogance, that itself was carelessness.
These elites had been trained for nothing but killing.
To be told to fight while sparing the foe—it was unfamiliar, awkward.
Against Rian, who was armed with nothing but the intent to kill, they could not help but fall.
It continued the same way.
Two more charged at the blood-drenched Rian, dismissing him—only to die with holes in their throats.
Three more followed, and he crushed their ribs, pierced their lungs, slit their necks.
And with each kill, he mocked them, repeating that he was “on the same side.”
Soon enough, the remaining elites hesitated, their faces twisted in doubt.
But could they acknowledge him as an ally now?
“Never.”
Out of thirty men, eleven had already fallen.
To admit him as an ally now would mean proving that a mere soldier had slaughtered eleven members of their elite unit.
That would only end with orders for them all to commit suicide, or face execution.
No, he must remain a spy, tied to Gerard. That was the only way.
Such was the shared resolve of the elites protecting the mage.
“What, was one of your parents a ghoul? Damn bastard just won’t die.”
Unable to kill him cleanly, one of them tried provoking him with insults—hoping anger would open a gap.
But Rian did not rise to it.
Instead, while his body secretly regenerated—his torn arm reknitting, his ruptured side organs regaining function—he played along, dragging his wounded leg, looking moments away from collapse.
Then, to avoid revealing the truth too soon, he countered with mockery.
“Face it. You look more like a ghoul than I do.”
“You bastard! I’ll cut out that tongue first!”
The taunt worked perfectly.
“Didn’t you want to tie me to Gerard? Hard to do that if I can’t talk, don’t you think?”
He tapped his temple with a finger, reminding them.
The enraged elite soldier clenched his teeth and advanced, but others pulled him back.
“Graoul. Seeing him like this… maybe he really is tied to Gerard?”
“We all want to tear him apart, but capturing him comes first.”
“Right. If we want to drag Gerard out and rise above being pawns, we need him alive.”
The others restrained their comrade, hardening their expressions, shedding arrogance and carelessness, preparing to fight in earnest.
They shifted formation, closing in around the mage like a net.
Rian smirked inwardly. They were still far beneath Gerard in both brains and skill.
And unlike before, they now had no intention of guarding the mage.
Which was exactly what Rian wanted.
He feigned losing balance, sinking to one knee.
“Now!! Pierce that ghoul bastard’s limbs!!”
Graoul’s shout sent them rushing in, the net closing fast.
It was timed perfectly with the moment Rian’s regeneration ended, his body enhanced once more.
“Just as I thought.”
When pushed to the brink of death by blood loss, his body always entered a phase of rapid regeneration, then surged with temporary enhancement.
Whereas after a true death, when his heart was destroyed, he gained permanent improvements.
Knowing this, Rian charged toward the mage.
“What the hell!!”
“Why is he unharmed?!”
“S-Stop him!!”
Their thrusts were full of panic and hesitation—obvious, predictable.
Rian slid across the ground, dodging effortlessly, then leapt again, eyes fixed only on the mage.
“Damn it!! Stop him!!”
“Lord Norfin!! You must dodge!!”
“Wake up, you lunatic mage!!”
But the mage remained lost in his spell, oblivious.
“A trap?”
For a moment, Rian wondered. But no—the mage’s life came first.
Slash—!!
His blade cut clean through the gilded, wave-colored robe.
The thin flesh of the neck split, nerves torn, vertebrae sliced precisely as blood sprayed and the blade emerged from the other side.
Thud—.
The young man’s head, with brown hair and pale skin, fell to the ground. His closed eyes were calm, as if he had simply slipped into an eternal dream.
And then—
Rumble, rumble—!!
The ice spanning the Trevor River began to collapse.
With its master dead, the magic unraveled.
Imperial troops screamed as they plunged into the freezing waters.
Some had reached the opposite bank to push back the Kingdom’s army, but the chaos behind them shattered their momentum.
They too were swallowed into the abyss of death.
A reversal, brought about by Rian Cade.
Not that Rian had the luxury to savor it.
“Die, you ghoul bastard!!”
“Monster freak!!”
The Blades of Shadowclaw unit descended upon him.
He traded limb for life, losing an arm, a side, even his ankle—yet never his neck.
In the end, he cut down five more before—
Shkkk! Shkkk!
Six spears pierced him front and back.
And death claimed him once again.
