Chapter 112: Impact (2)

The sun imploded—silently at first.

The firmament groaned, the very fabric of space on the verge of collapse. As a mage who had studied spatial magic his whole life, the sight was horrifying—the implications filling him with dread.

It was as beautiful as it was terrifying.

Silence reigned supreme as the spectacle took place ten miles away in the sky, but Bartholomew did not relax. The emblem flashed upon the back of his hand before the castle below him began to shine.

Countless mana circles activated within the castle grounds, each positioned in a specific position. The surrounding mana trembled before the air shimmered. A clear dome constructed itself—thousands of tiny hexagonal shapes interlocking with each other as the shield stretched over the castle.

Once done, the headmaster wasted no time, flying down through the gap of the yet to be formed shield, his expression grave. Only after he was inside the shield did the barrier complete itself—giving off a prismatic glow against the light of the sun.

Half a minute had passed, yet he still wore a grim expression, his eyes never leaving the site of the explosion. The bearded man’s shields were still in place as he waited with bated breath for the aftermath that was sure to come.

And around twenty seconds later, a shockwave impacted the castle defenses.

The entire barrier warped against the pressure, looking like a balloon that was about to pop. It stretched and contorted, giving off a prismatic light as it tried to fight off the invisible assault.

The sound the accompanied the explosion was almost deafening, like the roar of a primordial beast—a force of nature that held no equal.

Bartholomew grit his teeth seeing his own shields distort from the pressure. Blood began to leak from his ears, but he constantly sent mana streaming into his personal shields, not daring to relax.

The earth shook violently as it withstood the effects of the attack. For a few moments, the headmaster wasn’t sure if it would come out unscathed. He could see the castle his family had maintained for two millennium tremble precariously.

But it wasn’t the castle he was worried about—it was the bright minds within. The next generation of mages inside who would be responsible for continuing their legacy.

The castle could be rebuilt, but the children could not be recovered if lost.

Bartholomew’s expression shifted, growing more serious—as if he’d made up his mind. He was just about to strike his chest again before the pressure stopped abruptly, causing the shield surrounding the castle to snap back into place.

The shaking of the earth subsided abruptly, leaving an eerie silence in its wake. As the man looked up at the sky, he could see scattered mana—no longer taking on the appearance of natural mana that he knew of.

“Chaotic mana…” he muttered, a mix of awe and trepidation in his tone.

As he stared at the sight, movement came from the castle as two figures rushed over—flying through the sky with intense speed.

“Headmaster! Are we under attack?” Professor Quinn called out, her expression grave.

Bartholomew turned, seeing the young woman ready for battle. Beside her was Professor Murphy, the spellcrafting teacher.

The guy wasn’t even looking at the headmaster, his eyes focused on the event in the sky with a slack jaw. “What the hell is that?” he questioned solemnly.

“The event is over…” the headmaster announced, deactivating his personal shields. “Go ensure the safety of the children—I will call a faculty meeting once I get to the bottom of this,” he ordered, his tone not allowing for rebuttal.

However, professor Murphy didn’t move, his eyes shining resplendently. “That’s ancient magic, I’m sure of it…”

“Go, now.” The short bearded man ordered.

This time, neither professor dared to tarry. Murphy took one last lingering look at the sight in the sky before turning around and rushing back towards the castle, professor Quinn alongside him.

Only now did the headmaster let out a small sigh of relief—feeling that the worst had passed. Yet he wasn’t doing too great. The trails of blood from his eyes and ears were telling of his current state.

After casting another glance at explosion site, he waved his hand—disappearing from the spot.

Back in his office, Bartholomew stumbled, grasping at the mahogany desk for balance. His face was pale, contrasting with the trails of blood from his eyes and ears that got lost in his crimson beard.

His breath was labored as he coughed violently, looking frail.

With effort, the headmaster dropped into the arm chair he’d been sitting on a few minutes before, catching his breath.

“To think I had to waste a drop of blood essence…” he said, his expression showing signs of regret.

Not even a minute later, the door to his office burst open—revealing Professor Stark.

At any other time he might have been angry for the intrusion, but as soon as he saw the limp figure in the man’s arms, his annoyance retreated like the tide.

It was Michael.

Despite his weakened state, Bartholomew shot to his feet, “Put him on the lounge… and get Hilda, now!”

“She’s on her way…” The tall man spoke, already moving towards the lounge by the large window. He gently placed down the unconscious teen upon it with care before taking a step back.

The headmaster swooped in, placing two fingers on Michael’s neck, checking his vitals.

“He’s in a bad way,” Professor Stark said, “I think there’s internal bleeding…”

Bartholomew didn’t respond, busy focusing on his task. His expression morphed, rage—cold and unbidden radiated from his body.

Without a word, he flipped his hand, producing a small ornate glass bottle with a small amount of crimson liquid inside. From just the appearance of the container, it was clear that whatever it was housing was valuable.

A look of shock crept onto Stark’s face as he reached out as if trying to stop the headmaster. Yet the words died in his throat.

“He is that important?” he asked finally, his words filled with resignation.

Instead of replying, Bartholomew removed the stopper before lifting Michael’s head, carefully pouring the contents of the bottle into his mouth—ensuring not a single drop was wasted.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep