The molten lightning struck , hurling the man from the sky. He crashed into the desert below, a plume of yellow sand erupting around him. Rising from the dunes, he clutched his chest, a charred scar smoldering against his skin. His face hardened, solemn. In water, his strength was godlike. On dry land, it was merely formidable. But here, in this arid wasteland devoid of moisture, his power waned, his life force ebbing with every breath.

As king of Atlantis, born of human and Atlantean blood, he could endure the surface longer than his kin. But even he had limits. Flight was his escape—he could soar from this desert before his strength failed. Yet, the human sorcerer stood in his way.

He’d realized mid-battle that he’d struck the wrong foe. The sorcerer’s portals bore Kamar-Taj’s signature, a magic he recognized. His temper, fierce and unyielding, had driven him to fight on, seeking to subdue the sorcerer and correct his error. Now, he fought merely to survive.

With a roar, he launched skyward, wings at his ankles buzzing.

Sebastian, emerging from a closed portal, struck first. His wand summoned a gale, whipping the desert into a frenzy. Sand surged, forming a colossal palm under his command. It slammed into the man, smashing him back to the dunes with bone-rattling force.

The man struggled, clawing at the sand. Sebastian landed nearby, wand aglow with faint white light. The dunes came alive, coiling around the man like serpents, binding him in a suffocating grip. His strength faded, his struggles weakening as the sand dragged him under, burying him deep.

As his consciousness slipped, he felt a shift—his body freed from the sand’s embrace. Then, darkness claimed him.

Sebastian stood over the fallen warrior, his wand still raised. The man’s connection to Atlantis was clear, tied to the skull and the New Mexico relic from a year ago. Killing him would ignite a feud with a hidden nation—a reckless move, even for Sebastian. Yet, the man’s relentless attacks demanded reckoning. Mercy or justice? Sebastian wavered.

Two astral forms shimmered into existence. The Ancient One, serene yet weighted, stood beside a woman with dark blue skin, pointed ears, and a robe woven of seaweed threads. Her presence radiated authority—Atlantean, unmistakably.

“Ancient One,” Sebastian said, inclining his head. “And you are?”

“Mage Shaw,” the Ancient One replied, her voice calm, “this is Andromeda Attumasen, High Priestess of Atlantis. She sought me to speak with you.”

Sebastian turned to her, his gaze steady. “High Priestess, you’re here for him, aren’t you?”

Andromeda Attumasen’s eyes were resolute. “Please spare him. Atlantis will pay any price.”

Sebastian glanced at the Ancient One, catching her subtle nod. He’d intended mercy, but the man’s assault still stung. Compensation could balance the scales. “Magic,” he said. “Three Atlantean spells, equal to Blood Shark Bite or Water Snake Strangulation.”

Andromeda’s brow flickered with surprise at his knowledge, but she nodded swiftly. “Agreed. I’ll deliver them through the Ancient One. Thank you for your mercy.”

Sebastian’s lips twitched. Her quick agreement hinted he’d undersold his demand, but a deal was a deal. The astral forms of Andromeda Attumasen and the Ancient One faded, leaving him alone with the unconscious warrior.

He raised his wand, casting Aguamenti. A stream of clear water poured from the tip, drenching the man. Slowly, his eyes fluttered open, strength returning with the moisture.

Sebastian ceased the spell, his voice firm. “Who are you? Why attack me without cause?”

The man, still dazed, met his gaze. After a moment, he spoke. “I am Namor, king of Atlantis. I sought my tribe’s high priest’s remains—that skull. I mistook you for a Dark Church zealot, so I struck.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed. “And now? You know I’m not with them?”

“Yes,” Namor admitted. “I recognized Kamar-Taj’s portals. I meant to defeat you and leave, but your power… it surpassed my expectations. I lost.”

“Then you owe me,” Sebastian said, seizing the opportunity. “No issue with that, right?”

Namor studied him, then nodded. “Take this conch. Blow it by the sea, and I’ll come.” He handed over a palm-sized shell, its surface iridescent.

Sebastian accepted it, making it vanish into his cloak with a flick. He raised his wand again, and under Namor’s wary gaze, summoned another torrent of Aguamenti. The water washed over Namor, restoring his vigor.

As Namor stood, Sebastian opened a portal. “If you need me, crush this crystal. I’ll find you—but you’ll owe me again.” He tossed a shimmering crystal to Namor, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Namor caught it, nodding. They stepped through the portal, emerging above the Atlantic where their battle began. With a final glance, Sebastian Apparated, leaving Namor behind.

Namor dove into the sea, his form slicing through the waves, vanishing into the deep.

Sebastian reappeared on a New York rooftop, the city’s lights sprawling below. Kaecilius, sent here earlier, sat meditating, his aura steady. Sensing Sebastian, he opened his eyes. “Mage Shaw, the attacker?”

Sebastian shook his head. “Not an enemy. He’s Namor, king of Atlantis. I couldn’t kill him without sparking a war. But I spared him, and now Atlantis owes me. That tie could serve us later.”

Kaecilius frowned. “Serve us?”

Sebastian nodded, a spark of ambition in his eyes. “I’m planning something—a magical order, like Kamar-Taj. It’ll give us structure, let us delegate tasks, and handle threats calmly. But more than that, it’s about power. True control over magic’s essence. If I don’t claim that authority, I’ll end up like the Ancient One—leashed by cosmic forces I can’t abide.”

“Magical… authority?” Kaecilius’s voice carried a mix of curiosity and awe, his eyes searching Sebastian’s face.

Sebastian nodded, his expression resolute. “Yes, the authority of magic. When you delve deep into magic, you inevitably brush against its source—its essence. Only by claiming that authority can a mage break the mortal limits and step into a realm of true power. Without it, you’re bound by human frailty.”

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle. “Some mages bypass magic’s authority, tapping other forces to transcend humanity—like Dormammu. But that path strips away their humanity, chaining them to greater constraints. True magical authority offers freedom, unbound power. Few ever reach it.”

Kaecilius’s brow furrowed. “And the Ancient One? Has she claimed this authority?”

Sebastian met his gaze, unsurprised by the question. “The Ancient One’s power surpasses mortal limits, but she didn’t seize magical authority. She broke her shackles another way.”

“Another way?” Kaecilius leaned forward, intrigued.

“A contract,” Sebastian said simply.

Kaecilius’s eyes widened. “What kind of contract could grant such power—enough to shatter human boundaries?”

Sebastian considered, then spoke with measured clarity. “A pact with a higher-dimensional being. Entities like Dormammu of the Dark Dimension or Cyttorak of the Crimson Cosmos—they’re powerful enough to lend strength that transcends mortality. But the Ancient One’s contract wasn’t with them. She bound herself to the Vishanti Trinity—the first Supreme Sorcerers, the wellspring of Kamar-Taj’s magic.”

“The Vishanti… the Book of Vishanti?” Kaecilius’s voice was hushed, reverent.

“Exactly. Every Sorcerer Supreme signs a contract with the Vishanti, gaining power that dwarfs ordinary mages. In the cosmos, they’re among the mightiest. But the contract comes with chains—restrictions I’m not free to detail. You can piece it together yourself.”

Sebastian’s tone grew cautious. Higher-dimensional beings didn’t always sense their names spoken, but malice could draw their gaze. The Vishanti, tied so closely to Earth, were especially perilous. Mentioning them casually was safe enough, but ill intent could invite their scrutiny—a risk he wouldn’t take.

Kaecilius nodded slowly, processing. “So, how does one claim magical authority?”

“It’s the source of magic itself,” Sebastian explained. “To wield it, you either seize an existing source—becoming its embodiment—or forge a new type of magic and become its origin. The path to that is teaching, spreading your magic to others. That’s my goal.”

Kaecilius’s eyes flickered with understanding. “And the Vishanti’s source?”

“White magic,” Sebastian said. “They’re its origin. Black magic has its own source—a demon god as formidable as the Vishanti, but that’s a tale for another time.”

Sebastian knew black magic’s source—likely Chthon, tied to the Darkhold—but he kept that to himself. His plan hinged on a new magical system, blending the arcane arts of his past life with innovations like the Seraphim Shield Armor. That spell, a fusion of Earth and otherworldly magic, was just the start. His past life’s magic already formed a cohesive system; he needed only to teach it, to lay the foundation for a new source.

Frigga’s teachings in Asgard had illuminated this path. Beyond runes and spells, she’d shared the secret of magical authority. As one of Asgard’s three power-holders, she wielded the source of Asgardian magic. But with few Asgardians studying magic, her authority was underutilized. Had more followed her path, she’d rival Odin himself.

Kaecilius’s voice broke his thoughts. “What can I do?”

Sebastian smiled, seeing the fire rekindle in Kaecilius’s eyes. The dream of a peaceful world, nearly lost to black magic, burned anew. “Our strength is still growing. I need mages who share our vision. Recruit them—those with the will to change the world. I’ll secure the resources to build our organization. What do you say?”

Kaecilius bowed his head, conviction in his voice. “Your will, Mage Shaw.”

Sebastian blinked at the formal address, then chuckled. “No need to rush. Before you start, I’ll teach you my magic—a gift to bolster your strength. In this world, power is the only currency that matters.”

Kaecilius straightened. “I have contacts in the mortal world. I can use them to support our cause. But… what will we call this organization?”

The question caught Sebastian off guard. A spark lit in his eyes, a name surfacing from memory—both homage and ambition. “It’s a place to teach and spread magic, so let’s call it a school. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. How’s that sound?”

Kaecilius’s lips curved, the name resonating with promise. “It’s perfect.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep