Only two days into the expedition, Kai had seen more than his share of weavers. Hundreds of them—snarling, scrambling, endlessly agitated creatures that attacked anything that moved. Not once had fear so much as touched him.

But now, standing on a rocky hill with the wind tugging at his cloak, he felt it.

Not the heart-racing panic of the untrained. Not hesitation. But the quiet, instinctive fear that came when facing something far beyond your strength. A threat that made the hairs on the back of his neck rise despite every battle he’d survived.

And the strange part? It wasn’t one weaver or even a group of them. It was a stampede of them.

Below, a black tide churned—thousands of weavers and fiends, tangled in a frenzy of death. They surged forward, not in formation, not in coordination, but as a single mass of rage. Some even trampled or tore each other apart in the chaos, driven by a singular, overwhelming pull.

His gaze drifted toward the center of the chaos—the place they all seemed to be converging on. He could make out a figure there. A human Mage.

He muttered the spell under his breath and cast [Hawk Eyes].

The scene sharpened instantly.

There, elevated on rising stone platforms, stood a lone figure. A man with a bald head and a graying beard, framed by spinning shards of stone. Rocks orbited him like angry moons, forming a barrier that smashed any creature that got too close. He raised his arms, conjuring massive chunks of earth and hurling them into the horde. And the impact sent limbs flying. Blood sprayed high into the air. Dozens fell with every spell.

Still, more came. And there was even more to come.

Kai watched silently, awe creeping in as he recognized the spellwork. Not just advanced earthen manipulation, but high-tier control, efficient channeling, seamless defense. The man wasn’t just a Mage. He was a Magus—a fifth circle Battle Mage. A strong one at that.

Without that kind of strength and composure, anyone else would’ve frozen and been torn apart. But this man held on, even as exhaustion weighed on his features. His movements slowed, and his face twisted with strain. Yet he stood his ground.

He knows he can’t escape, Kai thought. So he’s trying to thin their numbers before running.

It wasn’t a bad idea—but in the plague lands, it was suicide. The tide didn’t thin easily and even if it did, he would be chased by the rest. Still, Kai kept watching, trying to gauge the Magus’ condition—and the swarm’s coordination—until a voice broke his focus.

“What are we going to do now, Lord Arzan?”

Kai turned. Gareth had stepped beside him, eyes locked on the battlefield below, and behind him stood the rest of the company—soldiers, Mages, Enforcers, Paladins—each one frozen at the sight, some clutching weapons tighter, others too stunned to speak.

He didn’t answer right away. He immediately went into a strategizing mode. There wasn’t much time. The Magus could fall any moment, and they knew nothing about him—not his intentions, not his affiliations. And aiding someone blindly in the plague lands could be dangerous.

Before he could speak, Knight Cais opened his mouth.

“That’s Magus Elias Revyn,” he said. “The royal court Mage of Vanderfall.”

Kai’s brow lifted slightly. “You know him?”

“Everyone in Aegis knows him,” Cais replied. “He’s the strongest Mage Vanderfall’s ever produced. He’s never crossed our border, but every soldier on the line knows his name.”

Kai studied him for a beat, then asked, “And what do the rumors say?”

Cais hesitated. Kai saw the uncertainty in his eyes.

“What?” He pushed.

“Honestly, they’re… mixed,” he admitted. “He’s known to be hot-headed. Obsessed with battle. The kind of man who joined the royal court not for loyalty, but because they offered him the best resources and freedom to fight. Dangerous, but valuable.”

Kai looked back toward the battlefield.

Magus Elias still stood, bloody and battered, but unyielding—power coiling around him as the fiend continued its mad charge.

“But those stories… they’re from long ago,” Cais continued slowly. “From his youth. No one’s seen him in over a decade. I only recognized him because of those white robes—and the bald head. He’s always worn them, even back then according to tales about him.”

Kai gave a small nod, taking it all in. It wasn’t hard to guess that a Magus wasn’t a man easily understood or trusted. But his presence here, in the middle of the plague lands, raised more questions than answers.

What’s he doing here? And why is he alone?

If the royal family of Vanderfall had truly sent him to deal with the plague, why hadn’t they sent backup?

Kai’s thoughts circled back to the whispers he’d heard over the past few months. That Vanderfall had given up on the plague. That no one—no matter how powerful—could stop it from spreading.

So then, why was this man here?

Although the why bothered him immensely, he ignored it, not willing to linger on it longer than necessary—especially not when there was a direct threat right ahead.

Killian stepped forward, echoing the question Gareth had asked earlier. “What do we do, Lord Arzan? Should we help him?”

Kai grit his teeth, staring at the chaos below. He didn’t like acting without information, but if the Magus died now, there’d be no one to answer his questions on what he was doing here. If Vanderfall was leading a campaign of its own, he needed to know.

He exhaled slowly. “We help him.” He turned to Killian. “Join the battle once I’ve cut their numbers in half. You and the rest can handle what remains.”

Killian nodded without hesitation.

Although Kai had continuously maintained a protective covering over the group, making him lose quite a bit of mana, he still had mana potions and he gulped one of them.

Mana surged through him with the potion taking effect in seconds and he rose into the sky with a blast of wind, his robe snapping behind him as mana swirled to life in his palm. Heat pulsed outward as a dense sphere of molten energy began to form—a fourth-circle spell, one meant not for duels, but for devastation. A spell that could kill everything when in contact.

[Magma Core]

He soared forward, the air thrashing around him. And then, with a flick of his arm, he dropped the glowing orb into the mass of weavers below.

It hit exactly like a meteor.

The earth split. A wall of fire erupted upward as bodies turned to ash before they could even scream. The stench of burning flesh filled the air. Kai scrunched his nose up, but he wasn’t done.

Weavers kept moving, momentarily distracted by the loud attack, but soon rushed toward Magus Elias.

Kai gathered more mana and shaped three magma spheres, glowing red-hot. He hurled them in different directions. They landed deep within clustered groups of weavers and fiends.

The ground shook when they hit.

Explosions echoed across the battlefield as charred limbs and cracked stone flew in every direction. Hundreds of weavers were gone in seconds—reduced to smoldering piles of what used to be flesh.

From his vantage point, he looked to the platform in the center of the chaos.

Elias was still standing.

He was staring directly at Kai now, the rocky shield around his body flickering, his bearded face frozen in shock. But the moment passed as fast as it came. More weavers clambered over the rocks, screeching in loud voices as they tried to swarm the platform again, and the old Mage turned his focus back to survival—ripping them apart with spinning spikes of stone.

Kai narrowed his eyes. Magus Elias was skilled—far more than most—but even he wouldn’t last forever.

With that, he descended slightly, aiming for the thicker clusters around the edges of the horde. That’s where the danger still gathered—where they were most tangled, biting and scrambling over one another, still trying to reach the Magus.

I have to do something.

From one hand, he unleashed a searing ice beam, cutting clean through a wall of weavers and freezing the flesh of those behind them. From the other, he hurled more magma orbs. The glowing spheres screamed toward the earth before once again detonating clouds of ash and fire.

The weavers and fiends hadn’t even touched him—they couldn’t.

A few had the sense—or instinct—to hurl stones toward the sky, but they were clumsy throws, easy to dodge. He weaved around them with ease. In minutes, a quarter of the horde was gone—reduced to pulp, melted bone, and shattered limbs.

But the price was steep.

As he formed the eighth magma orb, his arms trembled slightly. He could feel it—his mana reserves dipping fast, his body already pushing against the limits of sustained mid-air casting. If he kept it up, he’d burn through his core and drop like a stone.

And he couldn’t afford that. Not yet. Not when the Magus might still turn on them after the battle. Kai clenched his jaw and shifted tactics.

The sky around him pulsed as he transitioned to a familiar rhythm—a spell he’d relied on often when he first became Arzan. Quick gestures. Minimal mana.

Hundreds of [Firebolts] sprang to life, forming midair in glowing chains before shooting down in a coordinated barrage.

The weavers, packed so close together, couldn’t avoid them. One after another fell, their bodies blackened and twitching. Only a few fiends survived, their tougher skin allowing them to stumble through the flames—though not for long.

As the final volley finished, Kai took a moment to steady his breathing. The battlefield below had changed. And it was time.

He glanced behind him and saw Killian and the rest of the force finally making their move, charging down the hill in formation. Enforcers, Paladins, and Mages led the center, but on the flanks, barbarians roared into the fray—wearing heavy armour, their weapons soaked in dark blood from previous battles. On the front of them was Brugnar.

They tore into the weavers like wolves into a flock.

Even as the blood flew, the formation held. No panic. No disarray.

They remembered the drills, Kai thought with a flicker of pride.

Even surrounded by the grotesque horde, none of his soldiers broke rank. The Enforcers were the tip of the spear, cleaving through enemies with blades glowing from aspected mana. Behind them, Mages launched controlled spells, supporting the front line without overreaching. The Paladins formed a shield wall where the fiends struck hardest, holding them back with glowing shields and coordinated counters. And the barbarians—fierce and relentless—punched through weak points, splitting the tide and buying precious space.

Kai allowed himself a breath, then angled away from the fight.

He landed on a large boulder away from the center, folding one leg over the other and settling down. The sudden shift from the sky to the landing made him dizzy—just for a second. Soon, his eyes were locked on the battle.

From here, he had a perfect view of everything. And so did Magus Elias.

The old man was still holding the center, his expression changed—not just from exhaustion, but confusion. He looked up again, eyes finding Kai’s across the battlefield.

You’re wondering if we’ll turn on you after this, aren’t you?

Kai didn’t blame him. A Magus would have been in too many battles to trust strangers easily, especially one with the reputation of a Battle Mage. But unlike Kai, the Magus had no safe perch, no time to rest. The weavers still crawled up toward his rising platform. He had to keep lifting it, stone by stone, just to stay alive. That alone—layering platforms under pressure—was a fourth-circle spell, and it burned mana fast.

He was running on fumes, and they both knew it. Still, he fought. A true Battle Mage. Kai saw it in his eyes, whenever he would cast a spell, he would get hungrier to kill even more of those fiends.

Cais was right, the man’s aggression was right there. The thirst of battle was thick in every structure he formed.

Kai inhaled deeply through his nose, feeling the strain of his own muscles and looked at his Enforcers, trying to take a good look at their strengths. At times like this, he knew he could actually see where they were at. All of them had grown a lot during the past couple of months, but Killian was at the forefront. He was the only one approaching the third rank.

Killian was cleaving through a cluster of fiends, lightning dancing across his blade. The others moved with competence, striking fast and clean—but Killian stood out. His strikes were sharper. His reflexes faster. His aura denser.

The rest still have a long way to go.

It wasn’t surprising.

Kai had expected Killian to rise first. He was the strongest Enforcer among them—disciplined, ruthless, and stubborn in a way that only made him more dangerous in a real fight. But the speed of his growth? That was something else.

It was a known fact among spellcasters and warriors alike, Enforcer ranks were harder to climb than the early Mage ones. It wasn’t just about opening more vaults of power—it was about assimilating them. Binding them into one’s core with such harmony that they didn’t just offer strength, but control, resilience, and accuracy.

And Killian was doing it.

Without a guide. Without scrolls or tutors. Just on instinct, grit, and the small insights Kai had given him.

His affinity—lightning—was beginning to take form even in his normal attacks, and in the way he moved. His strikes were conducted and enhanced. He saw how every slash tore through swarms of weavers, electricity arcing from one to the next, ripping through flesh, boiling blood in their veins. And every swing cleared space around him like a storm expanding outward.

A small radius had already formed—an unspoken kill zone. No other Enforcers dared step within it. They knew better than to get caught in the web of lightning dancing off his blade.

Killian didn’t waste the space. He rushed forward, using the gap like a wedge, punching deeper into enemy lines, cleaving through weavers and even beheading fiends with a single upward slash. There was a rhythm to his movement now. A practiced chaos that spoke of instinct.

He’s close, Kai thought, eyes narrowed. Closer than I expected. He might hit the third rank even before we reach the treant.

And that changed a lot of things.

The others weren’t bad. Their formations held. But Killian was on a different level now—a one-man frontline, a walking weapon.

Kai watched as more and more weavers fell, their corpses piling up or disintegrating beneath elemental blasts.

In just a few minutes, the tide had turned completely.

Less than ten percent of the weavers remained—and even they, mindless as they were, began to hesitate. Then, finally, they broke.

The remnants turned and ran, screeching and trampling over the bodies of their own kind. There was no strategy, just survival instinct and blind retreat.

Kai raised a hand, and a flare of mana pulsed outward in a signal. His Mages answered instantly.

Arrows of lightning. Walls of flame. Shards of crystal earth. Spells surged across the field, chasing down the broken swarm before they could vanish over the hills.

The golems ran after them, their eyes glowing dimly as they moved with mechanical purpose. They wouldn’t let a single one escape if it could be helped.

Both the spells and the golems managed to take down most of those who tried to flee, but plenty still managed to escape—limping, burning, or howling as they vanished into the distance. Kai didn’t pursue. He made no signal to his troops either.

They were spent. The horde had taken its toll.

Kai stood up, and activated [Flight] from his perch and touched down beside Killian, who stood with his blade buried in the earth, breathing heavily. Around them, the remnants of the force regrouped—some collapsed to their knees, others helping the wounded, many simply staring at the piles of dead, too drained to speak.

Kai gave the field a slow, measured glance. There were more injuries than before. Too many.

His jaw tensed. He’d expected losses, but seeing the toll firsthand always brought a bitter taste. “The force did well,” he said. “But with a horde this size, casualties were inevitable.”

Killian, still leaning on his sword, nodded as he scanned the ranks. “It’s manageable,” he said. “I’ve sent Gareth to get the exact count. The lightly injured are already helping carry the more serious cases to the Clerics.”

Kai gave a small nod of approval. At least Killian still had the presence of mind to organize recovery.

But then, his eyes drifted toward the center of the battlefield. Magus Elias hadn’t moved much.

He was still seated atop the raised platform of stone, though the rock armor that had once spun protectively around him was gone now. In its place, his white robe–now brown and red hung, and his chest rose and fell in deep, exhausted breaths. Their eyes met for a moment and he could see wariness in his.

Killian followed Kai’s gaze. “What do we do with him?”

“We will find more about him,” Kai said plainly. “And what he’s doing here.” He turned slightly, watching the man more closely. “We can’t leave a variable like him floating around. Not before we face the treant. We need answers.”

“Do you think there are more Vanderfall Mages out here?”

Kai shook his head. “Not in this part. If there were, they’d have come to help. If there are others, they’re somewhere deeper in the plague lands—or fighting their own battles.”

Killian gave a quiet grunt of agreement, and just then, Magus Elias stirred.

He was swaying slightly from fatigue. Mana flickered faintly around his boots—a residual effect from his earlier casting—but it was weak. Almost gone.

Good, Kai thought. Still, we can’t assume he’s powerless.

He looked back to Killian. “I’ll go speak with him. If things turn ugly, I’ll need the Enforcers to back me. His mana’s likely depleted, but we can’t discount potions or stored artifacts. Stay ready.”

Killian straightened up and gave a sharp nod.

With that, Kai took to the air again. The wind stirred his cloak as he crossed the battlefield in a few seconds and touched down softly on the cracked stone of Elias’s elevated platform.

The old man was already watching him, eyes narrowed. Now, closer, he could see Magus Elias’s face properly—including that silver cut down his cheek that ran to his neck. It was glowing faintly, and his lips thinned. His forehead crinkled in a frown.

“My name is Arzan Kellius,” he said. “I’d like to know what you’re doing here, Magus.”

***

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