Chapter 842

Chapter 842

Rem observed the diminutive sorcerer approaching from the left, watching as the man increased the gap and began to circle.

He moved with the intent to surround him. Rem responded accordingly, shifting his weight to obstruct the path. The magic-user then pushed the distance even further, clearly aiming to draw Rem away from his companions. Though he recognized the ploy, Rem decided to follow.

This particular mage, encased in silver plate armor, was a specialist in casting strikes that could not be seen. He went by the title “Invisible Death.”

Finding his preferred vantage point, the sorcerer measured the span between them and cast a spell known as Invisible Hand, aiming directly for Rem’s ankles. It was a basic strategy: if a warrior’s mobility is compromised, their effectiveness is halved.

Despite their lack of wisdom or their overconfidence, they at least possessed fundamental combat logic. The issue, however, was that their target had moved past the level of a veteran into a true master of the fray.

Rem shifted his weight and pulled his left foot back. The Invisible Hand swept through the empty air where his limb had just rested. Dirt erupted as the ground took the impact of the hidden force. Rem let a small, mocking grin play on his lips.

*This coward really relies on such cheap tricks, doesn’t he?*

The expression was appropriate for the moment. Even through the sorcerer’s vision, the barbarian’s amused face was clear.

“You’re smiling?”

*Keep that smile—soon enough, you’ll be a mess of sobbing and misery.* The range was ideal, roughly fifteen paces. This was a mage who had mastered the art of silent incantation and Tacitus casting, requiring no spoken words. He acted immediately.

Intertwining his fingers to form a seal, he executed a sharp snap. This time, he launched a barrage of unseen projectiles.

*Swish.* The air hissed as sharp, piercing forces whistled through the gap. The irony was that Rem, having been raised around the mystical arts since his youth, was uniquely skilled at countering “hidden” threats. He likely possessed more practical experience in this specific type of combat than even Jaxon.

Rem hoisted his axe and delivered a heavy blow.

*Bang—* The atmosphere buckled, and the unseen arrows shattered. The translucent shards of the destroyed magic were imperceptible to the eye. However, the mage had integrated another layer into the assault. The broken fragments redirected themselves, surging back toward Rem.

“A spell built on the assumption of being parried.”

The sorcerer was cunning, favoring attacks that involved layers of deception. It was a style he had picked up from Esther.

Rem’s arms became a blur of motion.

*Whooom, dududududung.* Through a display of high-speed axe mastery, a physical barrier of steel seemed to manifest before him. The magical debris collided with this shield, splintering and falling away harmlessly. Underneath his silver visor, the mage’s brow furrowed in surprise.

*He actually intercepted that? Such speed.* That was his assessment. Rem, on the other hand, simply confirmed his belief that this opponent was a master of nothing but petty annoyances.

“If you find yourself struggling, you only need to ask.”

Jaxon’s voice drifted from behind Rem. Detecting things through pure intuition was Jaxon’s forte, hence the offer. Of course, to anyone listening, it sounded indistinguishable from an insult. To say such a thing to Rem was nothing short of a provocation.

“If you interfere, I’ll split your skull right along with his.”

“I happen to think my work is cleaner than yours. If you want a demonstration, just say the word and I’ll step in.”

Rem maintained his grin and countered:

“I am the one man capable of parting a human head with true elegance. That is my title.”

He adopted the boastful tone because he recalled Esther’s earlier comments. Once this skirmish concluded, Esther might truly unleash a tirade of insults upon Rem.

“Have it your way,” Jaxon replied, stepping back. He had never truly intended to intervene; he became a mere observer. While he had initiated the banter, there was no longer a logical opening for him to join the fight.

“You arrogant whelps!”

Trapped within his silver shell, the mage erupted in fury and began a chant. His methodology remained rudimentary: keep the distance wide, and harass with Invisible Hands, arrows, and unseen blades. His goal was to stall for time while preventing any close-quarters engagement. The plate covering his body served as his final insurance. He immediately began weaving a complex new enchantment.

“Stalling for time, are we?”

Rem watched the man with quiet interest, appreciating the mechanical nature of the tricks being deployed.

“Setting up a finishing blow?”

It wasn’t a difficult read. Did this mage always rely on convoluted tactics? No—at this level of power, there was nothing truly deceptive about his strategy.

“Compared to that irritatingly perfect orthodox fencing—”

This was far more direct, wasn’t it? Enkrid’s deceptive swordsmanship was a masterclass in psychological manipulation and reaction-baiting. After sparring with Enkrid, facing a man like this felt remarkably simple.

Rem focused his vision. Upon closer inspection, he could see a faint shimmer coating the surface of the silver plate.

“A defensive ward or some equivalent.”

Just as Ragna had gained insight by observing lethal spells, Rem had also observed and internalized the logic of magic.

He began to whirl his sling. *Whiiing*—before a single breath could be drawn, a blurring disk of leather took shape above his head. He activated the physical enhancement sorcery known as Beast’s Heart. Drawing on that surge of power, he used his arm as a central axis, rotating with maximum velocity. The preparation was finished in an heartbeat. Rem released the projectile. Using his limb like a snapping whip, he felt the momentum of the sling transfer. The leather pouch unleashed a heavy, rounded projectile.

*Boom!* A sonic crack followed the release.

*Crash!* The object Rem hurled tore through the air and collided directly with the magic the silver-plated mage was desperately stabilizing. A silver-colored fluid began to leak over the armor. Whatever the ward’s function had been, it was now shattered. Simultaneously, the grand spell he had been preparing fell apart into raw mana.

“…H-how?”

“How? You actually believed you were safe just because you stood at a distance? You’re a fool—plain and simple.”

Rem, using the sharp tongue he had developed a recent taste for, mocked his enemy. The silver-clad mage responded by firing a rapid succession of invisible arrows. A deluge of force rained down. Rem threw his body to the side, dodging the volley with ease.

It wasn’t even a challenge. Unseen or not, there weren’t more than a hundred projectiles. On a real field of war, arrows fell by the thousands. This was a simple exercise in evasion by comparison.

*If I don’t hit them, they won’t explode into shards.* The mage desperately threw up invisible walls, barriers, and even cast spheres of flame in his path, but Rem simply bypassed what he could and struck down the rest.

*Bang, boom, bang!* The air was filled with the thunder of consecutive impacts. The sorcery imbued within Rem’s projectiles was designed specifically to neutralize spells. They carried a property that caused mana to dissipate upon contact. The power within his throws suppressed and nullified whatever hidden traps the mage had woven into his magic.

The mage was being hunted. He attempted to recite a canonic spell to end his pursuer. Such high-level work required a window of concentration—

“What’s that? I can’t hear you. Are you saying something?”

His foe gave him no room to breathe. The silver-clad man was reduced to desperate, reactive blocking. Then, in the blink of an eye, his target vanished.

“Hey—you thought I was still over there?”

The voice whispered from directly behind him. The mage’s skin crawled with primal terror.

The timing was impeccable. He had just been staggered by the brute’s projectile, and the protective wards on his armor were entirely depleted—he was exposed. Even so, in the span of a few breaths, he might have been able to layer a new defensive shell over his plate. He knew several “turtle” spells designed for endurance. He couldn’t retaliate immediately, but he believed he could hold out—yet Rem forced himself into that narrow window of opportunity and swung his axe.

The final image the mage perceived was a streak of gray.

Rem’s axe descended, severing the mage’s head. He planted his left foot and rotated his torso with explosive power. The axe, driven by his full strength, was also saturated with sorcery.

*Crunch!* The edge of the weapon bit through the silver plate and completed its arc. It claimed the enemy’s life. The head, still encased in its helmet, spun through the air with a low whistle before thumping onto the floor.

To Rem, this was merely the natural conclusion of the hunt. He had been a predator since his youth, and even now, he refined his skills against Enkrid by searching for that single, perfect moment of vulnerability. Taking a mage’s life in the brief gap when their defenses failed was a simple task.

Jaxon watched Rem’s execution and felt a flicker of internal admiration.

“For a magic-user, that man is a living nightmare.”

Of course, there was someone even more terrifying than the barbarian.

“Why isn’t it working!”

Coughing up a spray of blood, the mage of Black Mass screamed. He unleashed dark disks, swung conjured blades, and manifested obsidian coffins to entomb his enemy. And Enkrid systematically dismantled every single one. The moment those spells came into contact with his Dawn Tempering, they ceased to exist.

Murdering spells.

Even Ragna’s inherent genius couldn’t replicate the feat instantly, and even Rem, with his knowledge of sorcery, couldn’t apply the technique in its pure form.

Enkrid perceived the underlying flow of mana and simply cut through it. It was a specialized skill that Jaxon—a master of sensory arts—could not perform, yet Enkrid executed it with nonchalance. In truth, no one else had the history of being incinerated by the canonic spell Walking Fire and being forced to cut through it thousands of times; in that light, his mastery was earned.

To a bystander, it looked as though one were witnessing the hidden, monstrous talent of Enkrid.

While Enkrid had been frustrated by his inability to measure the limits of the dragonkin Temares, his current opponent felt the exact opposite. The mage of Black Mass was consumed by dread.

*Nothing works.* *He severs every incantation I release. And he approaches with a step that is terrifyingly steady.* Enkrid wasn’t intentionally trying to intimidate his foe. He was simply—

“This is quite fascinating.”

—genuinely enthralled by the process of slaying magic itself.

Furthermore, his opponent showed no signs of fatigue, relentlessly chanting the dark arts of Black Mass. Shards of black iron coalesced, taking on a humanoid shape. Its size, the blade it held, and its posture were all reflections of Enkrid himself.

“A reflection of you.”

The mage of Black Mass wheezed, blood dripping from his chin. Enkrid cut through the words.

*Regardless of what you imitate, you can never replicate the Will that drives me.* Using his technique of point-acceleration, his curved blade moved faster than the sorcerer’s eyes could track.

*Clang!* The dark construct was cleaved in two and dissolved into ash. This was not a conflict destined to last. Enkrid’s strikes were, in the most literal sense, the death of magic. He was the ultimate counter to any mage.

“A monster like you has no right to exist.”

With those final words, the mage of Black Mass expired. Before Enkrid could even deliver a final blow, the mage had overextended his casting; his entire frame contorted in a sickening display before he crumpled. It was the result of a mana runaway caused by the destruction of his spell-world.

His arm snapped outward at an unnatural angle, his calf muscle tore through the skin, and his ankle twisted until his toes pointed backward. Dark, thick blood poured from every orifice on his face. He had continued to channel and vent mana until the very moment of his death. This, too, was a product of his lack of experience. He simply didn’t know how to fight at his absolute limit. Unaware of his own boundaries, he pushed too hard and met this gruesome end.

It was the kind of lesson one never learns when only fighting those who are weaker.

Of course, having no insight into the man’s internal struggle—

“He just died on his own?”

Enkrid merely tilted his head in confusion.

Hearing the sounds of combat dying down elsewhere, Esther spoke up.

“Time for us to wrap this up as well.”

A practitioner who commanded serpents was a novelty even for Esther. Was it a threat? Hardly.

The woman transformed parts of her own anatomy into snakes and deployed man-beasts that had been reared on a diet of pure mana.

Esther called upon Bonehead for the first time in quite a while. Once a mere flesh golem, the creature was now more accurately described as a guardian. It was clad in heavy, midnight-black plate armor and wielded twin maces with blunt ends.

“Go.”

Bonehead proceeded to pulverize and crush the heads of the attacking serpents. In response, the witch contorted both her arms and called forth a massive serpent. The creature attempted to engulf Bonehead, but Esther intervened, splitting the beast down its center with Drmul’s Scythe.

At first glance, the pairing seemed difficult, but the witch facing Esther could feel the massive disparity in their capabilities.

*The sheer density of her mana is on another level.* *Is this truly the Child of the Star?* The realization hit her. However, Esther’s prowess was the result of her own grueling efforts. Being a Child of the Star only provided the raw potential of being born with an abundance of mana.

“Curse it all.”

The witch beat a hasty retreat. She had no desire to perish in this place. She sought refuge behind the man who had brought her into Astrail.

A sorcerer named Penadex. He had manifested at some point, surveying the three fallen mages. He was trapped. He had a decision to make. Would he perish here? Could he run? No—escape was impossible. The power of Esther, the Child who possessed a Star, had evolved beyond anything he recognized.

In Penadex’s vision, a youthful, spiritual radiance clung to Esther’s form. Irrespective of the rumors that she was burdened by a hex, she was incomparable to the girl he had seen previously. Her spell-world had expanded to a staggering scale.

“I have been defeated.”

Yet, he was still a mage—a deceiver of reality. He scanned the hall and asked:

“Are you aware of what exists beyond the South?”

He threw out the question and then sacrificed every ounce of his mana. Even if he survived this encounter, his essence would be forever altered. Regardless, it was preferable to death.

“Consume the Child of the Star—”

—and seek a higher understanding.

He made his choice and performed a summoning.

“What do you mean, ‘what exists’?”

As Rem approached and questioned him, the sorcerer’s eyes faded into a void-like black.

“Ggghhh—”

With a sickening groan, his body folded at the waist. Muscles shredded and bones ground against one another with audible cracks.

*Is he going to spontaneously die like the other one?* Enkrid wondered briefly while observing the transformation.

“He’s lost his mind.”

Esther, tracking the flow of energy, understood exactly what the man had committed to.

“Avarice, hunger, the urge to consume—these emotions are overflowing.”

So noted the dragonkin, sensing the raw feelings hemorrhaging from the enemy.

Enkrid ceased his observation and struck. He stepped forward and unsheathed his weapon. It was Oara’s Connecting Blade. He closed the gap in a flash and brought the steel down.

*Thud!* The blade of Dawn was intercepted by a massive, pitch-black palm. The hand was larger than that of a giant—large enough to crush a human skull with ease. This new limb had erupted from the mage’s shoulder blade, tearing through his skin with the speed of a knight’s draw.

“Oh?”

Seeing dark veins throb across the forearm that had parried his strike, Enkrid applied more pressure. More accurately, he unleashed the full extent of his power.

*Rip.* The hide-like skin that had initially resisted was torn and sliced open.

“I am a denizen of the Demon Realm—gggaaah!”

The mage had traded his existence to summon a servant of a demon; yet the moment that servant manifested, its limb was mutilated, and it shrieked in agony.