Chapter 8
Chapter 8: Who Will Bell the Cat?
Within the domain of spellcasters, order and standing were dictated solely by Circles.
Sorcery stood as one of the rare disciplines in highborn society where the line between superior and subordinate was forged purely through raw capability rather than noble heritage or bloodline prestige.
In that regard, Thesalos Wolcher had just been subjected to the most humiliating slight of his entire existence.
Passable.
Passable? Does this upstart truly believe the path of a Mage is some trivial farce?
Practitioners of the arcane were granted distinct titles corresponding to the depth of their Circle.
One who formed the 1st Circle was known as a Mana Walker.
Reaching the 2nd Circle earned the title of Spell Blower.
Attaining the 3rd Circle elevated one to a Magic Walker.
Only upon grasping the mastery of the 4th Circle was an individual formally acknowledged with the title of “Mage.”
That designation alone marked the threshold where one was finally revered as a true adept of the arcane mysteries.
A pitiful Mana Walker brat dared to utter what? Passable?
What standing did a mere 1st Circle possess? They were nothing more than bottom-feeders required to grovel before a 3rd Circle and show the deepest reverence even when facing a 2nd Circle.
Yet, such an insignificant novice had dared to label a 4th Circle as merely “passable.”
Passable.
Passable—passable—passable—passable.
That single utterance lodged itself like a reverse scale within Thesalos’s consciousness, sparking an inferno of unbridled rage. The Circle forged within his Dantian spun with volatile tension. It would have surprised no one had he unleashed lethal sorcery that very instant.
He was on the verge of surrendering his sanity to blind aggression, yet the boy across from him made a proposition that was almost worthy of gratitude. A mere 1st Circle had challenged him to an open contest.
The assembly relocated to a wide open clearing suitable for an arcane duel. The two combatants positioned themselves at a distance, each undertaking their own preparations.
“There is something that piques my interest. May I inquire?”
“What is it?” Thesalos barked curtly.
“What form of magic do you specialize in?”
Thesalos retorted as though the question bordered on sheer madness. “Inquiring about an opponent’s magical discipline right before a duel? Have you no grasp of basic etiquette?”
“Was that considered improper? Ah, pray forgive me. It has been an exceedingly long time since I participated in a formal bout such as this.”
Thesalos was left entirely speechless by words that should never cross the lips of a 1st Circle.
Just what sort of brazen little bastard is this?!
In that very moment, Thesalos made a silent oath. He would channel every drop of power he possessed to eradicate this arrogant brat from existence.
Ferda, on the other hand, paid no mind to Thesalos’s rising fury.
Right, the memories are beginning to piece themselves together.
Just as he had stated, more than twenty years had passed since he had engaged in anything resembling a civilized “duel.” Throughout the decades that followed, Ferda had existed solely in brutal, life-or-death slaughter; that unending carnage had become his reality.
An arcane duel between spellcasters is much like playing cards through an opaque veil.
Neither participant can glimpse what hand the adversary holds or how many options remain, forcing them to lay their cards down one move at a time. It was an intellectual contest demanding deep theory, refined technique, and profound insight.
Given that he has reached the 4th Circle, he should be capable of deploying at least eight spells over the course of a single engagement. He will undoubtedly bring forth 4th Tier magic as well.
Tiered sorcery consisted of advanced formulas that could only be manifested once a practitioner unlocked the corresponding Circle. Because Thesalos had attained the 4th Circle, he held the capacity to wield spells up to the 4th Tier. The sheer volume of mana circulating within him would likewise dwarf Ferda’s reserves several times over.
It is essentially hurling an egg against solid granite.
Ferda was acutely aware that every conceivable advantage rested firmly on Thesalos’s side. Even so, the notion of tasting defeat never once crossed Ferda’s mind.
I am hardly so incompetent as to fall before a merely “passable” spellcaster. That was the singular conviction guiding Ferda’s focus.
“Seeing as the disparity between us is so blatant, I shall grant you a piece of advice,” Thesalos declared, wearing an oily, patronizing sneer.
There was certainly no harm in receiving free intelligence. “What might that be?”
“I, Thesalos Wolcher, intend to unleash Magic Blast right here. Assuming you are an actual practitioner, I trust you comprehend the nature of that spell.”
The onlooking lords who had followed them outside began murmuring anxiously amongst themselves.
“If he resorts to Magic Blast…”
It was an incantation representing pure destructive force within the realm of the 4th Tier. Due to its sheer magnitude, another 4th Circle practitioner could readily formulate a countermeasure. However, that defense was utterly unattainable for anyone beneath that echelon. For an apprentice of the 1st Circle like Ferda, surviving such an onslaught was out of the question.
Thesalos was effectively giving an ultimatum: Perish where you stand, you miserable wretch.
“Hmm, is that so?” Ferda tilted his head thoughtfully before giving a calm nod of comprehension. “Very well, I understand. In the spirit of fairness, I shall share something with you as well. The only spell I am capable of casting is Mana Shot.”
“Mana Shot? You honestly believe you can overcome me with a child’s cantrip?”
Ferda made a dismissive wave of his hand and replied, “Ah, you need not waste concern on my behalf. Unlike the rest of you, I possess a wealth of knowledge.”
“You arrogant little piece of filth…!” The magical aura enveloping Thesalos surged with violent turbulence. “I shall ensure you are wiped from the face of this continent without leaving behind a single trace!”
Even with the atmosphere heavy with bloodlust, the oppressive weight failed to shake Ferda in the slightest.
This man is also a bearer of a Red Circle.
The reality that his magical potency escalated even as his temper flared and his emotions raged pointed to one undeniable truth: he was a caster cast from the very same mold as Ferda. He, too, was a soul whose magical mastery had been forged and sharpened by a deep-seated sense of inferiority.
It carries a strange familiarity.
Ferda definitely recognized this sensation. It felt much like a slender utensil caught deep within a narrow vessel—hovering right at the edge of his grasp, yet stubbornly eluding his touch. A persistent inkling continued to prod at his recollection.
I shall set that curiosity aside for the moment and concentrate entirely on the spellwork.
Regardless of sentiment, this remained a clash between the 1st Circle and the 4th Circle. Ferda had already assessed his internal reserves and established his absolute boundaries.
A standard 1st Circle novice can construct a maximum of three projectiles when casting Mana Shot.
That restriction stemmed purely from unrefined focus and clumsy control born of inexperience with mana manipulation.
The threshold I can forge reaches six.
However, to prevent suffering the catastrophic backlash of mana exhaustion, five remained his safe limit. Consequently, he possessed exactly five chances to strike.
“Hwaaaaah!”
The surging tide of mana coalesced rapidly within Thesalos’s outstretched palm. The condensed energy spiraled outward, tracing the broad perimeter of a magic circle. The intricate glyphs etched within its borders materialized in accordance with the theoretical formulas Thesalos had mastered.
Ferda sensed the impending strike in the chilling draft grazing his cheek. The murderous resolve behind it was absolute.
Judging by that output… he genuinely seeks my life.
Ferda manifested his own mana projectiles at a far more dizzying pace. Hovering above his hand was a sphere for each finger, creating a cluster of five radiant lights. While Ferda’s preparation stood fully primed, Thesalos’s Magic Blast was still in the middle of inscribing its complex pattern.
“The outcome has already been decided,” Ferda stated plainly. “The victory is mine.”
Following Ferda’s pronouncement, the five spheres instantly launched from his fingertips. Five radiant streaks tore through the atmosphere in a blazing blur.
“What…!”
Watching the sudden volley, Thesalos gasped in horror, but before the words could fully form on his tongue, Ferda’s strike had already concluded.
Bang!
Crack-crack-crack!
Thud!
A sharp succession of four detonations followed by a heavy impact thundered across Thesalos’s position. The loose earth of the clearing erupted into the air, blanketing the area in a dense veil of dust. Seconds later, the haze cleared to reveal the aftermath to all present.
“Urrrgh…”
Thesalos, who had been chanting his destructive incantation, lay collapsed against the soil, groaning in agony. The right hand he desperately cradled was swollen to a vivid, fiery red. Shivering uncontrollably, Thesalos raised his eyes toward Ferda and forced out a rasping confession.
“I… I have been bested.”
The haughty 1st Circle youth, Ferda, had emerged triumphant.
Thesalos found himself staring at an outcome that defied all logical reality. His mind frantically reconstructed the rapid sequence of events that had slipped past his comprehension.
That initial Mana Shot aimed straight for my head.
The projectile released from the middle finger had hurtled directly toward Thesalos’s eye. A pierced skull spells instant death for any mortal. Under normal circumstances, such an attack would not cause an accomplished caster to lose their composure. Even for a Red Circle practitioner, broken concentration results in a failed spell. Yet an incoming projectile aimed directly at the eye invokes pure instinct. It was a reflex no human mind could entirely suppress.
Thus, while continuing his incantation, Thesalos had instinctively erected a protective barrier. Being a 4th Circle mage, he was fully capable of executing defense and offense simultaneously. He expected the remaining three projectiles, seemingly targeted at his chest, to shatter against his magical ward.
His true target was never my torso—it was the magic circle itself.
The three shots had detonated precisely before the active formation, obliterating the core matrix that sustained its balance.
He dismantled an active magic circle…
A wave of profound astonishment washed over Thesalos. Blind spots naturally exist within mana formations, and if an explosion strikes those precise vulnerabilities, the spell’s potency can be degraded. Yet while diminishing an effect is achievable, completely shattering an active construct belongs to an entirely different realm of mastery. The young man before him had executed a miraculous feat that one could normally only dream of witnessing.
And for the decisive strike, a minimal-yield Mana Shot aimed straight at the back of my right hand.
Restricting the destructive yield meant Ferda held no desire to end his life. At the same time, it served as an unmistakable declaration that he could have extinguished Thesalos’s life whenever he saw fit.
Every piece of the engagement pointed to Ferda’s overwhelming supremacy. Thesalos, the blood draining from his feverish face, had no choice but to bow before his defeat. It was an outcome so glaringly decisive that even the onlooking nobles with zero knowledge of the arcane could easily grasp the truth.
How can an initiate of the 1st Circle overpower a 4th Circle mage?
Did some manner of deception take place? Because they could not allow the Consort to perish…
The only presence capable of orchestrating such an illusion would be…
Suspicious that the Dragon herself might have secretly intervened, the lords cast their nervous eyes toward the side. Sensing their wandering attention, Ruri pierced them with the cold glare of her silver Death Eyes.
“Would you prefer to redirect those eyes of yours before I gouge them out entirely?”
“Eep!”
“A-Ahem!”
Ruri made no effort to conceal her profound contempt. Unlike Ferda, she had no reason to maintain courteous decorum with these vassals.
“Do you yield?”
“…I yield.”
Thesalos forced out a hollow, defeated chuckle. “Never did I imagine… encountering an adept of such extraordinary caliber in a place like this. The realm is truly boundless.”
Thesalos lowered his head with genuine respect, fully submitting to Ferda’s superior mastery.
“Your capabilities are likewise formidable compared to others of the 4th Circle. Having an asset of your strength is undoubtedly a great boon.”
“Haha… It is an honor to cross paths with such an authority beyond the capital walls. It seems my demotion was not an entirely wretched fate after all.”
Upon catching those words, Ferda’s posture suddenly froze.
“…Did you state that you suffered a demotion?”
“That is correct.”
“Arising from court politics?”
“Indeed.”
Scattered thoughts began aligning within Ferda’s mind.
A Red Circle spellcaster.
Exiled due to political machinations.
Driven by a thirst for retribution.
“What did you say your name was?”
“It is Thesalos Wolcher.”
Only then did the final pieces snap into place for Ferda.
“Thesalos Wolcher… Ah… I finally remember.”
“Do you know of me?” A look of utter confusion crossed Thesalos’s face. He searched through his recollections to see if their paths had ever crossed, but no connection existed between his past and the Rosnova lineage.
Yet Ferda offered a firm nod. “I know you well. You are my benefactor.”
“A benefactor…? At what point did we ever meet?”
“It was not in the days gone by. This concerns an account of the distant future.”
“The distant future? What under the heavens do you mean by—”
Pang—!
The question was cut short, never to be completed. A gaping cavity opened directly through Thesalos’s skull. Aimed squarely at the fresh wound was Ferda’s outstretched index finger. He had driven a Mana Shot clean through Thesalos’s brow.
“And for that reason, I cannot permit you to remain alive.”
…
Those who bore witness to Ferda’s sudden execution were paralyzed with sheer horror. Ferda had slain an imperial nobleman. Murdering a noble in cold blood was an unforgivable offense—a crime that not even the betrothed of the Archduchess of Valdrova could easily brush aside. To commit such an outrageous atrocity in broad daylight! It was an act worthy of absolute condemnation and execution.
Yet, Ferda possessed ample justification.
Thesalos was actively harboring the intent to take his life, so…
Could it be argued as… justifiable defense?
The assembled lords were well aware of Thesalos’s prior actions. Fueled by personal resentment, he had constructed an incantation lethal enough to obliterate the Consort by invoking 4th Tier sorcery. The fact that the execution had occurred following the conclusion of the formal duel remained a distinct blemish, however.
Under ordinary circumstances, these nobles were ravenous beasts who would have seized upon such a misstep with glee. Yet now, they merely stared at one another in stunned silence, a single unanimous thought racing through their minds:
Among us helpless rats, who among us will dare to bell this monstrous cat?
Having eliminated Thesalos, Ferda slowly shifted his gaze. The crimson spray that erupted when the skull was pierced now painted a vivid streak across Ferda’s visage. A stone-cold countenance stained with fresh blood, devoid of the slightest hint of remorse—that horrifying sight sent an icy shiver down the spine of every noble present.
In reality, Ferda was entirely oblivious to the terror he was projecting. His mind was in no condition to dwell on such trivial matters.
He had drained every last speck of mana from his core. The gulf between preserving a single percent of energy and reaching absolute zero is staggering. Ferda had expelled everything to guarantee total certainty, and the resulting backlash struck him with a blinding migraine and violent dizziness. It required immense effort simply to retain consciousness, making it nearly impossible to maintain a composed expression. To the onlookers, his face appeared dark, brooding, and intensely furious.
“Why are all of you staring at me in such a manner?”
“Ah… well, you see…”
Their trembling gazes darted nervously toward Thesalos’s lifeless form. Only then did Ferda realize their distress.
“Ah, is your concern regarding Thesalos? Do not let it trouble your minds. This man was someone whose actions warranted nothing less than death.”
Ferda’s stance swayed slightly, as though he were intoxicated by heavy drink, the muscles of his face twitching under the strain of the mana deficit.
“Had this individual been permitted to live, he would have brought profound sorrow upon the Archduchess.”
“The… the Archduchess, you say?”
“Correct. The Archduchess possesses a compassionate heart. She holds great affection for mankind and takes up arms on their behalf.”
Right at that moment, another fierce surge of pain tore through his head. The agony was so sharp that his blank features twisted into a ferocious scowl—one that could easily be mistaken for an expression of pure, unadulterated hatred.
“I hold a deep disdain for anyone who brings her grief.”
“Does that imply… this man of the Wolcher family… was destined to commit such an act?”
“No, I executed him simply because he undoubtedly would have brought about that outcome.”
That bizarre reasoning left the assembled lords thoroughly bewildered.
W-What sort of lunacy is this?
Because he undoubtedly would have? That means the man hadn’t even committed any offense yet!
Is the youth chosen to become the Archduchess’s Consort an absolute madman?!
They were drenched in cold sweat at his completely erratic, ruthless conduct. Sensing the pervasive dread in the air, Ferda decided to clarify his earlier stance once more to prevent further confusion.
“Rest easy. I truly hold no concern whatsoever regarding how you choose to govern.”
He meant every single word.
Yet to the terrified nobles, one desperate question remained: who among them would ever have the courage to bell this terrifying cat?
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