"Fireball."
"It's a mage."
"A mid-tier one."
"Five-ring proficiency."
Messiah and Semia stared down at the smoldering crater, analyzing the attacker's strength in the blink of an eye. They clasped hands, exchanged a smile, then turned to look at Black beside them.
"Brother."
"Daddy."
"He's quite a big fish."
"What do we do now?"
"Let's wait and see first."
Black frowned at the twins' words, holding off on giving any orders for the moment. But this single attack was enough to confirm his suspicions—there was definitely a Sith Empire presence behind all this.
Mages occupied a rather odd and precarious position on this continent. They wielded immense power, yet were subject to strict restrictions at the same time. After all, the magical energy mages drew upon came from mana—the lifeblood of all living things on the continent. If a mage channeled too much mana at once, it would inflict severe, irreversible damage to the surrounding environment. For this reason, every nation imposed tight controls on mages. Low and mid-tier mages were allowed to travel freely, provided they registered with the local Mage Guild. But high-tier archmages were strictly forbidden from venturing out without authorization. Most of their time was spent near the Mana Fonts—either at Mage Guild headquarters or royal palaces. Only the constant, abundant mana supply from these Fonts could ensure that archmages did not harm the environment when unleashing their powers. Otherwise, if they were to cast a legendary spell in a mana-depleted wilderness, it could drain the land dry and turn it into a barren wasteland forever.
Given the inherent danger of mages, their allegiances were limited to two organizations: the Mage Guild and the royal governments of various nations. Despite the risks, mages' formidable power made them invaluable assets in times of crisis. Thus, royal families were willing to invest resources in training mages to bolster their military strength.
For mages themselves, there were no other options. Low and mid-tier mages, who lacked devastating destructive capabilities, could manage well enough on their own. But high-tier mages required massive amounts of mana to advance their research and mastery of magic—a concentration of mana that could only be found at Mana Fonts. Since these Fonts were controlled exclusively by the Mage Guild and royal powers, mages had no choice but to align themselves with one of these factions to continue their studies.
Naturally, these restrictions were relaxed during times of war. Even so, mages dared not overstep their bounds. This was all thanks to the *Mana Declaration* issued by the Mage Guild centuries ago. As a powerful, enigmatic organization, the Guild had declared its neutrality in this proclamation, while issuing a stern warning: *No mage shall, under any pretense, cast spells powerful enough to disrupt or deplete the continent's mana reserves. Any violator will be hunted down and eliminated by all high-tier members of the Mage Guild until not a trace remains.*
This was why high-tier mages were rarely seen far from Mana Fonts. Take Archmage Laribaud of Wester, for example—though he was eager to visit Duskwood and meet Black in person, he was bound by the rules. Without an official royal decree, he could not leave the capital city for a single step.
Thus, the moment the fireball was cast, Black's earlier suspicions were confirmed. The Cyclops—those brainless brutes who could not even count how many fingers they had—were utterly incapable of mastering magic. The attacker had to be human. And given the Mage Guild's strict neutrality, they would never send a mage to meddle in another nation's war. That left only one possibility: the mage was a royal court mage of the Sith Empire.
But why…?
Black stared down at the shadowy gully in the valley below, a flicker of confusion crossing his face.
He had never taken the Cyclops seriously, dismissing them as expendable pawns of the Sith Empire—nothing more than a nuisance to harass the Crimson Fortress and keep its garrison on edge. A few low-ranking soldiers would have been more than enough to manipulate these monsters. Mages were the most valuable assets in any army; even a mid-tier mage should never have been assigned to such a trivial, repetitive harassment mission.
Could the Sith Empire have other, hidden motives?
As Black pondered this question, the situation on the battlefield below took a sudden turn.
After the failed ambush, the mage made no further attempts to attack. Instead, a low, guttural roar echoed through the valley, and six massive, hulking figures emerged from the shadows. They wielded thick, spiked maces in their hands, their single enormous eyes swiveling back and forth as they scanned the hillside, exuding a menacing aura.
"Oh no!"
Lante's face drained of color at the sight. He knew firsthand how powerful these Cyclops were. Though they had been utterly crushed by Black and his retinue, Lante was well aware that they were far beyond his own capabilities to handle. The moment he saw the monsters, his first instinct was to run.
Yes—retreat was the only option! With a mage and so many powerful monsters on their side, there was no way his group could win this fight.
Lante's eyes darted instinctively toward the path behind them. He had to admit—the black-haired maid had chosen their resting spot brilliantly. While it was far from ideal for a comfortable break, the terrain's unique features had saved them from disaster. The elevated position had shielded them from the fireball attack, and the scattered boulders provided perfect cover—explaining why everyone had emerged unscathed from the sudden ambush. If they had rested at the wetland he had initially chosen, surrounded by dense trees and nestled in a depression, they would have been caught completely off guard, trapped like rats in a cage with no hope of escape.
But even so… giving the order to retreat felt like a coward's move.
Lante gritted his teeth, finally making up his mind. He raised his right hand, ready to shout the command to fall back—when a flash of movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention. Glancing over, his heart sank. Two Cyclops had already circled around and were closing in on their rear escape route. At this distance, retreating now would only lead them straight into the monsters' trap.
We were careless!
Lante bit down hard on his lip, realizing he had missed the window of opportunity to escape. From this point on, their only option was to stand their ground and fight to the death.
"Block the gap! Prepare to fire!!"
At Lante's command, his companions sprang into action instantly. The two shield warriors rushed forward to seal off the narrow pass at the bottom of the hillside, preventing the Cyclops from charging up. The two young noblewomen nocked their arrows once more, using the surrounding boulders to conceal their positions as they took aim at the approaching monsters.
But it was the black-haired maid who struck first.
Even as Lante was still shouting his order, the maid's petite figure darted forward like a ghost. She flicked her right wrist, and with a soft clicking sound, three metal bolts shot through the air in rapid succession. Almost simultaneously, one of the Cyclops advancing on their position froze mid-step. It threw back its head and let out a bloodcurdling shriek of agony. Three short metal bolts were embedded squarely in its single eye, oozing a sickly green fluid. After a few more moments of thrashing and roaring in rage and despair, the hapless Cyclops collapsed to the ground, motionless.
The monster's swift demise boosted the morale of Lante and his companions. The two noblewomen began firing arrows relentlessly at the surrounding Cyclops. Unlike the maid's poison-tipped bolts, their arrows were ordinary—but their targets were massive, and the young women's archery skills were surprisingly solid. For the moment, their volleys were enough to hold the Cyclops at bay, preventing them from advancing any further.
But this resistance could only last so long. Thanks to the combined efforts of the maid and the others, the Cyclops were forced to halt their charge—but they showed no signs of retreating. Instead, a series of strange, high-pitched whistles echoed from the shadowy depths of the valley. At the sound, the Cyclops scattered, widening their encirclement as they took a few steps back. It was clear they were acting on orders from someone.
What is going on?
Lante watched in surprise as the monsters fell back, but his wariness only intensified. None of them had ever faced a situation like this before, and they had no idea what to expect next. He gripped his longsword tightly, his eyes scanning the surroundings vigilantly, waiting for the enemy's next move. For some reason, a sense of foreboding settled heavily in the pit of his stomach.
Then, he saw it—a small sphere glowing with magical light emerged from the shadows, arcing through the air in a perfect parabola before landing right beside them.
Instantly, an impenetrable blanket of darkness descended, swallowing them all whole.