Chapter 2: Clash of Magic
1167 Words
A Gruesome Discovery
"Lord Emon, as per your instructions, we have offered up seventeen sacrifices. Are you satisfied?" The sycophantic voice of a cultist echoed through the chamber, his gaze fixed on the figure standing before him.
"Not bad," came the reply from the man known as Emon, his expression unreadable behind the mask he wore. "Once the ritual is complete, you may come to me for your reward."
Emon, a man of ambition, was in high spirits that day. With this sacrifice, his plans were nearing completion. As per their custom, he would perform the final confirmation of the ritual himself to ensure nothing was amiss. The prospect of his impending promotion to the rank of "Blood Sacrificer" thrilled him, and he couldn't wait to unleash greater power and engage in more bloody killings to prove his devotion to the cause.
His eyes, cold and calculating, swept over the two cultists leading the way, seeing them as nothing more than prey. Perhaps I'll kill them for added entertainment, he thought with a cruel smile hidden behind his mask.
The cultists, donning black robes, felt a sense of pride in their devotion to the power their god represented. As for the man in the goat mask, he idly twisted the ruby ring on his right thumb, his gaze fixed on the scene before him.
The two sycophantic cultists dared not utter a word as they hurriedly led the way to their destination.
——————
Within the room, Chris stood ready, the fireball in his hand pulsating with power, awaiting its release. As the two black-robed cultists and the figure in the goat mask turned the corner, Chris unleashed his attack without hesitation.
A brilliant red meteor streaked through the air, its heat distorting the very atmosphere and leaving a trail of sparks in its wake. The explosion that followed shook the room, and a severed hand went flying, landing with a thud on the other side of the chamber.
Without a moment's pause, Chris began to gather magic for a second fireball. Regardless of the outcome, he knew a finishing blow was necessary. He wanted no traces left behind, no reminders of the horror that had transpired.
As the smoke cleared, the crimson light of a protective barrier faded, and a pile of bloody remains slid to the floor. The two cultists lay dead, and the man in the goat mask now had a damaged corner on his mask, revealing a trickle of blood and a furious expression.
"How dare they still possess such power despite being forced to consume magic-suppressing food!" he seethed. "Did these two slackers neglect their duties, or is the one before me a hidden threat?"
His gaze fell upon the two unrecognizable lumps of flesh, and he felt no emotion behind the mask. To him, they were mere shields, useful only for buying him time to employ his artifacts.
According to protocol, he had confirmed the strength and abilities of all the sacrifices upon taking over, confiscating any magical items or artifacts in their possession. It was impossible for an enemy of such strength to suddenly appear, and he was certain no agents of the church could have infiltrated their carefully laid plans. So, who was this mysterious opponent?
The lone eye visible behind the damaged goat mask narrowed, and Emon's heart stirred with a sense of unease.
What neither of them expected was the concept of "power accumulation" that Chris had employed, a technique unheard of in this land. Most wizards believed in specializing in the highest-level magic they could attain rather than wasting time on lower-level spells. However, through simple accumulation, Chris had managed to enhance the circuit, magic infusion, and initial momentum of the fireball spell, tripling its overall power!
Furthermore, as a noble wizard, he believed in the elegance of magical duels, where battles were decided by the splendor of spellcasting and the clever use of magic. Nobles like him would never stoop to the level of common assassins, opting instead for face-to-face confrontations.
The combination of a surprise attack and a powerful, well-timed strike had caught Emon off guard, and he couldn't help but feel a sense of shame at being outmaneuvered by what appeared to be an inexperienced magic apprentice.
"You certainly have impressive skills, no doubt honed by a talented teacher," Emon said, his tone deceptively calm. "Such a powerful attack must have drained your reserves. How about we call a truce and part ways? I won't hold your actions against you, and you can forget about the lives I've taken."
As Emon spoke, his right hand began to gather magic, carefully hidden behind his back. His eyes, narrowed in concentration, assessed Chris's attire and demeanor, searching for any signs of weakness or hesitation.
What he saw, however, was a stoic expression, a billowing robe, and wild, flowing hair. And in Chris's hand, a fireball pulsated with orange and red flames, its very presence a promise of impending death. There was no room for discussion, no opportunity for negotiation.
Emon's teeth ground together as he recognized the unwavering determination in his opponent's eyes. Just a mere civilian wizard, he thought bitterly. He probably has no formal training, and his life is of little consequence. To think that I, the youngest 'Blood Sacrificer' in the sect, almost met my end at the hands of such an amateur!
The fireball before him, with its erratic flickers, was a constant reminder of the danger he faced. Emon knew he couldn't afford to hesitate any longer. With a swift movement, he reached into his robe and retrieved a black-bordered magic scroll, its edges bound by thick red threads. It was a 5th-level magic scroll—Dark Erosion Fangs—an artifact he had planned to use as an escape strategy against the church's ace, the "Executor."
Though it was overkill for the magic apprentice before him, Emon had no intention of taking any chances. With a fierce determination, he tore at the red threads binding the scroll, unleashing the raw, violent magic it contained.
The room filled with a black, tangible mist as the magic from the scroll took form. Two crimson vertical pupils emerged from the darkness, followed by the massive silhouette of a purple-black serpent. The fireball, a mere spark in comparison, collided with the beast, only to be devoured and extinguished without a trace.
The enormous snake, its eyes fixed on its prey, seemed to relish the prospect of the feast to come. Emon, his confidence restored, smirked behind his mask. Never before have I witnessed such magic, not even among the most skilled teachers at the academy, he thought. To use such a powerful scroll against a novice magic apprentice is a desperate move, but one that will ensure my victory.
Just then, a flash of blue light caught his attention, and a familiar, mechanical system sound echoed in his ears.
[Deconstruction Complete... New Magic [Explosive Flame Barrier] Successfully Constructed]
- Writer
