Chapter 116: Return of the Forgotten Flame
Out of nowhere, a sudden harrumph echoed across the air, breaking through the heavy silence like thunder.
Just as the children braced themselves for death, the very darkness that surrounded them began to twist and fold upon itself. The black mist thickened unnaturally, and an intense magical pressure burst forth in all directions. It swept over the field like a wave, pressing against the chest of every living being in its path.
The Grand Duke’s procession, who had been watching from a distance, stumbled under the weight of the magic. Many fell to their knees; some screamed in confusion and fear. A few guards, unable to withstand the suffocating pressure, turned and fled into the forest, muttering about the end of the world. Others clutched their weapons, hands trembling, torn between duty and instinct.
Inside the reinforced carriage, Leonard, the Grand Duke’s son, felt his heart pound wildly in his chest. The aura had struck like a hammer, and he instinctively clutched the edge of the seat.
“Father!” Leonard screamed, his voice cracking with panic. “I told you we should’ve left! This place is cursed! That black wolf thing was just the beginning!”
The Grand Duke didn''t reply. He was staring at the epicenter of the magical disturbance with wide eyes. Darkness itself seemed to be folding inwards, compressing and churning like a vortex. He could feel it in his bones. This was no ordinary mage.
“An Archmage?” he whispered, his voice barely audible, laced with disbelief. “Again? What is happening in this part of the continent? Are Archmages now like cabbages—just sprouting in every corner?”
On the Lafina Continent, the rank of Archmage was akin to a living legend. A step beyond High Grandmaster, it was a realm whispered about in awe and reverence. It required not just talent and vast mana reserves, but also a transcendent understanding of the elemental laws, often built over decades of tireless study and blood-drenched battles.
Most mages, even prodigies, would plateau at the Grandmaster level. Only a rare few ever broke into the High Grandmaster tier. Fewer still crossed the final threshold.
The Grand Duke clenched his fists tightly as memories surged through his mind—
He had once been hailed as a prodigy of the East, reaching the Grandmaster stage in his early thirties. He had battled bandits, quelled uprisings, and even faced the wrath of rogue magical beasts. For years, he had trained relentlessly, seeking the next stage. But every time he tried to ascend, he met failure. His core could no longer absorb mana fast enough. His spirit felt exhausted.
It was only after ten years of brutal self-conditioning and a fortune spent on rare elixirs that he barely scratched the High Grandmaster level—a level that, in most countries, was revered. But now, in front of this immense presence, he felt like a helpless child standing before a storm.
Cold sweat trickled down the side of his face. His pride screamed for him to act, but his instincts told him otherwise. He remained still, eyes fixed on the swirling darkness.
The children behind him, who had been ready to meet death moments ago, were now staring in awe. The suffocating pressure, though terrifying, brought a strange sense of comfort. Something about it felt... controlled. Intentional. And not directed at them.
A collective breath was exhaled. Relief. Temporary, perhaps. But real.
From the center of the darkness, a figure emerged.
A slim man, appearing no older than forty, stepped forth from the void. His hair was short and slicked back, jet black with streaks of silver at the edges. His long robe flowed like shadows themselves, and his eyes— twin pools of pure black—glistened with dangerous amusement.
Antru.
He walked with slow grace, eyes scanning the children, face carved in disappointment.
"So much bloodshed for a ritual this crude..."
Then, his gaze turned.
He stared at the Grand Duke.
And then he spoke.
“Grand Duke. It’s been a while.”
The Grand Duke''s eyes widened in disbelief. His pupils shook. The voice... it was familiar. But impossible.
He quickly gathered his thoughts. If this man recognized him, then perhaps—just perhaps—he could talk his way out of this.
He bowed deeply with practiced elegance. “This lowly Grandmaster greets Mr. Archmage. May I have the honour to know your great name?”
The atmosphere among the injured guards and mages relaxed. The Grand Duke had found a thread of diplomacy. Perhaps their lives could still be saved.
But then, the man’s eerie smile widened.
His pitch-black eyes glittered. “I’m Antru. Remember me?”
It was like a bell tolling at a funeral.
Leonard, watching from the carriage, turned pale as a sheet. He pointed a shaking finger at the man.
“You—you’re that evil mage! The one who massacred the villages of Vinzl! You killed hundreds of innocents!”
The Grand Duke’s expression shifted from surprise to fury.
“You?” he spat. “You’re the one who tormented our kingdom with blood rituals and forbidden magic? We thought you were dead!”
Antru chuckled, a low, condescending sound.
“Dead? No. I simply took a nap. The world bored me, so I left. But now... I’ve awakened. And I see it hasn’t improved one bit.”
The Grand Duke gritted his teeth. “What happened to you? You''ve breakthrough Archmage? You used to be an old man, shriveled and hunched. Now you look younger than me.”
Antru tilted his head, amused. “Time means little when your soul fuses with the Abyss.”
He took another step forward. The ground darkened beneath his feet.
“But enough about me. What are you doing, Edric? Still flexing your tired muscles at peasants? Or do you now enjoy bullying children, too?”
Edric’s knuckles whitened. His hand twitched as if resisting the urge to summon his weapon outright. For a fleeting second, the years melted away—and he stood not as a duke, not as a noble, but as the battle-hardened High Grandmaster who once matched this man blow for blow.
But those days were dust.
“You''ve changed,” Edric muttered. “I barely recognize the man who once stood beside me at the Battle of Ilderan Ridge.”
Antru''s smile thinned. “Because that man died—chained by duty, haunted by conscience. I shed him like a snake sheds its skin. And you, Edric? You’ve stagnated. Still clinging to titles and bloodlines?”
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“You attacked Vinzl,” Edric growled, stepping forward. “You slaughtered innocent villagers just to rummage through their family records. You’re a disgrace.”
Antru raised an eyebrow. “A disgrace? Or merely... efficient? You call it massacre—I call it excavation. I only took what I needed. And only those who stood in my way paid the price.”
“You were my equal once,” Edric snapped. “A High Grandmaster of the highest tier. You understood balance. You swore on your mana core to uphold magical restraint!”
“And then I grew,” Antru replied coldly, his eyes glowing faintly now. “While you remained shackled by morality and kingdom duties.”
The words stung more than Edric expected. Pride mixed with dread.
Still, he wouldn''t yield.
Edric raised his hand without warning. In a flash, the air around him distorted. A brilliant seal flared beneath his feet, and dozens of magic circles unfolded in midair, rippling with golden light.
“No more words,” Edric declared. “You’re not the man I once knew.”
“Ah,” Antru sighed, his voice almost bored. “There it is—the Edric I remember. Always ready to swing first, ask later.”
But it was too late.
A blinding arc of condensed wind and flame lashed forward from Edric’s position, tearing through the forest and leaving molten gashes in the ground. The sheer force of the spell would’ve obliterated any Grandmaster—maybe even a weak High Grandmaster.
But Antru didn’t move.
He lifted a single finger.
The wave of destruction stopped midair, held by an invisible wall of darkness. With a flick of his wrist, the spell shattered into harmless embers.
Antru’s eyes narrowed. “You were never good at restraint.”
Without further warning, he vanished.
A shockwave cracked the ground where he once stood.
Edric barely had time to cross his arms and reinforce his barrier when Antru reappeared behind him, his palm wreathed in abyssal fire. The impact sent Edric flying across the field, crashing into a hill of stone.
The explosion that followed tore a crater into the landscape, sending up clouds of dust and screeching wind. The pressure alone knocked several nearby guards unconscious.
“Father!” Leonard screamed from the carriage, but his voice was lost beneath the roar of magic.
Edric rose slowly, blood trickling down his forehead. His armor was cracked. His mana shield was nearly depleted. The difference was astronomical.
*So this is the power of an Archmage…*
Antru was no longer bound by conventional elements. Each spell he cast was fused with fragments of foreign laws—entropy, distortion, raw chaos. Edric could barely read the magical formations, let alone counter them.
Still, he fought.
Dozens of gold and silver spears materialized around him, forming a whirling barrage. He hurled them all toward Antru with a grunt, embedding explosive cores in each one.
Antru raised both hands lazily. Shadows expanded from his feet like rippling ink, devouring the light around them.
The moment the spears reached the shadows, they vanished into the void.
Not a single one struck.
Edric''s jaw clenched. He launched into the air, pulling on everything his mana core could muster. A massive circle formed beneath him—*Elemental Cascade*, his strongest fusion spell of three elements: fire, lightning, and wind.
His core screamed under the strain, but the spell formed anyway. The sky above warped as a torrential downpour of elemental fury erupted.
Antru stood unmoved.
With a low hum, the space around him *collapsed* inward for a heartbeat, swallowing the entire cascade like a beast swallowing a raindrop.
Silence.
Then—
He was there.
In front of Edric.
Palm glowing with deep black light, swirling with fragments of darkness.
“Goodbye, Edric.”
The spell punctured through Edric’s barrier with a sharp hiss, cutting through armor, mana, and flesh like paper.
Time slowed.
Edric watched the spell approach, saw his death reflected in Antru’s eyes.
But then—
*CRACK!*
A wall of pure crimson intercepted the blow.
The sound was like metal fracturing under divine force. The impact flared with multicolored light—red, gold, blue—an elemental clash that shook the entire clearing. Trees bent from the force. The carriage rocked violently, and lightning arced in the sky without clouds.
Antru staggered back, eyes widening for the first time.
Standing between him and Edric was a figure draped in a red robe that shimmered like living flame. Her presence was silent, yet thunderous. Mana radiated from him like a second sun—controlled, refined, deadly.
She had no aura of arrogance. No need for words.
The crackle of opposing elements danced around him—flame and something unseen.
Antru’s eyes narrowed. “You…”
The red-robed man turned her head slightly. His face was obscured by a ceremonial hood stitched with runes that glowed softly.
“I didn’t expect you to intervene,” Antru said, voice quieter now.
The woman said nothing. She glanced back at Edric, who was clutching his side, barely alive.
Edric recognized her instantly.
“...You’re supposed to be dead,” he whispered.
The red-robed man extended her hand, and light enveloped Edric, halting the bleeding and stabilizing his aura. It wasn’t healing magic—it was something older. Restoration magic, drawn from the primeval element of equilibrium.
Leonard watched in disbelief.
“Who... who is that?” he asked aloud, voice shaking.
No one answered.
Because no one knew.
Antru’s composure returned, though he no longer smiled.
“So the Forgotten Flame returns after all this time,” he said, his tone unreadable. “I thought you had vanished during the Devouring Night.”
Still, the red-robed figure did not speak.
He simply stepped forward, every movement precise, every breath a ripple in the weave of magic.
Antru took a step back after the brief but intense clash, his eyes scanning the aftermath. With a flick of his hand, dark tendrils of black magic pulsed outward from his body. In an instant, all the injured children shimmered and disappeared—vanished without a trace, as if swallowed by the air itself.
A faint smirk curled on his lips as he muttered under his breath, "Looks like the game just got a little more interesting."