The Mage's Unwritten Rule
Crack!
An electric explosion burst before Yuren. A blue curtain of light shimmered in front of him—Magic Shield, a fourth-circle spell. The reflexive defense left him without a scratch, yet he could barely calm the hammering of his startled heart.
That just now… was Elemental Bolt?
Elemental Bolt was a third-circle spell, more powerful than a simple Mana Shot, its effect changing with the attribute infused into it.
The attribute he chose was lightning, so Lightning Bolt.
Lightning was a magic specialized for speed, designed to catch an enemy off guard. Among the attributes that could be bestowed upon Elemental Bolt, it was the fastest—on average three times quicker than the others.
It felt like an arrow loosed by a divine archer.
Had he failed to respond in time, some part of him would certainly have been torn away.
And that is supposed to be the work of a third-circle mage?
Ferda had only reached the third circle, yet Yuren had never underestimated him. Ferda was a wielder of the Red Circle, and those who possessed the Red Circle always held overwhelming power in their affinity attribute. The fact that he had defeated Tessalos Wolcher while still at the first circle was already famous. Among mages of the same level, Yuren had ranked him as high as possible.
I even thought he might be nearly equal to a fourth-circle mage.
Even that had been an underestimation. The magic Ferda was unleashing far surpassed anything Yuren could have imagined.
What trick is he using?
Yuren’s eyes raked over Ferda. Perhaps the man was receiving some hidden aid. Impossible. No one would have been permitted to bring a weapon into this sealed vault. And yet—
Without even a wand or staff to assist calculation, he is producing that casting speed with nothing but his own mind?
The only way to raise casting speed was repetition and mastery—not the mindless drills of a student, but the kind of training that made drawing mana pathways as natural as breathing, so natural one might cast in one’s sleep. Such a thing was beyond Yuren. Ferda’s genius inspired pure awe.
“You look curious about what spell that was,” Ferda said, his voice leisurely, deliberately prodding. “For your information, it was Elemental Bolt.”
“Insolent little brat.”
Yuren’s face flushed crimson. Rank or no rank, the man before him was still only a third-circle whelp. Magic circles flared into existence around Yuren’s hands.
“Let’s see you keep that arrogance!”
In a duel fought for one’s life, titles and ranks meant nothing. The completed magic circle did not vanish; it floated in the air before him.
A sustained-concentration circle.
Ordinary circles were consumable—once cast, their mana converted into the spell and disappeared. A sustained-concentration circle kept the formation intact, requiring only continuous mana injection to fire spells repeatedly. Any fifth-circle mage could manage the technique.
And the circle itself is the same Elemental Bolt as mine.
From its shape and the runes inscribed upon it, Yuren deduced as much—and sure enough, pure-white ice spikes began to form within the circle. Ice Bolts.
“Dodge these if you can!”
They were not single shots, but a rapid barrage. Ferda threw himself behind an ornate display pedestal, narrowly avoiding the assault. Ice shattered against the white stone cabinet with brutal force. The successive impacts threatened to smash the pedestal to pieces; the ice was frozen so solidly it might as well have been iron.
Sustained concentration is as troublesome as ever.
To claim he was not at a disadvantage would have been a lie. In the fleeting moment when a crack of doubt opened in his mind, a slimy, crawling whisper slithered toward Ferda.
—Do you need my power?
The temptation of demons. Creatures that waited for a human to be driven into a corner, then offered contracts at outrageous prices.
They’ve already sniffed out my talent.
Even demons did not offer their lure carelessly; they had eyes of their own. Ferda paid the voice not the slightest heed. Right now, only the battle mattered.
Mana is not infinite.
Neither he nor his opponent possessed endless reserves. Before the stone pedestal could fully collapse, the barrage of Ice Bolts ceased. Ferda rose at once and fixed his gaze on the floating circle.
The way to destroy a sustained-concentration circle was simple:
Disrupt the caster’s focus.
Just as Yuren prepared to resume the bombardment, Ferda thrust forward a circle of his own.
“Lightning Bolt.”
A bolt of lightning streaked in a straight line. Its speed was exceptional, yet that very speed made its path honest and easy to read. Yuren, having already discerned the circle’s orientation, raised a blue barrier.
Crack!
Ferda’s Lightning Bolt vanished the instant it struck Magic Shield. Fast though it was, its raw destructive power remained low.
If I could combine two attributes, I could have punched through.
Pairing darkness—the attribute of highest destructive force—with lightning, the fastest, would have done it. But for a mere third-circle mage, that was still impossible.
In that case…
Ferda’s eyes shifted to the sustained circle. Though Yuren had stopped feeding it mana, three remaining Ice Bolts were already flying toward him.
Magic Intercept.
A technique that snared an opponent’s spell with threads of mana. Ferda reached for the three ice spikes. He had once been an eighth-circle archmage, yet now he was only third circle. Seizing all three of the swiftly approaching projectiles was beyond him. Sacrifice one, claim two.
Abandon the one farthest from a vital point.
The decision was rational and instantaneous. The discarded Ice Bolt tore a deep gash across Ferda’s thigh. Flesh split, blood welled, and pain raced up his veins. He ignored it.
The two ice spikes he had stolen now turned their fangs upon their original master.
“Allow me to return these.”
A magic circle formed in Ferda’s hand—another Lightning Bolt. This time the bolt launched from directly behind the Ice Bolts.
“Lightning Bolt.”
Whoosh!
The Ice Bolts, gifted with lightning speed, shot forward and punched clean through Yuren’s blue barrier.
Shatter!
The Ice Bolts vanished as the shield broke. Yuren’s eyes flew wide.
My defense… shattered?
The solidity of Ice Bolt combined with the velocity of Lightning Bolt had been more than the barrier could withstand. The shock lasted only a heartbeat before the certainty of death crashed over him. One Ice Bolt still remained.
“Lightning Bolt.”
This time the ice spike streaked straight for the space between Yuren’s brows.
“Gaaah!”
He abandoned concentration and hurled himself aside. The sustained circle dissolved into nothing. Yuren staggered to his feet, adrenaline roaring through his skull.
“Hah… You caught me off guard. Are you truly only a third-circle mage?”
Ferda answered coolly.
“Must you hear it from my own lips? Are you truly so inferior a mage?”
“Everything you do forces the question. Even the old court archmage couldn’t respond like that at the third circle.”
“That old man is still among the wisest in this Imperial Palace.”
“You speak as if you know him. You’ve never even met him.”
Never met him? Until the emperor himself had bowed his head, that old man had been the one standing against Ferda.
While Ferda entertained the thought, Yuren drew something from his robes—a wooden rod crowned with a round crystal. A wand. Simply channeling mana into it would activate the magic circle engraved within and fire the stored spell. That he had produced it carried heavy meaning.
“Are you admitting defeat in pure skill?”
“Mock me all you like. Once you’re gone, nothing else matters!”
Mana poured into the wand; a circle bloomed. Ferda read its structure at a glance.
Looks like a fourth-circle spell is inscribed.
His assessment proved correct. Mana gathered, exhaling pure white cold as it was carved into a sharp point. The shape resembled the Ice Bolts Yuren had been firing, yet it was no mere Ice Bolt. The insight dwelling in Ferda’s eyes flared.
It’s overcharged with cold inside.
A Frost Bomb disguised as an Ice Bolt. The moment it struck or shattered, the concentrated cold within would erupt. Any clumsy attempt to dodge, block, or intercept would only backfire.
So it must be shot down.
Ferda flicked the mana sphere he had been holding between his fingers. It struck the Frost Bomb.
Fwoooosh!
Steam-like cold exploded outward, freezing everything nearby. Ferda’s own mana sphere froze solid and rolled across the floor. A magic destructive enough to freeze mana itself.
He saw through my Frost Bomb.
Yuren was not surprised. A mage skilled enough to use Magic Intercept would hardly fall for simple misdirection. In the brief opening he began chanting another spell.
“Shield of the Empire!”
A magic circle drawn with highly concentrated mana shaped itself into a solid shield—Aegis, a fifth-circle defensive magic named after the legendary hero. It boasted ironclad protection and would move of its own accord, recognizing threats without its master’s command.
A troublesome piece.
To anyone who had never faced it, few magics were more vexing.
…or so one would think.
But Ferda knew it well. The more troublesome an opponent, the more clearly he remembered them. And so he waited—for the precise instant when Yuren over-relied on his own spell.
Now.
It was the same moment Yuren unleashed another Frost Bomb from the wand. Simultaneously, two spheres formed in Ferda’s hands: one ordinary Mana Shot, and the other a denser mass of mana—a Mana Bomb.
Surely not…
The instant Yuren saw the Mana Bomb, instinct stabbed through his mind. He tried to deny the ominous thought. It was impossible. How could a mere third-circle mage know the countermeasure to a fifth-circle spell?
Denial changed nothing. Ferda’s spheres streaked toward him. The first to arrive was the Mana Bomb. Aegis detected it and moved to intercept.
Boom!
Mana flooded the area like a dense fog. At the same time the shield’s movements became unnaturally sluggish, almost stuttering. Yuren’s eyes widened.
He knows the counter to Aegis?
A mage’s duel was a game of revealing cards. One usually played a card under the assumption that the opponent would not know its nature. That assumption was practically mandatory; if one tried to account for every possible exception, no spell could ever be cast. Yuren was staring at just such an exception.
Then the second sphere…!
It would target the Frost Bomb. A spell once cast could be extinguished by the caster’s will—but anything produced by a wand or staff could not be stopped mid-formation. Ferda would wait until the Frost Bomb was complete, make contact, and detonate it.
As if I’d let you!
Yuren hastily raised Magic Shield. A blue curtain blanketed the space before him—a defense no single Lightning Bolt could pierce. A mana sphere would never reach the Frost Bomb. Once the bomb was finished he could simply hurl it elsewhere.
Yet the magic Ferda cast was—
Lightning Bolt?
The same lightning arrow. Yuren could not understand.
It can’t break through. Why that choice?
Even with superior power, it lacked the force to shatter his barrier. As he groped for an answer, something finally entered his vision: a darker shape hidden against the already dark background, moving behind Ferda like a concealed arm. It was making a throwing motion from near the floor.
“Ah.”
What filled his sight was the frozen mana sphere—hardened by the earlier Frost Bomb’s aftereffects until it was as solid as a metal bullet. Ferda had retrieved it from a blind spot.
“Lightning Bolt.”
The moment the sphere rose into the bolt’s path, lightning fired. The Lightning Bolt carried the rock-hard lump of ice like a projectile.
Shatter!
Magic Shield broke. Yuren’s body reeled. Even so, he was a veteran mage; he did not close his eyes with an enemy before him. In his vision he saw the mana sphere Ferda had been saving streaking toward him.
I have to find a way—!
But by then the sphere had already touched the Frost Bomb.
Fwoooosh!
White steam erupted, turning the entire area into a field of frost. The vapor refused to clear.
He should be dead.
Judging by the power, Yuren’s death would not have been strange. His defenses had been stripped away; even with magical resistance, surviving a direct hit from a cold bomb was impossible.
Yet Ferda did not lower his guard. This was a sealed vault, and the will to live was a human’s most stubborn trait.
Demons sometimes make that will a reality.
His concern proved justified.
Crunch—
The ice-encrusted form of the frost mage, Yuren, began to move. Frozen clothing and wand shattered into icy fragments, yet Yuren himself did not break. In his hand now rested a single book.
“Kehihihit…!”
A laugh thick with madness rang out in ecstasy.
“Aaah. So this is what it feels like… to gain a demon’s power.”
The classic words of one drunk on demonic strength. The book in his hand was Marvas’s Icebound Art.
Marvas, Demon of Extreme Cold and Ruin.
One of the Seven Great Demons, overlord of the Hell of Freezing Cold—a perfect match for an ice mage like Yuren.
He contracted with Marvas right before the explosion and survived.
Selling one’s soul to Marvas granted the grace of surviving even the most extreme cold. Ferda watched the transformation and sank to the floor. He had lost too much blood; strength no longer reached his thigh. Even his superhuman concentration was nearing its limit.
“What’s this…? Where has the ever-confident Regent gone? Come now, shall we continue?”
Yuren mocked him. Everything was tipping against Ferda.
In that moment the malevolence that filled the chamber stirred once more. Every demonic tome stored in the sealed vault quivered and shifted.
—Offer your soul. Then I shall give you the power to kill that worthless thing.
—I will give you the power to burn the one who insults you! Offer me your soul!
—I shall grant you strength. Even rolling in a dung heap, is this world not better than the next?
The demons’ whispers clawed at Ferda, tugging and pulling as if to claim his body for themselves. Proof that he had been driven to the very edge of the cliff.
Breathing raggedly, Ferda opened his mouth.
“They say… right before death…”
A smile curved his lips—different in quality from the rare smiles he usually showed. This one rose from genuine emotion.
“the face of the one you love appears first.”
Yuren frowned at the sudden nonsense.
“And do you know what I see right now? You. Do you understand what that means?”
“What kind of garbage are you spouting? You’re not about to claim you love me, are you?”
Ferda’s deep blue eyes fixed on Yuren. They still shone with the light of magic. That unbroken light was pride itself, and those two pupils made Yuren feel suddenly small.
“It means I am not yet ready to die.”
In that instant Yuren’s instincts flared again.
I… cannot defeat this man?
Even after contracting with the demon Marvas, he still could not win?
Impossible.
Then what did that make him—the man who had sold his soul? What was he, if even after casting everything aside at the brink of death he still could not overcome a third-circle mage?
As he tried to steady his mind, Ferda asked a quiet question.
“Do you know what a mage’s unwritten rule is?”
A mage’s unwritten rule: never reveal your final means until the moment of death. In other words, a wild card capable of overturning everything.
“So you intend to cast some last spell? You no longer have enough mana for anything of the sort.”
Yuren was correct. The mana remaining to Ferda was barely enough for a single Elemental Bolt. Blood still streamed unchecked down his thigh; he could no longer put weight on the leg. The one driven into a corner was unmistakably Ferda, not Yuren.
Ferda smiled darkly.
“Don’t jump to conclusions. When did I ever say it was magic?”
Not magic?
At that very moment Yuren sensed a presence behind him.
“Looks like I’m not too late.”
A man’s voice, unexpected. Yuren whipped his head around. Standing there was a brown-haired man dressed as a palace guard.
A guard…? Impossible.
No ordinary guard could enter a security zone like this. This was clearly an intruder—and not just any intruder. To force entry into the sealed vault required considerable skill.
The brown-haired man moved first. He closed the distance with startling agility.
I have to respond—
Yuren began to form a magic circle. In that same instant the man’s ordinary eyes flooded with vivid crimson light.
What? Why is the mana—
Wherever that light fell, the mana gathering into the circle was forcibly dispersed.
It can’t be…!
A race he had believed vanished into history rose in his mind.
“You’re of the Red-Eyed Tribe?!”
Also known as Mage Killers. The dagger in the man’s hand drove through Yuren’s throat.
“Ghk— gaaah!”
It pierced windpipe and artery with perfect precision. All he could produce was a wet, airless sound.
From behind, Ferda spoke to the newcomer with casual familiarity.
“Careful. That one sold himself to a demon.”
“I know.”
The man gripped the dagger with both hands and settled into stance.
“I may not look it, but I’ve had more than a few dealings with demons myself.”
He ripped the dagger free in a wide arc. Yuren’s vision flipped; the world became sky. In the last unbroken shred of consciousness he saw Ferda.
Ferda was already casting Lightning Bolt aimed straight at his head.
“Farewell, you pride-less beast.”