The stronghold was silent, as most of the people inhabiting the structure were in a bad mood and stayed quiet most of the time.

  Feeling the increasingly tense atmosphere, Svanor sighed in frustration.

  He felt something was off, but he had no evidence or even an idea as to what it could be.

  The only thing he was sure of was to never trust Varel, as he was too untrustworthy to even be in his vicinity.

  Even his liege, Aziro, had told him to beware of him.

  But what should he do?

  He didn’t know if they had some ulterior motive or what else it might be. Attacking them preemptively also wasn't the wisest thing to do.

  They were fast and could fight on equal terms with their rger number of elite members.

  Not to mention that they could easily run away.

  Most of the time, a magician would never outrun a knight. That was how things were.

  Because of that, Svanor felt anxious, nearly biting his lips into a bloody mess.

  ‘Why is this pce such a pain? This should have been one of the easiest long-term missions…’

  Svanor cursed in his mind, thinking about the pce he grew up in.

  Dark Obsidian Sect was just a small third-rate organization of the Arkravav Kingdom. The only way to collect new disciples was to kidnap children from slums and from the Vanaras Kingdom, which was their assigned territory.

  It was created sometime during the DarkStone War when the intensity of the fights was at its highest. Those were cruel times for peasants, as many such powers rose up at the behest of the empire and acted as its shield.

  Bck Obsidian Sect raised thousands of disposable undead from the inhabitants of Vanaras Kingdom and other territories, while the Cradle of Flesh Church used people as disposable explosives on the battlefield or for other nefarious tactics, and the Pgue Harvesting Academy used living beings to spread pgues on their enemies, among others.

  All of these organizations sprouted up on the continent, showing their allegiance to the throne. Some of them grew into stronger powers; others were destroyed.

  Bck Obsidian’s 7th Master was one of the smart ones and became subordinate to the bigger forces, gaining their protection.

  His force was fated to never rise, but it was one of the few that survived.

  Svanor grew up in this sect and was one of the better-off disciples, learning a thing or two from one of the real necromancers who ter left the sect to seek more power but never returned.

  The few disciples who managed to gain some accomplishments in the arts of magic usually didn’t stay in such a pce unless branded by the elder magisters.

  Svanor was one of the unlucky ones, but he was lucky enough to be given the freedom to choose his long-term mission, so he chose to be a collector in Vanaras.

  It wasn’t for any other reason than his own safety. There were a lot of opportunities on this continent, but they were meant for the lucky or the strong.

  Svanor was neither of these. He was just someone who had been a minor assistant to a dying old magister for a few months and watched the man's projects with his own eyes.

  Thanks to that and his effort, he was a little stronger than regur acolytes. But that was all.

  So, living in peace had been his lifelong goal.

  Unfortunately, life never goes the way you want.

  ‘Sir Svanor!’ A sudden telepathic message resounded in Svanor’s mind.

  Svanor stiffened. He almost made a sound, confused as to why someone would contact him with telepathy. While telepathy was one of the few abilities that took little mind power, it heavily depended on the distance between those connected.

  Svanor sensed that the distance was at least thirty meters. That meant it was an emergency.

  ‘Speak,’ Svanor decided, using his mind power and waiting.

  ‘We are the guards standing on the western wall of the stronghold. We just received a telepathic message from a rge distance in the forest. It is highly likely to be one of the acolytes from the teams that left this morning. They said they were ambushed by the vipers!’

  Svanor’s pupils dited when he heard this.

  ‘Expin yourself or face consequences.’ Svanor felt the man probably wasn’t lying, but he wouldn’t believe him just like that. Why would the gang members outside suddenly attack their people without any pn? If he couldn’t expin it properly…

  Svanor would deem him an instigator from a third power and execute him.

  ‘Yes, sir! From what they said, their entire team was peacefully walking when they suddenly heard explosions and sounds of battle, so they went to investigate…’

  …

  “Hmm? What’s the matter?” Varel, who was reading a book in the central tower of the stronghold, asked.

  He was there looking for the stele needed to open the citadel. It was cleverly hidden away, so he needed to use historical notes to find it.

  Of course, he would have found it long ago if not for the acolytes being around all the time.

  But now, someone interrupted him, souring his mood.

  “Svanor is calling for a meeting! It seems one of the teams was annihited by one of the trolls!” One of Varel’s men came to inform him as soon as he found out, despite being aware of Varel’s bad temper.

  Varel raised his brows.

  “How come the survivors weren’t spotted by our people first?”

  To inform Svanor, the acolytes needed to enter the stronghold, which was impossible for any of the gang members to miss.

  The surviving gang members would definitely report themselves immediately, so Varel concluded they were dead.

  Varel obviously knew about telepathy, but he doubted the acolytes would waste mind power unless absolutely necessary.

  “The only survivors were two acolytes and a few of their guards. They were quite hurt and low on mana. It seems they didn’t trust us and contacted them with telepathy.”

  The messenger seemed hesitant but answered professionally, as he didn’t want to make Varel angry.

  “Heh… Well, look at that. They don’t trust us, huh?” Varel snorted in amusement.

  The acolytes never bothered hiding their hostility toward his gang. They saw it as beneath them to work with them.

  Varel never took them seriously, knowing these men were such garbage, born with slight talent—nothing more.

  Varel himself had no talent for magic, but he worked at the border of Arkravav in his younger years and killed many deserting acolytes who tried to flee to Vanaras Kingdom to escape the war.

  Ironically, he became a deserter too in the end.

  The messenger didn’t know what to say, so he bowed his head.

  Varel looked at him and clicked his tongue.

  “Whatever, lead me to Svanor. I wonder what he has to say.” Varel shook his head and followed the man.

  While it was odd that only acolytes survived, he could guess they fled as soon as danger struck. That’s how all magicians were: cowards who treasured their lives to the point of madness.

  Maybe they even used his men as a distraction to escape.

  If it was truly a troll, it could pose a significant variable in his pn. Svanor would want to fulfill his mission, after all.

  Varel wondered if his mind’s eye had been tingling because of this. A troll was a danger even he couldn’t ignore.

  He was agile and fast, so he had the advantage, but Mountain Trolls in their own territory were too dangerous to be compcent around.

  However…

  If he could use the circumstances to his advantage, then the troll could be his tool for sying all the acolytes at little cost.

  It would take days to prepare for subduing and tracking it down. By that time, the preparations for activating the steles would be done.

  Varel wondered if he could pull it off.

  With a clench of his teeth, he shook his head.

  ‘It’s not whether I can do it or not. I will do it. At all costs… At the end of the day, my worth isn’t determined by my talent… I will forge ahead, no matter what. So I can fulfill my obligations…’

  Varel’s mind cooled as he strode quickly toward the tent where Svanor spent most of his time. Since the stronghold was old and poorly maintained, Svanor had decided to pitch a command tent in the inner courtyard.

  Along the way, he also called for his closest subordinates to rally.

  If they didn’t come to the meeting, Varel could imagine Svanor whining about it to him.

  Just imagining that made Varel sigh in annoyance.

  “Grant, Nuzan, and Jevees will stay and take care of the other gang members,” he said loudly while passing by.

  “Yes!” everyone called out as they dispersed.

  “Prepare for unforeseen circumstances,” Varel said in a low tone as he passed them.

  They turned their heads in confusion, but Varel was already gone.

  Varel wasn't a fool. He didn’t know the reason, but his mind’s eye was tingling.

  That was enough to question everything around him.

  That was why, when he saw the tent in front of him, he tried to sense what was inside.

  There, he felt several acolytes who were direct subordinates of Svanor, who was sitting unmoved in his seat.

  Varel’s subordinates were already inside, loudly arguing with the acolytes, seemingly accusing the other side because of the incident.

  With a serious expression, he ventured inside the tent.

  He swept aside the fp and entered, looking at the people around him.

  Just then, he looked at Svanor’s expression hidden by his hood—the cold eyes staring at him with malice.

  The tingling in his head became unbearable as cold sweat covered his back.

  “Shit!” Varel immediately jumped backward in hopes of leaving the tent, but he was too te.

  Svanor raised his hands at high speed and connected his palms to perform several hand incantations in quick succession.

  “Horas Fuusaos! [Thorn Vine],” he chanted, and his mana burst out of his body, enveloping the entire tent.

  The acolytes around him did the same, throwing out several mana stones in their designated pces.

  The ground lit up as lights in the form of line patterns appeared.

  It was a magic formation.

  Svanor and the others were not skilled in creating such a formation.

  However, Svanor was wealthy. He bought a magic scroll that could embed a one-time magic formation, which would cause one singur spell to become a wide-range one!

  Varel was too te to run as small sprouts of greenery split open the ground in just a few milliseconds.

  Then, at an even faster rate, they grew quickly in length. The pnts were vines, so they entwined with the first thing they touched.

  And those were the gang members.

  “Agh?! What’s this?!” one of them cried in pain as the thorns on the vine pierced his body in several pces.

  Their bodies became constricted as the pnts held them down, completely ensnaring them.

  Some managed to avoid the vines, while others sshed their bdes at them, but new ones regrew to repce them.

  Varel, seeing this, gritted his teeth. He took out his two serpent daggers, his main weapons, and sshed the vines holding his legs.

  Just before the edge of the dagger connected with the vines, a burst of greenish fme-like aura exploded from the bde, instantly cutting off the vines, while others were still struggling to cut even one.

  While these daggers were not meant for cutting, once one learned flow and aura, these kinds of weapon weaknesses were minimized.

  Once Varel was freed, he decided to retreat immediately.

  However, the acolytes didn’t waste their time, as all of them took out scrolls and tore them apart.

  Energy inside of them coalesced as the magic circles were activated.

  “Fire!” Svanor, sweating cold sweat, yelled. He was controlling the thorn vines and couldn’t attack himself. The moment the magic circle deactivated, it couldn’t be used again.

  But it didn’t matter.

  He was in charge of holding these bastards down.

  The other scrolls were meant to kill them.

  Bst

  All kinds of spells, mainly explosive ones, were cast in the center of the tent, destroying everything in the vicinity as smoke enveloped the pce.

  The acolytes protected themselves by combining mana with those who knew barrier spells and hid away as the tent burst into ashes.

  This was what it meant to be a magician.

  Svanor grinned. Varel was making fun of them for using their guards all the time.

  But now… they were serious.

  “Y-you bastard—Cough~” A hoarse voice sounded a little way off.

  The smoke soon dissipated, revealing Varel, who had barely managed to jump away from the explosion’s range.

  But he hadn’t escaped unscathed.

  “Heh, it seems your leg hurts,” Svanor said as he took out the hook he used before to climb the cliff.

  However, rather than a hook, it would be more apt to call it a short sickle.

  Svanor was using this as his weapon despite being a magician.

  He was more fit than a normal acolyte and wasn’t completely clueless in close combat.

  Not that he would fight like that unless necessary.

  [Mana Rope]

  Svanor finished his second chant as the mana rope connected to the sickle.

  Varel, lying on the ground, gritted his teeth in pain.

  One of his legs was bsted to oblivion, and burns of various degrees covered his body.

  However, his attention wasn’t on Svanor. Instead, he used the remnants of his pants to tie down the stump that was once his foot.

  Svanor used that opportunity to throw the sickle.

  Varel still didn’t care as he continued tending to his injuries.

  Just as Svanor thought he would hit, Varel took out a throwing knife and threw it so fast that Svanor couldn’t perceive it.

  “Damn it!” Svanor cursed in his mind, maniputing the mana rope to circle his body in a spiral to cover him.

  This, of course, changed the direction of the sickle, making the attack a failure.

  “Huuuh~ Done! Hihehe, did you really think this trap would be enough to take me down? I don’t know why you attacked, but it doesn’t matter anymore. You are done.”

  Varel ughed as he pushed his palms against the ground, forcing himself into the air and nding on his one remaining leg.

  His bance seemed unchanged as his smiling expression was revealed.

  But his eyes weren’t smiling at all.

  Just as the acolytes prepared to release another spell, this time their own, the sounds of wind being pierced echoed.

  “Agh?!” Arrows pierced through some of the acolytes who didn’t have enough mana or hadn’t activated a barrier.

  “My apologies, sir! We were deyed because of some insects!”

  The gang member Varel spoke to before showed himself with the rest of the gang members who stayed outside.

  Some of them were covered in bloody wounds, showing they had been fighting moments earlier.

  “Curse you! Our guards! What do we do now without them?” one of the acolytes panicked, realizing who they had rid themselves of.

  “Hmph, we still have Svanor!” another said as Svanor, who had stood there for a moment, decided to go all in.

  Svanor looked at Varel, and in a cold voice, he called out to his summons,

  “Come out, my undead army!”