A lone figure knelt in vow—head bowed, hands clasped in solemn prayer. Behind him loomed a towering silhouette, horned and cloaked in shadow, with wings curled inward like a lurking devil. The insignia stitched into his back burned like a curse: that unmistakable mark of Black Vow.
It stirred caution.
There were stories—rumors of the group's involvement in the fall of entire kingdoms, the collapse of noble bloodlines, the mysterious disappearance of key figures across the continent. Wherever chaos unfurled, their trace could be found, like smudges of ash after a fire.
But what unsettled Eryndor more than the insignia… was his spear. The sleek, rusted blackish spear he wield.
His gaze sharpened.
"…Instructor Soren," the Headmaster spoke firmly, tone void of warmth. "I should ask. Why is a member of Black Vow standing with you?"
Soren's throat tightened.
He couldn't say the truth—not all of it.
Not that he had cooperated with Black Vow to obtain evidence of an assassination attempt.
Not that they invited him to join.
Any of those truths would violate the Code of Conduct for Astralis faculty and paint him a traitor—no matter the justification.
Vellian himself praying in his heart that Soren slip up and makes mistake.
But before Soren could answer, the Lancer stepped forward casually.
His voice relaxed:
"Old man, I'm with him because I dragged him along. I needed someone to point me toward that man—"He raised his spear, aiming it toward Vellian. "I've got business with him."
Gasps rippled through the courtyard.
Even Soren stiffened. That's not true… he thought. Why would he lie… is it for me?
Vellian looked utterly bewildered.
"What do you mean?" Eryndor asked, his eyes now flicking between the Lancer and Vellian.
"He issued a death order," said the Lancer flatly, "on this man, Soren Noctis. But the Favor he used was faulty. A fake. So, naturally, I came to deal with the source of that insult."
The words hit like thunder.
"That's nonsense!" Vellian shouted, red-faced. "The Favor I used was legitimate! It was left to me by Father—"
He stopped.
Too late.
He realized he had admitted everything.
Eryndor and Mirelle's expression darkened instantly.
Mirelle stepped forward, fury etched across her face."Vellian… So you did it. Despicable."
"I— I…!" Vellian sputtered. His usual cunning dissolved under the weight of injuries, exhaustion, and exposure.
Lancer rolled his shoulder lazily. "Well, regardless," he said, brandishing his spear, "I need to claim his life. Just to tidy things up."
A sick chill ran through Vellian's spine. For the third time that day, death loomed before him.
"Black Vow," Eryndor said sharply, "stand down. He will be tried for his actions—not executed without judgment. Afterall, he still an instructor of my academy."
"And what if I don't care?" Lancer replied, a smirk curling on his lips. "What if I just want to end him and be done with it?"
His spear began to hum with barely restrained energy.
"Then I suggest," Eryndor said, lifting his staff slightly, "you don't do anything… rash."
The atmosphere thickened.
Even the wind held its breath.
Archmage Eryndor. Headmaster of Astralis. A man feared even among Top-tier mages. An era-defining sorcerer.
Lancer's smile deepened.
"Old man," he whispered. "Let me feel what power made Astralis feared."
A pulse of mana surged.
Soren flinched as Ruin keep leeching his energy in the open. But he kept watching. He had to.
This… would be worth seeing.
"Father," Mirelle said, stepping forward, adjusting her glasses with precision. "Let me handle this."
"No," Eryndor said. "You're not his match."
He began to rise—his robes fluttering as he levitated, lifting Vellian's limp body beside him.
Then—
TANG!
The end of his staff struck the earth.
Golden glyphs burst from the point of impact, racing in intricate patterns—constructing a barrier web that laced the air like divine geometry. Magic circle upon magic circle nested in precise symmetry, forming a high-tier defensive formation.
"Impressive," Lancer said.
And vanished.
A shockwave rippled.
He reappeared mid-strike, spear flashing downward like a bolt of judgment. The air split with a sonic crack.
CRACK!
The barrier caught the blow—but fractured. A web of spider-line cracks burst outward.
He pulled back, then rotated his spear—another motion, fluid and deadly.
A vertical cleave—
SHRNNK!
The golden shield was split in half, shattering like glass!
Eryndor keep his calm and raised a hand.
Three Codexes blinked from nothingnesss into existence, circling around him—levitating, pages fluttering with arcane power.
One, bound in a pristinewhite cover, spun to his flank—its glyphs igniting.
A bolt of pure lightning burst forth, screaming toward Lancer with lethal precision!
Lancer inhaled. Held his breath. Then, with a single, fluid spin of his spear—he repelled and deflected it!
CRACK–BOOOM!
The redirected strike tore through the air, veered off course—
—and obliterated a distant building in a storm of fire and shattered stone.
Flames surged skyward as rubble scattered like ash in the wind.
The arm Lancer used to parry the lightning crackled—lightly burned from the raw voltage. He flexed it once. Blood ran down his wrist, but he didn't flinch.
He wasn't done.
"Time to finish this," he muttered.
His body tensed.Then—
BOOM!
Lancer shot into the air like a missile, spear crackling with ominous light. He soared high above, a lone figure silhouetted against the clouds.
Up there, he leveled his weapon.
The spear aimed skyward, its tip glowing brighter—until with a thunderous pulse, it discharged a beam of energy straight into the heavens.
The blast vanished upward at the speed of light.
For a heartbeat, nothing happened.
Confusion flickered across the battlefield.
Then—
They came.
From above, spears of energy began to descend.Not one. Not ten.
Abarrage. Hundreds.
Raining down like a divine judgment—each glowing like a falling star, howling as they cut through the sky.
What kind of power… is this?!
Soren's breath caught.He had never imagined a human could wield this kind of might. It didn't look human anymore.
Eryndor's eyes narrowed. He felt crisis looming.
Without a word, the Headmaster raised his hand.
One of the floating circling Codexes—the one bound in gleaming gold—drifted to his palm. Its pages opened, runes flaring to life in radiant spirals.
Incantations flowed like liquid sunlight.
From the Codex's core, blinding beams of pure energy erupted—fanning outward in a brilliant lattice, slicing upward to intercept the incoming spears.
BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
Each falling spear that touched the golden lattice was annihilated. Light clashed with light, the sky above turned into a battlefield of radiance and death.
Mirelle clenched her fists, watching.
Father was right.
She wouldn't have lasted long against an opponent like this.
This man wasn't just some rogue. He was a real deal.
Soren could only stare, stunned.
This… This wasn't about evidence. Or law. Or politics anymore.
This was a fight between beings who could shape the world.
But then—
Eryndor's eyes twitched. Something was off.
He felt it too late.
One of the falling spears wasn't like the others.
Its shape was narrower. Sleeker. It cut through one of the golden beams instead of being erased by it.
And it was heading—
Straight for Vellian.
"NO!"
Vellian screams.
Eryndor turned, hand reaching out—But he was a second too slow.
SKRRRRRRRRAAAKKK—!!!
The disguised spear pierced through Vellian's chest.
But it didn't stop there.
It tore through him—violently, ripping his body apart with a force that folded the air in on itself!
Chunks of flesh and blood exploded outward. His eyes wide—mouth frozen mid-scream—before what was left of him was incinerated by the trailing energy.
Silence.
The barrage ceased.
Only one had struck true.
And it had done its job.
Lancer hovered midair, spear spinning slowly in his hand.
That one attack… had bypassed everything. It wasn't just another spear. It was his signature move—the Absolute Thrust.
Hidden in plain sight.
From the beginning, that had been his aim. He knew Eryndor could block the rain. So he buried his real strike within it.