Greatest Legacy of the Magus Universe

After a series of brutal clashes, Marden finally caught Blackwood in a trap after he delivered a faint attack.

Then, with a wild grin on his face, the Elder of the Cult thrust his cracked black blade straight through the Headmaster's chest.

"I win." Marden's grin turned wider as he felt the blade pierce the flesh and muscles and come out of Blackwood's back.

But then, something changed.

Marden's grin froze, and he instantly turned pale. Blackwood's body dissolved into a murder of ravens, and the next moment, they tore past Marden in a violent frenzy.

The swarm of ravens came to a halt over a dozen meters away, coalescing into the figure of Headmaster Blackwood again.

Meanwhile, Marden was on his knees, bleeding profusely. There were a thousand cuts all over his body, and if not for his magical healing, he would have bled out and died where he knelt.

Blackwood staggered on his feet, his hand reaching towards his chest. He hadn't been completely unharmed from that last attack, yet he had still managed to turn the tables at the last moment.

By now, he had inhaled too much of the poison. His vision was becoming unfocused, and his judgment was faltering. In such a brutal battle, where victory—and survival—hinged on split-second decisions, the slowing of one's mind was nothing short of lethal.

He knew that he had to finish the battle quickly. The longer the battle dragged on, the more disadvantageous things would become for him. Because, unlike his opponent, Blackwood could not use healing magic.

Ignoring the injury to his chest, the proud Headmaster of Ravenfell looked around at the scenery around him. The city he knew… lay in ruins. He could see corpses of the Magi who once called this place home. He could also see the corpses of cultists and serpents.

The Lord of Ravenfell stood silent under the pale glow of the twin moons. He heaved a long, tired sigh as he thought to himself:

I have failed my predecessors…

I have failed this city…

And I have failed Saratoga…

He was supposed to be the protector of this city, yet it was razed to the ground, engulfed in flames, and littered with countless corpses.

And Saratoga Castle… he did not even know how things fared back there.

Were the students safe?

Were the faculty members safe?

Was the castle still standing?

He did not know.

They had planned extensively for this battle, yet how did things turn out this way?

Where were the Mana Core Magi from the Brotherhood that the Emperor Emeritus promised would be here?

He did not know.

Blackwood's heart churned with violent emotions. Anger surged through every inch of his being. His mana flared, visibly distorting the air around him as he slowly turned around, his gaze settling on the kneeling figure of the main perpetrator behind the Battle of Ravenfell.

The traitorous Marden Benton.

Darkness surged along the blade of his longsword—an artifact passed down from Headmaster to Headmaster—and he launched himself towards the enemy.

He needed to kill this man. He had to.

The longsword tore through the air and came hacking down on Marden's neck.

But at the last possible moment, the blood around the cultist surged and formed a thick wall behind him.

CLANG!

A thunderous boom echoed throughout the district, shattering what remained of the ruined buildings in the surroundings. The blood wall was cut clean in half, and a deep gash was formed on the ground beyond.

Yet, Marden was nowhere to be seen.

A dark scowl appeared on Blackwood's face as he slowly turned around. Not far away, drenched in blood, Marden stood on top of a large boulder, his hands resting on his knees.

He raised a hand, gesturing for the Headmaster to pause. Marden weakly looked at him, his lips curling into a taunting smirk.

"Headmaster, please," he said, "let me catch my breath, will you?"

In the next moment, both magi disappeared. Sword light flashed over a dozen more times until the world around them was reduced to dust.

Marden and Blackwood reappeared in another part of the Uptown Quarter, standing several dozen meters away from each other.

The cultist turned east, his eyes gleaming with madness. "Would you look at that? All my men are dead. Ah, what a pity…"

Then, his lips curled into an ominous grin. "But some of your people are still alive, Headmaster. Quite a lot of them, surprisingly. I truly underestimated them."

Blackwood's eyes narrowed. He knew what the traitor was hinting at, and he didn't like it one bit.

"How about…" Marden's grin stretched even further, twisting his face unnaturally. "We take our battle to the Northern Quarter where your people are..."

Before his words had even faded, he shot towards the place where all the city's forces had gathered, with the Headmaster chasing close behind at full speed.

Marden's maniacal voice echoed through the shattered district as he closed in on the unsuspecting Magi.

"Catch me if you can, Headmaster… or watch your people die!"

***

Far west of the Uptown Quarter, miles beyond the city walls, yet another brutal battle was coming to a close.

The Rank 4 undead knight let out a guttural growl as it brought its sword, imbued with necrotic mana, down on Berger.

A second later, the sword split apart the gnome, yet, instead of blood gushing out… Berger's figure dissipated into a gray smoke.

The gnome appeared behind the undead creature, silent as a specter, then he delivered a claw strike to the back, his palm twisting at the point of contact.

Hand of Doom: Coiling Palm Strike!

The flesh on the undead knight's back writhed in a grotesque manner, forming something akin to a bloody vortex. Its flesh was torn apart, and even the rib cage beneath became visible, full of cracks. And yet, the foul abomination refused to die.

It was, however, hurled off its feet and launched into the distance like a cannonball.

The abomination did not see anything in the direction it was hurled—only open ground. So it adjusted its body mid-air, turning around to face the gnome once more.

But suddenly, right behind it, the space rippled and gray smoke dispersed, revealing a giant black wolf that had been waiting in silence, concealed all along by Berger's illusion magic.

Blackie launched himself forward, his claws glowing with ominous, dark energy. Then, he ruthlessly slashed at the incoming undead knight, nearly ripping its body to shreds.

And yet, the abomination did not fall.

Instead, it was hurled back in the direction it had come from… straight towards Berger, who had been waiting for this opportunity all along.

A tremendous surge of mana gathered into his fist, and in the next moment, he vanished.

A blazing white streak of light flew across the ground, carving a trail of destruction in its path. Finally, when it struck the undead knight, it detonated with cataclysmic force.

Hand of Doom: Earthly Meteor!

It was only then that the undead knight was finally and utterly obliterated, reduced to nothing at last.

Berger firmly planted his feet on the ground as he exhaled deeply. He glanced at the mana gathered around his fist, slowly dissipating, and couldn't help but silently marvel at its intricacies.

Blackie appeared beside him, glancing at the gnome intently. At last, he said:

"That technique… it does not belong to this world. None of which he imparted to you is from this world."

The gnome deeply sighed. "I suspected as much…"

He turned towards the north, where a brutal battle still raged. He then climbed onto the giant wolf's back and gently brushed through his stygian fur.

"Come, now," he murmured. "The battle is far from over. We'll have time to talk to him once everything is settled."

Blackie gave a solemn nod, then turned into a flash of black light, soaring towards the mountain range.

The Battle of Ravenfell would draw to a close with the coming dawn.

And as the first light crept across the horizons…

The land would weep as a black comet streaked through the heavens.