Magus Supremacy

"Nothing happened." Thalos replied as he turned around just in time to catch the claws he had sliced off a moment ago, rapidly turning to ash and flowing away with the wind.

Luckily, Grey didn't see it, so this event remained a mystery.

'In all my years of hunting beasts, I have never seen one turn to ash and disappear before. What exactly is this? What just aimed for Grey? Its aura and smell were not of this world. It felt otherworldly, twisted, like it came from hell itself or from some abyssal place of death.

Something is off. I feel like we are about to face a new threat, one on a cosmic scale. Wait! Don't tell me this is the same threat my master once faced that caused him to vanish. Cr…'

"Hello! I'm asking a question here!" Grey shouted suddenly, snapping Thalos out of his grim thoughts.

The gargoyle only sighed, shrinking his greatsword back down to the size of a dagger before striding towards the bed with heavy steps.

'It's obvious now. That portal didn't open naturally—it opened because of the massive surge of energy Grey unleashed. If he dares to do this again, but on an even greater scale, I fear a permanent portal might tear open. And if that happens… something far beyond his comprehension will crawl out.' Thalos sighed again, his jaw tightening.

"Nothing happened, huh? And yet scorch marks are all over the ground? How is that possible? Look at the wall. Look at the marks scorched into it. And you say nothing happened? Do I look like a kid to you?" Grey asked irritably, glaring at the gargoyle.

Thalos tilted his head, staring at Grey's face for a moment before slowly nodding.

"You sure look like a kid."

"ARGH!" Grey screamed in frustration as he tugged at his hair, stomping his foot like an annoyed child.

"Just a little warning." Thalos said flatly, pointing his dagger at the magic circles. "Never do what you just did ever again."

"Huh? What do you mean? I should never create pills again?" Grey asked, brows furrowing in complete confusion.

"No. That's not what I mean." Thalos shook his head. "You can create your pills, but never again should you release such an enormous wave of energy. Be mindful of how much aura you exude.

Don't recklessly pour it out like you did. If you use too much…" Thalos paused, his expression grave, then turned towards the window. "I've said enough." His silence after that signaled the end of the conversation.

Grey blinked a few times before sighing in resignation.

'What happened? Did something happen that made Thalos act like this? Come to think of it, I don't know if I was imagining it, but for a brief second, I swear I felt something behind me. A surge of an otherworldly presence. I was too focused to react back then, but… is that what he's warning me about? I wonder what he saw.'

Thalos, meanwhile, gripped his dagger tighter.

'If I hadn't been here today, there's no way he would have survived what came for him. I need to find out what that thing was, map out its nature, and figure out how to defend this continent—most importantly, how to protect Grey from it.

But if this truly is the same threat that took my master away… then unless gods themselves descend, we won't survive what's coming.'

Grey, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned as his attention shifted back to the result of his work.

"At least the pills are complete." He grinned broadly, lifting them up and staring at them like they were treasures.

On each pill, a small engraving shimmered faintly. It was an initial.

"SM."

Grey grinned so wide his face nearly split.

'Supreme Magus! Kek! This little engraving is to mark my work, to differentiate my pills from those of this continent. Just in case some alchemist dares to replicate them—which I highly doubt they can. After all, to replicate my pills, you need mana, something the residents of this world do not possess.

Anyway, my gift for Dame is ready. And much earlier than I even promised him.'

He tossed the pills into a small pouch and set it aside carefully.

"I wonder what Dame is even doing right now." Grey mumbled, curiosity flickering in his eyes before he stretched out lazily, looking pleased with himself.

—

"Damn it! I knew that my dad favored the others more than me. But to actually want to send me on a suicide mission? Tch! I can't do this alone, I need more help, and I know who to seek it from. I just hope they agree." Dame grumbled underneath his breath as he found himself walking toward a small bar nestled at the corner of a dimly lit street.

The wooden doors creaked loudly as he pushed them open, and instantly he was met with the smell of cheap alcohol, smoke, and the rowdy sound of chatter. Dozens of men and women filled the ground floor, their voices overlapping as they laughed, bickered, and argued about one thing or another.

'I need to head to the VIP area.' he thought, his sharp eyes scanning the crowded hall until they locked onto the raised balcony at the second floor of the inn. From there, he could already sense the difference in atmosphere.

Just then, an individual leaning lazily on the railing peeked down, their eyes meeting his. With a subtle flick of the wrist, they signaled for him to come up.

Dame let out a heavy sigh before making his way to the staircase. His boots tapped softly against the wooden steps, but he could feel countless eyes from below following his every move.

The stares weren't hostile, but they carried curiosity and suspicion. By the time he reached the second floor, the noise from below had dimmed slightly, replaced by a quieter and more controlled atmosphere.

Compared to the chaos beneath, the upper floor was almost serene. Only a handful of chairs were scattered about, most of them plush black sofas that gave the area an air of authority. But among them, one chair stood out—a deep crimson seat positioned at the very center like a throne.

In that chair sat a lone figure. Her crimson hair cascaded down her back in waves, catching the dim light of the candles until it looked almost aflame.

It stretched nearly to her waist, framing her sharp features and smooth pale skin. Her fierce brown eyes locked onto Dame, unblinking and unyielding, studying him as if peeling back every layer of his soul.

Around her, six other individuals sat in a half-circle formation, positioned about a meter away yet close enough to lean in if necessary. Each one of them had a glass of drink resting on the table before them, and they sipped leisurely, their silence speaking of discipline rather than disinterest.

Dame, unfazed, nonchalantly took the last remaining seat. It was placed directly opposite the crimson chair, positioning him face to face with the woman. Despite the weight of the stares surrounding him, he slouched back slightly, trying to appear as though the tension in the air didn't faze him.

The woman's lips curved into an interested smile, but her eyes remained as sharp as daggers.

"Now," she began softly, her voice smooth yet edged with coldness. "I am very much intrigued to know what would make the youngest heir of the Demonic Clan seek me out personally."

Dame exhaled slowly, his eyes narrowing with determination.

"I need your help, Alba. No…" he corrected himself, leaning forward just slightly. "Not just your help. I need the help of you and your clan. Otherwise, I'm as good as dead. I am about to die soon."

The moment the words left his lips, Alba arched a single eyebrow, her interest in the conversation instantly deepening.