“Flamus Boltus!!” Zurek bellowed the incantation.

  [Voom!]

  A ball of fire the size of a fist lunged toward Seraph. The tension exploded into a dishonorable opening gambit. Simultaneously, the other nine acomages unleashed a barrage of elemental mageia orbs. A kaleidoscope of mageia light converged upon the young man at the center of the encirclement.

  Only Kambion remained apart, retreating to the rear with that same warped smile.

  The nine acomages sprinted to seal every avenue of escape, convinced that the young man was utterly finished.

  Seraph brandished his wooden staff, weaving a counter-incantation with lethal swiftness—

  “Ventus Swirl!” Seraph cast his spell almost the very instant the opposition’s assault commenced.

  [Whoosh!]

  A wall of pale emerald gale manifested around the young magis, becoming a cyclonic shroud of protection. Dozens of fireballs collided with the barrier, erupting in violent concussions. The force of the wind redirected the offensive mageia, reflecting the projectiles back toward their casters. Simultaneously, the violent air currents surged outward, sending several acomages sprawling pathetically. The gale continued to churn without end, causing the surrounding trees to thrash under the atmospheric pressure.

  While Kambion and several others managed to remain anchored, they struggled to weave defensive spells. However, Seraph’s ventus mageia was as heavy as an oceanic swell; it swept up clouds of forest grit, driving dust into their eyes and across their visages. Their defensive barriers were incapable of filtering such minute particles, leaving them no choice but to shield their faces with their arms and cloaks.

  In combat, a single moment of distracted hesitation is the herald of death. Cries of shock and pain erupted as the dust stung their eyes; yet, before they could even clear their vision, their own elemental spheres—over a dozen in number—were hurled back upon them.

  Mageia is a natural force. A natural force that is violent and unrestrained is a catastrophe. It possesses no eyes and makes no distinction between ally and foe.

  As long as mageia power remains unreleased, it belongs to the magis. But should that natural force be reflected toward its creator, it is prepared to obliterate the caster with absolute and impartial justice.

  ‘The First Law of Magis: If thou canst not master thine own mageia power, then by no means shalt thou dare to unleash it.’

  Each elemental sphere slammed into them with immense force. Bolstered by the momentum of Seraph’s ventus mageia, the dozen mageia projectiles crashed into their faces and frames with devastating impact.

  The impact vibrated through the entire forest!

  Some rolled across the scorched earth.

  Some shrieked in sudden terror.

  Some watched as flames licked at their cloaks.

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  A single reflected assault had left nearly every one of them wounded. Fortunately, minor spells are inherently frail; they are but natural forces. Weak currents of ventus and flamus cannot slay a soul unless the fire takes root, consuming the flesh entirely. Thus, none of the ten had yet sustained fatal injuries, but they languished in a state of absolute chaos.

  Seraph had a calculated reason for refusing to follow Mogar to the training hall. Although he sensed his mageia power had ascended upon his awakening, this surge might allow him to overcome a single weak acomage, but it would not grant him victory against ten simultaneously in an open encirclement.

  Seraph incanted a ventus spell to bolster his agility and leaped onto a high branch while the ten remained in disarray. In that moment, the concussive force of the gale had sent clouds of dust billowing throughout the woods. The forest was already frigid, draped in a thick miasma of natural fog.

  Ordinarily, the woodland mist rendered distant sight nearly impossible; the soil dust Seraph had deliberately detonated only further crippled their visibility. The young man gazed down with frigid eyes. At this moment, he was the predatory spider; the ten arrogant acomages had long since treaded into his snare without realizing it.

  The forest floor was naturally littered with dried leaves and fallen branches. Seraph had gathered them into several piles upon the ground before the conflict began. In the daylight, the ten might have noticed the anomaly, but now, even Kambion clawed at his eyes incessantly, as blinded and broken as the rest of his minions.

  “Flamus Boltus!” Seraph unleashed the incantation.

  [Fwoosh!]

  In an instant, multiple orbs of fire plummeted. Yet, the young man did not direct his mageia assault toward the Kambion Group directly. Instead, he launched the fireballs into the forest floor, targeting the piles of dry leaves and fuel he had prepared. Amidst the lightless woods and thick mist, those spheres of flame descended like falling stars of death.

  The moment the fire struck the dry foliage, it was as if a demonic flamus had consumed the woods. Pyres erupted in an instant, the heat scorching their skin while the gales continued to churn without pause.

  [Crackle—Boom!]

  A wall of fire raced across the perimeter. The roar of the flames shrieked; the crackle of branches and embers splintered through the air. A vivid orange-red radiance blazed at the forest’s edge. Embers began to catch upon the thugs’ garments, the heat devouring the fabric, while the ventus and dust served only to fan the conflagration with ease.

  All ten were seized by panic. They screamed in terror, the searing heat stripping them of their reason. Fear caused them to abandon their defensive and support mageia entirely; not one among them understood the true nature of the catastrophe unfolding.

  The Kambion Group remained ignorant that they were no longer facing the frail young man of yesterday. They did not realize that the entity they stood against now was an ancient essence of ruin awakened within Seraph’s frame. They failed to perceive the moment they transitioned from hunters into prey; in truth, they had forgotten all about Seraph entirely.

  Suddenly, as if awakening from a nightmare, Kambion shifted from a state of panic to an inexplicable, frigid composure. Following this, the green-haired man fused movement mageia with his entire frame, vanishing into the forest shadows with a velocity swifter than the eye could follow.

  Amidst the desolate fire-trap encircling them from all four cardinal points, the nine lackeys remained oblivious that their master had long since abandoned them. They continued to shriek for aid, scurrying like ants caught within a ring of pyres. The flames roared high above their heads, the expanding heat transforming the air into a cyclonic gale.

  Some knelt to pray, beseeching the heavens for salvation. Others scrambled to roll across the dirt, desperate to smother the fire devouring their garments. In every direction, towering walls of flame had sealed them in; even the ghost of a heatwave licking their fingertips caused them to recoil in agony. At this moment, death was the only entity prepared to claim them.

  Seraph stood atop the trees, his gaze fixed upon the path where Kambion had vanished into the lightless forest. He had tracked the aberrant movements of that unsettling man, yet he had found no opening to obstruct his flight.

  Kambion’s retreat had been executed with lethal precision and a total lack of hesitation. Seraph had known the man for a long time, but this was the first time he sensed that the uncanny man concealed something truly abnormal.