BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
The fire spells landed in quick succession, shattering the weak barrier spell the masked man conjured up within that short moment like brittle glass.
His body tumbled backward from the force of the multiple explosions. The man cut a sorry figure. He tried to recover after the barrage, but it was like the boy had no buffer time at all. Another barrage followed almost instantly after the last, giving the man the briefest of moments to dodge the first of the new barrage. He couldn't cast any usable spells within that short time. He lacked the capability for it. Any spell he conjured would basically be useless, he had learned that twice now. So instead, all he could do was dodge. And now he was trapped in this shameful dance around the clearing.
He couldn't even run. The boy was strategic with his shots, making cold sweat run down the masked man's back as the spells kept coming. Aside from the fact that he was obviously talented, his eye for battle was insane— he'd been herding the masked man around within the same space of about ten steps, back and forth, over and over.
The masked man was pissed.
Zephyr was utterly gobsmacked.
0.83 seconds. That was the time between each of Jet's fire arrow spells, and a lag of 1.4 seconds after each barrage. His enhanced senses picked up the pattern after a few barrages. The fact that there was even any pattern at all spoke volumes. Jet was firing spells like an automated machine, with a margin of error of just a few milliseconds each time, all from instincts.
The boy was a beast.
Eventually, the masked man tired out, his pace slowed, and he made a mistake, slipping.
"UARRGGHH!!" Zephyr flinched as the raw cries of the man's pain at being burned alive echoed through the clearing. The man clutched at the sky, squirming on the ground as the fires burned with intensity. The fire arrows still tossed his body about like a bouncing ball as they exploded on him, not giving him any respite.
Eventually, his cries tapered out till there was no sound again. Only the smell of meat burning remained.
Jet let out a deep breath, bending over as he clutched the center of his chest where his mana core lay with a grimace. It seemed he had overexerted himself.
Zephyr watched on in silence, not moving to help Jet. Not moving at all. The sight of what he'd just watched still replayed in his mind.
'This is a ranged mage. A sixteen-node awakened ranged mage.'
All his spells now seemed petty compared to what he'd just seen. What chance to be a pain in their ass at lower tiers. That was all bullshit to give lower-tiered recruits some hope, something to hold on to. In a real fight like this, when it came down to it, they were useless.
If Zephyr didn't have his enhanced body to boot, even if he awakened with two nodes, he was still gonna be useless. Mediocre could then start from those with four nodes.
He wondered what mana node count the masked man had awakened with. Four? Eight? No. It couldn't be eight. With that display, he was at most a four-node awakened. Which would mean his mana node count was even less than Jet's, even at tier three.
He looked at Jet, then at the charcoaled body. 'There had been no hesitation in killing a human... Goes to say something about his psyche.' Zephyr wondered if the boy had killed a person before, but after a while of analyzing what he was feeling, he realized he didn't even care. The fact that a person was killed didn't really move him, instead, he was mainly just shocked by Jet's display, wondering what would happen if he were in the man's shoes.
'I guess that goes to show something about me too.' He chuckled mirthlessly under his breath. He knew if he was in the same shoes, there wouldn't have been a single shred of hesitation in doing the same.
"Okay, I think you're right..." Jet said after his breathing stabilized. "It's not wise to be here. There may be others like this guy still lurking around, and not all of them would be as cocky as he was."
Zephyr nodded. "I say we ditch the test and find our way out of this forest. Move to higher ground." Jet seemed to agree as he stepped forward, pointing in one direction. "Then we should be heading north. That's where we entered the forest from." Zephyr didn't bother asking how the kid knew which way was north even after being in the dark forest for hours. He had also tried to keep a general sense of direction during the start, but after the events that led up to this, he was lost.
Before they left, Jet scoured the blackened mass of what used to be a body for anything that still remained. He found a ring still intact, which Zephyr identified as a Grade C storage ring, though with some light damage. Jet stuffed it into his pocket as his spoil. He checked to see if he could find anything else, but he didn't. He and Zephyr left promptly after that, heading into the forest, which was now more dangerous than ever before.
.
.
The aftermath of Mistress Alyra's spell left the land around her desolate. Even the dome had shattered from the spell, and the pillar of light that pierced up to the sky was nowhere to be seen. The darkened gray sky above the camp was now open and still being lit up by occasional flashes of lightning, an aftermath of the superior spell.
Mistress Alyra staggered as the recoil of the spell she had just cast threatened to overload her mana core. The network of sigils etched onto her skin pulsed a violent blue, working to bleed off the excess heat and mana waste from her overclocked core before they could rupture her mana pathways from within. She stumbled back and fell, her body steaming in the cold air. If not for the special material her clothes were made from, they would have burned away completely, just like Smiling Devil's had.
"You crazy bitch..." A voice wheezed weakly, startling Mistress Alyra. Her head snapped up immediately.
"Impossible!" she whispered between her breaths. Smiling Devil was still alive, although just barely. His half burnt body lay weakly in a small crater. The rain of lightning from the Superior Spell— Vulcan's Rage— had sterilized everything within sight. All the rubble, all the soldiers and workers within range of the spell, dead or alive, had been wiped out of existence cleanly. Even the camp commandant's body wasn't spared. So how was it possible that Smiling Devil was still alive?
A look of incredulity crossed her face as she watched him still breathing.
"Who the hell are you?! What was your aim here?!" she yelled, losing her composure again.
A weak chuckle escaped Smiling Devil's lips as he watched her struggle to understand him. This person seemed to break the worldview that had cemented itself in her mind since birth.
In the outside world, as someone with influence, she'd heard about Smiling Devil's achievements. The Umbral Tower was an organization of assassins known for their professionalism and near-perfect record of completing their kills. They had assassins capable of killing even Tier 6s, so everyone knew they had at least a Tier 6 powerhouse. They weren't a small organization, and even the Ryvelin family had employed their services a few times.
Smiling Devil was a prodigy, and every major house knew his name, but still, his talent wasn't earth-shaking or heaven-defying. He was only an eight-node awakened, so in the eyes of the noble clans, he was just a genius among the lower caste. That was why when she linked his name to the Tower, realizing who he was, she was wary but not afraid... until he displayed his capability. He'd embodied the word Overclock.
It wasn't just a simple matter. For one to touch upon that Word, there had to be a foundation of other Words laid down. Words that any single one alone could help a small vassal family hold their own as minor nobles.
And this was a twenty-five year old. The idea wasn't logical. She'd already discarded that he embodied all the words required out of his own talent. That would have been beyond absurd. It would mean he had the same level of talent as the founders of the kingdom. The titans whose names are sung even to this day. The pioneers... Pathfinders. That was heretical to even think about. So she concluded that he had to have the full backing of his organization— the Umbral Tower. It seemed their influence ran deeper than the noble houses had thought.