Chapter Twenty-Seven: Do You Yearn for Power?

“Wind Magic: Blade of the Wing.”

After a brief moment of surprise, the Magister quickly regained his composure, displaying the battle instincts befitting his rank. Without another word, he unleashed a sixth-level spell. The distance between him and the two was no more than ten meters, and since neither of them had summoned a magical shield, he was confident that, even if he couldn’t kill them outright, he could at least deal them a heavy blow—even if they were both Grand Magisters.

In the Magister’s mind, there was never a thought of negotiating peacefully. What a joke—such powerful individuals returning to this remote place just to protect a mayor? Clearly, they too had learned of the existence of the “key,” which meant from the very beginning, they were already locked in a mortal struggle.

Of course, regarding the two young strangers, the Magister remained skeptical. Though they bore a resemblance to certain legends, he was unwilling to believe that anyone could achieve the rank of Grand Magister at such a young age. Thus, his attack was also a probe to draw out the true hidden power. If that formidable person had any connection to them, they’d surely intervene—then, in the chaos, he could launch a surprise attack and still seize victory.

The nearly invisible wind blade sliced through the air with a piercing shriek. It was a particularly devious spell: its semi-transparent nature made it difficult for ordinary eyes to track, and combined with its incredible speed, it had long become the preferred choice for ambushes.

“What a tedious trick.”

Meyuna had no idea that the enemy had already imagined the two of them as formidable threats. To a Sorceress Supreme, it didn’t matter what spell the opponent cast—all elemental fluctuations in the vicinity were under her absolute control. That wind blade warranted only such a casual assessment. She extended her pale index finger upward and made a slight beckoning motion. Instantly, as if receiving a command, the wind blade executed a sharp ninety-degree turn skyward, smashing a hole in the ceiling before shooting out of the house.

“A-are you human or specter?!”

The Magister was appalled. He could accept his wind blade being blocked by a magical shield or canceled by a spell of equal rank—these were the fundamentals of mage duels. But what had just happened? The spell he’d cast had, inexplicably, become the opponent’s to control—a phenomenon he’d never encountered, nor read about in any tome.

In truth, ever since Meyuna had become a Sorceress Supreme, she’d begun to perform feats that defied both humanity and magic. One of them was the ability to control the magical power of others. The title “Sorceress Supreme”—what did the “supreme” truly signify? Perhaps it referred to the achievement of deeds beyond the reach of mortals. Since there had never been anyone like her before, and no records existed, the title was coined by dreamers, extrapolating from the rank of Saint Magus and the possibility of further advancement.

“How rude of me. Let me share a secret: I have an idiot companion who can’t see circles. Any spell you cast will be absorbed here. Care to try?”

Meyuna drew a circle in the air with her hands, speaking with evident delight. Ruby immediately realized that this woman was playing—and thoroughly enjoying herself.

“You three, buy me some time. I’m going to cast a seventh-level spell.”

The Magister’s expression shifted rapidly. He would rather believe in invisible tools than admit to what Meyuna had just done. After issuing his orders, he retreated behind his three subordinates and began to chant. The trio, in turn, unleashed a barrage of spells—water balls, lightning strikes, chunks of earth, splinters of wood—anything to stall for time. Yet, one after another, their attacks vanished into the invisible circle, as if swallowed by the void.

“Are seventh-level spells supposed to be chanted?” Ruby asked, puzzled. He didn’t understand much about magic, but the woman beside him could conjure ninth-level spells with a flick of her wrist—he’d never seen her recite an incantation. It made him doubt the very nature of magic.

“Chanting speeds up the casting for those who aren’t proficient. For someone skilled, it’s unnecessary. The fact that he’s chanting proves he’s just a half-baked Magister.”

Meyuna chatted with Ruby at her leisure, while the three lackeys on the other side were utterly miserable. Their magical reserves were nearly depleted, yet their efforts had achieved nothing—other than inflating the colorful sphere beside Meyuna, which had now grown to nearly two meters in diameter, absorbing every element they threw at her.

“It’s done! Ice Magic: Descent of the Frost Dragon!”

After nearly two minutes of gathering power, the Magister finally unleashed his strongest spell. From the magic circle he’d drawn, a massive ice-blue dragon emerged, its wings spread wide. Nearly twenty meters long and resembling a true dragon, the spell was modeled after the real thing. Its creator had even studied the basics of draconic incantations, so the conjured dragon radiated a faint aura of dragon might. With a thunderous roar, the ice dragon announced its presence—so loud that everyone in Dris could hear it and turned their gaze to the mayor’s residence.

The dining hall, though spacious, was no match for the dragon’s size; its appearance tore off the roof. Under the Magister’s control, the dragon took to the sky, then dove straight down toward Meyuna and Ruby.

“This defies logic. How can a block of ice produce sound? Does it have vocal cords?” Ruby wore a look of confusion as the dragon descended with crushing force. Had circumstances allowed, he would have loved to dissect the creature.

“And they have the nerve to call that a dragon? It’s stunted,” Meyuna scoffed. Even Mels’ juvenile dragon was thirty meters long—this one was pitifully weak. Their nonchalant reactions made Ait, still frozen in shock, want to seize them by the collars and yell, “Is that really what matters right now?!”

The dragon’s maw opened, revealing a spear of razor-sharp ice as it dove—its impact split the ground and triggered a violent tremor, freezing half the mayor’s estate in a thick layer of frost. Surveying the devastation, the Magister finally breathed a sigh of relief. Though his magical energy was spent, at least he’d succeeded, hadn’t he?

“Zero points for chanting speed, zero for spell potency, and zero for control. Did your teacher never show you the proper casting posture?”

Meyuna’s airy voice drifted through the ice to the Magister’s ears. As he stared in disbelief, the frozen ground dissolved into blue light, which streamed into the orb at Meyuna’s side. Her triple verdict of zeroes was a ruthless blow to his spirit.

“That’s impossible…”

The Magister collapsed, but Meyuna wasn’t finished. As if testing their psychological endurance, she tapped the enormous sphere, causing it to compress inward.

Any mage could sense the raw, violent power within—its explosion alone would obliterate everyone present. Yet Meyuna continued to compress the terrifying energy, only stopping when the colorful sphere had shrunk to a pure white ball. Inside it, it seemed as if an ancient beast was caged, ready to burst forth at her command.

“Hmm, I suppose it’s time to return this to you. It’s packed with magical elements. Let’s call it the Elemental Condensate.”

Meyuna weighed the now palm-sized sphere in her hand, then flashed a devilish grin at the four despairing men.

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