The first magical circle pulsed with a sudden, violent thrum. Pale yellow elemental energy swirled around Wayland's arms like glowing tattoos, and he felt a surge of raw, unbridled power. In an instant, he retracted his hands and slammed his reinforced fists into the surface of the ice wall.
A soundless shockwave erupted from the point of impact.
The massive ice barrier began to spiderweb outward from his fists, the sharp crack-crack-crack of splitting crystal filling the air. Within a heartbeat, the fissures reached the furthest ice pillars, which were still struggling to contain the roiling flames.
The mirror-like surface of the ice detonated.
Shards of frost, heated by the proximity to the fire, melted instantly, sending torrents of water cascading across the floor.
At that exact moment, the second magical circle slid forward half an inch. The vibrating elemental energy transformed into a raging wind, expanding outward like a giant jellyfish to engulf the space before him.
Explosion Magecraft!
The ice-blue fragments, caught in the wake of the massive magical discharge, suddenly erupted in a chorus of high-pitched shrieks. The wind howled with a sound like a battery of artillery firing in unison.
The entire station shuddered.
Under the influence of the explosion, the 'Isa' Rune's icy elements collided with the attacker's fire. The incompatibility of the elements, combined with the chaotic interference of Wayland's spell, produced a devastating result.
The floor was scorched black. The blast wave swept through the main entrance, splitting the foundations on either side and sending the heavy glass doors,and a cloud of debris,flying outward into the street.
The third magical circle, looking like a glowing hula hoop, expanded and slid down from his arms to his feet.
Haste Magecraft!
His leg muscles tensed, unleashing a burst of explosive power.
Wayland's silhouette vanished from the spot.
Within the cloud of exploding ice shards, a faint shadow hugged the wall, weaving through the chaotic elemental interference at incredible speed before leaping into the air.
'Found you.'
A fire-red magical circle was barely visible through the swirling mist and steam.
Magical Sensitivity!
To his senses, the elements were as chaotic and vibrant as a crowd of students rushing out of a school gate. Red and blue were intertwined in a violent struggle, while a deep earthy yellow lay dormant beneath them.
Without a second's pause, his body plunged into the mist.
A scarlet spear materialized in his hand, its surface gleaming with a lethal, mesmerizing light.
He thrust the spear forward.
The point of the weapon felt like a miniature sun, radiating a heat that rivaled the attacker's own flames.
This was the source,the heart of the enemy magus.
In the distance, the shrill wail of police sirens began to rise.
For a moment, the world seemed to slow to a crawl.
Wayland's mind felt as though it were bonded to the spear. His consciousness traced every inch of the weapon, every intricate vine and thorn etched into the crimson shaft.
The red thorns began to glow with a brilliant, pulsing light.
The air itself seemed to tear as the spear passed through it, producing a high-pitched, rending whistle. Two distinct waves of pressure parted before the weapon like a fish swimming upstream, sending a spray of magical discharge flying to either side.
A sharp, metallic clang rang out through the mist.
Wayland felt the impact, but it wasn't the sensation of a spear piercing human flesh.
The shockwave from the collision finally cleared the remaining steam and mist.
It was a card.
He couldn't see the back, but the front bore the image of a man. He held a rose in his left hand and a bundle slung over his shoulder, dressed in a vibrant, multicolored outfit and wearing a laurel crown upon his head.
'A Tarot card?'
The thought flickered through his mind for only a fraction of a second.
Wayland frowned as he looked at the face of the stranger before him. He didn't recognize the man. Had he simply been unlucky enough to get caught up in someone else's mess?
The man appeared to be about thirty years old, with sharp, angular features that held a distinctly sinister edge. He wore a long, pure white robe that trailed across the ground, devoid of any patterns or ornamentation.
When he saw Wayland, a look of genuine surprise crossed his cold, stern face. He clearly hadn't expected to be facing off against a boy who looked like a high school student. His voice was harsh and guttural. "Who are you?"
Wayland's gaze drifted to the Tarot card.
It hovered in the air between them, a rose-colored mist emanating from the hand of the man on the card. The mist formed a shimmering shield that had caught the point of Wayland's spear.
This wasn't a simple spell; it was a powerful Mystic Code.
Ten meters away, several police cars had already pulled up, but the officers stepping out of them seemed to be caught in some kind of illusion. They were wandering in aimless circles, completely oblivious to the battle raging right in front of them.
It seemed the man in white wasn't a complete amateur. If he could finish off the crowd in the station and complete his objective quickly enough, he'd be able to vanish before anyone from the Department of Policies could even begin to track him.
Seeing Wayland's silence, the man's expression darkened with rage. "You arrogant brat! Die!"
He raised his hand.
The figure on the Tarot card seemed to come to life. The man on the card turned his head toward Wayland and let out a soundless roar. A fresh wave of mist erupted from the card, coalescing into a barrage of shimmering, blade-like streaks that tore through the air with the force of a Gale-rank spell, aiming straight for Wayland's head.
Blood sprayed into the air.
In the fading light and the remaining wisps of steam, the man in white watched as Wayland's head rolled across the pavement, a spray of crimson droplets coating the surroundings.
"No... wait!"
The man suddenly spun around.
A bone-chilling killing intent, as cold and absolute as a winter storm, washed over him. Before he could even finish the turn, the point of a scarlet spear was level with his eyes, a mere few centimeters from his head.
Standing behind the weapon, his expression cold and focused, was Wayland.
With his extensive knowledge of magecraft, the man realized his mistake in an instant.
It was an illusion.
While he'd been distracted by Wayland's attack and their brief exchange, a silent, flawless illusion had been cast upon him.
A third party had entered the fray.
Even as the spear hovered inches from his face, the man in white remained surprisingly calm. He wasn't afraid.
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]