"Wah! Ah! This is terrible! I forgot to change my dress... and I finally got a chance to come out..."
"Alright, alright, I get it. Just go back for now. Crossing such a vast distance... the magic energy of your Spirit Core won't last much longer."
In the next heartbeat, a dense, shimmering light swallowed Wayland.
A vast, overwhelming power cascaded from the heavens.
An invisible wind tore through the courtyard, and the old man and Jax Eaton suddenly felt as if they had been plunged into the depths of the Underworld. A bone-chilling cold clawed at them from all directions, desperately burrowing into their marrow as if trying to shatter their physical shells and drag out their very souls.
But what truly fueled their terror was the sea of pale gold light that had manifested.
It was pure and infinite.
It was the most perfect magical energy they had ever witnessed. It was a power that stood far above any mere magus,a miracle of the Age of Gods reborn in the modern world.
The sky rapidly darkened.
Wayland floated beneath the vast expanse of the firmament, his head bowed. The grisly wound that had pierced his chest was gone, healed as if it had never existed.
A heavy, suffocating pressure turned the air thick and viscous.
Watching the eerie scene, Jax felt his breath hitch in his throat. His neck was dry and burning, as if he'd been deprived of water for days.
"Your Eminence... what is happening?" Jax choked out.
The old man didn't answer. To some extent, this was within his expectations.
Wayland, as the Prophet of the prophecy, was bound to possess some hidden depth, even if he appeared to be a mere fledgling.
Death was the most direct and brutal way to force out a person's final trump card.
To the old man, observation and probing were unnecessary. He had no intention of playing 'boil the frog',the Seven Holy Paladins wouldn't be the ones providing the heat; they would likely be the ones being cooked.
This was the second time.
A thousand years ago, the Seven Holy Paladins had followed the Usurper King, nearly conquering all of Britain. But the Knight of the prophecy had only grown to fruition because of the Usurper's confidence and constant 'testing.'
In the end, that single knight had overturned the entire war and ended the age of chaos by himself.
The Seven Holy Paladins had been forced into the darkness, fleeing like hunted animals ever since.
And now, a 'fledgling' had leaped straight to the rank of 'Grand.'
It was the first time the old man had witnessed something so utterly absurd, but he expected no less from the Bringer of Destruction.
'But there must be a price!'
'If we force him to play his hand over and over, eventually, he will break!'
Since the day he was born, the old man had lived for nothing but the Seven Holy Paladins. Now, the sworn enemy of his organization was right in front of him.
While prophecy represented the most likely future and wasn't absolute, he couldn't afford to gamble on a small probability. The Seven Holy Paladins couldn't survive a second annihilation.
His current strength was at the 'Brand' rank, but with the Holy Bell, he could momentarily rival a 'Grand.'
The Clock Tower's rating system didn't always reflect direct combat power,two magi of the same rank could be worlds apart,but for the most part, the system was recognized as an accurate gauge of potential and authority.
The aura radiating from Wayland now was like a bottomless abyss. He had reached the absolute peak of modern magecraft. A Grand.
The old man knew he might die here, but the Holy Bell would carry his soul remnants back to the organization.
All that mattered now was testing the limits of this new form.
"What do we do?" Jax swallowed hard, his voice trembling.
"Death is not the end. There is no need to fear," the old man said, his voice laced with a sudden, infectious fanaticism. "Now is the time for us to repay the debt we owe to our masters."
Truthfully, while the old man might survive, the mere aftershocks of the coming battle would likely be enough to erase Jax Eaton from existence.
The old man tensed, his senses heightened.
Wayland, who had been floating motionless, finally lifted his head.
His face had changed.
The sharp, angular lines of his features had softened, making him look unnaturally beautiful. His short black hair had transformed into a mix of pale gold and orange-red, growing until it reached his shoulders.
His eyes had changed as well. The black had vanished, replaced by a radiant, divine gold.
The old man stared in alarm, his white eyebrows knitting together. It was almost impossible to see any trace of the original Wayland in this new being.
He took a deep breath. "Who are you now?"
Wayland didn't speak.
Expressionless, he lifted his right hand.
Shimmering gold light flickered around him. Seven magical circuits flared to life, lightning-like patterns covering his arm and extending across his skin.
They trailed down his wrist and across his fingers, converging in the air. The magical circuits were pulled away from his skin, his arm returning to its normal state as the lines fused together. The gold light shifted, turning into a deep, dark red.
A strange spear, radiating a faint red mist, manifested in his grip.
The upper half was straight and bladed, while the lower half curved like a shimmering silk ribbon.
Wayland gripped the spear.
For a moment, time seemed to stand still.
Staring down at the old man from above, he vanished in a flash of movement, the spear trailing a lethal, pale gold edge.
CLANG!
[Translated and Rewritten by Shika_Kagura]