When the dark assassin Petrov was killed by the Flame Strike, Ivanovsky and Karilena in the distant room only sensed powerful fluctuations of Divine Arts. Though they knew something was wrong, they couldn't immediately determine what had happened in Lucian's room.
It wasn't until Lucian and Matvey's brief yet perilous magical clash occurred, while their attention was already fixed on the space above, that they grasped the "truth" of the situation.
"He's a mid-tier mage?! That damned fraud!" Ivanovsky's "bear eyes" bulged wide, as if his gold-rimmed spectacles might shatter from the pressure. Behind his intense shock came a surge of wild fury and curses! This unexpected turn of events finally helped him understand the deep defiance Petrov had felt in his final moments, as well as the utter despair now gripping Matvey.
Karilena's beautiful eyes and delicate lips parted, her neat white teeth unable to close. A tempest of astonishment and cursing raged within her heart: "He's not a knight? He's a mage? He might not even be Peter—Joseph—Vladimir! A fraud, a fraud—every word out of his mouth was a lie!"
Unfortunately, by the time they wanted to rush to Matvey's aid, they were already a step too late. The battle had been far too swift and brief! They had barely witnessed its beginning before they saw Matvey's body, corroding and festering, plummeting rapidly downward.
Immediately after, they both blurted out in unison: "Mr. Nikanov!"
The person they addressed with such deference was the butler Semyon, who had flown out from Count Vitt's room—a high-tier mage whose aura was as deep and unfathomable as the ocean.
Yet in truth, the butler Semyon's surname was not Nikanov!
……
The butler Semyon, addressed as Mr. Nikanov, floated outside Lucian's room, gazing intently at Lucian through the window and curtains, both already damaged by the searing radiance and the Flame Strike's impact. His gaze was so eerie and frigid it might have been fixed upon a dead man.
Upon confirming that this person was indeed a high-tier mage, Lucian was both alarmed and shocked. But he had, after all, once faced a high-tier mage head-on and—by sheer fortune—managed to kill him. He did not feel the same despair over the overwhelming gap in tiers that an ordinary mage might. Having fought through life-and-death battles numerous times, Lucian maintained his composure remarkably well and activated the Shapeshifting Robe without hesitation.
The castle was vast and labyrinthine. Turning into a rat and scurrying through every passage offered at least a sliver of survival! Especially now that the priest, knights, and Great Knight of Withervine Castle had been drawn out—as long as they weren't all killed in an instant, a signal could be sent to summon Cardinal Nevsky of Ural City for reinforcements!
If he used "Elemental Vortex" directly against a high-tier mage in peak condition, it would be nearly impossible to inflict any damage. Worse, it would leave him in a state of absolute despair!
But just as Lucian's mind stirred and the Shapeshifting Robe was about to take effect, he found his thoughts growing abnormally sluggish, his spiritual power difficult to control—even the simplest trigger was beyond his reach.
"Am I... being... affected... by magic?" His brain ground along like gears riddled with rust. Lucian struggled to form the thought.
A fully prepared high-tier mage who had not yet been worn down by intense combat—this was what made them truly terrifying!
Only now did Lucian fully appreciate how extraordinary and almost heaven-defying it had been for Felipe to have escaped that high-tier necromancer—feigning death, launching a counterattack, and draining a considerable number of powerful spells and items in the process. Truly, he was the most outstanding of this generation's prodigies.
But when Felipe had faced a high-tier mage, he had already reached the fifth ring. Lucian was still two tiers below, and he had no life-saving means comparable to something like "Life Concealment."
Semyon, who had cast the sixth-ring Spell of Torpor directly upon Lucian's soul and brain, maintained the calm demeanor habitual to spellcasters. Yet within him, a flame of fury continued to rise. His most brilliant student, his most loyal subordinate—murdered right before his very eyes while he, through his own carelessness, could only watch helplessly, too late to intervene.
The crushing humiliation and wrath made Semyon speak in a voice cold as death: "I will turn you into a frog and subject you to endless suffering, so you understand that sometimes death is a mercy compared to living!"
Each word seemed to seep through the gaps between his teeth, carried on gusts of chilling wind.
He cared nothing for whether this wretched mage belonged to the Continental Magic Parliament or was some powerful ancient-lineage mage. Killing his student demanded a price, and behind him stood an equally formidable organization!
"Not... directly... killed... then... there's still... a chance..."
Even in this desperate extremity, Lucian refused to surrender. He continued to struggle against the Spell of Torpor's grip, seizing every possible opening.
It was never fate that extinguished the last ember of hope—it was one's own surrender!
As long as death had not yet come, he would never give up!
Lucian's soul, thoroughly deserving of the word "resilient," blazed with a bright and luminous radiance, and his thoughts began to slowly return to normal.
But it was all too slow. Across from him stood a high-tier mage. Even accounting for the spellcasting cooldown, the speed at which Semyon could activate magic was far greater than Lucian's rate of recovery.
The gap in their strength was simply too vast!
Semyon's azure eyes deepened into something fathomless, like an ocean in the uncanny, suffocating calm before a storm. Lucian suddenly felt his body beginning to come apart in strange ways, only to be reassembled according to some alien pattern.
Malicious Polymorph!
A cloud of dark mist materialized around Lucian. Inside the adjoining room, Leo tried to burst out and knock his master clear, but he was far too slow.