Chapter 172

The warrior’s spear techniques were ever-changing.

Whoosh!

At times, it struck like the talons of a raptor, seizing prey in an instant.

Crack!

At others, it tore into enemies like the fangs of a wild beast.

Swish!

And yet, suddenly, it would coil and whip around like a serpent.

Though it bore the name of a spear, his weapon functioned as a sword, a whip, a shield, and even a blade.

It was a level of mastery that seemed almost unnatural—so much so that it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call him unrivaled in spear techniques.

The King of All Weapons.

The debate over whether the sword or the spear was the greatest weapon still raged, but in this moment, the spear undoubtedly claimed supremacy.

However, this supremacy was possible only because this man wielded the spear.

A knight with the potential to master all weapons had chosen to pour his entire talent into the spear and nothing else.

He could rightfully introduce himself as the Divine Spear.

Crackle!

But the warrior’s prowess wasn’t limited to spear techniques.

His innate killing intent, transformed into Red Qi, possessed a sharpness that could tear flesh upon contact and destructive power capable of shattering stone.

He was strong.

Overwhelmingly so.

The mages of the Magic Tower, who had experienced this firsthand, no longer dared to look down on the red-haired warrior.

Instead, they regarded him as the greatest threat of all.

Yet, just then, another man approached, pushing aside the fearsome warrior.

A knight who had turned twelve Bronze Giants into scrap metal.

That knight…

“You’re good at fighting, but you clearly don’t know how to deal with spellcasters. You’re being way too inefficient.”

Suddenly offered unsolicited advice.

The warrior’s face twisted into a scowl so obvious that even the mages could recognize his displeasure.

“…Anyone can talk big.”

“That’s true.”

“You’re admitting it that easily?”

“Because it’s true.”

“……”

Anyone could run their mouth.

But this brute of a knight acknowledged it without hesitation.

“I don’t usually share my know-how, but I’ll make an exception this time.”

“?”

“Just stay back and watch. You won’t find a better teacher than me.”

“…?”

—It took Raq de Duron less than three minutes to understand what Ihan meant.

Because in that short span of time, Ihan had already slit the throat of a High Mage.

He proved, without a doubt, that he was an expert in mage hunting.

The mages of the Magic Tower began to flee.

They were prideful and had their research materials stored within the Tower, but that didn’t mean they valued those things more than their lives.

Against ordinary enemies, they might have stood their ground, but the intruders who stormed the Tower were anything but ordinary.

Warriors so powerful that they made one question whether they were truly human.

“All the Bronze Giants were destroyed? That’s impossible! They’re not human!”

“Just run already!”

“But if we flee like this, the ‘Tower Master’ won’t forgive us…”

Flinch!

“W-We don’t have a choice! We need to survive first!”

The mages hesitated for a moment but ultimately shook their heads.

After all, mages were inherently individualistic beings.

They sought perfection in solitude, driven by an innate selfishness.

The only reason such selfish people gathered at the Magic Tower was for the excellent research facilities and abundant ‘research materials.’

Not to mention the generous funding.

However, when their lives were on the line, they were more than willing to abandon everything.

While it might have seemed logical to unite and repel the invaders, that notion didn’t apply to them.

Their only desires were personal success, advancement, and discovery.

To achieve higher levels of knowledge and power.

They joined the Magic Tower for that purpose—not to die for it.

“At least take this with us. This artifact alone is worth four years of research funding.”

“Oh? Then I’ll grab this one.”

“Tch, is there no decent staff around?”

Before long, the mages devolved into looters, ransacking the Tower’s treasures.

Artifacts and magical items that could fetch astronomical prices if sold.

For these mages, who spent money like water and had no concept of financial restraint, this loot was essential for maintaining their future lives of luxury.

“That won’t do.”

Splat!

“Honestly, my fellow mages are hopeless. No sense of loyalty whatsoever.”

A man strolled in leisurely, letting out a long sigh.

Of course, what could he expect from his ‘fellow mages’?

Even he had once lacked any sense of belonging.

Still, that was then, and this was now.

“You shouldn’t have touched my property.”

Mages knew better than anyone—never tamper with another mage’s research materials or artifacts.

…Unless the thief was a genius destined to reshape the magical world, such transgressions were unforgivable.

And so,

“Don’t be too upset. I made it painless since we’re ‘fellow mages.’”

He smiled kindly at the ‘fellow mages’ whose heads had burst like tomatoes.

It was a merciful death.

They had dared to steal from him, and he had rewarded them with immediate execution.

Still smiling, he continued walking leisurely.

And then he saw it.

“…Oh? No wonder the others are struggling.”

He observed the warrior battling the elders with keen interest.

The scene unfolding before him was truly entertaining.

Perhaps that was why…

“I think I’ll watch for a bit longer.”

He chuckled playfully and sat down on the spot.

Because he wanted to enjoy the show just a little longer.

*****

If the academy ever offered a course titled [How to Kill a Mage], the expert they’d undoubtedly invite as a professor was right there.

“What is this monster?! It’s reflecting all our spells!”

“Is he covered in some kind of anti-spell barrier?!”

“Stop babbling and attack! That thing is coming!!”

“Clouds, gather! Stronger! More intense—!!”

Five High Mages—or rather, four now—hurriedly chanted their spells, their voices trembling.

For High Mages, their words no longer functioned as mere speech but as incantations.

To ordinary people, even hearing their voices meant immediate submission—or, in worse cases, instant death.

And yet, that monster…!

“Our spells don’t work—no, he’s ripping through them?! Am I dreaming?”

CRACK!

“This nightmare is… horribly real.”

Drip…

A sudden burst of pressure—he didn’t even see it coming—grazed his nose.

The High Mage staggered as a thin stream of blood trickled down from his nostrils.

It was a pathetic sight.

But the High Mage was too overwhelmed to even register how ridiculous he looked.

Instead, his expression could only convey pure terror.

*****

Ihan stepped in to take over from the spearman.

The guy was clearly annoyed about being replaced, and Ihan wasn’t the type to interfere with someone else’s fight either.

But today, he had no choice.

‘You’re a bit sloppy against spellcasters, rookie. Total rookie.’

It was obvious—the spearman didn’t have much experience fighting mages.

Sure, he fought like a demon, but Ihan couldn’t stop himself from giving pointers.

Especially since he’d built quite the reputation as a mage hunter.

And so—

“Why the hell are you just taking those spells head-on? Deflect them properly, dumbass.”

He decided to teach the four fundamentals of fighting spellcasters.

Lesson 1: Spell Parrying.

Crack!

Spells were no different from spiritual attacks hurled by shamans.

But the thing about spiritual attacks? If they missed or failed, the caster suffered rebound damage.

So, when a spell came flying, all it took was instinct and a proper deflection to turn it back on the caster.

Smash!

“Graaahhh!!”

Yeah—just like that.

It took a bit of skill, but this guy had special eyes.

He’d learn it fast enough.

Lesson 2: Long-Range Attacks and Stealth Techniques.

“Memorize some quick-draw throwing skills or master long-range strikes. Aim for the head, mouth, or heart—it’s the fastest way.”

Thunk!

Anything Ihan could grab became a weapon.

Tangjikgong.

Pebbles, shards of glass—whatever was lying around.

He hurled them like throwing knives.

Of course, if nothing was handy, techniques like Hundred Steps Divine Fist or Shattering Strike could substitute.

Thunk!

Bullseye.

Lesson 3: Dealing with Natural Disaster Spells.

BOOM!

“These assholes are a pain in the ass.”

Some mages specialized in catastrophic spells—the types that mimicked natural disasters.

The earlier lessons worked fine on most spellcasters, but these guys?

Not so much.

It was an advanced course at that point.

“You just have to keep hacking away. In other words, it’s a goddamn grind.”

Flash!

It was all about endurance and focus.

For weaker spells, parry and deflect.

For larger spells—

Rumble!

‘…You take the hit.’

Brace for impact, push through, and break their line.

Retreating or defending wouldn’t cut it.

Why?

Because against a high-level spellcaster, backing off was a death sentence.

Even if it meant shredded flesh or broken bones, charging in and landing one decisive blow was the only way.

Crack!

Crunch!

Blood for bones.

Carve your way forward and—

Slash!!

“Khhh!”

…If all you managed was a gash across the chest, it wasn’t exactly a win.

“Tch!”

Ihan clicked his tongue.

He’d wanted to show off, but the bastard was tougher than expected.

Old mages were relentless.

Scratching the back of his head awkwardly, Ihan took a step back.

Lesson 4: Run Like Hell.

When things look bad, don’t hesitate—just run.

Never feel ashamed about retreating to regroup and strike again.

Fighting a spellcaster with honor and chivalry was suicidal.

After finishing his live demonstration of all four lessons, Ihan returned to his temporary student.

Looking slightly embarrassed, he muttered—

“Ahem. Well, that was awkward. Only sent one bastard to hell.”

“……”

“Still, it was a pretty solid crash course. Make use of it.”

“…I have no idea how the hell I’m supposed to use any of this.”

“What are you whining about? You won’t find a better lesson than this anywhere.”

“…Hah!”

The “student” looked at him with a mix of disbelief and irritation.

*****

Raq de Duron’s martial prowess was unmatched even within Galahad.

The only reason his name wasn’t widely known was that he had always worked in the shadows, concealing his true strength.

His first public appearance was prompted by the arrival of 72 pirate ships that dared to invade Galahad’s rivers.

And it was his feat of single-handedly destroying 50 of those ships that first earned him the title of Fanged Wolf.

“Is he Galahad’s next commander?”

“Captain Kurin must be pleased. With a successor like that, he can retire without worry.”

“Still, he’s brutal. Pirate or not, he left no survivors.”

“Do you know what’s even scarier? Every one of those pirates died in a single blow. Some of them were famous mercenaries and warriors, yet he pierced through them all with ease.”

“He reminds me of Maximus when he first appeared. What a monster.”

Raq was a leading candidate for the next commander of Galahad’s Emerald Unicorn Knights.

His strength was often compared to the Northern Maximus and he was feared as a ghost of the spear, sometimes called the Divine Spear.

Even his name and surname were bestowed by Duke Blake, stripping him of his original identity—a fact that Raq viewed not as a loss, but as an honor.

He had no regrets.

Raq de Duron wasn’t a man easily impressed.

When his younger sister became a knight despite wishing for a quiet life, his only response was:

“Foolish girl. She should’ve married instead of playing knight.”

(He was promptly cursed out for over three hours.)

Even when he first met Maximus, his only thought was:

“Can I kill him or not?”

It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say nothing ever surprised him.

At most, he’d react emotionally to orders from Duke Blake, but that was excitement, not shock.

So now, Raq wanted to deny what he was feeling.

Not because of some noble warrior—

‘A damn thug…?’

The fact that he was impressed by such a man was nothing short of humiliating.

His eye twitched in frustration.

But no matter how much he wanted to deny it—

Slash!

The bastard fought damn well.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

It was as if—

‘…He’s spent his entire life killing mages.’

It was absurd.

But Raq remained certain that his teaching methods were garbage.

Deflecting spells like they were arrows?

Striking enemies from a distance without moving?

Turning pebbles and shards of glass into bullets?

Even Galahad’s knights couldn’t hope to copy those techniques.

…At best, Raq thought maybe he could imitate some of it—with enough effort.

But the last part—

‘Is he a lizard or a man?’

The thug’s ability to heal so quickly after sacrificing flesh and bone was utterly inhuman.

Raq was sure of one thing:

If that thug ever became an enemy, he’d have to be killed immediately.

Because otherwise—

‘He’d become the most dangerous opponent.’

To Raq, this man was more threatening than the High Mages controlling the skies.

And then—

“…Damn, this is annoying.”

“……”

Had the bastard noticed Raq watching him?

It was an awkward moment.

They were allies for now, so considering him an enemy felt like a mistake.

Raq almost felt guilty.

“Oi, you. How long do you plan to just stand there watching?”

Swish!

Raq’s spear shot out.

It struck exactly where Ihan pointed.

Unfortunately—

Bang!

…it was easily blocked.

Raq’s eyes widened as he stared at the person who had just nullified his attack.

“Oh dear, I’ve been caught.”

A boy with a mischievous smile stepped out of the shadows.

“……”

“More impressive than I expected. That strike felt like a pentaspell—no, maybe even a hexaspell. Incredible aura output, haha.”

“…A kid?”

Raq couldn’t decide what was more shocking—that his attack had been blocked so effortlessly, or that it had been blocked by a boy who looked no older than fifteen.

But the most unbelievable part—

[Tower Master!]

[Why did you take so long to get here?!]

[Late as always…!]

The High Mages called the boy by a title.

Tower Master.

Which meant—

“People don’t believe it when they first meet me. Nice to meet you—I’m Turr, Master of the Magic Tower.”

Turr.

Turr de Seigan.

Even knights who knew nothing about magic recognized that name.

It was legendary.

Because—

“The High Mage who’s lived 400 years…”

“453, actually. Damn long life, huh? Haha!”

“……”

Raq and Ihan didn’t laugh.

They just stood there, drenched in cold sweat.

Both men came to the same conclusion.

“Lesson 5…”

“……”

“Run. Just run. We can’t win this.”

“…Do you have no honor?”

“What the hell does honor matter against a spellcaster?!”

“……”

“So? You staying?”

“…Tch.”

Raq grudgingly admitted that the thug was, in fact, an excellent teacher.

Because his advice was nothing if not practical.