Agonizing pain, like countless red-hot steel needles, stabbed fiercely into Lin En’s consciousness.
He gasped sharply, a ragged hiss escaping his throat like a broken bellows, and his eyes flew open.
What filled his vision wasn’t the scorched earth and death of the Ashen Forest, but a soft, clean dome overhead.
This was the highest-grade medical suite of Fran Magic Martial Academy, prepared specifically for severely injured core members.
“Bro… brother…”
Lin En turned his head with difficulty, inch by inch.
Wei’er was lying at the bedside, her small face buried beside his uninjured left arm, sleeping soundly.
She was dressed in a clean cotton dress, her face pale as paper, with heavy shadows beneath her eyes—a sign of great fear and exhaustion.
One small hand was clutching a few of Lin En’s left fingers tightly, her knuckles white, as if it were the only driftwood she could cling to in a stormy sea.
She was alive. She was here.
A surge of overwhelming relief and bittersweet agony crashed over Lin En, nearly suffocating him.
“Humph…”
A low sound echoed not far away.
Only then did Lin En notice the figure seated in the corner’s armchair—the Vice Dean of Fran Magic Martial Academy, Fire Archmage Morton.
His iconic fire-patterned mage’s robe was immaculate, and his graying hair and beard were neatly groomed.
“Teacher Morton… you… saved me again.”
Lin En tried to sit up, but pain shot through his body as if he were about to fall apart.
“Don’t move, boy.”
Morton’s voice was deep and commanding, brooking no argument.
He stood in a single stride, moving to the bedside, his broad palm gently pressing Lin En’s struggling left shoulder down.
“Your injuries are severe, especially the wound left by that Magic-Breaking Arrow. It’s no trivial matter. The Academy’s standard healing techniques had little effect. Moving recklessly will only make it worse.”
“Wei’er… Mother…”
Lin En’s voice was hoarse and dry, like sandpaper grating, each syllable pulling fresh pain from his throat, but his eyes burned with urgent fire.
Morton answered immediately.
“Your sister is unharmed—just badly frightened and still affected by lingering sedative toxins. She’s weak, but rest will restore her.”
He paused, glancing toward the next room.
“Your mother is in the Special Care Ward next door. Her condition… is not good.”
The words ‘not good’ stabbed into Lin En’s heart like an ice pick.
The light in his eyes dimmed sharply, only to be replaced by even colder fury and killing intent.
He fell silent, his jawline tensed like a blade, as if suppressing a wrath powerful enough to scorch the world.
The door to the ward slid open a crack without a sound.
Morton’s capable assistant, the ever-meticulous and efficient Elvin, appeared in the doorway.
He held a thick sheaf of parchment in his hands, his expression grave.
His gaze swept quickly over Lin En and the sleeping Wei’er before settling on Morton. He nodded slightly.
Morton understood, turning to Lin En.
“Rest. I have matters to attend to.”
He patted Lin En’s shoulder gently, then strode toward the door.
The ward door closed quietly behind Morton, sealing off the faint light and sounds within.
At the corridor’s end, cold marble reflected the yellow glow of the wall lamps.
“Speak.”
Morton’s voice was especially low in the empty corridor, carrying a formless weight.
“Vice Dean,”
Elvin unrolled the documents in his hands, speaking quickly and clearly.
“The Skull Ridge investigation results have been confirmed. The entire mountain structure has disappeared. Only a lava lake remains—approximately seven hundred meters in diameter, over fifty meters deep. The core area’s magma is extremely hot, still cooling slowly.”
“The Blood Wolf Bandit Gang and their stronghold have been utterly annihilated by Lin En’s magic eruption. No signs of life remain.”
He paused, a hint of awe coloring his voice even as he continued.
“Judging by the site’s traces, Lin En’s magic… far surpassed the destructive power of 9th-tier magic.”
Morton’s face remained impassive, but his gaze was sharp as a blade.
“The employer?”
“Extremely cautious.”
Elvin flipped a page.
“Tracing funds through the seven underground channels the Blood Wolf typically uses for tasks, all flows lead to an anonymous dead account. The trail ends there.”
“The Assassin Squad that ambushed Lin En?”
“Venom Sting.”
Elvin’s voice grew heavier as he uttered the name.
“The continent’s ninth-ranked elite hunter organization in the shadows. They specialize in targeting high-level Magi, sabotaging key facilities, and kidnapping high-value targets.”
“Fees are exorbitant, but their success rate is equally terrifying. Intelligence indicates that Horn, one of the Red Sand Federation’s Army Mages, fell to Venom Sting.”
“Horn…”
Morton’s thoughts drifted.
Decades ago, as a Kingdom Army Mage, he had crossed paths with Horn on the battlefield. Though Morton ultimately prevailed, Horn’s abilities were formidable.
“What level was Horn when he was assassinated?”
“Records show he was an intermediate Fire Archmage when Venom Sting killed him seven years ago.”
An Assassin Squad capable of easily slaying an intermediate Fire Archmage was nearly wiped out against Lin En—and Lin En was protecting a burdensome companion at the time.
Though Morton ultimately saved Lin En himself, the assassins had clearly been devastated.
The site of the assassins’ deaths bore similar high-temperature incineration marks, though in a more concentrated area.
Remnants included heavily carbonized, porous, blackened bone fragments and the twisted, melted remains of a dagger.
He looked up, meeting Morton’s gaze.
“Your Great Flame Burst spell…”
Elvin hesitated.
“Is far weaker than Lin En’s magic in destructive force.”
Morton finished for him, eyes lingering on two sketch imprints.
A strange light flickered deep in his gaze, but it quickly stilled into darkness.
“Anti-Magic Weapon?”
“This is key.”
Elvin rapidly turned to the final pages, pointing to a series of complex, ancient runic diagrams reproduced by magical tracing.
“Fragments of the Anti-Magic Dagger recovered from the assassin’s corpse, and unlaunched spare Anti-Magic Arrows from the Dark Elf’s heavy crossbow, were all found to bear intricate, ancient Runic Arrays.”
“The Academy’s Chief Master of Runology, Lord Gellman, personally conducted the analysis.”
His voice grew quieter, burdened by the weight of forbidden knowledge.
“The results point to a name buried completely by history… the Dark Holy Court.”
“Dark Holy Court?”
For the first time, Morton’s brow knit tightly, a cold light flashing in his eyes.
“Five hundred years ago, the Holy Light Church, allied with the Seven Nations Allied Army and all major magic factions, launched the final Holy War in Eternal Dusk Canyon, eradicating the Dark Holy Court!”
“All records state their core legacy was severed, their leaders executed, and their remnants utterly uprooted!”
“It’s said the Elven Race worship the Goddess of Life, but Dark Elves are exceptions—they are followers of the Dark God. The captured Dark Elf archer is likely a descendant of those few who escaped destruction!”
“Precisely.”
Elvin nodded solemnly.
“Master Gellman confirms that the structure and energy-guiding methods of these Runes match those described in ancient fragments relating to the Dark Holy Court’s Anti-Magic Runes. Their craftsmanship far exceeds any known current techniques.”
“This is not mere imitation or relic excavation, but rather… the continuation of a core legacy.”
A chill filled the corridor.
The reappearance of a forbidden group, declared utterly destroyed five centuries ago, and its signature Anti-Magic technology, now used to target the Academy’s prodigy—its implications were terrifying.
Morton’s face hardened as if covered in ice.
He spoke slowly, each word like an iron bead hitting stone, heavy with steel and blood.
“When Venom Sting takes a job, there is always a record. They must know the truth. Pry open the mouth of that Dark Elf! I don’t care what methods you use—spiritual inducement, memory search, or soul interrogation!”
“Have Master Reino of the Mind Prison do it himself! I want three answers.”
“First: who hired Venom Sting to attack Lin En? Second: is the Dark Holy Court truly revived? Where is their base and legacy source? Third: does Venom Sting have other accomplices or related bases in this operation?”
His eyes burned with icy fire.
“No matter the cost or means. Within three days, I want the results on my desk.”
“Understood! Vice Dean!”
Elvin straightened, eyes full of unwavering loyalty.
He swiftly gathered the documents, blending silently into the shadows at the corridor’s end to execute the iron-blooded command.
***
In the ward, even excruciating pain couldn’t imprison Lin En’s heart.
Ignoring the healers’ repeated warnings, he dragged his numb right leg forward, each step pulling at his wounds and soaking his thin gown with cold sweat.
Wei’er clung to his uninjured left arm, her small face anxious as she walked beside him.
He pushed open the Special Care Ward next door.
A stronger scent of medicinal herbs filled the air.
On the bed, Mother Susan lay quietly, thin magic tubes emitting faint green light connecting her body to life-support devices.
Her abdomen was wrapped in thick bandages stained with blood.
Her face was so thin and gaunt her cheekbones jutted sharply, her skin ashen and lifeless.
But most shocking, most heart-wrenching of all—
Her once jet-black, silky hair was now completely gray!
Like withered grass after a cold autumn frost, it had lost all luster and strength, spreading lifelessly across the pillow.
This harrowing change spoke silently of her rapidly fading life force.
In a single night, decades seemed to have been drained from her.
“Mother…”
Lin En’s throat tightened.
He broke free from Wei’er’s support and staggered to the bedside, steadying himself with his left arm on the edge.
His trembling fingers reached toward his mother’s gray hair, but stopped just short—afraid to wake her, or perhaps terrified to feel the chill of life slipping away.
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Morton, having finished with Elvin, entered the ward.
His tall frame stood in the doorway, eyes sweeping over Susan’s gray, haggard features and finally resting on Lin En’s trembling back, racked by pain and fury.
“Lin En.”
Morton’s deep voice broke the heavy silence of the room.
“Our healers have done all they can for your mother.”
“The problem lies with the dagger.”
His words were laced with helplessness.
“Her mortal wound is in the abdomen. The dagger pierced her organs. We barely preserved her life core, and the wound is slowly healing.”
“But…”
He shook his head.
“That dagger… was tainted with deadly Wither Fever spores.”
“They are like bone-clinging maggots, parasitizing the wound and relentlessly devouring the host’s life essence.”
“We tried every known purification spell and neutralizing potion, but none could eradicate them. Her life force continues to drain away…”
Wither Fever!
Lin En’s fists clenched, nails digging so deep into his palms that blood seeped between his fingers—yet he felt no pain.
Seeing his mother’s gray hair—life itself fading away—was a torment beyond torture.
He turned suddenly, eyes wet with grief.
“Teacher, then… does my mother still have hope?”
“Wither Fever is rare and deadly,”
Morton stepped to the bed, his gaze sharp on the bandages around Susan’s abdomen.
“But it’s not incurable.”
“Ancient records state that only Grand Purification, wielded by a Cardinal Archbishop of the Holy Light Church, or Life Praise from the Hall of Life, can completely eliminate such virulent spores and restore lost life essence.”
He placed a heavy hand on Lin En’s uninjured left shoulder, conveying strength and promise.
“For now, your own injuries must be healed. The annihilation energy in your shoulder from the Magic-Breaking Arrow is stubborn and resists normal Academy healing or potions. You must regain your mobility first.”
Just then, the ward door was gently knocked.
Elvin had returned, standing at the doorway with a finely crafted, gold-edged invitation.
On its cover, a golden Sun Holy Emblem, formed from pure light, gleamed with authority in the corridor’s illumination.
Elvin’s expression was grave and tense as he bowed respectfully.
“Vice Dean,”
He spoke clearly, his voice carrying into the ward.
“Envoys from the Holy Light Church have arrived.”
“Vice Commander Lancelot of the Order of the Dawn Sword Paladins leads the delegation, accompanied by a High Archbishop.”
“They are in the Academy’s reception hall, requesting an audience.”
He paused, eyes flickering over Susan’s frail figure and Lin En’s bloodied shoulder.
“They stated two intentions: first, to investigate the reappearance of the Dark Holy Court’s remnants and Anti-Magic Runes. Second…”
His gaze landed on Lin En’s wounded right shoulder.
“Having heard of Lin En’s Magic-Breaking injury, they have brought the Blessing of the Holy Light, and wish to offer healing.”
Holy Light Church?
Investigating the Dark Holy Court?
Healing the Magic-Breaking wound?
Morton’s eyes narrowed, thick graying brows drawing together into a deep furrow.
All expression vanished from his face, leaving only the deep calm of a bottomless lake.
Yet beneath that calm, waves of suspicion and a trace of wary vigilance churned.
He looked once at Susan, her life force like a candle guttering in the wind, and again at Lin En’s wounded shoulder.
He was silent for several seconds, the weight of it suffocating.
At last, he spoke, his tone impossible to read, each word heavy as iron.
“The Holy Light Church… moves quickly, indeed.”