Chương 95: Chapter 94 - Chaos in The Realm

24 days until the highest Trial needed to be challenged. The Realm. 8 days until the pre-class tournament begins. Mahjit the [Mage] was no real [Savant]. That had been a lie. There had been too much expectation, so much pressure to perform for the 'prodigy' that he had caved when the reporters came and asked him if he got the [Prodigy] title. He hadn't even gotten the [Genius] title. So Mahjit told them all he had gotten a [Savant] title.

That one wasn't well documented and didn't have consistent bonuses to compare to. The fake [Savant Mage] wondered when they'd find out he was a fraud. Mahjit worried about it so much that he spent all his waking hours studying magic and tactics. Preparing and practicing with his team until he passed out. The world somehow still believed he was a [Savant]. He was trying his hardest to keep it a secret. He was still by far the most talented [Mage] in the past few years.

It wouldn't be unfair to say that he had been the most talented adventurer in the past five years. Then came Artigan. At first Mahjit had dismissed the blacklister as a crazed idiot. Even when he disabled an entire team at the first Realm, Mahjit had credited it to sheer luck. Luck and the incompetence of the team the blacklister was up against. It was different now. Now that Mahjit had experienced it himself. He played the video again. Artigan standing on top of the hill used to send shivers down his spine.

His new skill stopped that. [Minor Mental Resistance] (Uncommon) 2 -> 3 Mahjit smiled. Who else could get a skill just from watching a video? It did imply that Artigan's Epic had a memetic component which was concerning– An alarm sounded. A flash of red blared through his open window as he stood up. That was impossible. This was Ulverra, the city under the Mage Tyrant. Artigan's figure flashed in his mind before he dismissed it. Not even Artigan… he had attacked Ulverra hadn't he?

The warning made it clear that it wasn't Artigan. His phone started screaming at him.

"ALL REALMERS ARE TO EVACUATE TO SHELTERS IMMEDIATELY. ALL ADVENTURERS ARE TO FOLLOW ORDERS. THIS IS NOT A DRILL. THIS IS NOT A DRILL." The warning came too late. The darkening sky turned into a sea of flame. A curtain of fire descended from the sky. Mahjit recognized the realm 12 Epic tier spell. A [Rain of Fire] crashed towards the city. The apocalyptic flames slammed against invisible barriers as Ulverra pulsed with magic. Runes etched onto every building flared up as the city barriers showed themselves in full.

Mahjit shuddered as the fire raged against the barriers. It was no [Fireball] to explode once and be done with. It was a literal continuous rain of fire, specifically designed to drain large barriers. The amount of mana being displayed made Mahjit feel like an insect once more. Unlike the other adventurers in the street, however, he didn't freeze and gawk. He moved to the open window and started shouting down into the city. They'd all frozen at the scene.

"WHAT ARE YOU ALL DOING?! MOVE INTO THE SHELTERS NOW!" Mahjit would never stand by again. Though there hadn't been a need at all. A single figure appeared in the air like he had always been there. Mahjit almost went blind then. He quickly shut off his [Manasight] as the elf with the highest mana capacity in the world waved his hand. The apocalyptic flame was scooped up, almost gently, then turned into an orb, one that was being rapidly compressed.

A spell circle appeared around the orb of fire, then the [Mage] flicked a finger as the orb of flame went shooting into the distance. [Apocalyptic Fireball] The explosion happened seconds later, far in the distance. The orb had to have exploded miles and miles away. Mahjit shuddered as the elf, no, Tyrant stood there unimpressed. The [Mage] Pioneer. [Mage] of Mass Destruction. Headmaster of the Institute of Magic. Unofficial leader of Ulverra. The Archmage Tyrant.

The [Archmage] looked away and stared at the main system portal in the city, his eyes locking onto something else. What was the Tyrant looking at? Had a dragonslayer managed to sneak in? Then the explosions happened. All across his city as the people cheered for their protector, smoke rose from the towers. – In a hidden shop, Ulverra.

"Whaddafuck!?" She must have been found, there was no other explanation. Who else would attack fucking Ulverra like this? It had to have been the Witch Tyrant. The [Stallmaster Thief] threw her hood off and sprinted at top speed, being careful not to turn other Realmers into a bloody mist. The last thing she needed was to have two damned Tyrants actively after her. Then she skidded to a halt. Her neck prickled as eyes of pure mana bore down on her. The Mage Tyrant had spotted her among the chaos.

She put her hands up placatingly.

"It wasn't me, I swear!" Then she saw it, multiple adventurers wearing dark outfits were flying away from smokestacks at top speed. The explosions were from… the communication towers? The fleeing adventurers wore a similar black garb to when the blacklisted dragonslayers had first attacked the Witch Tyrant. The Mage Tyrant simply let them go. He kept his eyes trained on the most dangerous one. Her. Fuck. The [Stallmaster Thief] took a step back.

Realmers in the street were staring at her, stepping back, far too slow for dragonslayers like her. It was a moment of weakness, but the thought of taking a Realmer hostage flickered in her mind. She swore the Archmage Tyrant noticed her very thoughts. Ten damned eleventh realm magical circles appeared in her vicinity in a flash.

"I told you that I don't like thieves in my city."

"Oh come on!" She didn't hesitate to activate her maxed Epic. [Stolen Time] Everything stopped around her, even the Tyrant. She had to be careful not to touch his magic within a certain radius or it would–She felt something tingle by her foot. The Mage Tyrant had activated one of the city barriers' enchantments on her foot. Triggering her skill's counterpart. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. Her Epic backlashed.

The cost of time itself being stolen from the world rebounded into her body as she froze. The spell circles surrounding her started spewing thousands of silken threads at her–the Tyrant had tried chains before. He'd clearly learned his lesson. The [Stallmaster Thief] gritted her teeth and called upon her class. She fought against the backlash. Against the grinding gears of time itself. It was cheap to use an old enchantment to break a maxed out learned Epic.

The [Stallmaster Thief] snuck through the enormous grinding gears of time itself, almost crushing herself in the process. The thrill of doing so once again invigorated the [Thief] This was not the first time she had done so and it would not be the last. Her class reached out and grabbed onto the spell circle that jammed her own time. It was too weak to fight against her nimble hands.

She pulled with all the skill of a [Thief] that had done this countless times before, layering herself with the many, many times that she'd stolen from the Archmage Tyrant. Her class enveloped her entire being and– The backlash was stalled. [Stolen Time] reactivated as she did a small hop over the spell circle. Threads of magical binding were inches from her face. But the distance no longer mattered, not when her time was practically endless. Her hands tapped on an item in her belt and tore it.

A talisman she had 'picked' up from Sector Eleven. Something that wasn't built on magic at all. Just for good measure she spun one of her rings in her hands. An item she had stolen from the [Null Mage], Atellion. It voided even the Archmage Tyrant's magic. In a flash she was gone. Once again the [Stallmaster Thief] had gotten away from the Tyrants. As the exhilaration at being able to flee a Tyrant died down. The [Stallmaster Thief] cursed her luck. Another precious emergency artifact lost.

She'd have to start stealing more. The [Thief] was just left wondering what idiots had attempted an attack on the Archmage Tyrant's city? And why the hell they would they go after communication towers of all things. – The Realm. Sector Eight, Near Vitalia, the City of Youth Mezhar and his team had been making good time returning to Vitalia, it wasn't the most convenient of places but apparently it had been attacked and the dragonslayer overseeing the city requested backup.

Such situations weren't rare in Sector Eight. Sometimes a wandering monster capable of endangering Vitalia could appear. Except this time it wasn't a wandering monster, but attacks by hooded figures. Adventurers. Unfortunately someone had intercepted them on their way. A single man sat by a cleared area spinning a wicked double headed axe in one hand. The other had been thrown at his head to get his attention. Mezhar tensed up. This felt like an ambush but he couldn't feel anyone else. Neither did his team.

Mezhar had his shield up and faced it towards this weird dragonslayer.

"Excuse me but we have business elsewhere."

"It's already too late. The job's already been done."

"Then why are you in our way?" The man raised his head and sniffed the air, he scrunched his face and glared.

"I don't understand it. They tell me you have a Legend but I don't see it. All this being wasted on a newbie with such a pathetic Epic was bad enough, but you? You? I don't understand you." The words bled through the air and drowned the world in red. Anything alive in a ten mile radius began to flee. Giant dinosaurs and beasts of Sector Eight trampled each other to get out of the way. Everything fled–except for Mezhar and his team. They couldn't turn their backs against whoever this was.

"Mezhar, I know who this is. He's… he's supposed to be dead. It's Kedark the [Demonic Warlord]." The demonic classed dragonslayer. Lifted up his axe. It was a simple axe designed for one hand. There were no enchantments on it. During the time this [Warlord] had been alive, there were no enchanted weapons worth using at his level. The axe hung high in the air. Cleaving the world around it. Aura used only to layer the weapon so it didn't break under his grip.

"I never managed to get a Legend, and I don't think I can anymore. But who knows? Maybe if I drench myself in your blood I'll find a way." The [Demonic Warlord] brought the axe down. – Scenes of destruction played out in The Realm. Every major city, every hub of power had their communications network attacked or destroyed. In some places it was a simple problem, just cut the internet lines that went through the System portals. In other places like Ulverra, towers had to be smashed.

Sometimes exploded to make a spectacle. They had skipped the Shadow Tyrant's home city. Fallen or not, nobody wanted to test out whether the Shadow Tyrant could kill a memory. The Shadow Tyrant hadn't just killed the dragonslayers that took his city hostage. He'd left The Realm to grab the one dragonslayer that had respawned outside Australia's system portal. Ending their life permanently. Australia's government had said nothing in response. Attacking Ulverra with a mass of fire was enough of a spectacle anyway.

It grabbed everyone's attention. Away from Artigan's videos. Ryan sat there watching Gamielle play out the scenes in her holograms. Over a hundred towns and cities were having their internet cut off, all for him, all so that his incompetent ass could relocate his Epic. He would make this count. He would succeed, of that there was no doubt in his mind. Drums started beating as Ozyell began the duet. The [Bard] could play any instrument on his keyboard, his fingers started tapping to Ryan's heartbeat.

Slow and steady. Ryan took his broken sword with his broken arm and swung down, then thrust forward. He'd found out that he was terrible at meditating without moving his body. Sitting down and focusing on his core wasn't for him. He had to– Move. Thrust again, slash into a cross. Wrap the aura around his blade. Pour more of his Epic into his already useless arm until it ran out. Push himself to the limit then push again. Larix stood up and took a stance opposite him.

The sect leader was a genius, apparently a prodigy that could match up to other adventurers. Ryan wasn't so sure about that. They clashed in the middle, in perfect synchronicity. It was more of a choreographed dance than a true spar. Larix matched Ryan's tempo, speed and skill. And the drums became louder. The percussion came in, building up the tension as their strikes became part of the beat. His Epic's core felt lighter but Ryan didn't try to move it–not yet.

His blade flashed with a red gleam as it slashed across the iron wall of Larix. It left an angry red welt but no true damage. Their past few days had been training for Larix too. Before, a strike like that would have made him bleed. Larix had gained some form of aura resistance. They took a pause, the music screeching to a halt as well. The violins started as the duo paced around. Gamielle was above them all, watching this moment and trying to keep up with Ozyell with her visuals.

She was no grand conductor nor a masterful director but she was a [Mage] unlike any other. Now it was phase two. Larix stopped moving like a fortress and began moving like a lancer. His fists pumped forward with enough force to destroy tanks. Even Ryan would die if he was hit by these. It forced him to go deeper into focus. He no longer used his arm. Ryan dodged again and again, not bothering to strike back. Step back, sway to the left. Close in and spin to dodge the thrust up from the other hand.

Above them the images of cities burned. A procession of Realmers evacuating to shelters. A mere backdrop. A Tyrant noticed the observer and mouthed words that were clearly meant for Gamielle. Then the image of Ulverra was gone. The other cities remained above them as the duo danced their spar. Ryan the [Rogue] dodging and running away. Larix the cultivator trying to stamp out a rat. A piano came in, not quiet, but loud. Impactful sounds of a selfish player that desired to be on the front stage themselves.

It was almost jarring and took Ryan out of his focus, Ozyell was stepping forward and spinning around with the music. It looked like the [Bard] had taken over and was in his own world. Until he turned to Ryan and gave him a wink. Ah. He couldn't have someone upstaging him, Ryan stomped forward. Uncaring about the beat or whatever music was being made. He moved away from his sparring partner and threw his sword at Ozyell. The [Bard] feigned shock and fell onto his back to dodge the projectile.

The music once again coming to a screeching halt as Larix stepped forward to throw out his fist. This time Ryan stepped forward. Perfect form, perfect control. Their fists collided in the air. There was no great sound, no great moving of music, no great power as Ryan dislodged the core of [Unrelenting Aura of Intimidation] and forced it into his right arm. [Aura Control] Level up. [Aura Control] Level up.

[Aura Control] (Rare) level 10 -> 12 The core, the passive of the Epic, had been moved to the base of his forearm. It pulsed there, forcing its own weight onto the arm. The Epic did not like being relegated to a mere limb, it desired to be at the center of his body, the core. It started pushing its way back. Ryan gritted his teeth as he tried to pull the Epic back. Fighting against it trying to come back to the core of his body was impossible. Even with the level ups.

There'd be no chance if the passive started building up again. Communications were down. This was the moment. Now or never. [Aura Condensation] Warning! Qualitative aura change detected Forced Realm evolution started