"Gladly!" Cloud laughed, a harsh, mirthless sound, wreathed in biting frost as he gave chase.
Meanwhile, after much effort, Xize had finally managed to explain the situation to his mother. Though Debbie remained skeptical, she allowed Hugh to take the boy to the scene of the incident.
Hugh slung his greatsword across his back, cradled Xize securely, and launched forward like an arrow from a bow. The wind roared past their ears—their speed even surpassed the secret arts Fantasia had used earlier.
A sudden chill made Xize shiver. He looked up to see a blizzard darkening the sky, icicles clashing like blades in the air. Through the raging snow, he could just make out two figures still locked in confrontation within the storm.
"Stop! This is all a misunder—" The boy's cry was cut short.
A streak of white light shot out from the ice storm, vanishing deep into the Kawabo Mountains. Another figure followed close behind. As the two departed, the blizzard gradually subsided.
Xize stared at the devastated battlefield—the collapsed cabin, smoldering beams, and Fantasia lying motionless nearby. Grief shadowed the boy's youthful face, as if he already foresaw his own fate.
Did all of this... happen because of me?
Deep within the mountains, the two figures faced each other once more.
"Leave now, and you might yet keep your life," Barlow declared, hovering in the air, his tone cold as frost.
"What do you mean?" Cloud, having just caught up, stared in confusion.
"Must I spell it out?" Barlow raised an impatient brow. "The legacy of mental magic."
Cloud let out a bitter laugh. "So that's why that rat launched a sneak attack." His aged face hardened like ice. "In that case, we have nothing more to discuss."
"Agreed. Once I take your life, I'll extract what I need from your mind."
"Arrogant fool!" Cloud's ring flashed, unleashing a barrage of low-tier spells like falling rain. At the same time, obscure incantations vibrated through the air, and a white mist began to spread around him.
The frigid fog swirled and coalesced, forming a massive dragon clad in crystalline ice scales. The beast threw back its head and roared, shaking the surrounding cliffs.
Barlow raised a blazing wall of fire, his chanting so swift the syllables blurred together. A searing cloud of flame bloomed across the sky, raining fire down upon the earth. Within moments, the forest for miles around was reduced to charcoal, and even the mountain rocks melted into bubbling magma.
The falling flames gathered together, taking the form of a phoenix reborn in fire. With a clear, piercing cry, its blaze intensified tenfold, massive wings of flame stretching a hundred meters to blot out the sky.
The ice dragon and fire phoenix collided midair in a cataclysmic crash. Talons tore at wings, a sharp beak struck at the dragon's neck. Shards of ice and embers poured down like a storm, casting the sky into flickering light and shadow.
When the dust settled, both men looked worse for wear. Cloud's beard was singed, and Barlow's robes were slashed with cuts from ice blades.
"They say you're a rising star who's mastered all seven schools of magic," Cloud taunted, wiping blood from his lips. "So why only fire?"
"Against you, one school is more than enough."
"Or is it that you're spread too thin?" the old mage sneered. "That staff of yours, capable of wielding all elements—it's currently being used to suppress the curse on that boy, isn't it?"
Barlow's pupils contracted sharply. "How do you know that?"
"If you hadn't sent your lackeys to steal mental magic, lifting the curse would have been simple," Cloud replied meaningfully. "A pity, really..."
"What did you say?" Barlow stood frozen, as if struck by lightning. "You can remove the curse?"
A bitter mountain wind swept across the scorched earth, reminding them both that their battle was not yet over.
Forcing himself to calm down, Barlow retraced the events carefully. "If you hadn't placed a mental mark on Xize, none of this would have happened. If this gets out—"
"Lies!" Cloud roared. "When did I ever cast a spell on that child? It was you who sent an assassin after my lifelong research in mental magic!"
Barlow stood in stunned silence, finally realizing that the truth might be far more complicated than he had assumed.
"What misunderstanding?" Claude's voice dripped with icy skepticism.
Barlow's Adam's apple bobbed as he struggled for words. He had been making wild guesses in desperation, hardly able to provide any coherent explanation.
Fortunately, an ear-splitting roar interrupted his embarrassment. Hugh descended like a falling meteor, crashing through the swirling dust and smoke. As debris scattered, Xizer stumbled out of the haze covering his nose, his sleeves already coated with grime.
When his vision cleared, Xizer gasped. Before his eyes, half the landscape was frozen in biting frost while the other half had been scorched into barren earth. This apocalyptic scene made him worry about the land's very vitality.
Barlow's fingertips still shimmered with residual magical power, his wary gaze locked on the archmage nearby. Claude showed no carelessness either, the ice crystals swirling around him signaling his readiness for battle.
"Hear me out!" Xizer raised his voice, attempting to break the deadlock.
Under the sharp scrutiny from both sides, Xizer suddenly realized that revealing the truth wouldn't benefit him at all. If someone had to take the blame, aside from the unconscious Fancy, he would be the only candidate left.
"Perhaps... you could deal with this old fellow first?" Xizer cast a tentative look toward Barlow.
The air froze instantly. Both Barlow and Claude fell into silence.
Xizer sighed inwardly, then steeled himself to explain everything. As his account unfolded, the full picture of the incident gradually emerged.
"So this was all just a prank, and Fancy misunderstood?" Barlow's voice held disbelief.
Xizer nodded nervously.
Barlow looked up at the sky, taking a deep breath. The clouds offered no revelation as he had hoped. Turning to Claude, he swallowed hard. "Honored Archmage..."
"Not 'old bastard' anymore?" Claude's lips curled sarcastically.
"It was all a misunderstanding," Barlow hurried to explain. "We will provide appropriate compensation."
"Compensation?" Claude laughed bitterly. "My experiments destroyed, my residence demolished—what could you possibly offer?"
"Father!" Xizer suddenly interjected. "Since Uncle Hugh is here too, perhaps you could join forces..."
Hugh immediately gripped his greatsword tighter, battle lust igniting in his eyes.
"Silence!" Barlow snapped, then ordered Hugh, "Take him back home first."
Watching their retreating figures, Barlow collected his thoughts. "The Graham family will double all the experimental materials you lost, and we can supply any resources you need in the future."
"Those seeking to curry my favor are never in short supply," Claude responded indifferently.
"But what they want likely exceeds our demands," Barlow analyzed calmly.
A faint ripple of emotion crossed Claude's aged face. "Your terms?"
"If you can lift Xizer's curse, I will unconditionally grant you three favors of your choosing."
This promise made Claude's fingers twitch slightly. Three promises from an archmage were indeed worth considering.
"I have one additional condition," Claude mused. "That boy shall become my apprentice."
Barlow's breath caught. "You mean..."
"If he's my disciple, naturally I'll resolve his curse."
Elation surged through Barlow's heart. He solemnly pressed his right fist to his chest. "The Graham family will never forget this kindness."
Just as they reached their agreement, old Charlie in Sparrow Village jolted awake from his recliner. A biting chill made him shiver—moments ago it had been crisp autumn weather, yet now it felt like the depths of winter.
"Damnable weather..." he grumbled, rising to fetch warmer clothes. Then he noticed an ornately decorated carriage approaching on the main road outside the village.
This counted as rare in Sparrow Village, where outsiders seldom visited. Charlie paused to watch as the carriage stopped and a master-servant pair descended.
The leading knight wore formal attire embroidered with silver insignia, a slender sword at his waist, his eyebrows sharp as blades. Beside him stood a young man with golden long hair, his exquisite robes offering little protection against the cold as he rubbed his reddened, freezing fingers.
"Is the northern weather always this bitterly cold?" the young man complained, his voice tinged with grievance.
The knight didn't answer, intently sensing the abnormal elemental fluctuations in the air. The coachman stepped forward seeking instructions. "Ninth Young Master, allow me to scout ahead."
With permission granted, the coachman's figure soon vanished down the village road.
Not all who arrive on a white steed are nobility—some are mere riders. Jeff was precisely such a man, astride a pale horse yet no aristocrat.
Though society sneered at his profession, Jeff wore his pride more boldly than many who claimed noble blood. His confidence was well-earned: crossing the threshold into noble service—whether by marriage or employment—was no small feat. He'd carved his place through skill, not birthright.
As a warrior, he possessed talents that set him apart. Speed, above all, was his unmatched forte. In mere moments, he reached the aftermath of the battle.
The sight stole his breath. The dueling grounds looked as if a god's fist had crushed them. Ruins sprawled everywhere, thick with the suffocating residue of magic. Even to a martial specialist like Jeff, the restless elements of ice and fire hung palpable in the air. Such cataclysmic devastation could only be the work of forbidden spells.
As he finished his survey and turned to leave, his gaze caught on massive impact craters scarring the earth—as though stars had fallen from the sky. After a brief hesitation, he followed the fresh trail, leading him swiftly to the castle outskirts.
Should he enter? Jeff lingered at a distance, wrestling with the decision. Just as hesitation gripped him, a slender figure emerged from the castle gateway.
◇
Hizer wasn't heartless—not entirely, and certainly not today.
Since being brought back to the castle, he had remained at Fantasea's bedside, watching the physicians tend to the injured shadow guard. Whatever misunderstandings had sparked the conflict, Fantasea had been wounded because of him.
Gazing at the pale-faced guard, Hizer felt a tangled mess of emotions. If he did nothing, this guilt would haunt him forever.
"Fantasea," he murmured after a long pause, "how about I give you a new name?"
He reflected that the whimsical name he'd bestowed in jest lacked the respect owed to a loyal protector. It was time to grant a title worthy of devotion.
Fantasea, freshly roused from unconsciousness, nearly fainted again. In the tradition of shadow guards, receiving a name was the highest honor. Never in the annals of their house had a three-year-old master bestowed such a gift.
And now, it seemed, that honor was to be revoked.
Fantasea studied his young master with a complex gaze. He understood Hizer's startling maturity better than Barlow or Debbie ever could; to him, the child was no ordinary boy. The pride he'd once felt curdled into bitterness.
He struggled to sit up. "Master—"
"Just call me young master," Hizer scratched his forehead. "'Master' sounds so stuffy."
"So it's true..." A pang shot through Fantasea's heart.
"Wait," Hizer caught the shift in his expression. "Don't tell me you're jumping to conclusions again?"
Fantasea's face fell. "Shadow guards are sworn to loyalty. If you wish to revoke my name, I'll bear no resentment. I only beg... to remain by your side."
"You've got it all wrong!" Hizer rubbed his temples, caught between exasperation and amusement. "Did you hit your head? This melodrama isn't like the Fantasea I know."
After repeated explanations, the shadow guard finally grasped his master's true intent.
◇
"Hmph!"
A cold snort preceded two archmages—until recently locked in mortal combat—as they entered the room flanked by attendants. Cloud tossed a crystal vial onto the bed with a scowl. "An elixir for his internal injuries. He should recover in half a month—"
"Hold on," Hizer eyed the bottle suspiciously. "You didn't poison it, did you?"
Barlow and Debbie exchanged stunned glances. The room fell into silence.
"Use it or don't!" Cloud choked on his anger, flung the vial down, and stormed out.
"Are you sure it's not poisoned?" Hizer called after him.
They glimpsed the retreating figure stumble briefly before quickening his pace.
Unbeknownst to Hizer, he'd just added another name to his growing list of aggrieved superiors—digging himself ever deeper into trouble.
Barlow lingered only to urge Fantasea to rest before taking his leave.
"Guilty conscience, clearly!" Hizer fumed once they were alone. "Fantasea, we're not using his poison. So what if you need three more months to recover? This counts as an occupational injury!"