Pendragon Nobles’ Assembly

The central governing body of the kingdom, standing alongside the royal family, guild unions, and merchant alliances.

The Assembly, frequented by the high-ranking nobles of the capital, was notorious for its constant shouting matches. One might wonder if the division into factions among the nobles was the cause.

Although established to govern the nation, watching these power-hungry nobles bicker made it clear—politicians behaved the same no matter the world.

Boom!

“I already told you! We’re responsible for the Sultan’s protection!”
“Protection? What protection!? They said they didn’t need any guards, so what excuse do we have to keep watch over them!?”
“We shouldn’t have accepted them in the first place. That’s why this disaster happened.”
“You ignorant fools who don’t know the first thing about diplomacy! Is this really the time to say that? Not accepting them in the first place? Are you out of your mind!? Use those heads of yours for something other than decoration!”
“What!? You think I’ll let you talk down to me like that!?”
“Are you taking off your gloves!? You arrogant bastard, know your place…!”

Gloves flew through the air as duels were declared every minute, fists flying alongside shouts.

Was this a council of intellectuals or a gladiator arena?

The argument stemmed from the terrorist attack involving the Sultan the previous day. With no practical solutions in sight, the Assembly devolved into nothing but noise and insults.

“Haa, this is frustrating. Dalton, don’t you have any ideas? If you do, I’d love to hear them.”
“…Do you think I have some brilliant plan hidden up my sleeve?”
“Hah, humility? That’s unlike you. Are you feeling unwell?”
“N-no. My thoughts are just a bit scattered, Sir Edry.”
“Hmm, well, if anything’s troubling you, let me know. We’re peers, after all.”
“…I appreciate it, truly.”

On the surface, the conversation between Dalton and Edry seemed warm, a glimpse into the importance of academic networks among nobles.

But Dalton—the one called by that name—had a hardened expression, barely noticeable unless closely observed.

He was…

‘That idiot Sultan… Why stir up trouble and get caught in it like this? Damn fool.’

Behind those sunken eyes, he found the situation deeply troubling.

A cold smirk curled at his lips.

Dalton—or rather, the old sorcerer hiding beneath Dalton’s skin—found the entire ordeal laughable.

*****

Greg the Rogue Mage

Greg, a rogue mage, had lived over eighty years.

Unlike knights or warriors who decayed with age, mages grew stronger as their magical power matured.

Thanks to this, Greg remained at his peak despite his advanced years.

Just as he was now.

“Clicking my tongue… Did I pick the wrong body? Who would’ve thought he’d be this poor and insignificant…?”

Greg belatedly discovered that the original owner of his body was a penniless scholar—a noble only in title, obsessed with books and academics.

Thinking the man’s connection to the Assembly made him a suitable candidate, Greg hadn’t expected such poverty.

Not even a single servant in his household. His income relied entirely on stipends from the Assembly.

What kind of noble lived so humbly—no, so pathetically?

“Sigh. A rare chance to be a noble, and I pull the short straw.”

Despite his grumbling, Greg didn’t lash out.

One of his principles was to maintain his disguise as much as possible.

It was this attention to detail that had allowed Greg to evade capture for so long.

‘I thought I’d finally escape this life on the run.’

But even Greg couldn’t hide forever.

He yearned to settle down somewhere.

Perhaps…

“…The Sultanate could be a fine nest.”

Although Sultan Salah had been attacked and was confined to his quarters, Greg knew the Sultan wouldn’t give up his pursuit of Mystics.

A man that greedy wouldn’t pass up such an opportunity.

Greg rolled the precious mana stone given to him by the Sultan.

Its brilliance rivaled a gemstone’s, though it was no bigger than a pebble.

Priceless.

‘I asked him to get this for me, but I didn’t think he’d deliver so easily.’

Greg was reminded of the Sultan’s influence, and his greed stirred.

—I want it!

Greg, a mage who had spent his life stealing others’ talents and lives, found himself lusting after the Sultan’s power.

If he could seize it, he’d never have to worry about research funds again.

And if things went well…

‘Even the Magic Tower won’t dare look down on me anymore!’

The moment he thought of the Magic Tower, Greg’s eyes flickered with emotion.

Love and hatred, envy and greed.

The Tower—his birthplace and the home he longed to reclaim.

He wanted recognition.

He wanted the Tower to bow before him.

To see his life’s work enshrined in its uppermost archives.

His dream.

Greg burned with ambition.

‘If I plunder the Mystics and present my research, the old fools at the Tower will have no choice but to acknowledge me!’

Greg could already picture the day when the Tower would beg him to return.

Clatter.

Greg idly rolled the mana stone as unease crept into his mind.

‘What is this…?’

After living for 80 years, Greg never ignored his instincts.

Survival demanded a honed sense of danger.

Suddenly—

Flash!

‘It’s too quiet!’

He immediately noticed.

Not even the sound of insects. An unnatural silence.

Realizing this, Greg quickly grabbed the mana stone—

“For a spellcaster, your instincts aren’t bad.”

Crash!

“!!”

A hand burst through the wall as if it were sand.

Greg flinched.

The sight could’ve paralyzed a weaker man with fear.

But instead—

Whoosh!

Boom!

“Kh!”

Greg conjured a barrier of magical energy.

After all, ambushes had plagued him throughout his life.

He was no stranger to sudden attacks—

Crackle!!

“!?!!!”

What the hell!?

Greg cursed aloud, though his voice was drowned out as the barrier shattered.

The attacker’s arm tore through his magical defenses like paper.

A barrier refined through decades of effort, as solid as castle walls—shattered.

Greg reeled at the impossibility.

His instincts screamed that this opponent was no ordinary foe.

‘This bastard’s dangerous!’

He didn’t hesitate.

Instead of retreating, Greg began chanting a spell.

“[Gather, clouds], [let the storm’s winds take root]. [Let lightning dance and winds carve sharp paths], [destroy my enemy]!”

A thundercloud began to form.

Though small, it was packed with deadly energy.

Rumble!

“Die, bastard!”

Greg unleashed the thundercloud, brimming with devastating energy, and immediately began chanting another spell to flee.

Even he wouldn’t escape unscathed if caught in the explosion.

In truth, the attack wasn’t meant to kill but to create a chance to retreat—only a fool would stay within range of the storm.

…At least, that was what he thought.

“That stings a bit.”

CRACK!!

—The thundercloud shattered.

“What kind of monster…!”

Greg’s mind blanked as he witnessed his full-powered spell crumble to pieces.

That magic wasn’t supposed to be destroyed so easily…

‘N-no way!’

“O-are you an Aura User!?”

Aura Users.

The bane of mages.

Beings so powerful that a single one could annihilate an entire nation.

Greg panicked at the possibility.

“You think someone like you is worth an Aura User’s time?”

The attacker sneered, mocking him.

As if to say a mere spellcaster wasn’t worth summoning such a force.

More importantly…

“If one of them had come, this would’ve ended already. It wouldn’t be this complicated.”

The attacker chuckled darkly and, before Greg could react, closed the distance between them.

“[W-winds, carry me!]”

Greg desperately cast another spell, launching himself into the air.

Whoosh!

Using telekinesis and magic, he soared skyward like a bird.

The attacker’s previous assault had collapsed the building, giving Greg an easy escape route.

Rising swiftly, he pierced through the clouds, focusing solely on escape.

‘T-there’s no way that bastard can follow me into the sky!’

Aerial combat had always been the mage’s domain.

Knights and warriors had no place in such sacred territory.

Surely…

‘Finally, I can breathe.’

Greg, who had been terrified from start to finish, began to sigh in relief.

But the moment he exhaled and looked up—

“So, done running?”

“…!”

Greg’s breath hitched.

Hovering in the sky, even more naturally than Greg himself, was the attacker.

“H-how!?”
“—Sky Step.”

“???”

“You wouldn’t know, would you? Spellcasters like you.”

The attacker drew his sword.

“Sigh. It’s hard catching someone alive.”

“??”

Before Greg could even comprehend what he heard, the attacker’s sword pierced through his magical barrier and slammed into his side.

It all happened in an instant.

Greg’s final thought was simple:

—How is this what ‘not killing’ looks like?

Ihan’s Assessment

Ihan let out a small hum of admiration.

“Tougher than my usual targets.”

The old spellcaster was impressive.

Ihan hadn’t held back, but only a few ribs were broken.

Even the magical barrier had been sturdy, far stronger than the average mage’s defenses.

It seemed the saying was true—old ginger really was spicier.

But still.

“A spellcaster’s just a spellcaster.”

Ihan stopped admiring him.

It didn’t matter how skilled or aged the man was.

A mage was a mage—and deserved a beating.

Especially one who wore someone else’s skin like a suit.

“Sir Ihan, Dalton is safe. His wounds are severe, but with the temple’s care, he’ll recover quickly.”
“Good. That’s a relief.”

While Ihan subdued the mage, Galahad’s knights had found the victim whose identity the mage had stolen.

It was a rare stroke of luck.

Usually, nine out of ten abducted victims were already dead.

“…Actually, this pisses me off even more.”

CRACK!

“ARGH!”

Ihan crushed Greg’s shoulder without hesitation.

The mage writhed in agony, but Ihan didn’t spare him a glance and instead stomped down on his head.

Crunch! Crack!

“…Sir Ihan, you might kill him at this rate.”
“He won’t die. Mages are tough bastards.”
“Ahem… Mages aren’t monsters, you know?”
“Then insects?”
“……”
“I’m joking.”
“Hmm…”

The knight wasn’t convinced.

Ihan didn’t look at mages the way most people looked at humans.

‘…Terrifying.’

His strength was awe-inspiring, but his ruthlessness toward mages was something else entirely.

To Ihan, mages weren’t people.

They were vermin to be exterminated.

Eyes like his…

‘I’ll be having nightmares.’

“What about your end?”
“No need to worry. We wrapped it up without casualties.”
“As expected from Galahad. You’re the best in the kingdom.”
“T-thank you, but won’t the White Lions be upset if they hear that…?”
“Do they deserve to be upset?”
“……”

The knight couldn’t help but feel pity for the White Lions.

A Casual Stroll Through Devastation

“Impressive. How did you find the mage in this massive city?”
“We tracked his presence through the Tower’s Grand Disciple, so it wasn’t… that impressive.”
“No one else detected a mage infiltrating the Assembly. Only he did.”
“……”
“Hahaha! Jealous, are we?”
“Your Grace…”
“Ahaha!”

Duke Blake looked pleased.

Perhaps because he was out for a walk with his disciple.

“You’ve improved, Raq. Maybe it’s time to make you a knight commander.”
“I still have a long way to go. I couldn’t have handled this without your support.”
“…You’re too humble.”

Blake smiled at his student’s modesty.

“Ugh…”
“Kill me…”
“Water… please…”

At their feet lay soldiers, groaning in agony.

50,000 troops bearing the Sultan’s banner, hidden in the border mountains.

They howled as if burning alive.

Blake, who had single-handedly neutralized 40,000 of them, grinned.

“A good workout.”

Raq, who had helped take down the remaining 10,000 with his knights, swallowed nervously.

Blake—the owner of the demonic sword and a force comparable to legends.

His power rendered armies meaningless.

‘The wall I want to climb is too tall.’

Raq briefly wondered what a certain arrogant bastard would say if he saw this.

Probably something like:

—“The old man’s still kicking. He could get remarried.”

“Sigh…”

‘Have I been corrupted by that lunatic?’

Raq shook his head, brushing away the ridiculous thought.