Indra Translations
Navigation
A Cadet Becomes a Prophet?! Chapter 277

Chapter 277

The‌‍⁠ great spells unleashed‍⁠ by Archmage Walter‌​‌ Hanfmann were so​‌‍ powerful that, had‍‌​ they been cast⁠​ on ordinary ground,​ they would have​ collapsed the earth​‍⁠ and destroyed the‌ world itself.

However,​ the stadium held‌‍‌ firm; it did‍‌ not break under‍‍‍ his magic, just⁠​ as its reputation‍⁠​ demanded.

Even‌⁠‍ so, Fernan Pellenberg⁠ was not as⁠‌‌ calm as everyone⁠ believed.

‘This⁠⁠⁠ is insane.’

Getting‌‌‌ in had been​ easy. Even using​⁠‌ some spells inside⁠‍ turned out to‌‍​ be possible.

But⁠‍ beyond that, moving​ freely was impossible.‌‍

‘Moving⁠ here is like‍‌ dragging shackles.’

The⁠ entire underground was⁠‍‍ a magical prison.‌​‌

If​​‍ it were normal‌‍​ earth, he could⁠‌ move around easily,​ but the first‍ Pope had covered‌​ not only the​‍⁠ stadium but also‍ its subsoil with‍ restrictive spells.

Every‌‌⁠ step felt like‌ carrying chains weighing‍​‌ tons, and casting‌​ magic was even‌⁠ worse.

It⁠ felt as if‍ he were trying​​‍ to conjure in⁠​ a land with‌ not a single⁠⁠​ particle of mana,⁠‌‍ filled instead with‌‌‍ malignant energy.

‘How⁠ meticulous he was…’‍‍

It⁠‍ was clear he‍​⁠ had foreseen the‌ possibility of a mage trying to​ dig downward and‌‍⁠ had prepared for‌⁠‌ it.

Walter‌⁠‌ Hanfmann couldn’t break⁠‌‌ the ground.

Fernan,‍‌⁠ on the other‍ hand, had managed​⁠‍ to enter, but‍ couldn’t do anything.‍​

If​⁠ things continued like‌ this, the battle​‌​ would never end.⁠‌⁠

To‌⁠ decide the fight,⁠‍​ he’d have to⁠⁠ come out, but—‌⁠‌

‘Maybe‌ I’ll wait a little longer.’

His​⁠‌ opponent was spending⁠​​ energy casting massive‍‍ spells.

There‍‍ was no reason⁠​‌ to go up‍‍⁠ just to receive‍‍ them.

Fernan‌⁠‍ allowed a faint‍⁠ smile.

‘Surely⁠ everyone up there‌‌ is in shock.’​‍

Although‌‌‌ he only discovered‌ he could enter⁠‍ the subsoil once⁠‌​ inside the stadium,‍⁠ his action wasn’t‍‌‌ improvised.

‘Since​ I planned to​​ draw attention, I had to go⁠​​ all out.’

The​ stories of the‌​ two princes who‍‍ had hunted down‍​​ Amdusias had been​‌‌ eclipsed by the⁠‍ feat of Fernan‍⁠ and Luina, who‌ had taken down‍​‍ two demons.

But⁠ one more rumor‌‌ was never a bad thing, especially‌ if it implied⁠​​ he was the​
mage who achieved​⁠ a miracle no‍​​ one else had‌⁠ ever accomplished.

‘It’s‍‌ time.’

Fernan‌⁠​ cut off his⁠​ thoughts.

No⁠⁠ more explosions or​​ vibrations could be‍​ heard from the‍‍⁠ surface.

Walter‍⁠​ Hanfmann had ceased‌⁠​ his magical bombardment.‌

The⁠‍ silence was even‌ more tense than‍⁠‌ the noise.

Both​⁠ knew that for‌​ the battle to‌‍ continue, Fernan would​​⁠ have to come⁠‍⁠ out.

They​ were both waiting⁠‍ for that moment.‌​‌

Fernan‍ moved first, because​⁠ he had no​‍ choice.

He​​ cast dozens of⁠ illusory copies of‍ himself at once.‌⁠

But‍⁠ instantly, lightning struck⁠⁠​ and destroyed them‌​ one by one.‌

His‍​ opponent was fast;‌​ no wonder he‍ was an Archmage.​​

However,‌⁠⁠ the fragments of⁠‌⁠ those illusions suddenly​ merged, forming a massive spear that‌⁠ shot toward the​ mage suspended in​ the air.

“What…?”‌

Walter⁠‍ Hanfmann let out‌ a surprised groan.‍‌‍

A deafening explosion echoed⁠ instantly, and Fernan‍‍​ took advantage of⁠ that moment to‌‍ surface.

He​‍ had cast more⁠ decoys as a precaution and had​ also covered his‌⁠​ body with an⁠‍‌ additional magical shield.‍

‘What​ a blinding light.’‌‌‌

The‌​‌ surface was enveloped‍​⁠ in a dazzling‌​ glow, perhaps from⁠ the lightning.

But‌ it wasn’t just‌ that.

‘This…’‍‍

A wave of lightning‍⁠​ descended from the‌⁠⁠ sky.

Ice​ clung to his⁠⁠ feet.

The​ stadium floor began‍‍ to crack.

From⁠ the bottomless abyss⁠⁠ below the earth,⁠⁠ a reddish glow‌‌ emerged along with‍‌​ a suffocating heat.‌⁠

Hell’s​‍‍ lava rose in⁠‍​ overflowing eruptions.

Walter​ Hanfmann could not⁠ master all schools‍ of magic.

If​⁠ he had, he‌ would not merely⁠ be an Archmage,​⁠​ but the reincarnation‍‍ of the first⁠‌‌ Pope.

‘An⁠ illusion.’

Fernan‌ awakened the dragon’s‍‍ eyes and saw‍ the truth.

The​ light had been‍ a decoy to‍⁠⁠ rob him of​‌ his senses—first sight,⁠‍⁠ then hearing and‌‌ touch—until he was‌ trapped in a massive mirage.

Even⁠ knowing the technique,⁠‍ it was so‌‍ realistic that even‌ an expert could‍⁠​ fall for it.​

Unfortunately​⁠ for his rival,⁠​ Fernan possessed dragon​​ eyes, capable of‍⁠⁠ piercing any illusion.​‍‌

As‍​ soon as he​‍⁠ activated them, all​ the false sensations‍‌‍ vanished as if⁠ they had never⁠ existed.

Or​ rather, he disintegrated⁠ them with sheer‍‍ force.

Even​​ so, the intensity⁠​ of the experience‍ left him impressed.​

‘I’ll⁠ have to train⁠‌‍ Carlo Deneb like‌​‍ this.’

He‌​ remembered how Carlo‌‍⁠ had fallen to‍ corruption trying to‌ combine illusion magic⁠ he learned from‌⁠ Dantalion.

A smile crossed Fernan’s⁠ lips.

“Wh–what…?”​⁠

His​‌​ smile, to his‍‌ opponent, was more⁠‍ terrifying than any​⁠‍ demon’s.

***⁠

The‌ fragments transforming from‌‌ illusions into spears‌‌ were a technique‍​ of magical conversion‌⁠​ incredibly fast and​‍ precise.

‘Fernan​ Pellenberg is a genius!’

Walter‍‍ Hanfmann, stunned by​ the sudden shift,⁠‌‌ reformed his spell.‍

His​⁠ lightning spear clashed⁠‌⁠ with the massive‍‍ stone spear summoned​​ by Fernan.

Crack!⁠​⁠ Zzzt!

Thousands‌​​ of sparks lit‌‍ the world with‌ a sound like​ a chorus of‌ a thousand birds.​⁠‌

Within‌⁠ that white light,⁠‍ Walter clearly observed‌⁠⁠ his opponent’s movements.‍

‘I‌​​ don’t know how‍​ he managed to‌ pierce the stadium​‌ floor, but…’

If‌​‌ not for the⁠‌‌ Dragon God Tournament,‍​ he would have​​​ stopped him to‌‌ investigate right then​​ and there.

However,⁠ the duel had‌‍ to go on.​

And​ after watching, he​‍ deduced a few⁠ things.

‘The​ subsoil is also​ covered by the⁠⁠ first Pope’s magic‌​⁠ seals.’

Otherwise,⁠​ he wouldn’t have⁠⁠​ abandoned his advantage‍ and returned to‍ the surface.

‘And‍​ although he’s formidable,​​‌ he doesn’t completely‍ surpass me.’

If⁠‍⁠ he did, he‌​​ would have already‌‌ claimed the title​​​ of Archmage.

Power‍‍ is felt when​​⁠ magic clashes.

His‌‍​ rival was strong,‍⁠ but not absolute.⁠‍

It​​ was humiliating to‍​⁠ lose ground to⁠⁠ a fourth-year academy‌‌⁠ student, but in​‍‍ a tournament like‌‌ this, age didn’t‌⁠ matter.

If⁠‌ the subsoil was‍‌ Fernan’s territory, the⁠‌ surface was his.​

A light so bright​⁠ that it even‌ blinded spectators—was that‍‌ a coincidence?

Of⁠‌ course not.

It​ was a deliberate‍‌ strategy.

And‍​ amid that brightness,​ Fernan emerged from⁠‍‍ the ground.

“Let’s​⁠‌ see if you​⁠​ can block this‍ too, Fernan Pellenberg.”‌​

Archmages,⁠‌​ as a rule,⁠​ never master just‌​ one branch of‍‌‍ magic.

No⁠ matter how exceptional‍⁠‌ they are, all⁠‌⁠ eventually hit a wall, and Walter‌​ Hanfmann was no‌‌⁠ exception.

When​​ that moment comes,‍‌ mages usually take‌ one of three⁠ paths.

Desperately‍⁠⁠ cling to their​ specialty, explore a completely new field,‍‍⁠ or incorporate something​‍‍ closely related to⁠​‌ their original branch.⁠

Walter​ had chosen the‌ third path.

Lightning​​‌ is light.

Light‌⁠‍ robs vision.

And⁠‍‍ that creates the‌‌​ perfect setting for‍‍ illusion magic.

Dozens‌ of magic circles‍‍‌ intertwined with light⁠ rushed toward Fernan.‍

But‌⁠‍ then.

“…?”‍​⁠

Fernan‌⁠ Pellenberg didn’t react​​‍ to the heat​ of fire, the‍ cold of ice,⁠⁠‍ or the slice⁠ of wind.

He‌‌‍ merely stood still,‌⁠​ looking at him⁠​‌ directly.

Crash!⁠‍‌

He‍​ shattered the magic.‌

“H–how…?”⁠

Walter​‌‍ Hanfmann was horrified.​

That⁠‌ made no sense.‌‍⁠ None at all.⁠​⁠

He‍⁠ knew his illusion​⁠​ magic wasn’t absolute;⁠​‍ all magic is⁠​ relative.

No⁠​ matter how much‍‍ of an Archmage‌⁠ he was, there‌‍‌ would always be‍‍​ others stronger.

But⁠ even those mages​‌‍ couldn’t have broken‌‍‌ in seconds an⁠​ illusion he had⁠‍‌ perfected over decades.‌‍

Impossible.⁠‍‍

“Wh–who⁠‌ the hell are​‌ you?”

“I’m​‍⁠ Fernan Pellenberg.”

“Damn⁠⁠ it! I didn’t⁠ mean that!”

Walter’s⁠‍‍ hands and feet⁠⁠​ trembled.

The‍‌‌ forced cancellation of​​​ the spell caused⁠ the mana to​​ violently recoil through‍​‍ his body, and⁠⁠‍ he coughed up‍​ dark blood.

“How…​​​ how the hell…?”‍​‍

“That​‍ doesn’t matter.”

“You⁠ say that now?!”⁠⁠

Did⁠ he expect him‍⁠‍ to believe he’d‍‍ broken his most‌ refined magic just⁠ like that?

“His‌⁠‌ Excellency Fernan Pellenberg‌ has no limits.⁠ For him, money‌​⁠ solves all problems.”⁠

“My​ illusion magic can’t⁠​​ be broken with‌‌​ money!”

“But‍⁠⁠ you can have‌‍ enough mana to⁠ resist it if‍​‌ you possess an​ enormous reserve.”

“If⁠‍ everything were fixed‌ by gulping down‍​ elixirs, demons wouldn’t⁠​‌ even exist! What⁠‍ did you do,​​ eat a dragon’s​‌ heart?!”

Fernan‌​‌ let out a soft chuckle and​⁠ shook his head.​

“That‌⁠​ doesn’t exist. The‍ last dragon was‍‌ seen more than‍ a thousand years‍‌ ago.”

“…Yeah,‍⁠ sure.”

Walter⁠ knew that too.​⁠‌

He⁠⁠ just didn’t want​​⁠ to accept the​‍‍ reality—he had lost.​

His‍​ strongest card, the⁠‌ spell into which‍​ he had poured‌⁠ his entire soul,⁠⁠‍ had been destroyed‌ in an instant.‍

The⁠⁠ backlash had left⁠‍⁠ internal injuries.

Continuing‍​ to fight was​​ pointless.

“…The⁠‍ Pellenberg family is‍‌ truly extraordinary.”

“We‌ always have been.”‌‌

“…I​ surrender.”

Walter⁠ Hanfmann raised both⁠‍‌ hands.

The​‍‍ battle was over.‌

A new Archmage had​‍⁠ been born.

***‍‌

“Winner!‍‌​ Fernan Pellenberg!”

Waaaaaah!​‌

The​ roar of the‍‍ crowd shook the​‍ stadium following the⁠​ referee’s declaration.

“What​ the hell just​⁠ happened?”

“No‍​​ idea.”

“All⁠ we saw was⁠​ that he sank​‍ into the ground,⁠‌ everything lit up,‍​ and that’s it.​ Nothing was visible.”​

Those‌​ ignorant of magic​‌​ complained that it⁠​ had been the⁠ most boring Dragon‌ God Tournament in‍‌ history.

But​‌ those with some‌‍ understanding knew they‌‍‍ had just witnessed⁠⁠ something monumental.

“Contact⁠ Fernan! Fernan Pellenberg‍‌ is a monster!”​‌‌

“He‌ did what no‍‌‌ one had achieved‍​ in a thousand‌‌​ years and destroyed​ Walter Hanfmann’s illusions‌‌ instantly!”

“The‌‌​ Pellenbergs… what a terrifying family!”

“And‍‍ that guy was⁠‍ attending the Academy⁠‍‌ like it was‌‌⁠ nothing?”

“What?⁠​‌ Tenth place in​‍‍ his entrance exams‍​‍ and first year?‍‍​ If that’s tenth⁠‌ place, what kind⁠‍⁠ of gods study‍ at that Academy?”⁠

The​ Dragon God Cult,⁠ nobles, and powerful​ merchants began to‍‌ move swiftly.

But‍ the protagonist of‌‍ it all stood​ before the Pope⁠‍‌ himself.

“……”‍

“……”‌⁠

A heavy silence filled​ the room.

Fernan​⁠​ didn’t speak first;‍​ he knew perfectly‌‍ well why he‍‌‍ had been summoned.⁠⁠

“I’ll​‍​ be direct.”

“Yes,⁠⁠ Your Holiness.”

“Where‍⁠⁠ did you find​​‍ it?”

“What‍‌ do you mean?”⁠‌​

“Don’t‌‌ play dumb.”

The‌ Pope set the​ teacup on the​ table.

“No‌ matter how much‍‌⁠ of a genius⁠‍‌ you are, the‍‍ seals of the‌ first Pope engraved‍​ on the stadium’s​‌ arena are special.‌ They’ve remained intact‌ for a thousand‍⁠⁠ years. No one⁠‌ has been able⁠‌​ to decipher them.”⁠‍

And​‌⁠ you did.

“I‌‌ don’t believe it‍‍‌ was a coincidence.‍ Nor do I think it was⁠‍‍ just a matter​​ of skill.”

Fernan​ was exceptional, yes.‌​⁠ But this was⁠ different.

“I‌‌ believe you have‌‍ the answers in⁠⁠‍ your hands.”

“Are‌‌ you suggesting I found the dungeon​ left by the⁠ first Pope?”

“A‌​ place where the​‍ stadium’s blueprints or​‌​ information about that​‌‍ magic circle could‌‌‌ be found, perhaps.⁠⁠‍ Isn’t that right?”‌

“As​⁠‌ expected, Your Holiness​ cannot be deceived.‍​⁠ You’re right.”

It‌‌ was true.

He‌⁠‌ hadn’t found blueprints⁠​⁠ or seals but‌‍ rather the dragon’s‌‍ heart.

“I⁠⁠ suspected as much.”​‍

The​​ Pope stroked his⁠‌ beard with a faint smile.

“Where⁠⁠‍ is it?”

“I​⁠ can’t say.”

“It‍‌ belongs to the‌​‌ Cult.”

“It’s‍‌ been more than​ a thousand years.​ Do you think​‌ you can claim‌‍ ownership of something‍‍⁠ that old?”

“The⁠ first Pope left​‍​ it in the​ name of the​‍​ Dragon God Cult.‍ There’s no reason⁠‌⁠ it wouldn’t be​‌​ ours.”

The⁠ Pope’s tone didn’t‍⁠​ change, nor his​​​ expression; even so,​‌⁠ the pressure was‍⁠ palpable.

“It’s‌ in the Pellenberg​‍⁠ family’s ancestral sanctuary.‍⁠‍ That’s why I can’t reveal its‍‌ location.”

Even⁠⁠ if the Pope​ wanted to claim​‌ it, he couldn’t‍‍ demand it if​ it lay within‌⁠‍ the territory of‌‍ an elector family.‌⁠

Fernan⁠⁠ noticed the slight‍​​ tightening of his​‍‍ expression and offered⁠‍ a carrot.

“Instead,​ I’ll give you‍ the books and‍ research materials found‌​‌ there.”

“Are​ you serious?”

“But‌ I have one‍⁠ condition.”

“Name​‍‍ it.”

The‌​ Pope, curious, relaxed⁠‍‌ a bit.

He‌‍‌ knew he had‌⁠ to be careful⁠ with the Pellenbergs—especially‍ when they offered‍‌​ something without asking‍​​ for anything in‍‍ return.

“Allow‍ us to keep‌‍​ one item.”

“One?”​

“Yes.”‍‌‌

“If‌ you take the‍ most important artifact,⁠‍ we’re the ones⁠​ who lose, don’t‌‍​ you think?”

“I​ promise it won’t‍ be any spellbook⁠ or research document.”⁠

“Hmm.”​

If​‌⁠ it wasn’t that,‍​⁠ there was no⁠ reason to refuse.​​‌

In⁠ fact, the deal​​ already heavily favored‍​ the Pellenbergs.

“Then,‌‌ if we later‍​⁠ discover that it⁠ is, you’ll return‍‌ it to the⁠⁠‍ Cult and we’ll‌‌ trade. What do⁠ you say?”

“I⁠‍​ don’t mind. But​‍ how can you​‍ trust me?”

Years​ of dealings weren’t‍⁠ enough to trust​‍‌ the Pellenbergs.

They​​‌ were demons of​ money; they’d do​⁠ anything for profit.⁠

“Don’t​‍​ trust me, Your⁠ Holiness. Trust the⁠‍⁠ contract.”

“Very⁠ well. But still,‌‍‌ it makes no‌‍​ sense that we‌ can’t inspect the‌ dungeon, being property‍ of the Cult.”‍‍

“I’ll‍⁠⁠ record everything with⁠‌​ a recording device,‍‌‍ in full detail.”‌‌

“No‌‍ matter how much‌‌ you say that…”‍⁠‌

“Your​‌ Holiness, the dungeon‌‍ is at the⁠‌ very heart of⁠‌​ the Pellenberg estate.”⁠‌‍

“……”​

At⁠ Fernan’s emphasis, the​ Pope could only⁠‌​ remain silent, stroking⁠​‌ his beard.

No​ matter how much​‌ authority the Cult‌‌​ had, it couldn’t​‍ barge into an‌​ elector house’s sanctuary⁠‌ or claim ownership‌​‌ of it.

‘He’s‌ probably lying,’ he‌ thought.

But⁠ even so, he‌⁠ couldn’t demand the​‍⁠ truth to his​⁠ face.

The‍‌​ Pellenberg family was​‌​ the Cult of⁠⁠​ the Dragon God’s​ biggest client and⁠⁠‌ benefactor.

Breaking⁠ ties with them⁠⁠⁠ would be disastrous.‌‌

“I⁠‍‌ trust you.”

“The⁠ honor is mine,‍‌ Your Holiness.”

They‌​ shook hands.

‘With⁠ this, I’ll be⁠​​ able to sell‌⁠⁠ them the White‌ Dragon statue at⁠⁠ an astronomical price.’‍‍​

A statue bigger, more⁠ beautiful, and more‌‌​ detailed than any⁠⁠ the Cult had.‌

Could‌‌ they tolerate such​ a relic remaining​‍ in the hands‌ of the Pellenbergs?‍‌

Never.⁠​

Fernan‍‌ allowed a faint‍ smile to form.⁠⁠

What did you think of this chapter?
0 reactions

0 Comments


There are no comments yet. Be the first!

Reader Settings
Page mode
Timer
Text Indent
Auto scroll
Tap to read
Pin menu
Translate page
Select language to automatically translate chapter content.
Audio & AI Voice
This chapter has pre-loaded audio
Ads Blocker Image Powered by Code Help Pro

Ads Blocker Detected!!!

We have detected that you are using extensions to block ads. Please support us by disabling these ads blocker.