Chapter Twenty-One: The Five Grand Magi

“Adams, Hughes, Hagens, Pias, Dickens—you five old ghosts want to meddle in this too? I, Pitt, have never treated you poorly! Are you certain you want to stand against me with a bunch of riffraff?” Pitt stared in disbelief at the figures before him, their presence unmistakable amidst the crowd—true masters, their aura set apart from all others.

“You treat us well? Pitt, have you no shame? Then tell me, how did Millie die all those years ago?” The fiery-haired man, whose temperament matched his appearance, spoke with barely restrained anger.

“Adams, Millie’s death was an accident. I still love Miss Millie deeply, which is why, despite being the Archmage of the Realm, I have never married! My heart belongs only to Millie,” Pitt’s gaze, for a rare moment, showed a trace of sorrow.

“Do you deserve her? You selfish, self-serving wretch! For your own gain, for the Sacred Light Crystal, you actually refined her alive. Don’t think we don’t know, you heartless beast. I will avenge Millie and kill you!” Adams swung his staff. Without a word of incantation, a fiery serpent burst forth from the crimson crystal atop his staff, lunging at Pitt.

“For the family’s age-old mission, Millie was willing. Do you know how much it pains me?” Pitt reached out and grasped at the writhing fire serpent. At his touch, the serpent twisted in agony as if it were a real snake caught by hand. The flames fluttered down like fallen leaves, gradually dissipating.

“Lava Spikes!” Dickens shouted, slamming a dusty staff hard against the ground. Instantly, a fissure opened and widened beneath their feet. Scalding lava boiled within, like a cauldron of thick soup, and sharp red spikes erupted from the center, resembling the fangs of a vampire—terrifying at a glance.

“Dickens, you’re as foolish as ever. Lava spikes—interesting idea, but magic is about practical effect. Looks aren’t everything. Your spikes melt within a second, don’t they? Ha!” Pitt watched the spikes rise only to melt away like candles, laughing at the spectacle. The magic was idiotic—wasting vast amounts of mana without any real effect, and posing grave danger to the caster, who could easily get burned.

But suddenly, things changed. The melted spikes shot needle-like projectiles in all directions. Pitt, distracted, failed to notice and was struck five or six times, his clothes scorched and blackened.

“This spell is modeled after the collective stinger attack of killer bees. The lava increases the pressure, the spikes form the launching tubes, and what you saw just now was merely a distraction!”