Magic has been wielded by humans and all races since ancient times, birthing countless forms.

Elemental magic. Non-elemental magic. Dark magic. Dragon magic. Elf magic. Dwarf magic…

Magic is both a divine gift and a fruit of wisdom.

With magic, fragile humans stand against savage beasts. With magic, humanity built its homeland. With magic, we protect all we hold dear.

Truly, magic shaped the world we know.

But

every coin has two sides.

Not all magic brings light.

Dark magic—

a cruel art that steals lives through vile means. Whoever wields it seals another’s fate.

Thus, the Arcane Order has branded dark magic forbidden since antiquity. Ancient tomes on it were burned to ash, erased from history.

The Arcane Order and Racial Alliance relentlessly hunt dark mages, even partnering with the Adventurers’ Guild to issue open-ended bounties.

Yet new dark mages keep rising—like unkillable cockroaches. So long as one remains, dark magic will return.

Lately, they’ve grown brazen. Some strike in broad daylight.

They’ve spawned countless cults, most worshiping “The Malevolent God,” a deity who emerged a millennium ago.

And within the Moshando Empire? They dared storm the imperial palace itself.

Under the “Forbidden Technique: Detection and Retrieval,” Roland uncovered the rebels’ cause of death.

Dark magic.

All spells leave residual mana.

Traces of dark magic residue littered the main palace—proof a dark mage had silently slaughtered them.

Moreover, David wasn’t rescued by allies, but by dark mages. Roland suspected they meant to use him as a sacrifice.

Thankfully, Roland obliterated him with a single transcendent-tier spell. Who knows what horror a Grand Sage’s sacrifice might summon?

Roland’s blood ran cold. Dark mages storming now? No casual visit.

They were sewer rats—lurking in shadows, swarming at the scent of prey to unleash chaos.

He’d heard cults rank members by carnage: more deaths, greater disasters, higher status.

Many Cultists plot secret atrocities for infamy. Success means ruin for human cities.

Roland didn’t know their palace goal—but it reeked of malice. Likely pure devastation.

He loved meddling in evil’s defeat. Such tales made perfect tavern material…

Adventurer epics sold as hot as risqué stories.

“No time to waste!”

Roland cast the shadow art “Night Stalker,” melting into palace shadows. He followed a blood trail—the wounded dark mage’s escape path.

…

…

…

Outside the main palace, chaos erupted.

Silva led the Royal Guard against a Cultist horde.

She and Yenoa had been hunting rebels when Cultists ambushed them without warning.

Their strikes were vicious—every move meant to kill.

Dark magic twisted and treacherous; one misstep meant death without swift healing.

But the Royal Guard were veterans: Archmage-tier mages, Ninth Realm Martialists, Paladins, clerics…

Years of brotherhood forged seamless coordination. Not a single guard fell despite the Cultists’ tricks.

Silva and Yenoa fought with hard-earned skill. Silva especially—clad in full legendary gear, she carved through Cultists like butter.

“Cultists breached the palace! Alert the Imperial Archmage and Thirteen Councils—I feel disaster coming,” Silva said, beheading a Cultist, her face grim.

This attack was calculated. They struck while the palace stood vulnerable after the rebel purge.

“Your Highness, we can’t break their encirclement! They outnumber us!” a guard yelled.

“Then signal!”

Silva swung the Staff of Time. Dozens of ice spears shot forth, each piercing a Cultist’s heart.

Some survived the strike—but chilling aura spread through their veins, freezing them solid.

A guard launched a light signal. A Cultist Sage shot it down mid-air.

Distracted for a heartbeat, the Sage was nearly beaten to death by two martial artists.

Another signal attempt failed identically. The intercepting Cultist fell to swift retaliation.

“They’re sacrificing everything to delay us. What’s so vital?” a guard muttered, brow furrowed.

“We can win, but we can’t stall.”

“The captain and vice-captain face their Grand Sages. We end this now.”

Yet nearly a hundred Cultists remained. Despair flickered.

The Guard boasted four Grand Sage-tier mages and two Tenth Realm Martialists—warriors rivaling Grand Sages.

Formidable.

But the Cultists came prepared. Three Grand Sages initially; one already fallen.

The last two chose desperation. Dark arts drained their life force. Blood streamed from their eyes, nose, mouth—but their aura surged violently.

One lifted blood-drenched eyes skyward.

BOOM—BOOM—BOOM!!!

Black clouds churned. A deafening crack. Jet-black lightning slammed down.

Malevolent thunder, thick with dread energy.

The targeted Grand Sage threw up a transcendent-tier barrier—golden runes flashing, twenty layered circles forming.

They shattered like paper.

A transcendent spell, broken in an instant.

The bolt tore his body open. Blood gushed. Black smoke rose from charred flesh. He collapsed, unconscious.

“Die! All of you!” the Cultist cackled, face a horror of blood and madness.

Both raised hands. The sky roared with relentless thunder. Chills seized every spine.

If a Grand Sage couldn’t withstand it… what hope did they have?

“Frost Night Descends—Thousand Blades!”

Silva raised the Staff of Time.

Temperature plummeted. A biting wind swept in. Snowflakes drifted down. Storm clouds vanished, replaced by serene white.

The blizzard came.

Gentle snow accelerated into a blinding white veil.

Silva pointed the staff at the life-draining Cultists.

Wind and snow swirled like dancing doves.

Cold deepened. Fluffy flakes sharpened into glittering ice blades.

Thousands shot forward under her command.

Amid the white void—two blood-red roses bloomed.

Then more crimson splashes followed, vivid against the snow.

When silence returned, crimson stained the deep snow. Frozen Cultist corpses lay everywhere.

The two Grand Sages were riddled with wounds, flesh torn—just like the fallen.

Silva swayed, face pale. She had cast an ice-type Forbidden Spell.

Amplified by the Staff of Time, an Archmage unleashed a Grand Sage’s ultimate art.

Forty percent power boost. Without it, she’d have failed—they’d reached peak Grand Sage strength after draining their lives. Only the Imperial Archmage could normally challenge that tier.

Waiting? They’d be dead. Silva had no choice but to gamble.

She exhaled a white mist, steadied herself on the staff, straightened her spine, and leveled her sword at the surviving Cultists. Voice sharp, regal:

“Kill them!”