Chapter 169: Did You Really Think I Was an Idiot?

Words : 1437 Updated : Sep 25th, 2025

Quaiesse Hazeia Quintia. The name flashed through Lyle's mind as the golden-haired youth stepped from the forest, his serene smile the picture of disarming charm. Why is someone from the Black Scripture here? He had been wary before, but now? Now every nerve in his body was on high alert. The Black Scripture was the most formidable and secretive of the Slane Theocracy's Six Scriptures. Membership required one thing: strength at the Realm of a Hero or beyond. Lyle recognized Quaiesse immediately. The resemblance to his infamous sister was too striking to miss. She had once been a member of the Black Scripture, known by the flamboyant codename Windstride - Clementine. And if you looked closely, he had her cheekbones, minus the madness. "Close call. Are you alright?" Quaiesse's voice was soft, filled with concern. He looked every bit the benevolent shepherd watching over his flock. His golden bangs fell perfectly over his brow, framing a face designed to inspire trust. It would have fooled most people. "Thanks," Lyle replied, keeping his tone low and carefully relieved. Behind the act, his mind raced. No mask. No veil. That means he's alone. The Black Scripture never revealed their identities on missions. They were shadows, invisible even to those they served. When deployed, they always concealed themselves - with masks, enchanted veils, or both. Yet here Quaiesse stood, fully exposed, flashing his fake credentials like a traveling priest selling absolution. "Sorry I'm late," Quaiesse added with a gentle frown. "If I'd been a moment slower, you might have been hurt. I serve the Earth God as a missionary. I was undercover, gathering evidence of his crimes." He gestured toward the gray-robed mage on the other side of the clearing. "As you saw, he's colluding with demi-humans. A dangerous sort." It was a flawless explanation. The Theocracy's fanatical human supremacy doctrine was well known, and the holy seal pinned to his chest, a genuine divine artifact - only made his claim more convincing. Lyle's eyes narrowed slightly, just enough to show a flicker of doubt. Nice try. But theological debates could wait. "I don't care what's going on between you two." Lyle tugged the barghest's bone leash and took a step back, his posture that of a cautious adventurer who had no interest in dying over someone else's fight. One side was a Black Scripture agent. The other was a clearly unhinged mage with Hero-class power. Getting involved in this clash was suicide. Quaiesse's crimson eyes flickered as Lyle moved to retreat, but before he could speak-- A rasping chuckle filled the air. "...Heh... heh heh..." Then louder. "Ahahahaha!" The gray-robed mage lifted his head, shoulders shaking with laughter. Gone was the fear from earlier. Now his eyes gleamed with malice. "You're hilarious," the sorcerer sneered, his cracked lips peeling back in a wicked grin. "That fake, self-important act of yours... You look like a clown in a one-man play." He turned to Lyle without bothering to hide his contempt. "And you, idiot, did you really think I was dumb enough to monologue like some fairytale villain?" His voice dripped with scorn. "You think I gave that whole speech for you? No, no, no. That performance was for him." He licked his lips, giddy with anticipation. "You've been tailing me, haven't you? This masterpiece of mine, it pairs perfectly with your little inborn talent, doesn't it, Quaiesse of House Quintia?" He spread his arms wide, as if presenting a grand spectacle. "This is a hunt, and we're both predators. You want my creation. I want your blood. Your innate talent? It's the final reagent." His grin widened, teeth bared like a mad dog's. "Think about it! A devout worshipper of the Six Great Gods, drooling over demi-human power. Oh, the irony." His laughter echoed through the woods, sharp and grating. Quaiesse didn't react. His smile remained, but the air around him grew heavy. The kind of smile that made your skin crawl. "Where is he?" he asked softly, as if inquiring about the weather. In the Theocracy, inborn talents could be detected through special magic, but their nature was kept confidential, especially among the Black Scripture. Only a select few knew such secrets. Which meant someone had leaked his ability. "Who knows?" The mage shrugged, feigning indifference. At this point, Lyle sighed heavily. "Well," he muttered, "I guess I've been used as a pawn in your little drama." He glanced between the two with a deadpan expression. "So... about everything I just heard, any chance I can pretend I didn't?" The sorcerer didn't even bother to respond. He gave Lyle the kind of look one might give a squashed bug. No need to waste effort on a dead man. Then-- [Ding!] ["Companion Pact I" has been severed!] Lyle's eye twitched. That only happened when a summoned beast died. But his barghest was still alive. 'Tch. So this is... his ability?' Clank. The barghest's bone chain twisted violently, latching onto Lyle and binding him tight to its back like a prisoner. The four-tailed black panther that had just saved him turned. Its jaws opened wide. A breath of pure darkness erupted from its throat. The barghest's upper body disintegrated. Lyle was hurled through the air like a ragdoll. To any outside observer, he should have died on impact. Quaiesse glanced at the crater. "A shame. Fourth-tier summoning at your age. You could have been useful." Then his expression turned cold. "Now. How do you want to die?" "That line's mine, actually!" the gray mage snapped. Far across the clearing, Lyle rose from the smoking crater, dragging the barghest's corpse behind him. His robes were soaked in blood. Dark Resistance +40%. Magic Defense boost. Enough to survive. His barghest hadn't been so lucky. He dropped the corpse. "Class promotion." [Class Promotion Successful!] [Class: Mad Archmage] [Tier: Advanced] [Passives: - Casting Specialization – You may allocate level bonuses to any magical class. - Spell Preload – Precast and store one spell to cast instantly later. - Elemental Shift – Transform the element of your spells (fireball to waterball, etc). Cannot specialize in any single element.] [Skills: - Mad Meditation: Nullify spell cost. (3 uses per day)] [Stats: +15 HP, MP, Magic Attack, and Magic Defense per level] [Description: Everyone praises your talent. But behind closed doors, they call you a lunatic. No sane mage trains like you do.] Without hesitation, Lyle spent his skill points. [Acquired 3rd-tier spell: Thunder Orb] [Acquired 4th-tier spell: Silver Knight Lance] He pressed one hand to the ground and summoned a half-man-high barrel of troll blood. Thunk. He kicked it over. Thick crimson liquid spilled into the grass, soaking the soil. Then he stepped into the blood, tore off a nearby branch, crouched, and began carving a circle. Elsewhere-- Boom. A silver lance clashed with a wave of black energy. The panther barely dodged as the blast flared between them. Quaiesse redirected the lance with one of his enchanted rings just before the mage unleashed a swarm of insects. Buzzing. Then—exploding. "Swamp flies. Acid-bearing. Nice touch," Quaiesse murmured, watching his summoned lizard recoil. Then his eyes narrowed. "Where'd he go?" The red-eyed owl on his shoulder twisted its head and hooted. "In Shadow." "Shadow Hunt," Quaiesse whispered. The owl vanished—then reappeared with a smack. The gray mage was thrown from stealth, his shield flickering and shattering. "Damn you!" "Wolf Summoning." A glowing circle opened at Quaiesse's feet. Twenty spectral wolves surged forth. "Dispel!" The mage snarled. The wolves froze—then shattered into mana. Back to square one. Panther, owl, and lizard rejoined Quaiesse. The sorcerer wiped blood from his lip. "Summoner. Tamer. Your innate skill fits perfectly," he muttered. "But if that's all you've got--" Quaiesse smirked. "You'll wish it were." Just as he lifted a hand-- Both men turned. A surge of lightning mana bloomed behind them. "Mana Surge: Fifth-Tier—Dragonic's Thunder!" A streak of blue-white energy screamed across the battlefield. The panther leapt to block. Gone in an instant. Ash on the wind. Where trees once stood, a molten corridor now marked the path of destruction. At the end of it, Lyle stood, robes tattered, eyes colder than winter. [Fifth-Tier Spell: Draconic Thunder detected. Prerequisite: Magic Caster Level 29–35. Condition met. Learn?] "Learn." He stepped forward, no emotion on his face, only raw killing intent in his stride. He had leveled up. Now it was their turn to die.

Chapter 169: Did You Really Think I Was an Idiot?

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