Dark Magus Returns

Chapter 1472: Whispers of the Missing

Although Alen’s body language made it clear he was ready to leave the room, his steps quick and nervous because he had no intention of losing his life in a pointless stand-off, there was still something about the entire situation that gnawed at Raze.

Alen was right about one thing. This was the perfect opportunity to reveal what the Grand Magus truly was beneath the polished image. To show someone first-hand what kind of man Ibarin had become. And Raze had one tool that might allow them to do just that.

His hand brushed against his robes, feeling the smooth weight of the mask he had taken from Alter. The special artifact was designed for disguise, and with it he could cloak Alen’s identity, allowing him to pass as a simple staff member. It was a risk, of course , there was always a chance that Ibarin might lash out even against his own people if he believed they had seen too much , but the likelihood was slim. As long as Alen kept to the background, unseen and unnoticed, he would be safe.

That was the plan they had agreed upon. And because of it, Alen had been able to witness the Grand Magus’s actions with his own eyes. That alone had shifted something in him.

Later, the two slipped out of the dormitories, moving cautiously until they were far from the main halls. They met beneath the cover of towering trees at the edge of the venue, where the academy grounds tapered off into shadow. The air was cool, the leaves rustling faintly overhead, carrying with them the lingering tension of the night before.

“Do you need me to explain what just happened?” Raze asked, his voice steady but probing, as though testing Alen’s resolve.

Alen shook his head. “No. I saw enough with my own eyes. If he truly wanted to just talk to me, then he would have knocked on the door, or waited until morning to call for me. But instead…” His tone hardened. “He used magic to break in. And I could sense the spell he cast even after he entered. You’re right. He had every intention of getting rid of me.”

His hands tightened at his sides. The words weighed heavier on him than he had expected.

“The Grand Magus…” he muttered, more to himself than to Raze. “It makes me wonder , how far does their corruption go? Is it only small instances, scattered here and there? Or is it deeper? Does it stretch through everything they touch?”

He thought back to the evidence he had uncovered against Enaxx , all the heinous acts and travesties that man had committed. And now, here was Ibarin. Two of the five Grand Magus exposed. A pattern was beginning to form, one he could not ignore no matter how much he wished he could.

Raze’s voice cut through his thoughts, calm but ironclad. “Don’t worry. I intend to reveal everything Ibarin has done. Thanks to your help, I will make sure the world sees him for what he truly is. And I assure you, Ibarin is not the only corrupt Grand Magus.”

The conviction in his voice was chilling, and Alen knew it was not a bluff. Raze meant every word.

Truthfully, Raze had already uncovered fragments of Gizin’s own wrongdoings , dealings tied to Pagna and to the Cerebus Guild. But those were matters outside this particular fight. One battle at a time.

“I want you to see what’s to come,” Raze continued, pulling the mask from his robes. The artifact shimmered faintly in the moonlight. “For now, keep this on. Take the face of one of the guests, and do not sit near me. If anyone sees the real you wandering around, it could be dangerous.”

Alen hesitated only for a moment before nodding. He was inclined to agree. His rational mind told him to be cautious, but another part of him , the part that had seen the fire in Ibarin’s eyes, that had felt the heat of his magic , wanted to stand beside Raze and witness whatever was coming next with his own eyes.

This, he decided, would be the first step.

By morning, the entire atmosphere of the venue had shifted. The previous night’s shadows lingered for those who had lived through them, but for the guests and spectators, talk was dominated by excitement and speculation about the final day of the student events.

Rumors swirled from table to table, whispered through corridors, buzzing across the stands. Some debated whether there would be another round of public voting, as had been done in earlier matches. If there was, many swore they would cast their lot with Wilton.

Others were desperate to learn more about the mysterious Wilton students who had risen to prominence in just a few short days. Raze, Safa, the swordsman , all of them had performed with unbelievable skill. Their displays of power had captured the imagination of every guest.

And yet, strangely, no one had any information about them. Not a whisper of their names or histories circulated through the guilds or the academies. Even those who had supposedly worked closely with Wilton had never seen these students before. It was as though they had appeared from nowhere, fully formed and impossibly talented.

That mystery only deepened their allure. And it made people wonder just what secrets Wilton Academy had been keeping hidden.

Eventually, the time arrived for the grand coliseum to fill once again. The final student event of the magical exchange was about to begin. This was the culmination of everything so far, the match that would decide how the world remembered this exchange.

Spectators poured in, their voices echoing off the towering walls. Teachers filed into their sections, and participants readied themselves in their designated areas. The anticipation in the air was palpable, each murmur carrying a weight of expectation.

But when the principals’ seating area filled, something immediately felt off.

“Where’s Wilton?” one of the principals asked, glancing around. “He’s never late to these events.”

The question drew nods of agreement. It was uncharacteristic. Wilton was always punctual, always present for the academy he had devoted his life to.

Ibarin, calm as ever, leaned forward slightly. “Wilton stated he had some important personal matters to attend to,” he explained smoothly. “So he will not be with us for the remainder of the exchange.”

The words settled over the group like a shroud.

There were only two days left. Two days until the entire exchange concluded. For Wilton to miss that , when his academy had been performing so well, when his students had never shone brighter , was unthinkable. He had no family left, no ties outside of the academy. The institution was his entire life.

The other principals knew this. They exchanged glances, uneasy. They did not voice their doubts, but a grim understanding twisted in the backs of their minds.

The silence that followed said more than words ever could.

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