Chapter 651

At Kaecilius’s shout, every eye in the room snapped toward the bookshelf.

A figure stepped leisurely out from behind it.

The stranger stood with his hands clasped behind his back, dressed in Kamar-Taj’s unmistakable yellow robes. A hood concealed the face, but there was something about the figure’s posture that radiated the confidence of a true master.

Kaecilius and the others immediately grew wary.

Then the hood came down.

Everyone except Kaecilius took a synchronized step backward.

A bald head.

The Ancient One.

Seriously?

It was perfectly normal for killing one enemy to bring out someone stronger. That was practically a rule of fiction.

But they had killed Stiller less than a minute ago.

Was the Ancient One really going to show up this fast?

Where was the part where the heroes got a little breathing room to regroup and develop?

The sight of the Ancient One’s face was enough to make the renegade sorcerers tense. They might have turned against Kamar-Taj, but they still knew better than to underestimate the most powerful spellcaster on Earth.

Kaecilius, however, simply studied the figure for a moment.

Then he smiled.

He raised one hand. A faint light gathered around his fingers.

"An illusion," he said. "What are you trying to hide?"

With a sharp crack, the figure dissolved beneath the light.

Smoke billowed outward.

When it cleared, Clea stood in the Ancient One’s place.

She glanced around awkwardly.

"Well... that’s embarrassing."

Clea was no fool.

The moment she’d seen Stiller killed, she hadn’t rushed out blindly in search of revenge. She’d stayed hidden behind the bookshelves, watching and assessing.

Her plan had been simple.

Wait until the group withdrew, ambush the two people bringing up the rear, and capture them alive. Then hand them over to the Ancient One, force the group to reveal their hideout, and bring the entire traitorous faction down.

That would have been the proper revenge for Stiller.

What Clea hadn’t expected was for Kaecilius to discover where she was hiding.

Once she’d realized how many enemies she was facing, and that several of them were far from weak, she had come up with another plan.

If she couldn’t frighten them with herself, she would frighten them with someone they feared.

The Ancient One.

Unfortunately, Kaecilius had seen through the disguise almost instantly and dispelled the illusion.

Of course he had.

Pretending to be the Ancient One in front of Kaecilius was practically inviting disaster. He had been raised by her and knew her better than almost anyone.

The two women were both powerful, but they certainly weren’t interchangeable.

Even someone half-blind could tell the difference.

With Clea exposed, the others relaxed.

She was barely in her twenties. No matter how talented she was, how much combat experience could she possibly have? Magic required years to master, and battlefield experience was built one fight at a time.

Kaecilius flicked his eyes toward one of his followers.

Deal with her.

They didn’t have time to waste.

A female mage in brown robes stepped forward.

She twisted her hand in an odd motion.

Part of the floor beside her suddenly shattered, as though struck by an invisible weapon.

Clea narrowed her eyes.

"Invisible Blade?"

The woman’s hand was empty.

Unlike the bright yellow magical blades Clea had used before, this one had apparently been altered through polarization until it became nearly impossible to see.

"Hmph."

The mage said nothing.

She lunged.

The invisible blade came screaming toward Clea’s neck.

The woman clearly expected the young mage to have no idea what was coming until it was too late.

"Overconfident, traitor."

The result was nothing like she expected.

Clea planted one foot, raised her knee, and dropped her elbow.

The invisible blade was caught cleanly between them.

The female mage froze for half a heartbeat.

That was all Clea needed.

She slipped sideways, appearing beside her opponent in a blur. Her right arm rose high.

The punch came down with a sharp crack of displaced air.

It struck the back of the woman’s skull.

The mage collapsed before she could even cry out.

Blood immediately began spreading from the back of her head.

Clea stepped back and straightened as if nothing unusual had happened.

"An Invisible Blade is a serious problem in a fight," she said calmly. "You can’t tell what kind of weapon you’re dealing with. It could be a longsword, a knife, an axe..."

She glanced down at the unconscious woman.

"For an inexperienced fighter, that uncertainty can be fatal."

Her voice remained cold and analytical.

"But years of martial training are hard to erase. You can read the weapon from the way someone holds it. Then you account for the terrain, the timing of the swing, and the instinctive movements they make to keep their balance."

Her eyes sharpened.

"From there, figuring out the weapon’s length isn’t difficult."

Kaecilius and the others didn’t applaud.

Instead, two male mages attacked from opposite sides.

Clea’s expression remained composed.

Inside, she was cursing.

Seriously?

Wasn’t this the part where they were supposed to compliment her, trade a few words, maybe let some arrogant expert step forward for a dramatic one-on-one?

Why were there two of them now?

Talking about a technique and actually using it under pressure were two very different things.

In a real fight, nobody gave you enough time to calmly analyze every variable.

Clea barely slipped past another strike.

Then she saw an opening and drove a punch toward one of the men.

The blow came so quickly that her entire arm seemed to blur.

But the mage was skilled.

He tilted his head just enough to let the punch pass.

His timing was perfect.

Unfortunately for him, avoiding the fist’s path wasn’t enough.

The instant he dodged, his body suddenly lurched forward.

His expression twisted in confusion.

He stumbled, crashed into a bookshelf, and went down hard.

Blood poured from the back of his head.

Clea immediately felt the pressure ease.

One opponent was gone.

Now the balance had shifted.

She raised both fists and attacked the remaining mage in a relentless barrage.

He ducked and slipped from side to side.

Every punch looked like a straightforward jab. He kept avoiding the visible trajectory with uncanny precision.

Yet somehow, every single blow still found its mark.

The mage had no idea why.

Before he could figure it out, Clea’s right hand suddenly opened into a claw and shot toward his throat.

He twisted away.

Once again, he had avoided the attack itself.

Yet Clea’s fingers somehow closed around the side of his neck anyway.

Her thumb pressed hard against his throat.

The man’s mouth opened like a gasping fish.

Then he collapsed.

"Fascinating."

Kaecilius looked down at his two fallen followers, nodding slowly.

When some of the others moved to attack, he raised a hand and stopped them.

"I see it now."

His eyes settled on Clea.

"That move you used to catch his neck exposed the flaw."

Clea said nothing.

"Your punches look like high-speed straight strikes, but they aren’t truly traveling in straight lines. They’re more like a whip snapping outward. That’s why, when your opponent avoids the apparent trajectory, you can still redirect the attack from an unexpected angle and strike somewhere they’ve left exposed."

For once, Kaecilius even smiled.

"I’ve never seen this style before. What’s it called?"

Clea had absolutely no intention of helping him understand her technique.

The longer this fight lasted, the better.

She reset her stance, confidence returning to her expression.

"It’s a style I created myself."

She gave him a faint smile.

"The Venomous Serpent’s Hundred Arts."

"Hmm."

Kaecilius nodded as though he’d expected that answer.

"So the movements are deliberately strange and difficult to read. But once someone understands the pattern and knows what to watch for, landing a clean hit becomes much harder."

His gaze sharpened.

"And your ability to change the angle of your attacks instantaneously, combined with the force behind them, must consume a great deal of magical energy."

Clea’s expression hardened.

He had hit the mark.

Kaecilius noticed.

"But for someone your age to create a combat style like this..." His voice softened. "You really are an exceptional talent."

He extended an offer.

"Come with us."

"You’ll only waste that talent staying here. The Ancient One has never truly taught you real magic. Only she herself has access to the magic she actually practices."

Clea surprised him by nodding.

"I know."

Kaecilius blinked.

"I know what kind of magic the Ancient One practices."

Her expression was firm.

"And I also know why she refuses to teach it to us."

Something flickered across Kaecilius’s face.

"She told you?"

For an instant, regret surfaced in his eyes.

If she’d told me back then, things might have been different...

No.

That was another one of the Ancient One’s tricks.

A false front. Another manipulation.

And he had a greater purpose now.

Kaecilius pushed those thoughts aside.

"So you won’t join us."

The regret vanished.

What replaced it was something colder.

He looked at Clea with open resentment now.

"Then there’s only one thing left to do."

He turned toward the Asian mage standing beside him.

"Chen."

Chen inclined his head and stepped forward.

Then, unexpectedly, he tossed a sheathed short blade toward Clea.

She caught it.

A small smile touched her lips.

"The Invisible Blade didn’t work, so now you want to fight me properly?"

Then she noticed the movement.

The instant both her hands closed around the weapon, Chen surged forward.

Clea instinctively tried to draw the blade and meet his attack.

Too slow.

Pain exploded through her abdomen.

Chen had already driven two short blades into her stomach.

Clea stared down in disbelief.

The weapon in her hands was only halfway out of its sheath.

"Blade-trapping handwork..."

Her fingers trembled.

She dropped the weapon and seized Chen’s wrists.

"I shouldn’t have caught your knife."

Her breath came ragged.

"It tied up both my hands."

If she hadn’t been holding the weapon, she could have reacted normally. But the moment he’d thrown it to her, she’d instinctively tried to use it.

That hesitation had cost her.

Chen dipped his head modestly.

"Nothing impressive. Just a little trick."

He began pulling his blades free.

Then Clea tightened her grip.

Chen froze.

The strength in her hands was absurd.

He pulled once.

Nothing.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Then Clea slowly raised her head.

Her eyes were no longer their normal color.

Deep blue spread across them, swallowing the whites.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper, soft and distant, almost dreamlike.

"The abyss..."

Chen’s face went pale.

"...is churning inside you."

His expression changed.

His eyes widened.

His mouth fell open.

Then blood suddenly erupted from his mouth and eyes in a violent spray, blasting outward with the force of a ruptured pressure hose.

His skin split.

His body twisted unnaturally.

A strangled cry escaped him before he collapsed to the floor and died in agony.

A moment later, Clea’s strength finally failed.

She swayed.

Then she collapsed onto her side.