Novel Full Chapter 388: You’re Only Half Right
Chapter 388: You’re Only Half Right
The darkness was thick around the western wing of the academy grounds, shrouding the world in a silence only broken by the occasional flicker of a mana lamp.
Razel and Elias kept moving like ghosts between the buildings, every step calculated, soundless.
They were still following the original intruder who had slipped away during the earlier skirmish, but as they turned a corner, Razel suddenly threw a hand out, stopping Elias.
“Look,” he whispered.
Down below, tucked between two tall hedge rows and shielded by a long crescent-shaped wall, nine figures clad in dark robes stood in formation.
Each of them wore jagged black armor etched with faded silver symbols. Their movements were disciplined, coordinated. They weren’t just invaders.
They were trained. Ready. Prepped.
And from the glint of golden bands on their arms—Gold Rank.
Razel’s eyes narrowed. “They’re targeting the Westward section,” he muttered.
Elias arched a brow. “The relaxation center? It’ll be filled with resting students at this hour…”
“They know,” Razel said. “And I think I know what a man like him would do.”
He pointed toward the center of the group.
The man standing there had a sharp jawline and a crescent tattoo running from his right temple down to his collarbone. His weapon of choice—a double-ended glaive—was slung casually across his back, but the fire in his aura screamed hostility.
Razel’s voice dropped.
“That’s the one who laid the barrier trap. The one I chased before the lockdown.”
Elias turned his head. “Then I assume you want him.”
Razel’s eyes glinted with something darker. “He’ll wish he had been the one to die back there when I’m done with him.”
The group of nine intruders had begun discussing the attack formation.
“We go in silent. Take out anyone awake first,” one of them said.
“If they scream?”
“Put them back to bed by slitting their throat before they get the second word out.”
The building ahead still had lights in some windows. There were definitely students inside. Relaxing. Sleeping.
Unaware.
Razel and Elias were already moving into position above them, crouched along the sloped roof of the neighboring structure.
“Now?” Elias asked.
“Let them start moving,” Razel whispered.
They waited, silent shadows above the enemy.
One of the intruders raised his hand. “On three—”
“One.”
“Two—”
“That’s enough.”
Two voices rang out simultaneously.
And both Elias and Razel dropped from above, cloaks flaring, weapons already drawn and aglow with raw magical essence.
“That’s far enough,” Elias said coolly.
Razel stepped beside him, cracking his neck. “This is your only warning. Lay down your arms and pray to whatever gods you serve. You won’t be walking away otherwise.”
The nine intruders paused, startled. But then their leader smiled, the crescent tattoo crinkling.
“You don’t know what you’re dealing with.”
“Oh, we do,” Razel said, his voice cold. “And unfortunately for you… so do we.”
Meanwhile, inside the Teleportation Array Chamber, the temperature dropped without magic.
The silence that lingered after Oryll’s kill was suffocating.
Two corpses, what little was left of them, dripped red from the inner walls of the chamber.
Dean Veyra stood in the center. Painted. Splattered.
Her hands trembled at her sides—not with fear, but rage. Her lips, once drawn in composed superiority, now twisted into a snarl.
“You will regret this,” she hissed at Oryll.
The gray-haired Dean cracked his neck. “I already don’t.”
The blood of her men dripped down her robes, staining the sigils stitched into the hems. She slowly pointed a single finger at him. Her expression darkened into something feral.
“I had planned to leave you two alive. Now? I’ve changed my mind.”
She raised her hand high and snapped her fingers.
The remaining operatives—the lot of them, still standing in the chamber—vanished in a flicker of space.
Dean Godsthorn’s eyes snapped wide.
She used another spatial array.
One layered beneath the teleportation circle itself.
A moment later, a pulse of magic spread out from her hand, inscribing a fresh set of sigils into the floor. It surged upward and wrapped around both Deans.
“Spatial Bind.”
Oryll cursed as invisible bands locked his joints.
Even Godsthorn winced as space thickened around his limbs. “She built this restriction some time ago,” he muttered.
Veyra smiled. “I built months ago. During my last visit.”
She raised her voice and shouted in a tongue no one outside the highest-ranking mages should know.
The entire chamber pulsed once.
Then, like spiders scattering in sunlight, her people began appearing across the academy grounds—now free to act.
“Find them!” Veyra yelled into the spell-laced air. “All of them! Students, staff, faculty! Cut them down! Let their blood write the next page of this academy’s fall!”
~~~~~
Back near the Westward Solace, Elias and Razel were already mid-battle.
The two front-most intruders lunged forward.
Elias flicked his hand, and a concussive blast of air knocked one clear off his feet and through the hedge.
The other tried to pivot but Razel blurred into view beside him and struck him down with a sweeping blade of red lightning.
The air sizzled.
“Two down,” Elias said.
“Seven more,” Razel muttered, dashing forward like a hunting shadow.
The leader—Razel’s target—grinned and finally drew his glaive.
“I hoped you’d come,” he said, stepping forward. “They told me you were fast.”
Razel tilted his head. “Not fast enough to outrun what I’m about to do to you.”
Their weapons clashed instantly.
Clang!
Steel screamed.
Sparks exploded.
Razel was grinning like a madman.
Elias, meanwhile, was controlling the field with precision—trapping two enemies in soundless bubbles, hurling disorientation spells to scramble their coordination.
His movements were methodical. Choreographed. Cold.
More figures now emerged from side roads and alley corners. Students and staff catching on to the chaos erupting in the dark.
“Call reinforcements!” someone yelled.
“No time!” another voice echoed.
The air was now shattered with magical essence and pressure.
Back in the array room, Dean Oryll bared his teeth, forcing his magic essence into the spatial bind. Cracks began to form along the bands holding him.
Godsthorn’s eyes remained on Veyra.
“You never wanted the tournament to go on,” he said slowly. “You used it to gather the best. The strongest. So you could remove them all in one night. Right?”
Veyra didn’t answer.
She was already gone in a blink of space.
But her voice echoed around the chamber.
“You’re only half right, Godsthorn. And it’s already begun.”