ushernet Chapter 154
Chapter 154
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]
Chapter 154: The Game of Kings (8)
“Huff, huff.”
Leo Brult exhaled a cloud of white breath with his ragged breathing.
His throat burned.
For the first time, he truly understood what it meant to be "parched"—a phrase he had only read in books until now.
‘Damn it.’
Even the Red Tower mages, who had never thought they would lose to anyone, had long since fallen one by one.
No matter how strong they were, they were still outnumbered.
It had been so long since the battle began that he couldn’t even remember how much time had passed.
‘I’m the last one left.’
Drip.
Leo Brult wiped the liquid trickling down his temple with his sleeve.
He assumed it was sweat—but the deep, dark red told him otherwise.
‘...I don’t have much time left.’
The fact that he had started bleeding meant that his elimination was imminent.
Exhaling with slightly steadier breaths, he looked around.
He was the only Red Tower mage still standing.
“......”
A bitter, indescribable taste spread across his tongue.
Though he didn’t fully grasp it yet, it was the taste of defeat.
A bitter flavor that only those who had lost without saving a single ally could ever know.
“I am Leo Brult.”
Fwoooosh!
Flames surged violently around him.
This was the fire that had devoured twelve enemy mages.
The magic of the first student from last year’s graduating class to reach the 4th level.
“If I’m going down, I’m not going alone.”
Taking a deep breath, he shouted,
“Whoever wants to be eliminated with me, step forward!”
His voice boomed so loudly that the reeds around them trembled.
The one who accepted his bold challenge was a tall man.
“Fine. Someone like you is worthy of being my companion to the end.”
Seeing the man before him, Leo Brult smirked.
Fwoooosh.
The man exhaled smoke from his pipe and murmured softly.
“That’s not my intention.”
“Sorry, but that’s not up to you.”
“...I don’t intend to waste words.”
For a brief moment, tension crackled between them.
Fwoooosh!
Leo Brult’s flames surged toward his opponent first.
“......”
Killian Lockwood, watching the approaching inferno, lightly tapped his pipe.
A spark flickered—then a fierce wind howled through the battlefield.
Fwoooosh!
As if encountering an invisible wall, the roaring flames could advance no further, rippling wildly in place.
“Hoo.”
Killian exhaled a stream of smoke, tucked his pipe away, and casually rolled his neck and wrists.
“So you’re the strongest mage from last year’s class?”
“And if I am?”
“Hmph.”
Without another word, Killian's body lit up with five glowing sigils.
In the blink of an eye, he had moved behind Leo Brult.
“...What?”
Feeling the surge of magic at his back, Leo uttered a dazed question.
When?
How?
His eyes hadn’t even been able to track Killian’s movement.
‘Is this the level of a mage who graduated just a year before me?’
A formless shock shook his mind, like being tossed helplessly in a raging sea.
His stomach churned—he felt like he might vomit.
“The academy’s standards have fallen.”
Only after hearing Killian’s murmured remark did Leo slowly turn his head.
He had heard rumors about this man while still in school.
‘By written exam scores alone, he should have failed...’
But he was the oddity who had passed every practical exam with a perfect score.
Killian Lockwood.
The mage who, soon after graduation, had earned the title "Saint of the White Tower."
“...Ha.”
Leo let out a breath tinged with self-reproach.
At the same time, his body lifted off the ground—floating weightlessly into the sky.
It was the White Tower Master's intervention, signaling that he could no longer continue fighting.
“It’s over.”
Killian muttered as he watched Leo drift away.
A moment later, Veronica stormed toward him, fuming.
“Hey! Are you kidding me? I told you he was mine!”
* * *
In the afternoon, the results ceremony awaited.
The court mage who had commentated on the dungeon escape match, Andre Bright, took the microphone.
"The 8th Night of Mages event has officially concluded. Everyone is exhausted, so I won’t drag this out. Let’s announce the final winner."
Shhh.
A final ranking board was displayed in the arena.
1st place: White Tower, 19 points
2nd place: Red Tower, 18 points
3rd place: Yellow Tower, 17 points
4th place: Black Tower, 16 points
5th place: Blood Tower, 13 points
5th place: Blue Tower, 13 points
7th place: Purple Tower, 7 points
8th place: Green Tower, 5 points
"What an incredible, truly incredible turn of events!"
Looking at the ranking board, Andre became excited and raised his voice.
"The Black Tower and the Blood Tower, which have received high praise in recent years, have finally proven that their skills are not just rumors! The Blood Tower tied with the Blue Tower for 5th place, while the Black Tower proudly secured 4th place, proving that they can compete with the Four Great Towers!"
However, everyone affiliated with the eight Magic Towers knew who the real protagonist of the day was.
"The White Tower has endured all sorts of speculation and criticism as one of the Four Great Towers. Some even questioned whether they deserved to remain among the elite. But today! They have defied all expectations and claimed ultimate victory, proving to the world why they still belong among the Four Great Towers!"
When Sasha Maestro stepped forward to receive the award on behalf of the White Tower, its mages began wiping away tears.
"...Elder, are you crying?"
"Shut up."
Even Maxim's eyes were reddened—he must have been deeply moved.
Seeing that, Oscar smirked, and Sasha continued her speech.
"I may have received this award as the White Tower’s representative, but it is merely a symbolic role. The true recipients of this honor are the mages of the White Tower who participated in the competition. I promise, here and now, that we will continue to support them in their journey to becoming great mages."
Clap, clap, clap, clap.
The mages gave a standing ovation, and next, the final MVP of the competition was announced.
"This part even surprised me personally. The panel of judges, consisting of each Tower’s representatives, reached a unanimous decision."
Unanimous.
At that word, everyone instinctively turned to look at Oscar.
If it wasn’t him, no one else could justify such a result.
"The final MVP of the 8th Night of Mages is White Tower’s Mage, Oscar Crucian!"
Clap, clap, clap.
Oscar moved onto the stage, received a bouquet and a plaque, and then delivered his acceptance speech in a completely indifferent tone.
"Thank you. To share this joy and honor with everyone, starting next week, all White Tower potions will be 15% off. I hope for your interest and purchases."
"......."
"......."
The mages in the audience were left speechless.
Wasn’t this the moment to talk about gratitude and hardships?
‘That guy really is something else.’
‘Promoting potions at a time like this... well, at least it’s effective.’
‘A 15% discount, huh? Maybe I should stock up while it’s cheap.’
As Oscar stepped down from the stage, he met Andre’s incredulous gaze head-on.
"You really are... fascinating."
"Is that so?"
"Watching you reminds me of an old friend I often wanted to smack in the head."
"You must have been quite close."
"Well, that might have been just my perspective."
Andre gave a faint smile and extended his hand.
"Regardless, it was an honor to witness a mage who will lead the next generation."
"I will lead them well."
"...You really refuse to say anything else, huh?"
"If not me, then who else will lead?"
"Hah. You really remind me of that guy."
Shaking his head, Andre gestured toward the hallway.
"If you follow this hallway, there’s someone waiting for you."
"Someone waiting for me?"
"You’ll receive a special award for being MVP. And I’m sure you know who’s giving it to you."
It’s probably Prince Berkan.
Oscar nodded slowly and bid Andre farewell.
He walked down the corridor and knocked on the door.
From inside, a voice told him to enter.
However, when he stepped into the room, he found it completely empty.
"......."
Had they not arrived yet?
As he walked across the room and sat on the sofa—
A voice echoed from the crystal ball on the table.
—Ah, you’ve arrived.
"......!"
There are some voices that remain unforgettable, even with the passage of time.
The voice of a sovereign.
The voice of one who has ruled over people and stood above them all his life.
A voice carrying such charisma flowed from the crystal ball.
‘The Emperor?’
Oscar’s eyes widened in shock as he quickly stood up.
And at that moment, the Emperor’s voice carried an ominous question.
—So, how is your new life? Are you enjoying it?
[Translator - Night]
[Proofreader - Gun]