Chapter 47 Phantom of the Magic Monarch
“Quickly!” Verafia called out, her small hands raising the scepter in her hand. Magic arrays of spells at the tip of Mistetinn’s Staff rapidly gathered, emitting dazzling magical brilliance.
Although Ophilia was stunned for a moment, upon hearing Verafia’s voice, she did not hesitate. With one hand holding Verafia tightly, her right hand raised the dragon spear, the cold fluctuations flowing on its magnificent ice crystal spearhead, and thrust it heavily at the bard before them.
“Boom!”
The majestic magical radiance engulfed the bard’s figure. At the same time, the ice dragon girl’s slender hand tightly grasped the thrusting spearhead and pierced deeply. The surging power instantly froze the floor within dozens of meters into ice, which was then immediately torn apart by the terrifying force.
However, Verafia’s eyes widened. In her sight, the bard still wore a gentle smile, and before him, a formless yet real power appeared, resisting the pouring radiance and ice frost.
Verafia knew that with just her and Ophilia, it was impossible to defeat Dylan, or even realistically injure him, as Dylan was a Saint Domain existence.
But at this moment, before Dylan, it was as if the abyss had inverted, and the dark morning star devoured the surging magical brilliance and ice frost before him, without disturbing Dylan’s slightest movement.
The melodious sound of a harp arose as the strings were plucked.
“Dylan, you—”
Verafia’s childish, slender voice came through the churning waves. The bard shook his head slightly with a helpless expression: “I’ve said before that I have no ill intentions towards you and Mr. Ig. My previous actions to delay you were merely at Lord Hodrea’s request.”
The zither music reached their ears. Just as Dylan had said, there was no sign of any spells, not even traces of demonic power, and it was not an attack on them.
But not only Verafia, but even Ig, who had already reacted and placed his hand on his sword, could not help but narrow his pupils, his hand gripping the End firmly.
There were no demonic power fluctuations, but not only Verafia and the others, but also the elves around the entire town who had not managed to escape, felt an immense pressure descending upon their souls.
Dust and shattered debris were stirred up, as if a deity had appeared. However, it was not the warmth of life, nor the ferocity of raging flames, but rather the opposite – a spiritual fire burning on white bones, a coldness that did not belong to the physical.
“Wh-what is this…”
Ophilia’s small face turned slightly pale. One hand pressed on the spearhead, and she instinctively held Verafia tighter in her arms.
“This is a spiritual imprint of an existence… who left it in Dylan’s zither music,” Ig said with a serious expression. As for this existence – even though it was not his true form, the feeling it gave Ig was comparable to few experiences, such as the descent of a god of ice.
“He is Fatter!” Verafia’s golden eyes widened slightly, and she suddenly lifted her head with all her might and said.
Ig’s pupils contracted. Not only was he a hero from a hundred years ago who fought alongside a young girl, but in the present world, Fatter was the monarch of the “Magic Saint Domain” Harkranton, the emperor of magic. Although Ig had never met him face-to-face, the traces of contact were by no means few.
Furthermore, Ig and Verafia had only recently spoken of Fatter’s name.
“To be honest, Your Majesty, when I passed through Harkranton, His Majesty Fatter entrusted me to introduce interesting people and truly divine existences to him during my travels,” the bard said with a relaxed expression, his robes stirred by the wind. His lowered eyes gazed at Ig and the two girls, one large and one small, and he pursed his lips into a gentle smile: “I believe your existence, Miss Verafia, will surely satisfy His Majesty Fatter.”
Grey-black mist exuded from the zither music, like ink splashed and staining the entire sky under the twilight. In the ruins, spiritual power and demonic power were rapidly plundered and condensed into a majestic phantom that chilled countless souls.
Verafia trembled slightly, a ripple spreading across her eyes. She didn’t even notice Dylan’s departure, focusing only on the figure formed by the entangled demonic powers.
The entire world became his domain, and the descending great existence was undoubtedly the master of all magic.
A black cloak concealed his thin body, and the staff in his hand was uncarved and unadorned, appearing as ordinary as the staff used by the most common mages.
The crown adorning his head was inlaid with magic gems. Fatter’s cloak was painted with obscure and gorgeous magic runes in gold paint, like patterns of spells, bringing an unfathomably sinister feeling.
However, no one could see his face clearly. It was as if with the opening of the Magic Monarch’s eyes, bone-white flames, like chilling spectral fire, burned in his eye sockets, gazing at everyone in his domain.
“Th-that’s the most, most, most insidious human Mage Fatter that Father mentioned?” Ophilia’s small hands tightly gripped her spear, her voice faltering.
Verafia’s voice, however, fell silent. She merely gazed at the figure in her sight. If she had only been guessing before, but now, seeing him, despite the completely different appearance, aura, and demonic power fluctuations compared to her impression of Fatter, she was certain that the one before her was precisely the magic prodigy who had once been a “Mage” and had fought the Demon King with her companions!
The phantom of the Magic Monarch occupied the entire sky. Even without any demonic power flowing, merely a simple gaze brought soul-trembling fear. Verafia was certain that if they were to fight, even if she and Ig were tied together, along with the idiotic ice dragon holding her, they would absolutely not be his match.
“Lotte, is that really you?” A flat voice, dry yet piercing, as if from a corpse emerging from a grave. However, Verafia could feel a hint of a smile and flickering eyes from the other party.
“Hmph, I’m not him!” Verafia exclaimed, crossing her small hands and raising her small face defiantly. “This young lady is Verafia now. Fatter, you’ve mistaken me.”
“Verafia… Heh heh, I’ve heard that name for a long time,” the Magic Monarch chuckled dismissively, the bone-white flames in his pupils flickering. “However, it’s a pity, Miss Verafia, that you have always been within the domain of the Sacred Sword. Even at your moment of bloom, it was only to kill Lancaster.” The other party’s voice was filled with deep regret. Verafia’s golden eyes looked at him, thinking, if it were her back then, would she be afraid of this guy?
She curled her lips, a mocking smile appearing. “Then, should I feel regret for you, or be fortunate, or perhaps, thank you on behalf of Lancaster?”
