Bro, I'm not an Undead!

1017 Evolved Goals

The Reacher Academy of Higher Magic Virtues stood proud in the middle of a completely wrecked Genhuis City. With how much it stood out as this almost sacred ground guarded by a silver glow which traced along the circular premises, more than several would have wondered why it wasn't swarmed by monstrous Cavern struggling tirelessly to get in and rip the Mages hidden within to shreds.

It must have truly been tempting.

The large area divided into four quadrants, each with four towers – excluding the bold figure of the Wormworld Spiral – looked neat, albeit devoid of human life on its pathways even as the sky was beginning to brighten due to the gracious arrival of sunshine.

Of course, all the Mages and other Energy Formers were hidden in the many towers, continuing the courses of their everyday life as if nothing had befallen the world at all.

Only Mages could have behaved this nonchalantly.

After all, Arch-Mages – forces to be reckoned with – were relatively abundant in the Academy.

Such experts in the field of Magecraft were quite proud. They rarely moved against threats unless they disturbed their way of life; threatening fellow Mages and Energy Formers affiliated with the Academy, or if said threats were interesting.

Both of these reasons could explain why the Mages of the Reacher Academy refused to help the city when the towers emerged.

The City Guardian, Gillewart had tried to call for their help once more, as they had acquiesced to when those peculiar, indestructible creatures which could overwhelm Incandescent Stagers casually, had assaulted the city months ago; the Null Badubs. Predictably, he was met with refusal.

The glow around the Reacher Academy was potent enough to resist the influence of the towers as well as the might of the creatures that spawned from it. As such the safety of the Mages was all but guaranteed. Thus, the Mages so no need to assist.

Beyond that, the higher authorities within the Academy assessed the threat and deemed it… not worth their time. Apparently, something capable of making Gillewart evacuate what he could of the city was beneath them.

Gillewart had been appalled.

To think those overpowered geezers would rather shut themselves away, continuing their long, arduous journeys towards attempting to grow beyond the Stages; to follow Magecraft until they could become stronger than any Transcendent Stager or Beyond the Veil Stager – the peak of the Stages, closest to Divinity – without relying on Tasks and Trials.

Such a harrowing objective.

However, in extreme contrast to this cold, hard passion, someone else stowed away within the towers had no desire for such.

He did not have excessive pride, a high degree of self-preservation or outlandish interests related to power.

Instead…

"You know, when I began all this, all I wanted was a fitting position of power in the Guilds Association. For someone like me – at least the me from that time – it was a grand goal. I had to become like my father nomatter cost. I wanted to prove to him that I too had the necessary gifts required to lead such an organization that is seldom governed by stringent rules. I wanted to show him that I would rise in ranks through my ability to spot the talented and ride their glory to reach my own…" Silrat said somberly as he sat on the chair. "Well, when father died, I kind of lost that objective. But since I had been trying to prove myself for so long, I felt like all that stuff was all I could do. All I needed to do. All I would do until I died a common, glory-less death."

Arch-Mage Wyatt guffawed.

"That did happen, didn't it? You died," the aged man, decked in a thick robe said as he caused a rather fancy spoon to stir his tea cradled in a mug far from where he was crouching, rummaging through an old drawer in the small room.

Silrat groaned.

What was worse than being trounced verbally by someone who was performing three activities at once; listening, scrounging and manipulating mana, was if said person was right.

"You say that this friend of yours, Festos, did something to make you disappear until only recently, right? That is death, boy. A merciful one, I say. If you were alive in the past few days, you might not have made it out alive. And by some standard of luck, you just so happened to be saved by me before you got devoured by the status quo, hahaha! I'd say you have all the favor in the world."

Silrat's face strained.

Yeah.

He knew Skullius had saved him, given the narration of the events from the past few days he had heard from Arch-Mage Wyatt, the man who rescued him before he was attacked by a Cavern.

But then, with Skullius' whereabouts currently unknown, Silrat couldn't help but feel as if he was being left behind by the one person he thought was going to lift him up.

Arch-Mage Wyatt saw the look on his face and gave a cold smile.

"So, this objective of yours… will you still follow through with it now that the world is very likely to turn to ash?"

Silrat felt a drop of sweat roll down his temple, but his visage retained a resolute firmness.

"I have no choice. My previous goal evolved. That's all there is to it. I can't stop now anyway," he said before facing Arch-Mage Wyatt. "Anyway, I highly doubt I'm welcome here. Could you help me get somewhere? An estate not too far from here."

***

Eofel.

A fearsome battle had taken place outside the range of the desolate city, littered only by corpses that kept chanting the same dark words over and over again while awaiting for the command to burst into action.

Their master, who had been spectating the battle, did not see the need to lend her assistance to the panting former Paladin Champion with long, lustrous, silver hair, a concerningly pale face and a long sword that she held with both hands.

This former Champion had her hands full facing off against not one, but two other Champions, one of which was ranked the third strongest among all twelve.

Ruhrees and his fellow Paladin Champion, a woman who was ranked sixth, stood sixteen meters away from Revia. The two also looked winded, with the latter having several, deep gashes to her armor and flesh, some of which hung loosely. She looked wobbly, but had just enough resolve to hold herself up.

Ruhrees gave her a side glance, but quickly returned his gaze to Revia.

'She's stronger somehow. Faster too. Did she gain more power in exchange for siding with these necromancers?' he thought, his face growing darker than it already had been.

Indeed. Revia was much stronger.

What she had displayed back at the stadium was no fluke.

The fact that she had time to completely overwhelm the other female Paladin Champion while fending off Ruhrees, was indicative of that leap in strength.

Ruhrees clicked his tongue.

His hand was set aglow by a vicious red light as he donned a vile look.

"I swear, Revia. You are dying here even if I have to give my life to do it. You might as well perish if this is what you have become!"

Revia allowed herself to pant some more before wearing a weary smile.

"Be my guest. It's not as easy as you might think," she retorted.

Right after she said her piece, she and Ruhrees set to launch themselves into each other and collide without any regard for what might happen next.

But…

A smooth, sharp force spawned from thin air and smashed into Revia's closed palm, which instinctively opened.

The former Paladin Champion's sword fell to the ground immediately.

At the same time, Ruhrees felt a staggering blow to his thigh which forced him to kneel and twist in pain.

Both he and Revia looked at the space between them.

A figure had appeared without the both of them picking up his presence fast enough.

It was a man with caramel hair and a full moustache with the same pigment.

His black, high steel boots made him easily identifiable to both Revia and Ruhrees.

It was the Bloodless Steel Phantom.

It was Alaris.

Even while facing such powerful individuals, he spoke freely, boldly:

"This ends here."

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