Low-Fantasy Occultist

Chapter 430

The necrotic energy writhed between Hone’s hands, expanding into a volatile, irregular mass that threatened to consume him first. Realizing he could no longer compress the payload, he thrust both hands forward, releasing the gathered energy in a wide cone aimed directly at Tholm, Bluetear, and the structural pillars behind them, injecting more of his mana into it to try and reach the level of power he’d been building toward.

But Bluetear hadn’t been idle while he worked, and brought his staff around in a sweeping gesture, weaving a complex transmogrification array in a fraction of a second, and casting the spell like a net over the necrotic blast.

As the dark energy crossed Bluetear's magic threshold, Nick watched in awe as its fundamental properties were rewritten.

The decaying elements were removed as the blue mana seeped through the tiny imperfections in their structure, turning the outer layers of the blast into harmless, scattering sunlight that made Nick close his eyes and rely entirely on [Empyrean Intuition] to understand what was happening, even as he retreated to the safety of his pillar, knowing his part was done.

He sensed that Hone's spell core remained tightly packed, carrying too much momentum to be fully transmuted instantly, but that was when Tholm stepped into the path of the remaining energy.

Retrieving three small, black iron spheres from his spatial storage, he tossed them onto the marble floor in a triangle, following the path carved by his lances.

As the spheres hit the stone, they shattered, creating three overlapping gravity wells that were further stabilized by the circle they formed, revealing that it had all been part of his plan from the start, given how smoothly the magics fit together.

The core of the necrotic blast was violently pulled downward and sucked into the singularity before it could reach the Archmages.

Groaning, the marble floor buckled and cracked under the immense localized stress, but the combined efforts of Bluetear and Tholm successfully grounded the catastrophic attack.

The sickening sensation of the necromantic magic faded into the ether, leaving a ringing silence behind.

Seven hells. Did he know Hone would try to bring it all down from the beginning?

An answer wasn’t forthcoming at the moment, but Nick’s attention was quickly diverted when Hone didn’t pause to mourn his failed gambit. He reached into his robes and drew a heavy rod made of dark steel. Abandoning his attempt at necromancy, he shifted back to his true specialty.

Overlapping matrices of artillery spells formed in the air, glowing with a harsh red light, and in the blink of an eye, Hone began firing relentless salvos of compressed force and searing plasma, treating the enclosed space of the seventy-seventh floor like an open battlefield. Even more than it had already been.

The loyal Archmages pushed back, and the duel turned into a grueling battle of attrition.

Tholm sacrificed crystal shields to absorb plasma impacts and shattered iron runestones to summon defensive barriers, maintaining a steady casting pace and systematically shutting down Hone’s firing lines, as if he were always a step ahead.

Bluetear manipulated the room’s environment at will, causing the marble floor to ripple and transform into anything from tentacles to wild animals, forcing Hone to constantly adjust his position to avoid being trapped and having to spend mana to fend off those dangers.

When Hone tried to summon a firestorm, Bluetear transmuted the oxygen in that part of the room into inert gas, smothering the flames before they could ignite.

That’s… not how fire magic works? But I guess this is more about concepts than actual elements. Just as Hone can summon so many flames without combustion, Bluetear can suppress them without it making sense.

From behind his cover, Nick watched the intense exchange of high-level magic, noticing that although Hone wasn’t quitting, the situation was shifting toward his unavoidable downfall.

Oh, he was incredibly skilled and had reserves that surpassed anything Nick could comprehend, but he was fighting two old monsters at the same time.

Furthermore, he was entirely cut off from the ambient mana. With the genius loci restored to its pristine state, the Tower actively resisted Hone’s attempts to draw upon the ether, leaving him to rely solely on his internal coils.

Slowly but surely, Hone's defenses were worn down. His breathing became ragged, and the glowing matrices of his War Magic started to flicker.

Tholm seized the opening, pulling out a piece of petrified wood from his coat and flooding it with a wave of mana that ruffled Nick’s hair, turning the artifact into dust.

A surge of disruptive energy swept over Hone, particularly targeting the active enchantments woven into his robes, and the protective layers shattered with the sound of breaking glass, leaving the War Mage exposed.

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Bluetear immediately seized the opportunity, transforming the air around him into a solid diamond block that encased Hone up to his shoulders, pinning his arms to his sides.

It wouldn’t last long, as Nick could already sense the first cracks forming, but Tholm didn’t need much time anyway.

He produced a long, heavy adamantine chain covered in glowing suppression runes and teleported above his old rivals.

At his urging, the chains automatically wrapped tightly around Hone’s head and neck. As the metal made contact, the runes flared, physically embedding into Hone's aura and systematically shutting down his mana coils.

The War Mage slumped forward against his diamond bindings, his eyes burning with helpless fury.

Nick never once thought the man was harmless. Even now, he could sense an immense amount of mana stirring under his skin, trying to break the enchantment, but Tholm seemed to believe it was over, and he allowed himself to relax when the System chimed in.

SYSTEM NOTIFICATION!

You have participated in the defeat of [Elias Hone, Traitorous Archmage - Lv. 171]!

+4,155,666 Exp.

Level up!

Level up!

He let out a long, shuddering breath as the new power flooded into him, releasing his grip on [Worldcraft] and allowing the golden light of the [Crest of the Thunderbird] and the [Mire] to retreat into his soul.

The sudden loss of the World’s support caused his physical exhaustion to hit him all at once. His bruised ribs ached, and his legs trembled, forcing him to lean heavily on the Shard just to stay upright, and he only didn’t collapse completely because the repeated level-ups had given him a second wind.

This is beginning to turn into a bad habit. Somebody will eventually start calling it a walking stick.

Once he was sure he wouldn’t fall, he took the weight off the staff and looked up, only to see Tholm and Bluetear staring directly at him.

"The tether was a variable I had not accounted for," the Tower Master said, assessing Nick’s condition with a gleam of interest. "Your intervention prevented a significant complication, young Crowley. The genius loci informs me that the abyssal root has been entirely excised from the central matrix thanks to your intervention as well.”

“I did what I could,” Nick shrugged, not feeling very inclined to boast. Sure, he’d managed to build the Mundus Cerialis from scratch in less time than he would have taken to do a basic ritual like the [Welcoming of the Sun], but without the Archmages handling Hone, it wouldn’t have amounted to much.

Tholm’s weathered face softened marginally, and a look of quiet amusement settled in his eyes. "A precise cut delivered at the exact right moment is often worth more than a barrage of spells. You held your nerve under the pressure of a Greater Demon’s presence, and you maintained your clarity in the crossfire of Archmages. You have done the Tower a great service tonight, Nicholas.”

Nick offered an exhausted nod, not bothering to refute his mentor’s words. He might not have done everything, but his contribution was meaningful. "Are we finished here?”

"I must get the traitor to the prismatic prison so his soul can be excised,” Bluetear said, causing Nick to widen his eyes. "Fixing the damage to the Tower will need additional effort from me. In addition, Hebenxer must be attended to.”

His piece said, the Tower Master swept away, disappearing in a flash alongside the bound Hone.

His words did bring up something, though, and from the look Tholm gave him, it didn’t seem that Nick had managed to conceal his expression.

“Archmage Lulantis, the man you saw fight alongside Hone, only joined the battle after launching a sneak attack on the Vice Tower Master,” he explained. “His specialty in spatial and temporal magics has always made him very slippery, but even Ebenexer didn’t expect such a backstab from him.”

Politod got taken out before the fight even began?

Considering the immense power and intrigue the man held, it felt far too anticlimactic, yet he supposed it served as a reminder that no matter how high one climbed, all it took was to be caught in a bad moment.

"The upper Tower will be secured by the other Archmages, but the lower levels will remain chaotic. Hone brought a small army of loyalists and demons, and while the faculty probably manages most of it, I can tell there are still stragglers,” Tholm continued, deliberately ignoring discussing Hone’s fate.

Nick looked up at him, met his eyes, and realized there wouldn’t be any answers from him, at least not yet, but he could infer enough to understand that the Archmage of War had no way out.

"Walk with me, Nicholas. We have a house to sweep.”

With barely a sigh, Nick followed Tholm toward the central stairwell, leaving the wrecked seventy-seventh floor behind.

It didn’t take long before they found the first group of enemies. As they reached the seventieth floor, they encountered four teaching assistants trying to barricade themselves inside a lecture hall while an older mage hammered at their defenses, shouting curses and expletives.

“Your seventh generation shall learn of your wickedness! I will not rest until your name is erased from every book in history, until even thinking about you becomes a capital offense!”

Tholm didn't even break his stride, flicking a silver ring down the hallway. The artifact emitted a pulse of energy that disrupted the shields, allowing the older mage to break through the physical barricade.

“[Wasp’ Torment!]” He shouted with glee, and a wave of sickly yellow mana followed.

Wherever it touched flesh, the traitors' muscles instantly seized up, dropping them to the floor like stones. The repeated twitches and groans made it clear it wasn’t a pleasant experience.

“Have fun, Wallowiz,” Tholm called as they moved past, and the old man simply cackled in response.

On the sixty-fourth floor, they ran into a pack of surviving abyssal hounds feeding on the remains of a defensive golem. Tholm waved his fingers, transforming the ambient moisture in the air into razor-sharp ice crystals that were inhaled directly into the hounds' lungs, shredding them from the inside out in seconds.

Nick helped out where he could, using what little spiritual magic he could still summon to take down the few demons trying to flank them, but he was mostly content to watch.

Working alongside the old man required very little effort, as Tholm managed the pace of each encounter, making sure the enemies were taken out before they could even react to their presence.

The sounds of battle grew quieter the further they went, replaced by the shouts of knights and loyal faculty securing the Tower.

As they pushed open the heavy wooden doors leading to the fiftieth floor’s main area, the sharp metallic scent of fresh blood hit Nick’s nose.

The corridor ahead was lined with shattered display cases and deep gouges in the stone walls.

At the far end of the hallway, a massive Lesser Demon lay dead on the marble tiles. It was a hulking, multi-limbed brute, but it was clear from a glance that it hadn't been killed by spellfire. Its thick hide was essentially untouched, yet its head was several feet away from its torso, severed by a single strike.

Grandmaster Xander stood over the corpse, calmly wiping black blood from his blade with a torn piece of fabric.

Compared to the battered forms of the other knights that had made it so far, he was essentially pristine. Not a speck of dust had reached his armor, and given the trail of destruction Nick could sense below them, it was clear he hadn’t avoided any fight.

“Tholm, Nicholas,” he said, inclining his head, as if it was a pleasant surprise to find them alive and well.

“Xander,” Tholm replied, equally as mild.