Chapter 918: Oppressive Pressure
And those fifty men he brought—seriously, he dares to call that a mage legion? Out of the fifty, the strongest is barely a Second-Rank Title Archmage, the rest are just archmages. With so few people and such paltry strength, what use could they possibly have in a place like Sunset Fortress?
And this Leon Merlin—don’t you know the teacher will never let him off? He even dared to lay hands on our Black Tower Sanctum people; no one can save him now. Not only are you failing to defend the Black Tower’s dignity, you’re actually working with someone like him. Tell me, what are you really thinking? Is your heart still loyal to the Black Tower...?
Just then, a figure sped in from the distance, landing in front of Oliver.
It was Lord Heron. Still airborne, his expression soured—especially when he saw Leon draw the Dragon Staff. He could only manage a wry smile.
Oliver Defoe was from the Sanctum, and he’d brought plenty of reinforcements this time. Heron, not being a Sanctum member, couldn’t afford to clash with him now. Judging by Oliver’s demeanor, he seemed intent on cornering Heron.
Oliver hadn’t finished speaking when Heron suddenly interrupted.
With that, a thread of magic shimmered around Heron, and the surrounding light seemed to fade away. His body melted into the darkness, vanishing in an instant.
Oliver Defoe watched the swiftly receding darkness, stomping his foot in rage, but he was powerless to stop Heron as he slipped away like a shadow.
Heron, constrained by Oliver Defoe’s status, truly didn’t want to clash with him—so he could only avoid him.
But Oliver was still fuming, growing angrier by the minute.
Damn that Heron, how dare he ignore me again! He acts like the Sanctum means nothing to him. I’m going to impeach him right now—report him to the Sanctum this instant!
Damn it, damn it, this is outright rebellion! Rebellion!
Storming out of Heron’s office, Oliver Defoe overheard people nearby discussing Leon.
Just hearing the name Leon Merlin made Oliver’s eyes suddenly light up.
Right. Heron, that fool, dares disregard the Sanctum’s authority. I can’t do anything to him now—I'll settle that when the reinforcements arrive. But Leon Merlin? He’s another story…
Oliver Defoe charged straight to the Merlin Family Encampment, barging in without hesitation. As someone stepped forward to question him, Oliver simply waved his hand; a gust of wind sent a Ninth-Rank Archmage flying.
"Where’s Leon Merlin? Tell him to get out here and face me!"
"Are you an idiot?"
Damn it, just fifty people, and the strongest is only a Second-Rank Title Archmage. How dare they come to work with the Black Tower after we fought so hard to capture Sunset Fortress? Are they just here to pick up the spoils?
Leon frowned at Kurum’s report, closed his notebook, and stepped out of the room with a blank expression.
The moment Leon appeared, Oliver Defoe sneered.
"So you’re Leon Merlin? I’ll give you one chance—leave Sunset Fortress now, while I’m still in a good mood. If you value your life, get out!"
As soon as he said this, Kurum was already rallying the legion mages.
Leon frowned slightly, noticing Oliver’s robes—he seemed to be from the Black Tower. What was going on here?
"And you are...?"
Oliver raised his chin with a hint of disdain and arrogance.
"My name is Oliver Defoe, commander sent by the Black Tower Sanctum. With such limited strength, how does your Merlin Family qualify to be our partner?
I hear you only broke through to Title Archmage less than a year ago. And yet you’re the Merlin Family’s commander? Honestly, when did the Merlin Family fall so low?
Look at the lot of you—what a bunch of useless trash. The Blazeforge Realm’s main assault is a critical campaign, and you show up with just fifty people?
Your strongest is only a Second-Rank Title Archmage? Pathetic. Where were you when we attacked Sunset Fortress? Now you just want to swoop in and grab some easy merit points?
I truly can’t fathom what that fool Heron was thinking, bringing you here.
Hmph, don’t say I didn’t give you a chance. Take your cannon fodder and get out of Sunset Fortress right now. Otherwise, don’t blame me for what happens next. I haven’t even mentioned my junior yet. Get out of Sunset Fortress—if you make it out alive, consider yourselves lucky…"
Oliver Defoe’s eyes were cold, his face brimming with disdain.
Hmph, these idiots. Sunset Fortress was just captured, and the Blazeforge Orcs haven’t given up on retaking it. The moment you leave the fortress, let’s see how far you get. If you die, it won’t be my fault—it’ll be those stupid Blazeforge Orcs.
With words like that, even that idiot Heron would have nothing to say.
Listening to Oliver, Leon more or less understood—the guy clearly didn’t get along with Heron and considered Leon’s forces too weak.
Apparently, there was something about his junior, too. Leon had already forgotten about suppressing a Black Tower member before; he couldn’t even recall how this grudge started.
"Are you brain-damaged?"
Leon gave it some serious thought, then asked the question in all earnestness.
Oliver Defoe still wore a smug, cold smile, pleased with how he’d handled the Merlin Family situation. He’d managed to undermine Heron’s authority without outright conflict—truly, the perfect outcome.
Hearing Leon’s words, Oliver’s smile froze just as it began to form.
"You damned bastard, what did you just say? Say it again!"
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This damned bastard—he actually dares to speak to me like that!
Leon looked at Oliver seriously and repeated the question.
"Are you brain-damaged?"
Instantly, Oliver’s face flushed bright red. He hadn’t expected Leon to be so bold. Magic surged around him, his robes whipping and crackling in the air.
Oliver’s expression turned completely dark, his face so black it was almost dripping with shadow.
When had anyone ever dared speak to him like this—a young Title Archmage from a minor family, thinking he could do as he pleased just because Heron was backing him?
Did he really think Heron's protection meant he could ignore the Black Tower Sanctum’s authority?
"Leon Merlin, you’re provoking the dignity of a Ninth-Rank Title Archmage. You’re challenging the authority of the Black Tower Sanctum. Kneel!"
With a dark expression, Oliver unleashed his magical pressure on Leon.
"Foolish boy, this is your last chance—kneel!
You’re inviting disaster on yourself—and on your Merlin Family!
Kneel for three days, beg for my forgiveness, and maybe I’ll be merciful enough to let you cripple your own magic and have your family serve our campaign!"
Oliver raised his head, glaring coldly at Leon. The aura of a Ninth-Rank Title Archmage flooded the area, suppressing not just Leon but the surrounding legion mages as well.
Leon’s expression turned icy. He’d been thinking this was a time for cooperation between the Black Tower and Cloudspire Tower, with plenty of battles ahead—he had no interest in bickering with this idiot. But Oliver was clearly pushing his luck.
Leon took a slow breath and replied coldly.
"Oliver Defoe, is it? Out of respect for Lord Heron, if you leave now, I’ll pretend you were never here."
Oliver burst out laughing, magical power swirling around him in radiant streams. The pressure of a Ninth-Rank Title Archmage bore down on Leon like a mountain.
Leon remained indifferent. The oppressive aura made the air almost stand still, but when it reached Leon, it was as if a gentle breeze passed by—he didn’t react at all.
Oliver was a bit surprised. He sneered, withdrawing all his pressure to focus solely on Leon, even adding mental oppression. As a Ninth-Rank Title Archmage, he’d glimpsed traces of magical law, and such pressure could heavily suppress a person’s mind.
Three seconds passed, and Leon’s expression stayed calm, completely unaffected—as if he hadn’t felt anything at all.
This kind of pressure no longer worked on Leon. Most Title Archmages only begin to form their own magical laws at Fifth-Rank, but even then, it’s just the basics.
They only glimpse the shadow of magical law and form a rough imitation—just the precursor to true mastery.
But Leon, from the moment he advanced to Title Archmage, had already begun to form a trace of his own law.
But these were limited by his rank and didn’t affect his combat power until he broke through to Fifth-Rank Title Archmage, at which point the gap between him and ordinary Title Archmages widened dramatically.
This trace of his own law now allows Leon to completely ignore any magical pressure below Sky Rank.
Oliver wanted to use magical pressure to suppress him?
What a joke…
Leon’s brow furrowed slightly as he slowly drew out the Dragon Staff.
Just then, a figure sped in from the distance, landing in front of Oliver.
It was Lord Heron. Still airborne, his expression soured—especially when he saw Leon draw the Dragon Staff. He could only manage a wry smile.
Heron had known Leon long enough to realize: whenever Leon decided to act and drew his staff, there was only one outcome—he intended to finish his opponent.
There was no way Leon just wanted to teach someone a simple lesson…