Everyone here is a mage—how could he not know exactly how long each spell should take to cast?
That Corrupted Marsh spell just now was already abnormal—completing a third-tier spell in only five seconds? Even as a Ninth-Rank Mage, he couldn’t pull that off, let alone the ice spear that followed with no incantation at all. That was undoubtedly a spell cast instantly with a magical ability.
But magical abilities aren’t rare. Any mage above the fifth rank has one or two, right? It’s just that most don’t use them lightly—the immense mana drain is more than most mages can bear, only resorted to in dire situations.
Someone like this Matthew Merlin, throwing out two magical abilities right from the start, would look like a rookie to any top-tier mage—blowing his strongest cards at the beginning, what would he have left to turn the tables if things got tough?
Of course, a Ninth-Rank Mage would never share that kind of wisdom with an opponent.
Right now, what the Ninth-Rank Mage wanted was to show him—with the staff in his hand—that angering a Ninth-Rank Mage was a price not just anyone could afford to pay.
And so, the Ninth-Rank Mage began chanting his spell.
This time, he didn’t use any magical abilities, nor did he activate his mana vortex to speed up the casting. He wanted a straightforward victory—a lesson in the rigid hierarchy of magic, where even a single rank’s difference was a chasm, and no amount of magical abilities could bridge it.
The Ninth-Rank Mage was casting a Thunderstorm Tempest—a spell that took twenty seconds to prepare and demanded a massive output of mana, making it one of the most powerful spells below Grand Mage level.
As the Ninth-Rank Mage chanted, the once-clear sky grew heavy with clouds. Lightning gathered, poised to strike, while the air crackled with the harsh sound of surging electricity...
The power of Thunderstorm Tempest was terrifying—even before the spell was complete, the brewing spectacle alone was enough to make one’s scalp tingle.
But none of it seemed to faze Leon.
Leon stood at the far end of the Corrupted Marsh, looking utterly relaxed, as if the storm clouds overhead didn’t exist. He raised his hand—another ice spear whistled through the air, again with no incantation or gesture, again pinning an archer to a tree trunk...
"How does he still have mana?" The Ninth-Rank Mage, still mid-cast, couldn’t help but frown.
Looks like he’d better hurry...
The Ninth-Rank Mage quietly activated his mana vortex to speed up the casting.
Yet as soon as he did, that young mage unleashed another ice spear...
Another archer was pinned to a tree—three down now.
At this point, the Ninth-Rank Mage was starting to regret it. If he’d known his opponent’s mana reserves were so deep—enough for four magical abilities—he wouldn’t have gone with normal casting. At least then, he could’ve saved that third archer.
No—he had to go even faster!
But Leon was even faster...
Because right after that, another ice spear shot out.
One. Another. And another...
The Ninth-Rank Mage hadn’t even finished his Thunderstorm Tempest, but Leon had already pinned more than a dozen archers to the trees. After that, he even had time to cast Frost—a spell he’d used on Felix before—freezing the dozen warriors in the marsh just as easily.
"..."
The Ninth-Rank Mage had finally finished his Thunderstorm Tempest, but he was dumbfounded—standing there, vacant-eyed, forgetting to even release the spell. He just stared at the twenty-something mage, his gaze full of fear and awe...
This young mage—just now, he’d unleashed a dozen instant-cast ice spears, pinning a dozen archers to the trees.
What did that even mean...?
The Ninth-Rank Mage considered himself strong—he could finish a Thunderstorm Tempest in under twenty seconds. But to unleash a dozen instant-cast ice spears in that time? He wouldn’t even dare to imagine it. That was beyond what any mage could do, magical ability or not.
The Ninth-Rank Mage even thought that not even a typical Grand Mage could do this—only those who’d been Grand Mages for years, already preparing to break through to Archmage, might be able to unleash that many instant-cast ice spears in just twenty seconds.
But now, a twenty-something mage had done it right before his eyes.
The Ninth-Rank Mage knew he’d hit a wall.
A mage with casting ability like that could kill him with ease. Forget himself—even the entire Viper’s Nest probably wouldn’t matter to someone like that.
What now...
The Thunderstorm Tempest still crackled overhead, clouds billowing and thunder rumbling. All it would take was one final rune, and the spell would flatten everything within dozens of meters.
But the Ninth-Rank Mage forced himself to swallow that last rune.
The casting ability his opponent had shown was simply hopeless...
The Ninth-Rank Mage didn’t even dare to think about struggling. He just stood there, eyes full of terror and helplessness. Right now, he wasn’t a mighty mage at the peak—he looked more like a lamb awaiting slaughter.
"Come with me." After dealing with the archers, Leon didn’t bother with anyone else—he just beckoned, signaling the Ninth-Rank Mage to follow him inside.
Naturally, there was no need to trouble anyone else. At this point, even the Ninth-Rank Mage was scared witless—anyone else who dared to speak up would have to be either a fool or insane. Even Felix, who’d been especially loud today, was now quietly hiding off to the side, barely daring to breathe.
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Leon and the Ninth-Rank Mage entered the main hall one after the other, running into Perry, the elderly butler, who looked anxious.
"Young master, Felix brought a lot of people this time. They didn’t give you any trouble, did they?"
Hearing Perry’s question, the Ninth-Rank Mage wanted to die. Seriously, could you look a little closer? There were a dozen warriors frozen in the marsh and a dozen archers stuck to the trees—who was troubling who, exactly?
"It’s fine. I’ll send them away soon. Oh, Uncle Perry, could you get us something to eat? I haven’t had breakfast yet..."
"Alright, you two find a place to sit. I’ll send someone to bring you food right away."
Once Perry was out of the way, Leon led the Ninth-Rank Mage into the study.
"Introduce yourself first."
"Y-yes..." The Ninth-Rank Mage stood there, trembling, terrified of angering this powerful mage. Hearing Leon’s question, he didn’t dare hide anything: "My name is Larry, one of the four deputy leaders of the Viper’s Nest. I’m forty years old, reached Ninth-Rank two years ago..."
"Alright, that’s enough..." Leon had no patience for his rambling. After confirming the name and identity, he cut Larry off: "So, tell me, Mage Larry—why did you all surround my house this morning?"
"Uh..."
"And don’t give me any nonsense about catching thieves."
"No, no, I wouldn’t dare..." Larry truly wouldn’t—there were still a dozen archers hanging from the trees outside. He didn’t have the guts to make up a story about catching thieves. After only a moment’s hesitation, he confessed everything: "Soth sent us this time, mainly to protect Felix..."
"Protect?"
Seeing Leon’s expression darken, Larry panicked and quickly explained: "No, no, not just protect—Soth said we could use force if necessary. The real target was this house!"
"Why does your boss Soth want this house?"
"Uh... I’m not really sure about that."
"You’re not sure?"
"Really, I honestly don’t know!" Larry was getting desperate, terrified that any displeasure would spell disaster for him. "Soth is always like this—he rarely tells us the real reason. Before we left, he just said that no matter what, we had to take this house."
"So you had to take this house, huh..." Leon nodded, saying nothing more.
With those archers as an example, Larry probably wouldn’t dare lie to him. In other words, he truly didn’t know the secret of this house. That answer surprised Leon a little. A Ninth-Rank Mage was no small fry—Larry was one of four deputy leaders in the Viper’s Nest, a true core member. If even he didn’t know, there was only one possibility...
The secret of this house was truly astonishing—so much so that even a Ninth-Rank Mage wasn’t qualified to know it. Anyone involved would have to be at least a Grand Mage, maybe even an Archmage.
It seemed Matthew Merlin still didn’t know nearly enough about his own father.
In Matthew Merlin’s memories, Roger Merlin was just a simple merchant. Sure, he’d monopolized the alchemy business and amassed a fortune, but he hadn’t reached the point where he could speak directly with Grand Mages or Archmages.
But it seemed things weren’t so simple after all.
After thinking for a moment, Leon simply waved his hand: "Alright, Mage Larry, you can go."
"Huh?" Ever since saying he wasn’t sure, Larry had been on edge, his mind racing with all the ways this young mage might deal with him—torture, murder, all sorts of terrifying possibilities that made his legs go weak.
So when he suddenly heard he could leave, Larry didn’t react at first. He just stood there, dazed for a long moment, then blinked, hardly daring to believe it: "Did you just say I... I can go?"
"Yes, Mage Larry, you can go. But before you leave, make sure to clean up the mess at the front door."