Karnak, Monarch of Death

Chapter 265: The Archmage of the Empire (2)

The levels of aura were distinguished by the color of one’s aura, and with each level of aura mastery, the combat range of the warriors shifted.

At the red tier, a user’s fighting style didn’t differ much from that of an ordinary knight. They still swung their swords in close quarters. The only differences were that they were faster, stronger, and more resilient. In other words, their combat range remained largely the same.

Once one reached the blue-tier, they could start adjusting the length of their aura. Not to the extent of projecting a blade ten meters long, of course, but it allowed one to extend the reach of their sword slightly beyond its physical length. This meant that battles between blue-tier warriors typically took place at longer ranges than those between red-tier warriors.

At the purple-tier, aura could be detached from the body and launched as a ranged projectile. They were called different things—aura wave, aura bolt, or aura arrow—but the principle remained the same. They utilized techniques that allowed them to hurl their aura like magic.

Because of their extended range, duels between purple-tier warriors presented a particular challenge. It caused extensive destruction to their surroundings. Each time an aura wave or projectile missed, something in the surroundings would inevitably be blown apart.

Sure, they could agree to seal such techniques when sparring, but doing so would defeat the entire point of the training. They needed to fully utilize their aura to further sharpen their mastery of such abilities.

Thus, once someone reached the purple-tier, duels were no longer conducted within secret indoor arenas. The risk of damage to the environment was simply too great. Instead, they moved their sparring to quiet, secluded forests.

In fact, it had become an unwritten rule among aura users to spar near newly settled frontier areas. After all, they might as well clear some forest while they were at it.

But what if someone spied on the match and stole valuable intel? Well, if they got caught and were beaten to death, it was simply written off as suicide. Such was the unspoken rules of this world.

But there was no need to worry about such things in the first place. If the spy was strong enough to survive, well, that meant they were likely purple-tier or stronger themselves. And no one that powerful would stoop to spying.

Now, not just Varos, but also Leven and Lapicel had reached the purple-tier. Meaning, none of them could reasonably spar in the estate’s training hall anymore. That was why Karnak’s party had come out to the deep woods near the Strauss estate.

***

The forest was ablaze with the colors of autumn. Golden leaves danced in the breeze while fiery red ones lay scattered on the ground. In the midst of that tranquil scenery, a gray-haired girl stood still, her slender limbs poised as she raised her blade.

”I’m ready, Brother Leven,” she called out.

The brown-haired young man across from her fell into stance as well. ”Alright, Lapicel.”

The air between them shifted, and both of them allowed their aura to surge simultaneously. Rippling purple energy surged forth and engulfed their swords. The air between their blades trembled, distorted by the clash of power. They locked eyes, each poised like a predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Lapicel was the first to move. Her form glided through the air like a breeze, and a trail of purple aura carved a smooth arc behind her. It was a trajectory of destruction, ready to cut down anything in its path.

Leven responded instantly, sidestepping the sweeping strike and slipping through the shimmering web of aura. His movement pierced through the chaos with uncanny precision. It was something that was only possible when one had completely read the opponent’s rhythm. And with that, he unleashed the Strauss family’s secret technique!

—Delphiad Swordsmanship: Dance of the Blazing Butterfly!

Dozens of flickering purple sword flashes bloomed around him. It was a fearsome technique, difficult to face head-on. The fluttering aura launched unpredictable strikes, like a dancing butterfly. Each touch triggered a small explosion.

It was clear that blocking or deflecting carelessly would only lead to injury. But Lapicel didn’t hesitate for a second. She saw through the technique at a glance, instantly identified its weakness, and acted on it!

—Tascal Swordsmanship: Fourfold Thrust!

At first glance, it looked like a simple sequence of thrusts. But with each of her four precise stabs, the aura butterflies drifting in the air burst apart and vanished. The angles of her strikes were so immaculate that every resulting explosion blew toward Leven. Not a single one came her way.

Leven fell back and clicked his tongue in disbelief. ”Damn! That’s all it takes to break it?”

Serati watched the spar with a dumbfounded expression. How in the world is that Tascal swordsmanship?

The Fourfold Thrust of the Tascal style was simply a technique involving four rapid stabs. It taught proper form, how to channel power or aura efficiently, and how to execute quick, precise strikes in succession. But that alone shouldn’t have been enough to break through the Dance of the Blazing Butterfly.

The only reason it worked was because Lapicel had executed her thrusts with perfect timing, flawless angles, uncanny foresight, and just the right amount of power behind each strike. At that point, what she practiced wasn’t Tascal swordsmanship.

She just turned a third-rate technique into a top-tier art.

Serati had initially bristled when Varos dismissed the Tascal style, but now, she had to admit it. It really was a third-rate style. She herself had likely surpassed its founder in terms of martial mastery.

Tascal, the originator of the technique, had only reached the blue-tier, and not even to the level Serati now stood at. The version of the Tascal style she used had already evolved from its original form. It was half her own creation now. If she had to put a name to it, it would be called Serati swordsmanship.

And then Lapicel added her own spin to it. The technique might still resemble the original in form, but its essence had transformed into something entirely different.

At this point, I can’t even say I trained in the Tascal swordsmanship anymore. Should I just call it my own style?

Meanwhile, Leven and Lapicel were still deep in their duel. Watching the exchange, Serati muttered to herself, ”Both of them have changed so much.”

She didn’t just mean their aura levels. Leven’s expression had brightened significantly, and his demeanor had grown far more self-assured. It wasn’t just because he had become the head of the Strauss family. It was clear the real shift had come from breaking free of the constant comparison to his brother Emil.

—Turns out, I wasn’t that far behind my brother after all.

That realization alone had been enough to shed one of the heaviest burdens he’d carried all his life. Looking at him now, one could clearly imagine this young man as a future martial king.

And Lapicel—she’d grown. Serati hadn’t noticed at first, having always seen her close by, but the girl who once hadn’t even reached Serati’s shoulder now stood nearly at her chin.

Her limbs weren’t just longer either. Her whole body had begun to shift from a child’s frame into that of an adult. It was a given, since she was at the age where growth spurts came suddenly and noticeably.

Of course, Serati was still much taller, but that was more due to Serati being tall for a woman. Lapicel had already reached the average height for an adult woman. Not that Lapicel herself seemed satisfied. In fact, they’d had this conversation not long ago:

—Do you think I’ll grow as tall as you, Sister Serati?

—Of course you will!

She’d answered with cheerful encouragement, as one should with a child. But the conversation with Karnak had gone a bit differently.

—How much taller do you think Lapicel will get?

—That’s it. She’s done.

—Huh? Seriously? Even though she’s a future martial king?

—What’s that got to do with anything?

—I-I guess nothing...

—You can reach the peak of aura mastery and it still won’t fix your height or baldness.

—That’s kind of depressing.

—But necromancy can fix it. I used to lure a lot of people in with that.

—You’re a demon...

In any case, Leven and Lapicel continued to spar, and their purple auras flared brilliantly. Eventually, the match drew to a close, and both of them were breathing heavily from exhaustion.

”Hah... hah... great work, Brother Leven.”

”You too... Lapicel.”

After catching their breath and regaining some stamina, it was time for Leven and Serati to take the stage.

”Shall we, Sir Serati?”

”I’m ready.”

Leven clearly had the upper hand in the duel. Even though she possessed ample aura, Serati was still at the blue-tier, while Leven had already reached purple. He had ascended the wall she had yet to scale, and from that height, he now faced her with a calm, confident air.

As he fended off her flurry of attacks, Leven found himself thinking, This is a strange feeling.

He didn’t mean it arrogantly. He wasn’t fascinated by the fact that he could now look down on someone who had once surpassed him.

She’s clearly below me... so why is it so hard to win?

No, it wasn’t exactly that either. Given enough time, he would win this duel. That much was certain.

But... I don’t think I could kill her.

He couldn’t quite explain why. He only knew. Something about her was different.

But I have no idea what exactly is different.

The spar ended with Serati collapsing, completely drained.

She looked up at Leven, breathless, and stuck out her tongue. ”Yeah... challenging a purple-tier opponent really isn’t something to take lightly.”

Leven wore a slightly conflicted expression as he sheathed his sword. ”Well... I feel like it might’ve gone differently if it were an actual fight.”

Serati gave a small, dry chuckle. ”Come on, if you lose in a spar, you’ll lose in a real fight too. What am I, some washed-up thug whining that sparring’s useless?”

Leven frowned. ”No, that’s not what I meant. It’s just... something felt... off.”

”Huh?”

He waved his hand. ”Never mind. It’s nothing.”

Regardless, Serati was steadily growing stronger in her own way. Among those at the blue-tier, she was likely nearing the top.

Then Leven glanced toward the far edge of the forest and asked, ”Come to think of it... where’s Lord Karnak?”

Though they’d all come to the forest together, Karnak and Varos had split off on their own.

Serati shrugged. ”He’s off doing some training.”

Leven, catching her meaning, switched to private transmission.

—Right, wasn’t he secretly working on training something related to necromancy?

She shook her head.

—It’s necromancy-related, sure. But I wouldn’t say he’s doing it in secret.

—Huh?

***

Karnak was in the middle of a specialized training session to enhance his necromancy. And just as Serati had said, there was no need to do it in secret.

”Alright! Keep running!”

”Hahh—hahh hahhh!”

Because it was just basic physical conditioning, only with a significantly more brutal intensity. He’d always maintained a light workout regimen, but lately he’d gone all in. He was subjecting himself to the same intense drills used by soldiers. He’d realized that strengthening his body directly improved his ability to perform necromancy.

”To be precise, necromantic magic,” he muttered.

There was no particular reason to keep his physical conditioning a secret. The only reason he trained out here in the woods was because Leven, Serati, and Lapicel were training here as well.

Karnak had long since developed a habit—leftover from his previous life—of never straying too far from his meat shields.

After pushing himself through sprinting, deadlifts, and various forms of rigorous exercise, Varos finally spoke the words Karnak had been waiting for. ”All right, five-minute break.”

”Just five? Isn’t that a bit stingy?” Grumbling, Karnak plopped down on the forest floor.

Varos tilted his head in confusion as he watched him pant for air. ”But seriously, does building stamina actually make necromancy stronger?”

”To be honest... I won’t know until I try.” Still, one thing was certain. His Angel of Radiant Wings would get stronger. ”That alone is reason enough to keep training. You never know when all hell will break loose, so you’ve gotta be as prepared as possible.”

That was what puzzled Varos. ”Why the sudden urgency? Something happen?”

Karnak frowned, glancing toward the eastern sky. ”I got word from the empire.”