Mystical Fantasy : The Lazy Real Young Master [EN]

”Superior, you say? Superior in what way exactly?”

Al’s voice resonated, cutting through and neutralizing the soundproof barrier as if it was never there.

All six hooded figures in dark-brown robes turned sharply, including the terrified man who had been cornered moments ago.

In their collective gaze, a lone figure became visible. He was perched casually atop a modest rooftop nearby. His attire was entirely black, a hood and mask concealing most of his face, while a faint crimson glow shimmered within his eyes—sharp pupils that glinted in the dim light like burning embers.

The six exchanged uneasy glances. They were certain now where this presence had come from.

”You!” Lagan was the first to break the silence. ”Don’t tell me… you’re from that group?”

Al didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his sharp eyes swept over each of them, calmly analyzing their posture, aura, and the tension radiating from their bodies. Eventually his gaze rested on one particular figure—the same man he had seen yesterday at the hospital. That recognition confirmed his target.

A brief silence fell upon the scene. The only sound that remained was the whisper of the night wind brushing against the narrow alley.

Finally, Al spoke again, his tone casual yet carrying an edge of disdain.

”What are a bunch of self-proclaimed ’superior beings’ doing in a place like this?”

Even before the words had fully left his mouth, his figure blurred and vanished from the rooftop.

In the blink of an eye, he reappeared right in front of Cella, startling the muscular woman so badly that her eyes widened in shock.

”Huh—?!” Cella muttered, caught completely off guard.

The others whirled around instantly, but none of them had been able to follow his movement. Their magical detection should have spiked the moment Al drew near, but his speed simply overwhelmed their senses.

Panic tingled at the edge of Cella’s instincts. Acting on reflex, she swung her massive sword with both hands, releasing a powerful strike aimed directly at him.

SWING!

But Al—seemingly unfazed—raised what looked like a short wooden stick, as if he had picked it up carelessly from the ground. That stick, however, was already infused with Arma, strengthening it beyond the appearance of common scrap wood.

CLANG!

The clash rang out like a thunderous impact within the confined alley. Sparks of energy burst as Cella’s giant blade came to a complete halt, caught against that absurdly ordinary piece of wood. For a split second, her arms trembled, the shock rattling her bones.

Cella leapt back immediately, putting distance between herself and this mysterious opponent. Her instincts screamed—this was no ordinary enemy.

Tap! She landed smoothly several steps away, though her hands still shook faintly from the clash. Yet instead of fear, an unusual excitement flickered across her eyes. Something deep in her battle-hardened instinct whispered: tonight would not be boring.

A grin curved her lips. ”I didn’t expect to meet someone strong here. Let’s have some fun.”

As her gaze dropped lower, however, she froze in disbelief. Her eyes widened. That ”weapon” Al had used—nothing but a short piece of wood—was now reduced to splinters scattered across the ground.

”You… how could you—” she muttered under her breath. Her attention flicked back to her own blade, making sure she wasn’t hallucinating. It was indeed her enchanted magic sword, imbued with a special trait. And yet that sword had just been stopped by a disposable stick of trash.

The impossibility of it twisted her thoughts into knots.

Al casually flexed his wrist, rolling his shoulder as if shaking off the sting. Even though he had successfully blocked, a weapon that large still carried tremendous weight and power. His eyes lingered briefly on Cella’s sword—yes, without question, it was magical weapon.

”No need to be surprised,” Al replied coolly. ”You’re not the only one who can wield Arma. Honestly, I didn’t expect to find a arma weapon user like you here. That oversized blade of yours—it’s pretty impressive.” His smile was faint, almost mocking.

”So you’re a dominant Arma user too,” Cella acknowledged, exhaling heavily. ”That explains it. To be able to infuse Arma into something that isn’t even a real weapon… that’s no small feat.”

Her tone carried a trace of reluctant admiration. She understood well—true Arma-based weapon users were far rarer than Entra-based weapon users, who usually fell more into the category of weapon magicians. Compared to the sheer numbers of magicians and martial artists, Arma specialists were like rare gemstones.

Still, admiration didn’t erase the danger. The man standing in front of her was a threat, and she had no idea what his true purpose was.

Al sighed softly. ”Haa… It’s rare for me to come across another dominant Arma user. But…” he tilted his head with a puzzled look, ”…why did you attack me the moment I showed up? Did you really think we needed to fight right now?”

Cella’s chest rose and fell. Her breath was steady but heavier. Lowering her stance once more, her sharp gaze cut across the distance—wordlessly declaring she wasn’t here to chat.

”You think people would just stand still when you pop out of nowhere like that?” she retorted flatly.

Al blinked, then chuckled awkwardly. ”Ah. Fair point. My bad, my bad.”

At that moment, Lagan and Lela moved in closer, taking up positions at Cella’s side. Their eyes were fixed on Al, carefully measuring him.

”Cella,” Lagan murmured in a low voice, ”don’t underestimate him. If he really is an Arma user… and remember that insane speed earlier… then he might also be a Vita user. That would make him a dual energy wielder.”

The realization struck Cella, her expression tightening. She had almost forgotten how impossibly fast he had moved just seconds ago. Of course. That theory made too much sense.

And while she herself possessed considerable skill in manipulating Vita, her physical strength alone wouldn’t be enough to close that gap. Against someone like him, one-on-one would be reckless. Luckily, she wasn’t alone. There were six of them.

”You’re right,” she finally admitted, agreeing with Lagan’s assessment.

Lela took a deliberate step forward, her voice sharp as she called out to the hooded intruder.

”That uniform… don’t tell me—you’re a DIAR from the Black Faction?”

Al tilted his head slightly, as if the question amused him.

”Hmm… Black Faction?” he murmured, his tone carrying the faintest trace of mockery. ”I’d actually like to talk about that for a bit…” He lifted his gaze upward, scanning the rooftops before adding calmly, ”…but it seems your three friends are more eager to play first.”

Even as his words faded, three shadows were already on the move. Baso, Ayu, and Ramla darted out simultaneously, each approaching from a different direction with precision that came from long practice. Their movements were swift and calculated, like hunters encircling their prey.

Baso lunged in from the front, descending from above with a mid-length sword glowing with a layer of violet energy. Ayu swept in from the upper left, twin black daggers gleaming faintly in her hands, every step as silent as a shadow. Meanwhile, Ramla came gliding from the upper right, his fingers radiating a wild, unstable light that spiraled around his hand like a living light.

From the back, Lela’s eyes widened as she watched her comrades move in. For a moment, she could only gape. Their coordination was impressive, but the timing—impulsive, reckless. A sigh nearly escaped her lips. Lagan, standing beside her, was equally unsettled, his frown deepening at their rash decision.

Al, on the other hand, blinked slowly, his expression remaining flat. He even allowed himself a brief, almost comedic look of bewilderment, as though their carefully orchestrated assault was little more than a minor inconvenience.

His eyes flickered briefly to the terrified man in the brown jacket still cowering behind him, then shifted back toward the approaching trio.

”I really don’t feel like fighting right now…” he muttered under his breath, one hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck in exaggerated weariness. Then his tone sharpened, his voice carrying a sudden edge. ”…but if you insist on forcing this, then I only hope none of you regret it later.”

A thin current of wind spiraled through the alley as Al shifted his stance, his presence growing heavier.

Baso struck first. His violet sword cut through the air like lightning, thrusting straight toward Al’s chest with lethal precision. But Al merely tilted his body, letting the strike pass him harmlessly. His hand shot out, fingers clamping onto Baso’s wrist with unnerving ease. With one fluid motion, Al twisted and slammed Baso downward.

BAM!

The impact rattled the alley, the metallic clang of sword against stone echoing. Baso’s eyes went wide, disbelief flooding him. His speed, his precision—all of it meant nothing before this man’s effortless movement.

He hit the ground hard, teeth gritting in frustration. Yet, to his own surprise, a grin tugged at his lips. He had been beaten easily, yes—but his role had never been to win. He was the distraction.

And it worked.

Almost simultaneously, Ayu closed in, her movement so silent it was nearly imperceptible. One of her twin blades swept toward Al’s neck while he was still angled downward from the throw. Her attack was quick, merciless.

SHNK!

Al twisted his head at the last instant, the dagger slicing through empty air. Ayu, however, was relentless. The second blade was already in motion, aimed at a point where Al’s body was locked and unable to evade. To her, the fight was already over.

But in that heartbeat, Al spun with uncanny precision, turning his body into the strike. The dagger pierced his shoulder—only to be met with a sudden shimmer of force.

CLANG!

A translucent barrier flared where the blade struck, nullifying the attack entirely. Ayu’s arm trembled violently as the recoil sent a jolt through her bones. Her eyes widened in shock. The dagger hadn’t even scratched him.

By then, Al’s right hand was already ablaze with coalesced black energy, sharp and hungry, aimed directly at her heart. The killing intent was suffocating.

But before the strike could land, a surge of golden energy erupted between them.

BOOM!

Ramla’s barrier flared to life, wild and unstable, but strong enough to intercept. Sparks crackled violently as Al’s dark energy clashed against it, buying Ayu just enough time to stagger backward, dragging Baso with her.

”You may be strong as a martial artist and weapon user,” Ramla sneered, his voice unhinged with manic glee, ”but the moment real magic is involved—you’ll die screaming.”

He stepped out from the side, his grin deranged, eyes alight with feverish excitement. His fingers twitched, trembling with eagerness, before releasing another blast of chaotic energy. It roared like a laser of golden light, exploding forward with the force of untamed lightning.

”Are you so sure about that?” Al’s voice was calm, almost amused.

He lifted his hand, a transparent veil of energy forming instantly. The barrier caught the wild blast, dispersing it harmlessly into the air with little more than a ripple.

Ramla’s face faltered, disbelief flashing across his manic grin.

”You… you’re a magician too?”

The others froze, equally stunned.

But Al was already moving. He surged forward, the black energy still swirling viciously around his hand. The strike he had meant for Ayu now swung toward Ramla.

WHOOSH!

Ramla’s eyes widened, but before the attack could connect, two figures rushed in.

Lagan conjured a barrier, shimmering black and white, solid as iron. At the same moment, Lela spun gracefully, her leg lashing out in a sweeping kick aimed at Al’s flank. She knew it wouldn’t land cleanly, but it was enough to disrupt his rhythm.

Al clicked his tongue and leapt backward, disengaging in a blur. He landed lightly at the very spot where he had been standing moments ago, as if nothing had happened.

”Haha… not bad,” he said with a crooked grin. ”Your teamwork is impressive, even if a little reckless.”

The six of them regrouped, forming a tight circle, every stance guarded and tense.

”He’s strong,” Baso admitted at last, his voice low but filled with reluctant respect.

Ayu and Ramla exchanged glances, both nodding silently in agreement.

Al remained standing with an almost careless composure. His posture looked relaxed, yet his gaze sharpened ever so slightly, focusing on the group before him—a group that was now beginning to realize the terrifying gulf of strength separating them from the man in front of them.

”So,” Al asked in a tone that was calm yet heavy, ”are you all planning to continue this?”

Cella’s teeth ground audibly against each other as she tightened her grip on the massive blade in her hands. Lagan and Lela exchanged another glance, this time far more serious than before, their expressions carrying the weight of unspoken thoughts.

Al exhaled a long, weary sigh. His eyes drifted momentarily toward the trembling man who still sat collapsed against the far corner of the corridor, fear carved deeply into his pale face.

”If you truly want to push forward,” Al said, his voice almost bored yet cutting at the end, ”then I will indulge you. But let me be honest… I have no idea what is happening here. From the looks of it, you seem nothing more than a group of thugs harassing a local civilian just for your amusement. Isn’t that right?” He tilted his head slightly toward the man behind him.

That man’s wide eyes caught the faintest glimmer of light, as though a fragile hope had been ignited within him—the desperate hope that Al might intervene on his behalf.

Silence pressed down over the narrow corridor once more. The night outside felt darker, heavier, as if the very air itself was waiting for someone to break this uneasy standoff.

At last, Lagan raised one hand, his steps slow but deliberate as he moved forward. His gesture was clear: a silent command for his companions to stay their weapons.

”Sir,” Lagan began, his voice controlled but tinged with caution. ”I am convinced you are from the Black Faction. I do not know how high your status is there, but given the strength you’ve shown… it must be significant. You and we are the same—we are both DIAR. I believe there is no real reason for us to clash.”

He paused briefly before adding with a firmer tone, ”Our purpose tonight is that man. He stole something from us. What you see now is merely a small punishment for his actions.”

Al slowly turned his gaze back toward the terrified man. The accused only shook his head violently, denying the claim with every ounce of his remaining strength.

Another sigh slipped past Al’s lips.

”I honestly have no idea what the truth of this situation really is. But, by the way…” Al’s lips curved faintly as if the very thought disgusted him. ”I find it almost laughable—no, downright revolting—that I have to hear about the color differences between the four DIAR factions. Ugh…” His tone carried the weight of contempt.

Then, with sharp sarcasm cutting through the silence, he added, ”Tell me, did you choose brown and black as your faction’s colors because you already knew how filthy you truly are? attacking civilians?”

Lagan faltered, his step retreating slightly. A faint grimace twisted his face, irritation breaking through his forced composure. His five companions mirrored the sentiment—though this time none dared act recklessly.

”And now,” Al continued, his voice smooth yet mocking, ”a group known for their activities in South America suddenly shows up in Asia. If I recall correctly, a few months back I happened to run into Fahruk in this very city. Where is he now? He still owes me a debt. At the very least, he would have been more entertaining for a short sparring session.”

Shock seized Lagan. He knew that story. Fahruk had indeed returned half-dead, recounting how he had barely escaped with his life after crossing paths with the Black Faction. And the one who nearly killed him—the one he had described with fear in his voice—was none other than the leader of the Black Faction himself.

That revelation had been enough to make their faction tread carefully within Makazhar, wary of the terrifying shadow said to dwell here. And now, standing in front of him, was undeniable proof.

”What is it, Lagan?” Lela asked, confusion flickering across her face.

But Lagan said nothing. Beads of cold sweat trickled down his temple, his silence heavier than words.

Lela’s eyes narrowed. She studied him carefully, then followed the threads of realization herself. Her pupils contracted sharply as the thought clicked in her mind, the same thought Lagan was desperately avoiding.

”Sir…” Lagan finally forced himself to speak, though his voice trembled. ”Don’t tell me… you are… the Hell Phoenix.”

Even as he said it, disbelief colored his face. It felt unreal to utter that name aloud.

The others, however, reacted instantly. Recognition dawned on all six of them. That name—they knew it well. It was the name whispered to describe the leader of the Black Faction.

The one faction that spoke not of violent revolution or tyranny like their group, but of integration, coexistence, and a different kind of order. And if this man truly was him… then they were standing before a nightmare.

”Is it true?” one of them muttered in shock.

”The Hell Phoenix?” another echoed.

”No wonder… no wonder we were crushed so easily.”

Their voices broke into fragments of disbelief and dread, despair leaking into every word.

The atmosphere constricted, suffocating them all. The area felt smaller, the night colder.

And then—

”Hahahahaha!”

Al’s booming laughter filled the air, echoing harshly against the stone walls. The sound was enough to send a fresh chill crawling down the spines of all six. To them, the laughter was not merely unsettling—it was grotesque, mocking, predatory.

The Hell Phoenix was not a figure they had ever expected to meet. Not here. Not like this.

Al moved with a light step, his eyes sharpening with a sudden gleam—a crimson glow like fresh blood flashing in the darkness. That single shift in his gaze deepened the terror gripping his enemies, making their bodies instinctively tense.

The atmosphere worsened with every heartbeat, as if fate itself had declared their lives might very well end tonight.