The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 268 268: Grand mage of Naemarys clan

The last time he combined these two forces, he had a severe backlash, but this time he felt different. The chaos aura was being intensified, rejuvenating him.

The faint hum of the Horgath and the white-blue colour aura enveloped him. Even though the result would take a toll on him, he risked trying to combine the two energies, and the result was surprising.

After Jolthar reached Tier 8, the transformation within him was nothing short of extraordinary—far beyond the natural progression of a typical swordsman or mage ascending in power. For most, levelling up brought gradual improvements: enhanced control, refined senses, stronger spells, deeper mana pools and a more refined aura.

But in Joltharʼs case, the evolution was violent, dense, and overwhelming, as though the very laws of nature had bent to accommodate something far greater within him.

The energies inside him didnʼt just grow—they expanded exponentially, twisting and merging in ways that defied tradition. It was as if his body had become a crucible, forging new pathways of power that had never existed before. Normally, a person reaching Tier 8 would feel their energy coalesce into something more stable and structured—but in Jolthar, it became wild, layered, and intricate.

Joltharʼs energies had tripled—perhaps even more.

Lodawgʼs laugh was like metal grinding on stone. ”Brave words. But youʼve shown your hand, boy. One form of Chaosbane—impressive, but insufficient.”

”I donʼt need minutes,” Jolthar said quietly.

”Just moments.”

Understanding dawned in Lodawgʼs golden eyes—too late.

Jolthar was already moving, Horgath describing an arc identical to the one that had taken the magicianʼs arm.

The second attack was fuelled by the chaos aura, and it was quite different from the one before.

Far from the site, Johamma and Cleora watched with widened eyes. Even Cleora could feel the intensity and the pressure building up in the area.

”Mother!” came a voice from behind.

Cleora turned to the voice and saw Roblan coming towards them.

They were standing on high ground, giving them the entire view of the crater. The previous blast radius had stopped just a couple of metres from them.

This time, they werenʼt sure.

Roblan saw the crater and noticed Jolthar standing in the midst and some other figure also present inside the giant crater. He was stupefied; so were the soldiers who came with him.

”Mother, whatʼs happening here?”

The sky suddenly turned red, the result of the second attack. Jolthar focused his chaos aura on the attack and targeted the one spot on one figure – Lodawg.

The air itself seemed to tear as Jolthar raised his hand toward the crimson sky.

What began as a tremor in his fingertips cascaded into violent spasms that racked his entire frame. His eyes—normally blue as the deepest seas—clouded over with a film of midnight blue. The chaos aura had answered his call. Like a steam, a bluish-coloured steam flowed out of his body.

”Second form,” he whispered, words barely audible yet somehow thundering across the scorched battleground.

”Crescent of the Blood Moon!”

A terrible silence fell as reality bent to his will.

The Horgath pulsed in his grip, drinking in the chaos aura radiating from him. The weapon enveloped in the chaos aura began to release drops of aura like water, floating upward rather than falling to the ground.

From the Horgathʼs centre erupted a tear in the fabric of existence itself—a crescent-shaped colour red that burned the eyes of those who dared look upon it directly.

It was as if Jolthar had somehow captured a slice of oblivion and bent it to his command. The arc expanded rapidly, its edges sharp enough to sever mountain peaks, trailing wisps of negative energy that corrupted the very air they touched.

The sound it produced defied description—a high, piercing whistle that seemed to bore directly into the mind rather than enter through the ears.

Those nearest clutched their heads in agony, blood trickling from noses and ears as the sound tore through their consciousness. Low level people couldnʼt withstand it.

Johamma shielded the rest of them.

Across the battlefield, Lodawg felt the sudden shift in the fabric of reality.

The hardened mageʼs face showed genuine fear for perhaps the first time.

His finely honed senses warned him of imminent catastrophe.

”No!” he roared, his voice carrying the weight of ancient magics.

With desperate speed, Lodawg summoned his own considerable power.

Crimson energy erupted from his outstretched talons, weaving itself into layered defensive barriers.

One, two, three shields of varying thickness and composition materialized before him, each designed to counter a different aspect of chaos.

But Jolthar was no ordinary chaos wielder.

Unlike those who merely channelled chaos, he had become one with it, allowing the chaos to reshape his very essence. In his grasp, the Horgath transformed from mere weapon to conduit for powers beyond mortal comprehension.

Lodawg stared at the young man before him. He wasnʼt even half his age, yet he had reached this stage.

Judging by the power he radiated, Lodawg was bewildered. It was no less than what a tier 10 swordsman could pull off.

The crescent blood moon detached from the Horgath, growing in size and malevolence as it gained independence. Its edges crystallized into a blood-red curve that seemed to drink in surrounding light. Where it passed, the very air froze and shattered, leaving trails of dimensional fractures in its wake.

Joltharʼs chaos aura created a corruption previously unseen in the realm. The bluish chaos aura expanded outward, guiding the crescent with unsurpassed precision.

The crescent descended toward Lodawg with terrible purpose, carrying with it the cold certainty of chaos. It moved not with speed but with inevitability, as if its path through time and space had been predetermined.

Lodawgʼs first barrier detonated upon contact, its intricate weave of energy unravelling in an instant.

The sound was deafening—a thunderclap of magical backwash that flattened nearby vegetation. The attack outstretched beyond the crater, flattening the outer curves.

The second barrier fared little better. Despite its counter elements, the crescent simply adapted, its chaotic nature allowing it to evolve past the defenceʼs parameters.

The barrier held for precisely three heartbeats before collapsing inward, its energy consumed and added to the crescentʼs own terrible power.

Jolthar persisted, never intending to let Lodawg breathe.

The audience watched with astonishment and bewilderment. It was not something you would see every day and such devastation; Jolthar was really a monster, and thatʼs the only thought they were left with.

Only the third barrier remained—Lodawgʼs ultimate defence.

Sweat poured down his face as he poured every ounce of his remaining strength into the shield. The runes of binding glowed white-hot, straining to contain the approaching disaster.

For a moment, it seemed they might succeed.

The crescent slowed, its edges dulling slightly as the binding magic took effect.

Lodawg permitted himself the faintest glimmer of hope.

That hope died as Jolthar raised his left hand and closed his fist. He channelled his chaos aura and pressed further, using the last reserves of his energy.

Within the crescent, a secondary reaction ignited.

What had been merely a cutting edge of chaos energy now imploded, creating a localised singularity that devoured Lodawgʼs final defence from within.

The binding runes twisted, their meaning corrupted until they served Joltharʼs purpose rather than Lodawgʼs.

Lodawg had only moments to contemplate his failure before the crescent struck. It passed through his physical form like a shadow, leaving no visible wound.

He roared, unleashing everything he had, trying to counter with his magic.

But it was no use. The crescent was eating away everything in its path.

For a heartbeat, nothing seemed to happen.

Then, Lodawgʼs essence began to unravel. Starting from the point of contact, his very being separated into constituent elements—first magic, then spirit, finally flesh.

A silent scream froze on his face as the chaos claimed him, erasing his existence not just from the present but from the tapestry of time itself.

Across the battlefield, all motion ceased.

Lodawg, the grand mage of the Naemarys clan, had fallen.

Jolthar stood unmoved, the Horgath still extended before him. The weaponʼs hunger had been temporarily sated, but he knew it would demand more—it always did.

The chaos corruption spreading through his veins pulsed painfully, a reminder of the price he paid for such power.

Around the spot where Lodawg had stood, reality itself seemed wounded. Space folded incorrectly, time flowed backward and forward simultaneously, and echoes of what might have been played out like ghostly afterimages.

Jolthar lowered the Horgath; his face remained impassive, but his eyes had cleared—returning to their natural blue.

The Blood Moon above bathed the battlefield in its crimson light, casting long shadows that seemed to move of their own accord.

Joltharʼs grip tightened on the Horgath. His blue aura of swordsmanship flickered briefly around him before settling into a steady glow. The green beast king energy curled around his left arm like a living tattoo, while silver voidwrath tendrils wrapped his right. Each power remained distinct yet harmonised within him—the impossible convergence that made him uniquely capable of bearing the burden placed upon him.

They were repairing the damage done by the chaos aura.

Jolthar had expected the chaos to leave its mark. At first, seeing the free flow of chaos aura, he was surprised and thought that it wouldnʼt be like the last time.

But it seemed like it did anyway. But this time, he was conscious, at least.