Chapter One: The Battle at the Pinnacle

High above the Magic Continent, the Sword Saint Robis hovered, sword in hand, his sharply chiseled features radiating righteousness. At his side were two others—one clad in imposing armor wielding a massive greatsword, the other robed in resplendent mage’s garb, holding an intricately crafted staff.

These three stood at the very pinnacle of the continent’s hierarchy: Robis, the Wind Sword Saint; Angerfall, the Fire Sword Saint; and Zeig, the dual-element Divine Descendant.

Now, these supreme figures had appeared together for the sake of a youth barely in his twenties—the youngest Divine Descendant in the continent’s history: Weir.

“How rare! The continent’s three greatest powers descend, only to play the part of common thieves,” Weir remarked, a trace of mockery curling his lips as he fixed his gaze on the trio. He faced three alone, yet showed not a hint of fear.

“Enough talk, Weir. Words are meaningless. Surrender the three Divine Artifacts, and today’s events can be forgotten,” Robis snapped coldly.

Weir laughed. “Hand over the artifacts? That’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard! Those artifacts are mine by right—why should I relinquish them? Ridiculous! Robis, if you still possess an ounce of a true warrior’s honor, don’t insult yourself with lies that not even a child of three would believe. If you have the strength, come and take them by force. There’s no need for such pointless posturing!”

Angerfall, the Fire Sword Saint, was the most hot-blooded of the three. Unable to contain himself at Weir’s words, he stepped forward and bellowed, “Boy, so what if you’re the youngest Divine Descendant in history? In front of the three of us, you’re still too green. Hand over the artifacts, and I, Angerfall, swear upon my title as Sword Saint that this matter ends here.”

“The title of Sword Saint? Besides using it to rob others, what use is it to you, Angerfall?” Weir sneered. With a flourish of his hands, the air before him twisted, and a staff over a meter long appeared from nowhere, so exquisite that even Zeig could not help but cry out, “The Losy Zeigel Divine Staff!”

With the artifact revealed, Zeig could restrain his excitement no longer. He raised his own staff, and a surge of powerful magical energy radiated outward. The two Sword Saints drew their blades as well, releasing equally mighty auras—one red, one blue—gathering along their swords, creating an awe-inspiring presence.

“Let’s begin!” With a shout, Weir took the initiative, his staff unleashing waves of deep blue wind energy. Instantly, a blue light formed behind him, coalescing into crystalline magic wings.

“Substantial magic manifestation!” Not only Zeig, but even the two Sword Saints were startled, thinking, This legendary prodigy truly lives up to his reputation!

“Indeed.” Weir raised his head proudly, then, with a beat of his wings, soared higher into the sky.

Without Weir’s elegant wings, Zeig could only ascend using an advanced flying spell, while the Sword Saints relied on their own aerial techniques.

Zeig bit his lip, unable to hide his envy at Weir’s tangible wings, but his jealousy was even greater: If I cannot have them, I will see them destroyed! He thought fiercely. His staff flashed with fiery light, and in the sky, a horrifying blaze of fire magic condensed. Dozens of enormous fireballs materialized out of thin air, their searing heat so intense that even Weir, far away, shivered involuntarily. This old Zeig is truly worthy of the title Divine Descendant—his mastery of dual-element magic rivals my own. These fireballs are more than mere instant spells; he must have woven wind magic into the flames, amplifying their power!

With a cold snort, Weir would not sit idly by. His staff swept forward, and countless ice blades appeared, radiating a biting chill that made one's heart tremble.

“Fusion of water and wind?” Zeig smiled. The boy had skill, but to match me? He’s still a bit too raw.

“Frostspike!”
“Molten Magma!”

Two shouts resounded. In the sky, red and white orbs collided, unleashing a series of violent explosions!

The resulting shockwaves whipped up fierce winds that stung the face. With a wave of his staff, Weir conjured a magical shield to soften the blast. Across from him, Zeig, ever the cunning veteran, had already taken cover behind the Sword Saints’ auras, not even sparing energy for his own defenses.

If the first exchange was but a test, the next would be for real.

Weir’s brow furrowed, his face darkening as his staff danced through the air, drawing wind elements together.
“Wind Blades!”
A basic wind spell, yet Weir summoned a barrage with ease. Zeig’s expression changed slightly: Either this boy lacks combat experience, or his spiritual strength is so immense that such expenditure is nothing to him.

But Zeig was mistaken. It wasn’t inexperience, nor overwhelming spiritual strength. Weir, after years of research, had found the ancient spells too cumbersome and wasteful. He’d refined nearly all his spells, making them more efficient and powerful—something none else on the continent could claim.

“Flame’s Guard!” With a wave of his staff, Zeig summoned a wall of fire that expanded rapidly, blocking all of Weir’s wind blades.

“Is that all you’ve got, Zeig?” Weir scoffed. Suddenly, a howling wind arose as a towering whirlwind, ten meters high, materialized. With a gesture, Weir guided countless wind blades to spiral into the heart of the tornado.

“Wind Cyclone combined with Wind Blades—a dual-element, single-attribute fusion. Zeig, have you ever seen this?” Smiling faintly, he sent the whirlwind crashing toward the wall of fire.

“Not good! Dual-layered magic—my fire wall won’t hold!” Zeig scowled, his staff spinning as he chanted, “Great God of Flame, grant me boundless strength, unleash your wrath, lend me your world-ending power to destroy my foe! In this moment, let our fury be one—Flame God’s Wrath!”

Instantly, the wall of fire swelled several times over, its heat so intense it seemed to warp the very air, appearing almost unreal from afar.

“Auxiliary fire magic—not bad, Zeig,” Weir murmured with a smile. “But can your wall withstand my dual-layered spell?”

A thunderous boom erupted, sending violent shockwaves in all directions. Even Zeig and the Sword Saints had to retreat quickly, buffeted by the force. Up ahead, Weir’s dual-layered spell kept churning, each rotation launching wind blades that relentlessly pursued the three as they fled.

With a shout, Angerfall now joined the fray, darting to within meters of Weir. He swung his greatsword, trailing a beautiful flame-red aura. “Weir, prepare to die!”

“So fast!” Weir was taken aback, but his hands moved swiftly. His staff conjured a barrage of icy spikes, radiating a bone-chilling cold as they shot toward Angerfall.

“Trying ice against me?” Angerfall’s eyes gleamed with mockery as he bellowed. His body erupted with flame aura, so intense that the ice spikes evaporated before they could even reach him.

“I never said I was attacking you,” Weir sneered. With a flap of his wings, he retreated, keeping a safe distance. Even as a Divine Descendant, close combat with a Sword Saint was unwise.

“You think you’re fighting just one of us?” Before he could react, Weir sensed a surge of magical energy below.

“Hell Lotus Flame!” Gritting his teeth, Weir realized he’d overestimated himself. Yet he had no choice—only under such pressure could he unlock his potential. With a beat of his wings, he rapidly traced a magical array in the air with his staff.

“Void Inscription!” Zeig shouted. Everyone knew that drawing magic arrays required special scrolls and magic cores, yet Weir, with his staff, could inscribe one mid-air—a feat that made the three adversaries lick their lips with anticipation.

Zeig bit his lip. Not waiting for Weir to finish, he pulled a scroll from his robes and hurled it skyward. “Great King of Flames, by the name of our pact, grant me world-ending power! Burn all evil, let the light of fire sweep the land—Fire Dragon’s Roar!”

A deafening roar split the sky as a massive fire dragon materialized, its thunderous cry echoing as it dove straight at Weir.

“Damn!” Weir cursed, realizing there was no time to finish the array. He snatched a scroll from his spatial ring and incanted, “Spatial Conversion—Shift!”

The fire dragon came and went in a blink, vanishing before their eyes. Zeig felt both triumphant and regretful—the fire dragon scroll was no less than a low-level forbidden spell, now wasted.

“Oh, Zeig, are you feeling sorry for me?” As Zeig searched for the artifact, Weir appeared behind him. “Did you really think that little fire snake could kill me?”

“Of course not!” Without turning, Zeig swung his staff, launching a barrage of molten fireballs at Weir. Unfazed, Weir responded with a volley of spirit-piercing ice spikes.

“Die, boy!”

Weir suddenly felt a chill at his back, too late to react before excruciating pain exploded through him. Though protected by a magical shield, the Wind Sword Saint’s strike was extraordinary—it shattered the shield and severed Weir’s left arm.

Genius though he was, Weir was still but a mage. Now, with an arm lost, agony wracked his body, blood seeping from his clenched lips. Only his iron will kept him conscious.

“You were too arrogant, boy. True, you’re a rare genius in centuries, but alone, you’re no match for the three of us,” Angerfall drifted beside Zeig, gazing indifferently at the battered youth. “Hand over the staff.”

“What a joke!” Weir forced a laugh through the pain, casting a healing spell to staunch the bleeding.

“Wind Sword Saint Robis, is it?” He looked coldly at his assailant. “You took an arm from me—I’ll take both of yours.”

“You?” Robis, perhaps unsettled by Weir’s icy stare, suppressed his anger and raised his sword. “Show me what you can do!”

“Whirling dust and lost travelers, the earth’s fury, the call of the stars. Malicious thoughts, chaotic rebirth, wild darkness! Appear! By the name of Weir Lei, I summon—Lightning of Annihilation!”

As he finished the incantation, the once-clear sky above Weir darkened with thunderclouds. With a sneer, Weir waved his staff. Thunder crashed as countless bolts of violet lightning rained down upon the three.

“Damn it!” Robis cursed, unleashing his full aura. “Wind Avatar!”

His aura multiplied in strength—clearly, Robis was truly enraged. “A few bolts of lightning? You think I, Robis, would fear you?”

With that, his sword flashed, a surge of green energy shooting straight toward the lightning.

Thunder roared, the resulting shockwave blasting everyone dozens of meters away. Zeig and Angerfall, too, were battered and bleeding—a single exchange had wounded all three supreme powers. Such was its might!

“It seems we must use our full strength.” Angerfall drew his sword and roared, “Fire God Avatar!”

His aura surged several fold, his body radiating heat like a living flame.

“Robis, together!” Zeig shouted, pulling a scroll from his ring and channeling magic into it. A dense magical power erupted.

“Conflagration!”
“Tempest!”
“Fire—forbidden spell!”

Each prepared their strongest, magic and auras saturating the air.

With a scornful smile, Weir drew a scroll from his own ring. With a wave of his staff, he unfurled it in midair, unleashing a cataclysmic surge of magical energy.

The ultimate forbidden scroll, amplified by the Divine Staff—its unleashed power caused the three to blanch.

Weir raised his staff and intoned, “Convergence of time and space, the meshing of wheels and locks, the lattice of dimensions, the door of the unfixed, the world both real and void, myriad fusions into chaos—reduce all to dust, ignite—”

A deafening explosion erupted as Weir’s ultimate forbidden spell collided with the trio’s most powerful attacks. The entire Magic Continent trembled. Amidst the devastation, the sky itself tore open, swallowing Weir into a rift.