Decisive

No matter how swift Joke was, he couldn't outpace the instant cast of Elandril's magic. It was a testament to the artistry of the official Dark Sorcerer, Master Mosido, that the Acidic Wand, having been utilized merely twenty hours prior, was now fully recharged. It had regained its full capacity without any need for Elandril to manually recharge the staff.

This self-sustenance was one of the most notable features of a high-level magical artifact. Under Master Mosido's alchemical design, the Acidic Wand, with its magical inscriptions and elemental crystal core, could autonomously complete its energy cycle and replenishment. Although it was constrained to a single use at a time, the wand's cooldown period was a mere twenty hours.

It was no wonder that the advanced magical apprentice, Lilliana, coveted Elandril's Acidic Wand. An artifact of this caliber was a rare and exquisite piece of equipment, even for a Senior Apprentice. Capable of effortlessly dissolving the superior armored scales of high-level magical beasts with its corrosive acid, using it against Joke was undoubtedly an overqualified application.

The confrontation was over in a flash, so quickly that the other dark magic apprentices could hardly catch what precisely had unfolded, when suddenly, Joke's agonized scream ripped through the tension. Though Joke possessed a robust physique, he was in no way comparable to the high-level magical beasts known to sorcery.

Elandril's Acidic Wand was aimed directly at Joke's chest. One accurate strike was all it required; even if he were an Intermediate Apprentice, his bodily tissues would be destined to dissolve into a puddle of yellow liquid. This brutal efficiency highlighted not just the wand's lethal artisanship, but also the vast chasm that lay between raw physical might and the arcane mastery of high sorcery.But Joke, ultimately an Intermediate Apprentice, boasted reflexes far surpassing those of Yilke, who had already fallen under Elandril's lethal force. His Psychic Force, stronger than that of any Junior Apprentice, allowed him to exert every ounce of strength in the critical moment, twisting his muscular form in an effort that ultimately saved his life. His robust physique proved to be his saving grace.

The moment the Acidic Wand's corrosive spray struck the door of a shop in the alley, unleashing a hissing plume of white, corrosive smoke, the onlookers truly grasped the peril Joke found himself in.

"Hisss!" A gasp escaped the lips of a junior dark magic apprentice witnessing the scene.

Before their eyes, Scar-faced Joke's entire right arm was dissolving, as if it were nothing but a puddle of mire. The short sword he had wielded, emanating a faint fire Elemental Ripple, had already corroded in tandem with his flesh, reduced to nothing but molten iron. That blade was nothing more than a well-crafted ordinary weapon, far from a magical artifact. How could it possibly have withstood Elandril's Acidic Wand?

Battles between magic apprentices were often swift and decisive, due to their limited means and generally weak defenses. And this encounter had unfolded so abruptly; not only were Joke and his cohorts caught off guard, but even the passersby in the nearby dark alley, including the shopkeepers, were taken by surprise.

The explosions of nearly twenty Lesser Fireball Spells caused thick, churning smoke to rise above the shadowy street. Amidst the smoke, the mingled sounds of screams and groans were all too frequent, painting a vivid tableau of chaos and fear in the clandestine skirmish that had so suddenly enveloped this corner of the dark street.Amidst the chaos, none suffered more misfortune than the cluster of Junior and Novice Apprentices accompanying the notorious Scarface Joke. Their relative inexperience rendered them particularly vulnerable, their fates hanging by the most tenuous of threads.

Yet, the air crackled with anticipation, signaling that this was not the climax. As Lina, the Senior Apprentice known for her fierce prowess, concluded her incantation, the atmosphere tinged with foreboding. From her outstretched hands, a column of darkness, nearly two meters in diameter, materialized. It converged with violent intent before her, a blackened beam hurtling toward the crowd with unrestrained ferocity.

Lina's mastery in magical offense stood leagues above the middling and junior apprentices. Her spells — cataclysmic, commanding — were a testament to the chasm laying between their capabilities. And while Elandril had unleashed corrosive acid in a targeted strike, Lina's strategy was markedly different. She opted for area-of-effect spells, raining devastation over them. Not one, but two potent spells were unleashed in rapid succession, underscoring her reputation for merciless onslaughts.

This madwoman, it appeared, held no reservations, not even in the lawless back alleys of the underworld. Her unrestrained power was a wild card, unpredictable and unapologetic.

Twin screams of agony sliced through the turmoil, each a harrowing crescendo from two intermediate male apprentices caught within the storm of magic. They were the unfortunate souls who found themselves in the path of Lina's relentless barrage.

Only a solitary figure, a female apprentice skilled in the sonic arts, managed to evade the terminal brunt. Having unleashed her Banshee's Wail, she had tactically retreated from the heart of the battlefield. Miraculously, she emerged as the sole Intermediate Apprentice standing amidst the melee targeting Elandril and Lina.

The battlefield bore witness to Elandril and Lina's pyrrhic victory, as illustrious as it was riddled with scars. Beyond the assault of the Banshee's Wail, the two male apprentices, moments before succumbing, had retaliated with spells of their own. Their final acts of defiance, "Stone Spear Assault" and "Flame Blade," erupted in the vicinity of Elandril and Lina, leaving both combatants besieged by blasts of arcane defiance.

In this realm where magic clashed with raw survival instincts, every participant, seasoned or novice, understood the stakes. They were all pawns in a grander scheme, their fates sealed by the intricate weave of power, ambition, and the inexorable lure of the dark arts.Elandril was fortunate; of the three stone spears hurled in his direction, only one grazed his arm. However, the blaze blade had inflicted more serious damage, causing moderate burns across the left side of his body. Astonishingly, the black magical robe issued by the academy was singed, a third of its elegant darkness scorched away.

Lina fared little better, marking this as a battle where both sides suffered significant losses.

Their saving grace, ironically, was the general sluggishness of the Junior Apprentices' spellcasting. Moreover, many apprentices harbored reservations about engaging in combat within the shadowy, perilous backstreets. Except for a couple of minor fireballs and a low-level icy bubble that burst near Elandril and Lina, no other magical assaults befell them.

The skirmish was a brief but intense one, lasting no more than two minutes. Yet, the devastation it wrought on the backstreets, along with the sheer momentum it generated, was beyond any layperson's imagination. This was the power of magic, the radiance of the elements in raw, unbridled manifestation. Shops were engulfed in aggressive flames, streets fractured, and an incessant chorus of groans and cries of pain echoed through the air.

Thanks to his use of instant spells from within his Acidic Wand, Elandril still had energy to spare. A minor fireball materialized in the palm of his hand, conspicuously larger compared to those conjured by the other two Junior Apprentices on the scene. It was a clear indication that his Psychic Force and Mana were verging on the level of an Intermediate Apprentice. Could it be that the heat of battle served to stimulate one's Psychic Force and expand the reservoir of Mana?

The scene painted was one of chaos and arcane might, a testament to the fact that in this world, magic was both a breathtaking spectacle and a fearsome weapon.To be precise, it wasn't until Elandril ventured towards the territory of the Brackish Behemoth that his Psychic Force and Mana exhibited such a noticeable surge. Clutching a Lesser Fireball, Elandril was clearly intent on eradicating the scar-faced apprentice, Joke, right where he stood.

No mage was lacking in critical thinking or judgment, and Elandril had already pieced together the inconvenient truth. His unexpected run-in with Yilke in the White Raven Forest the day before was likely no coincidence. The informant? None other than the very adversary he now faced, Scar-faced Joke.

Mercy to one's enemies is cruelty to oneself.

In that moment, Elandril's mind paid no heed to the potential repercussions of unleashing violence and spilling blood in the midst of the backstreets. His sole focus was on eliminating the threat before him. This was a common resolve, a kind of relentless ferocity inherent in beings who had spent years scrounging for survival in the harsh underworld.

As for Joke, his ashen face was a canvas of terror and disbelief. His eyes flickered for a moment to the Acidic Wand in Elandril's grasp before dread pulled them back to the increasingly searing Lesser Fireball. All prior arrogance and malice had evaporated. Gritting his teeth against the immense pain of a likely forfeited right arm, he stuttered desperately, "You can't kill me—combat is forbidden in the backstreets, and besides..."

Joke's plea was cut short by three furious commands from above: "Cease!" The shadows of three owls, wingspans extending over a meter, closed in rapidly. Such was the severity of the disturbance in the backstreets this time that it had drawn the immediate attention of three Academy Sentinels. Their descent was swift, a testament to the gravity of the transgression that unfolded on their watch.The threat from Scarface Joke did not cause Elandril a moment's hesitation. The arrival of the three Academy Inspectors only steeled his resolve, hastening the movements of his hands.

Harboring a menace like Joke held no benefits for Elandril—only perils. Instead, silencing him promptly might afford a chance for some maneuvering afterwards. However, what slightly surprised Elandril was that when his minor fireball successfully struck Joke's head, blooming into a spray of vivid blood, there subsequently erupted two massive bursts of noise nearby.

Quicker even than Elandril had been Lina.

Indeed, as the saying goes, 'like family, like door,' they were cut from the same aggressive cloth. Under Lina's relentless assault, two Intermediate Apprentices met their end. As Lina gathered her scarce reserves of Mana to target the third female apprentice, the trio of Academy Inspectors descended just in time, binding her aggressively with Chains of Wind.

Elandril's own hands were also soon shackled by the wind-infused chains, but not before an explosion heralded the end of Scarface Joke, now reduced to a lifeless form, devoid of head and limbs.

This was, arguably, one of the most brazen and egregious incidents the backstreets, and even the Dark Magic Academy, had witnessed in recent years.

The three Academy Inspectors were palpably outraged at this point. However, before the trio of owl-like figures could mete out their punishment to Elandril and Lina, one among them suddenly faltered, taken aback.

This particular individual had just met with Elandril the day before.In the dimming light, the three owls were almost indistinguishable from one another, their likenesses so strikingly similar that they appeared as ethereal mirrors come to life. It was amidst this eerie semblance that Elandril found himself at a rare loss, unable to discern one from the other. However, in an unexpected twist of fate, it was one of the owls that recognized him first.

Its eyes, bright and unyielding, locked onto Elandril, seeing beyond his facade with an almost piercing clarity. There was a depth of intelligence there, a spark of awareness that set this creature apart from its brethren. And so, while Elandril was still piecing together the puzzle of their identities, the owl had already extended the silent branch of recognition, forever intertwining their paths in the tapestry of this mystical world.