Chapter 1 Legendary Mage

That night, the full moon shed its pale light over the dense forest. But Lysander Ashbourne felt no beauty in the night. With a deep wound on his shoulder, he ran as hard as he could, even though blood continued to drip along the path he took. His face was pale, almost lifeless, but his eyes conveyed a deep hatred for those who pursued him.

The sound of footsteps came closer. Lysander, who had been running at incredible speed, now began to lose his strength. His breath was short, and suddenly an arrow with a sharp iron tip pierced his back. The cutting pain made his already weak body even more helpless. Lysander fell to the ground, the sound of dry leaves rustling beneath him.

His brown eyes were fixed on the black-robed men surrounding him. Without mercy, they pulled at his tall, thin body, which now hung weakly. His jet-black hair, long to his shoulders, was left unkempt. Lysander could only remain silent, with an empty gaze and a soul that felt empty. But deep in his heart, a deep hatred continued to burn, waiting for the moment to explode.

Through the small crack in the window of the carriage that carried him, Lysander saw the shadow of a large fortress with tall towers looming in the distance. The wounds on his shoulders and back remained open, without the slightest attempt to heal them. With every second of the journey, he felt his body grow weaker, but his determination to fight never wavered.

The carriage stopped abruptly. Lysander saw the door open roughly and the black-robed men drag him out. Disregarding his near-conscious state, the black-robed men dragged him up the cold stone steps. Each step was agony, but Lysander remained silent, keeping his pain deep inside.

They took him to a dark room filled with people in robes. In front of them stood the figure of the Mage King of the Arcanis Kingdom, dressed in luxurious robes that radiated an aura of power. His face was full of authority, but his eyes showed a deep hatred for Lysander.

"Lysander Ashbourne," the Arcanis King's voice was calm but full of menace, "You have become a threat to us, to the Arcanis Kingdom, and to the entire world. Your inexplicable magical abilities will destroy the order of this world."

Lysander, tied to a wooden pole, could only laugh softly. A cold and terrible laugh, filled with contempt. "The one who destroys this world is not me," he said, his voice low but full of hatred. "It is you who are destroying this world with your possessions. You are nothing but shameless trash."

The Arcanis King's face stiffened at the insult. An offended expression was clearly visible on his face. "You are nothing but a terrifying legend, without origin, bringing disaster wherever you go. With your death, all this will end. The world will be safe again."

Lysander smiled a wide, terrifying smile that sent shivers down everyone's spine. "Death will not stop me," he said with a tone of certainty. "Even if I die, my will will live on. All magic in this world will be gone, and all of you..."

His words were abruptly cut off as a long sword with a cold, sharp blade pierced his heart. An excruciating pain spread through his body, causing his eyes to widen. Fresh blood flowed freely from the wound in his chest, soaking the stone floor beneath him.

Lysander collapsed, his head bowed, but his eyes, still burning with the fire of hatred, continued to stare at those who had betrayed him. In his last seconds, he realized one thing: his hatred would live on, even after his body died. His body, tied to a wooden stake, could no longer move, but his heart continued to burn.

Slowly, the cold of death began to creep over his body, replacing the heat of centuries of blood. But in the spreading darkness, Lysander felt a strange warmth, the sound of a calm heartbeat. The heaviness in his head increased, like a hammer hitting his skull again and again, but it was only a deadly illusion.

As his brown eyes slowly opened, Lysander couldn't escape the glare of the elegant lamp shining on his face. It took him a few minutes to realize that he was no longer in a cold, dark stone room. Now he was in a spacious and luxurious room, surrounded by comforts he hadn't known for thousands of years.

His eyes fell to the IV needle in his wrist, then to the bag of white liquid hanging from the bar. His body was still too weak to even wake up. Flashes of dreams from the past still lingered in his memory, leaving Lysander in a daze, his soul shaken.

"Are you awake?" A voice interrupted his chaotic thoughts.

Lysander looked at two figures she didn't recognize. They looked strange, with clothes much more modern than anything she had ever seen. A man with messy silver hair, one eye covered by a pirate-like patch, and wearing a luxurious white and black tuxedo sat on the edge of her bed. Beside him, a woman with long, wavy blonde hair, looking beautiful and graceful, held a tray filled with tubes of liquid.

"Pieter, it looks like his body is stable enough," the woman said, watching Lysan carefully.

Lysander remained calm even though his body was weak. He tried to lean his body forward, trying to understand the situation.

"Good. Finally he wakes up," Pieter said while clapping his hands enthusiastically.

The man looked like a clown, full of strange behavior. He performed a magic trick in front of Lysander that disgusted him. Pieter closed both his hands and in a moment a red rose appeared in his hands. He offered it to Lysander, who just stared with a blank face.

"Oh, okay. You don't like roses. Then..." Pieter swung his body and hands nimbly, then knelt on the floor with his head bowed low. The blonde woman also bowed respectfully to Lysander.

"Welcome back, Master Lysander Ashbourne, Angel of Death," they said in unison.

Lysander remained cold. "What are you talking about? It was you who brought me back to this filthy world?"

There was bitterness in his calm voice. Suddenly, Lysander was surprised when Pieter shamelessly took his hand, bringing his cheerful face closer to Lysander's.

"Come, Lysander. You are a legendary mage who has lived for thousands of years. Give me a charming expression from a legendary mage like you," Pieter said in a childish voice, while he shook his body like an obedient puppy.

Lysander, who had been calm, felt disgusted by Pieter's behavior. He really wanted to throw the man out of the window.

"Pieter, you scared him," the blonde woman, Clara, said with a long sigh.

Pieter turned away with a childish expression. "Eh? Really, Clara? I'm just happy to see a legendary mage like Lysander. I wonder what plans he has to turn this world into his playing field."

Clara just shook her long hair. "That's up to you. I want to get back to the kitchen. Please continue your blind date that has been delayed for thousands of years." She left the room, closing the door softly behind her, leaving Pieter and Lysan alone in the room.

As soon as Clara was gone, Pieter's expression turned serious. He looked out the window and enjoyed the view of the small garden that was visible from the second floor. Lysan, who had initially been disgusted by Pieter's behavior, returned to his usual cold face.

"You will get your reward for ordering me around," Lysander said calmly, without a hint of threat.

Pieter's eyes widened, not in fear, but in admiration. "Truly amazing. I expect nothing less from the Angel of Death. Master Lysander."