Dark Magus Returns

Chapter 1492: Whispers in the Academy

Ibarin had been waiting alone in his office, the grand chamber dimly lit by several floating crystals that hung in the air. His fingers tapped idly against the polished wood of the desk, then moved to rub at the bottom of his chin as his thoughts churned. His expression was grim, his mind running endlessly through every possibility, every path forward, and every way the situation could be twisted to his advantage. The students had failed.

He had warned them. Again and again, he had made it clear that in life, only those who succeeded could rise up the ladder. Those who failed, those who lost, could not be rewarded. They could not be praised, they could not be uplifted, and they certainly could not remain as representatives of the Central Academy. They were to be the best of the best, proof of his strength as Grand Magus, and yet they had lost in full view of the public. To him, the conclusion was simple and merciless. They were no longer of any use.

The other academies would whisper. Rumors would spread. He could not allow that. In his mind, there was only one path left: to get rid of them completely. The top students of the academy had lost, and now their existence itself was a stain. If they were gone, then so too would be the shame of their failure.

“They were meant to win,” Ibarin muttered under his breath, the sound echoing faintly against the walls of his office. His tone was cold, detached, almost as though he was reciting a simple truth rather than plotting the fate of his own students. “And they lost. So it is only right that they pay the price.”

His eyes narrowed, and his thoughts continued to spiral. After I take care of them, I will need to deal with their families as well. He tapped the desk harder, sharp knocks punctuating his internal monologue. That will be easy enough to do, but of course there will be news. The whispers will spread, the questions will come, and I will need to give the world an answer. I will need to build a story, set the stage, and create a scapegoat that can carry the blame. Perhaps the Dark Guild. Yes… perhaps the Dark Guild once again.

He leaned back in his chair, fingers tightening against the armrest. Should I try to work with Gizin and his Cerberus Guild? Should I have them move in the shadows and make it appear as though they were the ones responsible? If I do, then the blame will not come to me. The world will not ask questions of the Grand Magus. Instead, the world will rally against the Dark Guild, just as it always has.

The problem was that unlike some of the other Grand Magus, Ibarin did not have a guild directly under his control. That was the greatest difference between him and them. He had the academy, its students, its staff, its prestige. That was his foundation, the rock upon which he had built his reputation. He had no guild he could trust fully, no band of loyal soldiers who owed their lives solely to him. That was why the staff of the academy had been split.

There were those who worked officially for the academy itself, and then there were those who worked directly for him. The latter group were the ones who knew more of Ibarin’s true nature, those who had glimpsed the ambition behind the mask. For them, he had promised everything: more power, more wealth, more status. Riches beyond imagining, magical treasures, positions of influence, everything they had ever dreamed of when they first sought to stand under the shadow of a Grand Magus.

Why would they not follow? Why would they not obey? He had given them a taste of greatness, and in return, they bent the knee.

As he brooded, the doors to his office creaked open. The sound was timid, hesitant, as though whoever dared to enter knew all too well the danger of disturbing him. A man entered quickly, dropped to one knee, and pressed his head low against the polished floor. His voice trembled as he spoke.

“I am sorry, sir!” he blurted out, his words rushed as though trying to defend himself before punishment even came. “I am unable to get in contact with the team that went to retrieve the students. Not just them, but also the team that was sent after them, to check up on their progress. There is no word, no message, nothing. They are gone.”

The man’s forehead pressed harder against the ground as if that would save him. “I have done everything I could to locate them, every method I know. Witnesses say they saw the team taking the students, but when they rounded the side of the venue… it was as though they vanished into thin air. No one has seen them since. There is no trail.”

The silence in the office grew heavy. The man did not dare to raise his eyes. He could feel it, like the air itself growing thicker, suffocating him, the oppressive weight of mana spilling out of Ibarin. Every second stretched into eternity, every breath drawn with effort. His heart thundered inside his chest as he waited for judgment.

Finally, Ibarin’s voice cut through the silence, cold and sharp.

“I am surrounded by incompetent fools,” he said, each word a blade. His gaze burned down at the man kneeling before him. “Not a single thing can go right, not one! Where did I go wrong in selecting you, in allowing any of you to serve me? You begged to be part of the circle of the Grand Magus, you swore loyalty, and yet you cannot complete something as simple as this? You cannot even return with a group of children?”

Ibarin’s voice rose, his tone cracking like thunder. “Perhaps it is true what they say, if you want something done correctly, then you must do it yourself.”

The man opened his mouth, perhaps to beg, perhaps to plead for one more chance, but he never had the chance to speak. As Ibarin strode past, his hand moved almost lazily. A sickening sound echoed through the office. The man’s head separated from his shoulders in one clean motion, rolled across the polished floor, and came to rest at the base of the desk. His body slumped heavily to the side.

Ibarin did not spare him another glance.

Moments later, his figure lifted into the air, wind magic swirling around him as he rose above the academy grounds. His cloak whipped against the current, his eyes sharp as he surveyed everything below. He searched, looking for any trace, any hint of what had happened. His other staff were still combing through the grounds, searching for answers, but none had returned with information. Even now, scanning the vast campus, he saw no sign of the missing students or their escort.

But then he did notice something else.

In one section of the academy grounds, gathered in the open area near the venue, several guests were crowding around a single figure. Their voices rose in excitement, admiration, and curiosity. When Ibarin’s eyes narrowed, when he focused more closely, he saw it clearly: the unmistakable glint of white hair.

“That boy,” Ibarin thought, his lips curling slightly. “That white-haired student… he is drawing too much attention.” His gaze lingered on the sight below. “Very well. Enjoy the spotlight while you can. Once this event is over, once the celebrations have ended, I will uncover everything about you. Every secret you hide will belong to me.”

Below, Raze had deliberately chosen not to wear his mask. He had allowed himself to stand out, to be noticed. His striking hair, his reputation after the battles, his quiet strength, it all drew people toward him. Crowds gathered, hands reached out, questions tumbled one after another. Some even wished for photos, a token of memory beside the mysterious prodigy of Wilton Academy.

And Raze accepted it. He welcomed the crowd, the noise, the attention. Because all of it was part of his plan. If Ibarin was angry, if he was desperate to move, he would not act now. Not in front of so many eyes, not while the world was watching. For Raze’s plan to succeed, Ibarin had to act tomorrow.

Eventually, Raze excused himself, claiming he needed to return to the dormitories and rest. The crowd reluctantly parted, still buzzing with excitement. But as he walked, one man approached from the side, his expression serious. He looked different than before, his presence quieter, heavier.

Raze recognized him immediately, and the silence spell was activated in an instant.

“I have informed the students of what needs to be done,” Alen said, his voice steady. “You can rest assured, they are safe for the time being. But there is something that troubles me.”

His brows furrowed, and he leaned closer.

“I cannot get in contact with Wilton.”

****

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