Dark Magus Returns

Chapter 1719  The Bitter Retreat

The realization settled over Raze like a suffocating shroud of ice. There was only one path left for the group, and it was a narrow, treacherous one. If they attempted to flee back through the Noble Land's borders now, they would be hunted like wounded animals until every single one of them was silenced. Idore was many things, but he was never negligent. He would not squander this golden opportunity to ensure the Dark Magus never drew another breath.

The fact that Turbin, the Emperor's most lethal shadow, had been unleashed even while the group was already buckling under the weight of the golems and the air fleet was proof enough. There was no retreating to the outskirts, and there was no path to victory today. That left only one destination: Pagna.

Even though Raze knew it was the logical choice, a deep, gnawing hesitation held him back.

'The Golden Globe... it's a double-edged sword,' Raze thought, his fingers twitching near the hidden pocket of his robes. 'The device can only be used once a month, and only on a specific day when the celestial alignment is perfect. I chose to launch this attack today specifically because the window was open, just in case we needed an emergency extraction. But I never truly believed it would come to this.'

The consequences of this move were staggering. If they crossed over to Pagna now, it would be a full month before the device recharged enough to facilitate a return to Alterian. A month in a world where time flowed differently, and where Idore would be left completely unopposed. By the time Raze returned, the Emperor would likely have consolidated his grip over the entire continent, purging every pocket of resistance.

'And what can I even gain in a month?' Raze's mind raced through the cold mathematics of power. He was already a 9-star mage, the absolute peak of magical attainment. In terms of martial arts, he was at the zenith of a Middle-Stage Warrior. Returning to Pagna wouldn't magically grant him a 10th star; that didn't exist. He could perhaps refine his elemental affinities or practice new spell combinations, but it wouldn't be the "grand leap" in power he needed to bridge the gap between him and Idore.

He couldn't even focus purely on his Qi. He had heard the warnings from the elders and seen the signs himself: if he pushed his Qi toward the Divine Stage, he risked being "ascended", pulled out of the world entirely, perhaps never to return to this plane of existence. He would be a god in a vacuum, unable to save the people he left behind.

'I could craft items,' he mused, parrying a stray bolt of light, 'but Idore is a master of the craft himself. I've had to use Dark Magic just to make my enchanting comparable to his. There's no doubt the Emperor already sits on a throne of God-tier artifacts.'

A sudden ripple in the air snapped Raze out of his thoughts. A Dark Pulse erupted from his blind side, a concentrated sphere of void energy that hissed as it ate the oxygen in the air. Raze reacted on instinct, swinging his sword in a wide, downward arc. He cleaved through the spell, but the sheer density of the dark mana made his arms vibrate with a bone-shaking frequency.

The attacks didn't stop. They began to rain in from all directions, north, south, and even from the sky. Raze blurred through the chaos, dancing between the strikes, his blade a constant whirlwind of steel and shadow. Each time he deflected a hit, his muscles screamed. The sheer power behind these spells was exhausting his physical reserves.

'It's Turbin. He's here, hidden in the folds of the night,' Raze realized. 'I can only track him because of my Eternal Night formation. I can feel the minute vibrations of mana moving through the darkness like ripples on a pond. I know where the attacks are coming from, but knowing isn't enough.'

Turbin was a ghost. He was casting decoy orbs of black magic in a dozen locations at once, each one emitting pulse strikes to mask his true position. Raze managed to block a heavy strike aimed at his chest, the force pushing his boots inches into the dirt, but in focusing on the Dark Magic, he missed the follow-up.

A jagged bolt of white-hot lightning tore through the air, piercing Raze's right leg. It didn't just burn; it felt like a molten spear had pinned him to the earth. A scream died in his throat as the electricity surged through his nervous system, leaving his leg a numb, throbbing weight.

Turbin wasn't just a Dark Magus; he was a master of all elements, a combat mage without peer. There was a reason he was called the strongest mage in existence when it came to the art of the kill.

Suddenly, the sky seemed to fracture. Thunderbolts began raining down in a relentless barrage, aimed not just at Raze, but at the entire area. Raze gritted his teeth, forced his numb leg to move, and stabbed his sword into the ground.

"Get back!" he roared.

He unleashed a massive explosion of Dark Magic and Qi simultaneously. The shockwave radiated outward in all directions, acting as a chaotic shield. Part of the blast caught his allies, pushing Alen, Kelly, and the others back. They grunted in pain as the force hit them, but they didn't complain. They scrambled to their feet, their eyes wide with the realization that their leader was being pushed to the brink.

'Turbin hasn't even aimed for them yet,' Raze thought, sweat stinging his eyes. 'He's playing with me, isolating me. And the towers... they're glowing again. They'll be active in seconds.'

He couldn't hesitate anymore. The pride of a 9-star mage had to be cast aside for the survival of the group. 'Live today, so we can fight another day!'

Raze channeled a massive amount of mana, mixing Wind and Earth magic into a volatile cocktail. He used the earth magic to grind the nearby debris into fine dust particles, then used the wind to whip them into a towering, opaque vortex.

He retracted his Eternal Night formation, pulling the darkness inward to fuel the storm. A massive, howling cyclone of dust and shadow now stood between them and the Noble Land's army. The enemy mages jumped back, wary of the localized disaster, and Raze could tell that even Turbin was staying outside the vortex, for now.

"Raze! What's happening? Is something wrong?!" Alen shouted, rushing into the center of the storm with the others.

Raze looked at his friends, battered, bloodied, and looking to him for a miracle he couldn't provide. He reached into his robe and pulled out the shimmering, crystalline fragment of the Golden Globe. It pulsed with a soft, ethereal light that seemed out of place in this world of blood and iron.

"We can't win this today," Raze said, his voice heavy with the weight of his failure. "We need to hide... we're going back to Pagna."

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