The deaths of two magi in succession did not instill even the slightest fear in the others who had come here from the mainland. This matter concerned their ability to put down roots and continue their magical research—put differently, their actions had already wagered their entire path in magic. As traditional, pure magi, the pursuit of the ultimate truth in the magical arts was their lifelong aspiration.
If that aspiration could not be fulfilled… then death would be preferable!
By Vortigern's standards, Morgan was now the greatest obstacle standing in the way of their magical path. They had clearly deliberated long before leaving the mainland and coming to this island. If there had been any other, safer option, why would they have abandoned their homeland?
Vaguely, Morgan could sense the intense and unwavering desire these magi harbored to kill her. This left her puzzled deep inside, but at the same time, it only firmed her resolve to kill them. Morgan had never claimed to be a saint. Since they had chosen to strike at her, then they must pay the price—with their lives.
With a swing of her staff, an attack like a black lance manifested from the void, then suddenly thrust forward, piercing through the chest of the lead magi before he even realized it.
But those who came here to strike at Morgan had long prepared themselves for death. They had also resolved that, even if they died, they would pave the way for those who came after them. Whether it was the magical legacy of their families or the tradition passed from master to apprentice, it all existed to entrust the dream they themselves could not fulfill to future generations.
Their successors were the continuation of their magical path and aspirations. For their successors, for the chance that their dream might one day be realized, they were willing to stake their lives to build a foundation for the future. In that sense, they were also fighting for themselves.
In their pursuit of magical perfection, these magi possessed a resolve beyond imagination. Even if the one who stood at the Root in the future was not them, but their descendants or disciples, that alone would be enough to bring them comfort.
The magus whose heart had been pierced clenched his teeth and used magic to seal off his blood, forcing it to continue flowing. Though death was inevitable, every second he could take from this witch was a victory.
Chains made of bone shot out from his sleeves, slicing through the air and rapidly winding around Morgan, then contracting tightly.
Morgan, however, unleashed her magic power directly. The black-blue aura expanded violently. The bone chains could not withstand it and cracked. This backlash caused the owner of the magical relic to spit up blood again, his face turning pale—he had no time left.
"What are you all waiting for?! Take this chance and strike together! Don't forget Vortigern's promise!"
Morgan narrowed her eyes. So, it was that old bastard! Now she knew who was pulling the strings. She would never allow him to keep expanding his power unchecked!
A multitude of magic constructs shaped like blue swords appeared around Morgan, then lunged toward her. The other magi looked on in confusion—was she attacking herself?
But in the next moment, the constructs that should have impaled Morgan instead burst out from within the bodies of the magi. Two more fell.
At this point, it was no longer a battle. Morgan was utterly overpowering the mainland magi.
Another magus leapt in through the window, obscuring vision with a swarm of butterflies. But Morgan merely raised her staff. A black tide surged outward from her feet, erupting into a massive wave.
All the magi in the room were struck heavily. Only the one who had jumped in was blasted back out again, shielded by his familiar.
As the black tide receded into stillness, Morgan's deep blue eyes scanned the magi. Looking at the wounded and the dead, she raised her head slightly with a cold expression—a look that bordered on scorn.
"This is all you've got?"
She stepped forward, raising her hand. Black flames flickered in her palm. The magi who were still alive dared not relax. Though the flames seemed weak, they could erupt at any moment and consume them all.
"I have no disdain for the weak and the wretched. In fact, they excite me. It's rare for me to feel the blood surge in my veins… and this is it? In every time and place, traitors never seem to be enough."
Just as Morgan was about to eliminate these traitors once and for all, a few gravely wounded magi suddenly lunged at her, clinging tightly to her legs. Instinctively, Morgan hurled the flames at them, and though the fire quickly turned them to charred husks, they never let go.
At the same time, from Morgan's shadow, a figure rose swiftly, holding a dagger imbued with a cursed aura. It plunged toward Morgan's waist. She tried to dodge, but with her legs bound, she could only barely avoid a fatal strike—the dagger still pierced through her waist.
As soon as the cursed blade touched blood, black-purple light surged into her body. Cursed incantations echoed in her mind like a violent storm.
Morgan staggered, covering her face with one hand. If she hadn't been gripping her staff, she might have collapsed then and there.
After all, Morgan was still just a human born less than two decades ago. Though her lineage and identity promised a long life and an unmatched future, for now—she was still too young.
The final magus pulled the dagger out, his body trembling as he stared at the blood on the blade. It was because he had inherited shadow magic that his elders had entrusted him with the decisive strike. Now, at the cost of their lives—he had succeeded!
"I… I did it!"
He looked at Morgan, who had not yet lost consciousness, and once more raised the dagger. This time, he would pierce her heart while she was weak.
"For our future!"
Just as the dagger was about to fall, a forging hammer flew in from the doorway, smashing directly into his head. Aslan stepped into the room, frowning deeply at the scene before him.
Morgan could not be allowed to fall here. Come to think of it, this whole chain of events might have started because of him. He couldn't just stand by and watch.