Dark Magus Returns - Chapter 1483: Shattered Legacy

Chapter 1483: Shattered Legacy

Finally, the spell was beginning to fade. The swirling wind slowed, the wall of dust that had hidden everything inside settled grain by grain, and the crowd leaned forward in their seats, holding their breath.

This was the moment they had all been waiting for, the reveal.

Even Ibarin, seated high above in the honored box, looked up from where his chin had rested lazily against his hand. His lips curled into a confident smirk. In his mind, the outcome was already decided. After setback after setback, after being forced to grit his teeth through Wilton’s repeated victories, the Central Academy’s pride was about to be restored. Victory was within his grasp.

“Finally,” Ibarin thought. “The Central Academy will prove once again that it is unrivaled. And if there are side effects from those pills… we’ll dismiss them as temporary. An unfortunate consequence of training too hard. Nothing more. Nothing that cannot be explained away.”

The last veil of dust drifted to the ground. Gasps echoed across the colosseum.

The crowd froze.

Every single Central Academy student lay sprawled on the battlefield, unconscious. Their glowing forms had dimmed to nothing, their bodies motionless, drained of every ounce of power. And opposite them, standing tall, battered but unbroken, was the full team from Wilton Academy.

For one heartbeat, silence blanketed the arena.

Then the dam broke.

The stands erupted in thunderous cheers, the noise so deafening it shook the very wards protecting the colosseum. People leapt to their feet, shouting and clapping until their palms were raw. Hats were tossed in the air. Students from other academies screamed in disbelief. For a brief moment, even the announcer was struck dumb, his mouth hanging open.

“A complete… wipeout?” someone cried.

“They’re all standing! All of them!”

“Look at the Central students, they’re not even conscious! And Wilton… barely a scratch on them!”

“It can’t be real! Has something like this ever happened before?”

The disbelief spread like wildfire. Not only had Wilton defeated the Central Academy, the reigning giants of the magical world, but they had done so flawlessly. No casualties. No obvious injuries. For the first time in the history of the exchange, the so-called underdogs had humiliated the champions on every front.

“I don’t think even the Central Academy has ever managed this,” another spectator muttered. “A complete team victory, without a single fighter falling.”

“Then… this is history. We’ve just witnessed history.”

And beneath the awe was a rising undercurrent of suspicion. People were beginning to connect the dots. The tornado of dust, the concealment. The fact that no one had seen how Wilton pulled it off.

“They hid it,” someone whispered. “That dust storm… it wasn’t just a tactic. It was to keep us from seeing.”

“From seeing what?”

Nobody had the answer. And that mystery only fed the fire of curiosity, making Wilton’s victory seem all the more legendary, all the more untouchable.

The principals of the other academies sat stiffly in their private viewing deck. None offered congratulations. None moved to speak. Instead, each cast wary glances at one another, their gazes inevitably drifting toward the Grand Magus himself.

But Ibarin, so often a man whose mana leaked out uncontrollably with his emotions, was still. His smirk had vanished. His face was unreadable, his aura contained. He sat like a statue, as though carved from stone.

The announcer, recovering from his shock, finally found his voice. “L-Ladies and gentlemen! The results are in! Wilton Academy are the winners of the group battle! Let’s hear it for them!” His voice cracked with excitement as the crowd erupted once more. “And don’t forget, tomorrow night, we will have the special teachers’ event, followed by the closing ceremony of the magical exchange!”

The cheers redoubled, the colosseum shaking with the sound. Students and guests began rising to their feet, flowing out in noisy, chaotic streams as they carried the news with them.

Raze and the others did the same, walking quietly off the stage. Light mages hurried past them, rushing to tend to the unconscious Central Academy students. Their glowing hands hovered over bodies that were drained and broken in ways they could not understand.

But Raze’s mind was elsewhere.

What will happen to them now? he wondered. I saved their lives, but their futures are ruined. And what of Ibarin? He never came down, never confronted me like I thought he would. Which means… I’ll have to move to my final plan. I can’t wait any longer.

Eventually, even the other principals could no longer endure the tense silence. Without a word to the Grand Magus, they rose from their seats and filed out, their expressions grim, their thoughts their own. None dared speak to him. None dared acknowledge what had just taken place.

But Ibarin remained seated long after the colosseum had emptied, long after the night sky had rolled in and the distant hum of festival celebrations drifted on the breeze. He sat alone, hands folded, staring at the battlefield below with a hollow look in his eyes.

What did I do wrong?

His fingers dug into the armrests of his chair.

Did I not train them hard enough? Am I not fit, even as a Grand Magus, to lead the greatest academy in the world?

His thoughts twisted darker with every passing moment.

No. It wasn’t me. It couldn’t have been me. It must have been the pills. Yes, the pills weren’t strong enough. That has to be it. Or perhaps… perhaps it was something else. That white-haired boy… His teeth clenched. For Wilton’s students to emerge without even a scratch, when mine were enhanced beyond their limits, there’s no explanation. Unless… one of them has already reached the Eight Star level.

The idea chilled him. It was unthinkable. For a youth to climb that high, that fast, it shattered the very foundations of what he believed.

“Why?” he whispered aloud. “Why would anyone push so far? Unless…”

Paranoia twisted around him like a serpent. The students had come from nowhere, their power hidden, their origins unclear. They weren’t normal Wilton students, that much was obvious.

Were they raised in secret? Brought here deliberately? Is this a scheme to remove me?

His fists clenched until his knuckles turned white.

Is this Idore’s work? Is he the one behind this? Did he set this entire event up to disgrace me? To strip me of my throne?

At last, Ibarin rose to his feet, his face shadowed and grim.

“Regardless,” he muttered, his voice low and venomous, “it appears I need to have a talk with my very best students… about their failure.”

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