Internet Mage Professor

Nolan leaned against the marble balustrade of his villa balcony in Silver Blade City, gazing across the magical viewport toward the tower where Varros just made his invitation.

A slow, satisfied smile curled his lips. His students—Calien, Erik, and even their attendants—had been offered positions in the prestigious Black Vale Territory Academy.

That was promise fulfilled, and it glinted brighter in the sunset than any coin or jewel.

"No," he said softly to Lirazel, drifting nearby. "It’s perfect. The chief’s recognized their talent. They’ll grow there—be unmatched soldiers one day. This... this is how real power is forged."

Lirazel hovered above the lifeless body of Yxthul, gently cradling the strange luminescent crystal he once carried—now dim and silvery in her hands.

Tears sparkled in her rouge-stained cheeks as she spoke softly to the corpse’s cooling form.

"It should have been harder, Nolan," her voice trembled. "A spawn of Vur’Magrax—those lineage’s warriors are brutal, resilient. I expected a battle of wills, of blood. Not... this. He died too easily. Too cleanly."

Nolan chuckled, a dry, amused sound. "Oh, come now, Lira. You’re not actually upset at his defeat. You’re upset you didn’t get more out of him." He raised his eyebrows, tone wry. "You expected this to be a challenge to your reign. But it turns out he was just a pawn... and you ended up sucking his lifespan earlier anyway."

Lirazel’s wings fluttered in agitation. "That’s—Nolan, you—" she began, but her tone flickered. "I was going to harvest his essence... bond with the crystal... integrate him into my power. I expected centuries of accumulated mana! Instead, one bullet, and... gone."

Nolan tilted his head, sarcasm dripping with false warmth. "Well, he was preoccupied cruising toward stage ten. I was kind enough to include a suppressive antimatter round."

Her eyes snapped up at him. "You knew. Of course you knew. You always know."