The Greatest Archmage To Have Ever Lived [OP MC, LitRPG]

Not at where the spear had gone—it was long gone, disappeared into the atmosphere somewhere beyond the clouds. He was staring at the general concept of sky. The idea of it. The fact that it existed above him and that something had just punched through it hard enough to make the air scream.

His nose had stopped bleeding, but he could still taste copper.

"What..." He blinked. Swallowed. Tried again. "What happens if that thing comes back down on us?"

Sael, who had been watching the horses settle, turned to look at him.

"It won't."

Dane blinked again. "It won't?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because it left the world."

Silence.

Dane's brain was trying to process the statement and failing spectacularly. His jaw worked for a moment, but nothing came out.

***

Sael just stood there, hands in his pockets, expression neutral.

The other soldiers were staring now too. Not at the sky anymore. At Sael.

Lieutenant Voss had gone very still in his saddle. His face had lost some of its color.

One of the younger soldiers—the one who'd nearly been thrown from his horse earlier—was just staring with his mouth slightly open.

Ilsa's expression had frozen into what looked like shock as her hand had dropped from her sword hilt at some point, though she didn't seem to have noticed.

Shaye's face was pale. Her bound hands were trembling.

And that boy, Orion—

Orion was smiling...

"Hmm."

Then again, perhaps this demonstration could have used a little more finesse. He hadn't meant to put more mana than was necessary. It seemed he'd lost his touch. Just a bit.

The protective spells he'd cast—the ones meant to shield the people nearby from the worst of the backlash—those should have been sufficient. Should have kept them comfortable, even. But clearly they hadn't been, given the state everyone was in.

And the horses. The poor horses.

They were even more sensitive to mana than humans. More attuned to shifts in magical pressure. He should have accounted for that and have layered the protections differently. Now, they'd been startled beyond what was necessary.

For that, Sael was sorry.

He looked back at the young people. They... were still staring at him.

Several seconds passed.

The wind picked up slightly, rustling through the trees.

Sael shifted his weight. The attention was uncomfortable. Too many eyes. Too much focus. He resisted the urge to pull his hood back up.

"Did that prove I killed the dragon?" he asked.

His voice came out more abrupt than he'd intended, but the question needed asking. He'd demonstrated the spell. Showed them what he could do. That should be sufficient.

Voss seemed to struggle for words. His hand tightened on his reins.

"Y-yes." The word came out rough. He cleared his throat. "Yes. Sir."

The 'sir' hadn't been there before.

Sael nodded. Good. That was settled.

"There's a chicken stand," he said. "At the festival in Gatsby. I'd like to get some before it sells out."

More staring.

He gestured vaguely toward Ilsa and Orion. "You two should join me there."

Ilsa straightened slightly. "I—yes. Of course."

"Good." Sael looked at Shaye. She flinched. "As for you, I hope you'll be arrested."

Voss nodded once. “We’ll take her into custody for further investigation and reach out to house Eryndor and the Astra academy about this matter.” Shaye's face went even paler.

Hermits who wandered the world—quiet, eccentric, and far too powerful for anyone’s comfort—were rare, but not unheard of.

Every nation had a story or two: a traveler who leveled a mountain because someone overcharged them for tea, or a recluse who appeared once every century to fix a dam, cure a plague, or vaporize a monster.

Nobody ever verified the stories, but they all carried the same moral. You never knew which wandering stranger might turn out to be one of those. As a result, sensible people made a habit of leaving such types alone.

Lieutenant Voss, to his credit, seemed sensible. He didn’t ask Sael to stay for questioning, though the way his fingers twitched on the reins suggested he might. Give him another minute, and duty might win out over common sense.

"The binding on your mana core will last as long as I don't cancel the spell," Sael continued, addressing Shaye. "So you won't be able to cause problems while they process you. I imagine professor Eryndor will want to answer questions as well, given his involvement."

He paused.