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

The embarrassment was unbearable. Orion sat in a corner of what the ones who brought them there called the eastern courtyard, surrounded by people who had witnessed him fail to cast a single functional spell when it mattered most.

The guards who had been assigned to watch them stood at the perimeter, but their attention kept drifting upward, toward the distant flashes of light that occasionally painted the domed sky in bright colors.

Everyone was wondering who would win. The dragon or Master Sael.

Orion knew the answer. He'd known it the moment his master had risen into the sky to meet that descending inferno. And Ilsa knew too; he could tell by the way she sat perfectly still near one of the pillars, her posture relaxed perfectly, like she was waiting for something inevitable rather than hoping for a miracle.

As for Robin...

Orion's gaze drifted to the fox, who had somehow acquired a book from somewhere in the palace. He was seated on a stone bench against the courtyard wall, one leg crossed over the other, tail curled comfortably beside him. He was turning a page casually when their eyes met.

Orion looked away immediately, his face heating.

He didn't know Robin well enough to guess what the fox was thinking. Whether he shared Orion and Ilsa's certainty about the battle's outcome, or whether he was simply very good at appearing calm. The fox had joined them only recently, and Orion hadn't exactly been in a state conducive to getting to know new companions.

He'd also been avoiding eye contact with everyone since the incident. The guards, the nobles, the servants who occasionally passed through; all of them had seen him standing in that other courtyard, staff raised, shouting at a hundred soldiers to move aside.

He remembered the voice he'd used. Deeper than his natural register, trying to capture that effortless authority his master carried. He'd even adjusted his stance: shoulders back, chin raised, one hand extended toward the soldiers.

"I said move!"

He'd actually said that. To a hundred armed soldiers.

"Unngh..."

Orion groaned and pressed his palms against his face.

Idiot.

The spell fizzling was bad enough. But the voice? The pose? He'd genuinely thought he looked impressive for about three seconds before reality came crashing down.

Lord Habbas was pacing near the fountain at the courtyard's center, his elaborate robes swishing with each agitated turn. The man had been placed under guard along with the rest of them, apparently on the chancellor's orders, though Orion wasn't entirely clear on the political dynamics at play. Something about ensuring key figures remained accounted for until the situation resolved itself. Habbas kept glancing at the guards as if expecting them to suddenly remember their loyalty to the crown and release him, but they remained impassive, watching the sky like everyone else.

What happened?

The question pulled Orion back to his own failure. He'd felt it earlier, in the throne room. That moment of connection, of resonance, when Erwyn had responded to his panic and helped him send those guards sliding across the marble floor. It had been real. He'd even leveled up to 19 and actually cast a functional spell for the first time in his life.

And then, when it mattered, when he'd tried to repeat the success...

Why?

Orion looked down at Erwyn, resting across his knees. The staff was warm, as always, and he could feel the faint pulse of its presence at the edge of his awareness. But it wasn't responding to his questions or offering any explanation for why it had worked once and then refused to work again.

Was it something I did? Something I didn't do? Was I not focused enough? Not desperate enough?

His stomach made a sound, making Orion blink.

When had he last eaten, anyway? The breakfast bread, back in Orlys? Yeah, but that was a while ago. He'd been so focused on the mission, and on not embarrassing himself in front of his master and the thousand small anxieties that accompanied traveling to a foreign kingdom ruled by a dragon, that he hadn't even noticed he was hungry.

His uncle had offered him rations before they left. Preserved meats, dried fruits, travel biscuits, but Orion had declined because his dimensional bag was already full of books and magical theory texts that he'd convinced himself he might need for reference.

Brilliant decision, past me. Really well thought out.

But wait.

The thought arrived slowly, like something swimming up from deep water.

Maybe that was it?

In the throne room, he'd been running on pure adrenaline. Fear had sharpened everything to a crystalline point. There had been no room for hunger, no space for physical discomfort, only the desperate need to do something, anything, to help.

But in the courtyard, facing down a hundred soldiers and twelve war mages, he'd had time to think and worry. Hel, even time to feel the hollow ache in his stomach and the tremor in his legs and the thousand small ways his body was reminding him that it hadn't been treated particularly well lately.

Was I just... not committed enough?

The first spell had come from pure instinct. The second attempt had been more deliberate.

Maybe that was the difference? Maybe Erwyn responded to genuine need rather than manufactured intention. Perhaps the staff could tell when he was truly desperate versus when he was simply performing desperation for an audience.

Or maybe he was just hungry and overthinking everything because that was what he always did.

A murmur rippled through the courtyard, and everyone looked up.

The dome was dissolving.

He could see it happening overhead—the protective barrier that Master Sael had erected over the city was thinning, its hexagonal panels fading ever so slowly. The geometric patterns that had sealed them in grew translucent, then wispy, then simply ceased to exist. Stars emerged in their wake, unusually bright after so long under that shimmering darkness.

The nobles around him stirred. Some rose from where they'd been sitting, necks craned back, watching the barrier disappear piece by piece. The guards exchanged uncertain glances. No one seemed to know what this meant.

Orion did.

The dome had been his master's spell. If it was dissolving, that meant his master had released it. And if his master had released it, that meant the fight was over.

He looked at Ilsa. She was watching the sky too, but her expression hadn't changed. Still calm and waiting.

Robin had lowered his book slightly, one ear swiveled upward, but he didn't seem particularly alarmed. If anything, he looked mildly curious, like someone observing an interesting weather pattern.

Lord Habbas had stopped pacing. He stood frozen by the fountain, staring upward.

Minutes passed. The dome continued to fade. The courtyard remained suspended in that strange, breathless silence, dozens of people watching the sky afraid to assume anything at all.

Then a voice rolled across the city.

"People of Ashams!"

It was amplified beyond what any normal throat should produce, the words carrying over rooftops and through streets, reaching every corner of the capital. Orion recognized it immediately: it was the chancellor, Kezess, the elf who had prompted his master to reveal Eld in the first place.

"Sael the Great has defeated the Tyrant King! Ozyarathes has been vanquished! Ashams is free!"

For one moment, the world held its breath.

Then the screaming started.

But it wasn't terror. No, this looked more like joy, thousands of voices crying out at once, the words lost in the sheer volume. Somewhere in the city, bells began to ring, wild and discordant, as if whoever was pulling the ropes had forgotten all sense of rhythm.

There was a soft thump from somewhere near the fountain.

Orion turned just in time to see Lord Habbas crumple to the ground, his elaborate robes pooling around him like a deflated silk tent. One of the guards took a half-step toward him, then seemed to decide that an unconscious nobleman wasn't particularly high on the priority list at the moment.

Orion turned back to the courtyard around him.

The atmosphere had shifted dramatically. Most of the people wore expressions of barely contained relief, some already embracing each other. A woman near one of the pillars was crying openly, her hands pressed to her mouth. Two men were clapping each other on the shoulders with enough force to bruise.

But not everyone was celebrating.

A handful of faces remained still. One man in elaborate robes had gone very pale, his fingers gripping the edge of a stone planter with white-knuckled intensity. Another was staring at the sky with an expression that looked less like relief and more like calculation, as if he was already working out what this change in power meant for his personal circumstances.

Loyalists, Orion realized. People who benefited from the dragon's rule.

He wondered what would happen to them now. He returned to the analysis of his earlier failure at casting for a few more minutes while others were still celebrating when his thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps that came before the messenger did.

A moment later, a man in palace livery appeared at the courtyard entrance, flanked by two guards who looked significantly more composed than the ones currently watching them.