From the shadowed depths of the forest, a figure stepped out.
A man clad in elegant black-and-gray robes woven with intricate arcane sigils, his light brown hair brushed neatly to his shoulders. His eyes matched in hue, faintly golden under the sunlight. A sharp, hooked nose gave him a hawkish air. He didn't so much walk as glide across the ground, the soft mulch and leaf litter beneath his boots parting without a trace. Not a single step sank, not even slightly.
It was as if the forest itself dared not hinder his stride.
An invisible force radiated from the man like a shockwave. Vines, branches, and even the mist recoiled from him. The pressure was oppressive, silent yet unmistakably violent. The two witches nearby froze. The Screaming Fog Witch's cries died instantly, while the Leaf Witch lowered her head, gripping her sister's wrist tightly as if trying to disappear.
But the Fog Witch, who had only moments ago been skewered open, began to regenerate. Her wound stitched itself together at a rate visible to the naked eye—yet her magical aura had dimmed. Severely.
Lyle narrowed his eyes.
Even from a distance, he could tell this man was different. Dangerously so. No ordinary spellcaster radiated this level of power. It wasn't just strength. It was refinement. Control.
Twenty-ninth level or higher...?
No. This wasn't just a master-class caster.
A magic caster who had reached the mythical Realm of Heroes.
Lyle glanced toward the twin witches. There it was—the missing puzzle piece. The ambush. The misdirection. The weird behavior. The setup.
Those two weren't trying to kill him. They wanted him to fight this guy.
A grin twitched at the corner of Lyle's mouth.
So that was the plan. Let the outsider clash with the big fish. If he wins, great. If not, well, two problems solved for the price of none.
"Smart girls," he muttered, though his eyes never left the approaching sorcerer.
But now came the real question, who was this man?
The man finally stopped just outside striking distance. His voice was calm, measured.
"A Fourth-Rank Principality Angel... No wonder you had the gall to walk into this swamp alone. With your age and that level of mastery... you shouldn't be some no-name in the Slane Theocracy."
Lyle tilted his head slightly. The man's words were laced with condescension.
"So, you're one of those hidden talents, huh?"
The man's amber gaze flicked upward to the angel still hovering protectively over Lyle. He didn't seem concerned in the slightest. In fact, when he said the word "talent", his tone practically dripped with mockery.
"Human supremacy, the divine right of mankind, the chosen race nonsense..." he said, his voice rising. "The dogma your Theocracy feeds its sheep is nothing short of revolting."
"The real monsters... are your leaders."
Lyle raised a hand casually, cutting him off.
"Sorry, just going to stop you right there," he said, tone dry. "I don't know what sort of trauma you're working through, but I'm not with the Theocracy."
A moment of silence passed. The sorcerer blinked.
"Oh," he said. "That's... disappointing."
His voice was completely neutral. He might as well have been discussing the weather.
"Guess I won't be sparing you after all. Shame."
A chill crept over the clearing.
The man's killing intent spilled out like a tidal wave, suffocating and unfiltered.
Lyle sighed inwardly. That confirmed it. There was no walking away from this one.
But instead of reaching for a weapon, Lyle calmly asked, "Before I die, can you at least explain one thing?"
He jerked his thumb toward the bulky frog-like creature standing awkwardly nearby.
"That frogman - what the hell is that?"
The sorcerer gave a knowing smile. "Trying to stall for time? Or do you actually think you have a chance?"
He chuckled and spread his hands as if putting on a show.
"You see, frogs are fascinating creatures. They reproduce through eggs and undergo complete metamorphosis - tadpoles, legs, lungs, the whole package. Frogmen aren't so different."
He reached to his belt and pulled out a small orb. It looked like a clear marble, shimmering faintly in the light.
"This," he said proudly, "is a frogman egg. I made a few... improvements."
Lyle stared at it. Whatever this mage had done, it wasn't just about biological curiosity.
The sorcerer's grin widened. "Whatever you put into the egg gets integrated during metamorphosis. By the time the creature matures, it's mine. Mind, body, soul. A perfect servant."
He paused, letting the weight of his words hang in the air, before shaking his head in disdain.
"But the process takes too long. Ten years for a fully grown frogman? I'm patient, but not that patient."
He tossed the egg casually into the air.
In the blink of an eye, it began to change.
The orb swelled. Then darkened.
A moment later, it split open. A massive black tadpole slithered out, rapidly mutating. Its tail shrank. Limbs burst from its sides. In less than three breaths, the thing had transformed into a towering, muscular frogman.
Lyle stared, eyebrows raised.
"Okay... that's disturbing. Impressive, but disturbing."
The sorcerer, however, only sighed again.
"Looks good. Useless in practice."
The frogman spasmed violently.
It bloated, shriveled, then suddenly exploded in a burst of blood and gore.
Chunks of flesh hurtled in all directions, but none of it touched the sorcerer. His robe deflected every speck with an invisible pulse of force.
He didn't even blink.
"Come here, filthy creature."
His voice was soft. Commanding.
Lyle watched as another frogman, the one birthed earlier by the Mist Witch - twitched and leapt toward the sorcerer in a single bound. It landed beside him, muscles flexing with power.
"See? That's the real breakthrough," the sorcerer said, placing a single finger on the frogman's forehead.
A thump echoed through the clearing, like a heartbeat.
The frogman's body rippled, then collapsed inward like a deflating balloon.
In its place lay another marble-like egg, perfectly formed.
The sorcerer picked it up with care, holding it between thumb and forefinger as he turned his cold gaze back toward Lyle.
"A perfect specimen," he said. "Wouldn't you agree?"
For a moment, the forest held its breath.
"That's... impressive," he said at last. "Horrifying. But impressive."
"Guess there's no point pretending anymore. You weren't planning to let me leave alive, were you?"
He lifted his head, locking eyes with the sorcerer. A slow, cocky smile spread across his face.
"Then you'd better earn that kill."
The sorcerer said nothing, but the air began to hum.
A ripple of mana swirled around him. Above his head, a gleaming silver spear, nearly two meters long, began to form from raw energy, spinning slowly as it sharpened into killing shape.
"Bring it on, grayrobe."