Chapter 118

After the magic show, the crowd gradually dispersed from Madison Square Garden.

Backstage.

Zatara lounged casually in a chair, completely devoid of any decorum. His feet were propped up on the dressing table, the chair teetering precariously as if about to fall over. He whistled nonchalantly while using a manicure knife to clean his nails, waiting expectantly for his assistant to arrive.

Beneath his dignified public persona was a more carefree, unrestrained, and even flamboyant personality.

After all, if he didn't enjoy being a showman, he wouldn't have chosen to perform magic for the masses and bask in the adoration of ordinary people.

Knock, knock, knock.

A polite knock echoed through the room. The door opened, and a tall, slender butler with graying temples and faint wrinkles stepped inside without waiting for a response.

The moment Zatara heard the knock, his eyes lit up with interest. The chair tilted forward from its precarious angle, and the knife paused mid-motion as he turned toward the door.

However, when he saw who had entered, the excitement in his eyes immediately faded. His lips twisted in disappointment.

The butler walked up to Zatara, gave a respectful bow, and said in a formal tone, "Master, many of the elders in the family are quite displeased with your actions."

Zatara sneered, the corner of his mouth curling upward. "Displeased? If they want to complain, they can try using their magic to beat me first. Then they'll have the right to be dissatisfied."

He came from a rigid magical family, one filled with endless rules about what was permitted and what was forbidden. From a young age, he had been constrained by the family's suffocating traditions. Yet, with his extraordinary talent, he had risen to become the most accomplished magician in the family's history. After defeating the so-called masters, he'd walked away from their lifeless existence to embrace the role of a stage magician.

It was the right decision, he believed. A life filled with applause, adoration, wealth, and beautiful women was far better than wasting away in a stagnant family library studying magic day and night.

The butler remained unfazed by Zatara's arrogance. He had long grown accustomed to his master's temperament. "The British Magic Association has formally condemned your actions," he continued, his voice calm. "They claim you've crossed the line."

Zatara shrugged and stood up. His polished leather shoes clicked sharply against the floor as he took a step forward. Lifting his chin, his eyes grew cold. "The British Magic Association's rules mean nothing to me," he said dismissively.

"My life is mine to live. They have no right to interfere."

Part of his heritage was British, and the United Kingdom had always been a global center of magic. The Zatara family, with its long lineage, was deeply tied to the British Magic Association, though not without its share of enemies.

His choice to openly perform magic for ordinary people, a practice viewed as vulgar and irresponsible had inevitably drawn the Association's ire.

"I'll gladly take on those old relics from the British Magic Association," Zatara said, voice dripping with disdain. "Bradbury, draft a letter of challenge and send it to them."

Butler Bradbury maintained his usual solemn expression and gave a slight nod. "Master, a new generation of magicians from the Association has already taken offense at your actions. Some of them have expressed interest in... teaching you a lesson."

Zatara arched an eyebrow and let out a derisive snort. "Them? The so-called new generation?" His eyes narrowed with impatience. "They're weaklings. It would be a waste of my time to deal with them."

Bradbury's lips tightened slightly, though he remained silent. His young master's arrogance toward magic deeply troubled him.

Magic was vast, unpredictable, and dangerous. Even the most powerful sorcerer could be undone by an unfamiliar spell. It was never simply a matter of raw strength or talent.

A magician's abilities could be circumvented by summoning spells, like conjuring demons or angels, forces powerful enough to overturn the battle entirely. There were countless varieties of magic, mind magic, fear magic, sensory manipulation, puppet magic, irony magic, soul manipulation, probability control, time and space distortion, curses, voodoo... The list was endless, and each school of magic carried its own unique risks.

Underestimating magic was the gravest mistake any practitioner could make.

Bradbury sighed internally. If his master's arrogance didn't change, it would inevitably lead to disaster.

"Master," Bradbury said after a pause. "The old master used blood magic to glimpse your fate. He foresaw danger approaching in the near future."

Zatara's expression froze for a moment.

"The family has sent me to stay by your side," Bradbury added.

Zatara's arrogant expression froze for a moment.

The bloodline guidance spell was a dangerous and costly form of magic that used the caster's magical bloodline to foresee fate. Performing it drained the caster's vitality and magic power, leaving them physically weakened, sometimes withered like a corpse.

Even though his father was a formidable magician who could likely control the spell's effects, Zatara couldn't help but feel a pang of concern.

"That old guy... is he okay?" he asked hesitantly, genuine worry slipping through his usual bravado. He didn't have a good relationship with his father; in fact, he'd once fought the old man barehanded just to prove a point. His father hadn't stood a chance and ended up with two black eyes. Zatara had left home afterward, triumphant and defiant.

"Master only lost twenty years of his lifespan. It's not a critical issue," Butler Bradbury replied. "However, he hopes you'll return home."

Zatara's usual flippant expression faded. His face grew calm and serious. If his father had willingly sacrificed twenty years of his life, then the danger he foresaw was real, a true life-and-death crisis. The fact that the vision remained vague, despite such a heavy price, only heightened the gravity of the situation.

His father wanted him home so the family could unite and protect him from the coming danger.

Zatara fell silent, thinking it over. "If it's a threat capable of endangering my life, then the rest of the family won't stand a chance. There's no need to drag them into it."

He said this with quiet certainty. A moment later, his signature carefree smile returned.

He was genuinely curious to see what kind of danger could push him to the brink of death.

His magic wasn't for show—it was real, and it was powerful.

Butler Bradbury felt a glimmer of relief. His young master didn't despise the family itself, only the rigid traditions imposed by the older generation. Rules meant nothing to him, especially when they came from elders who couldn't defeat him in magical combat.

"Master is currently seeking Madame Xanadu's guidance to gain clearer insight into the future," Bradbury said, his voice laced with caution. "Young Master, you should go home. If even your life is at risk, the family won't be able to resist whatever's coming either."

No matter how slim the odds, the family's elders would stand before Zatara if danger struck. They'd willingly sacrifice themselves to protect him, even if it meant dying in the process.

But magic was unpredictable and strange. Its power didn't lie in numbers or brute strength. A lock of hair, a single drop of blood, or even a name could be enough to unleash a fatal curse.

Magic defied conventional logic.

Bang!

The door to the dressing room slammed open.

A young man burst in, breathless and frantic. His eyes darted around before locking onto Zatara.

"Master! I can't find him!"