Chapter 30: The Level Four Dark Mage

The Old Man's agony seemed to strike violently and fade just as fast. His face regained its usual composure as he pushed himself upright, breathing heavily. "I had to kill those men myself."

"Understood." Glen's gaze flickered to the Old Man's chest. "What is that?"

"A demon I formed a pact with."

"A demon?" Glen's brow furrowed. "The cost for such things is said to be steep. You..."

"The cost is mine to bear." The Old Man was already moving towards the direction the attackers had emerged from, cutting Glen off.

What kind of grudge warrants this? Glen remained silent, falling into step behind him.

"Knights... or Magicians?"

Within a crude wooden hut, stooped and ancient, a figure muttered to himself. Withered, straw-like hair framed a face nearly toothless, skin like sun-baked leather. Bone-spined wings jutted grotesquely from his back. One hand gripped a gnarled wooden staff; before him bubbled a cauldron pulsing with viridian light.

"Neither knights nor magicians should have been able to find this place," stated a man dressed in commoner's clothes standing behind the ancient figure, his demeanor unnaturally cold. This was the dark mage who had exchanged with Murphy.

"A pity. Those puppets served me faithfully for so long, gone just like that." Regret laced the ancient one's voice. "Have the others returned yet, Dyke?"

"Still being chased by knights, the troublesome lot," Dyke replied, annoyance clear.

"Heh... They brought it upon themselves. Nevertheless, I request you attend to this disturbance. Deal with the intruders. This interruption is... unpleasant."

"What a nuisance!" Dyke grumbled. He turned, shoving open the hut's drafty wooden door. "I'll make sure they understand that stepping foot here was the most idiotic decision of their miserable lives!"

"Old Man, walking like this... aren't you afraid they'll just run?"

Glen watched the broad-shouldered figure moving ahead at a deliberate, unhurried pace.

"They won't run. In their eyes, we are merely insolent trespassers, nothing more." The Old Man's voice radiated absolute confidence.

BOOM!

A swirling mass of deep purple-black fog erupted from the dense woods ahead, hurtling directly towards the Old Man! The Old Man reacted with startling speed, dodging sideways as if he'd been anticipating the attack. The projectile missed him by inches. Instead, it shot straight towards Glen's face. Glen simply tilted his head, effortlessly letting it pass.

"You are quite unlucky to have encountered me! This will be the most painful experience of your wretched existences!" Dyke emerged from the trees, wreathed in an aura of palpable, intimidating dark energy. His voice dripped with icy malice and utter contempt for the "ignorant weaklings" before him.

"Lev... Level Four Dark Mage?!" The Old Man, who had scrambled back to his feet, spoke with unprecedented gravity.

"Is a Level Four Mage particularly powerful?" Glen inquired, genuine curiosity in his tone.

"I despise ignorant mortals like you! The great Level Four Mage Dyke will teach you the meaning of true power!"

Before the Old Man could answer, Dyke exploded in fury, Glen's seemingly casual question striking a nerve.

The enraged dark mage threw his hands skyward. An intricate runic circle flared beneath his feet almost instantly as a guttural incantation tore from his lips.

"Look out!" the Old Man bellowed a warning towards Glen.

A primal sense of being targeted surged through Glen. Instinctively, he dropped his center of gravity and exploded forward like a cannonball, charging directly at the chanting dark mage!

"Hah! Idiot!" Dyke laughed scornfully as the "brainless mortal" charged him head-on.

A tiny sapling sprouted violently from the ground between them. In the next heartbeat, it exploded outward, engulfing both Glen and Dyke within its grotesque, rapidly expanding trunk and limbs.

Glen felt a thousand needle-sharp tendrils pierce his skin simultaneously. Worse, they began drinking his blood with terrifying, voracious force!

He didn't panic. The Wolf Toxin surged within him. Under his conscious command, the potent essence flooded back through the invasive tendrils, targeting and corroding the unnatural structure of the monstrous tree from within.

Dyke, prepared to drain his opponent dry in seconds, felt his creation convulse. A horrific cacophony of minute snapping and tearing sounds erupted from within its wooden mass – uncontrolled and spreading rapidly.

Before the Level Four Mage's disbelieving eyes, the tree he had wrought imploded with a sickening crunch, reduced to splinters and dust.

Glen stood revealed, poised to strike. But Dyke was faster. His second spell was already complete. A whip-like chain, crackling with violent arcs of electricity, materialized in his right hand. He lashed out, aiming to bisect Glen at the waist.

Planting one foot, Glen twisted violently, flipping sideways to avoid the sizzling chain. As he moved, thick black fur erupted across his right arm, claws like obsidian daggers springing forth. He slashed towards Dyke's face with a vicious howl of parted air.

Behind Glen, the electric chain obliterated a swath of trees and undergrowth, the detonation like a massive explosion. The thunderous roar drowned out the screech of rending energies as Glen's claws met the shimmering defensive barrier that instantly snapped into existence around Dyke.

"A werewolf? Pathetic! With those flimsy claws, you could never hope to—"

The Level Four Dark Mage's mocking pronouncement died in his throat.

Glen became a blur. Claw strikes rained down on the protective sphere with terrifying speed and ferocity, the impacts overlapping into a near-continuous barrage that filled Dyke's vision with streaks of dark fury.

From the first strike, Glen had gauged the shield's resilience. It wasn't impenetrable. It just required... sufficient application of force. Enough strikes, delivered fast enough.

The frenzied, unrelenting scrape-scrape-screech of claws against magic filled Dyke's ears. Panic flared. He poured all his concentration into maintaining the barrier, unable to spare even a sliver of focus to weave a counter-attack.

This revealed his critical flaw. Dyke possessed the raw power of a Level Four Mage, but lacked the hardened experience of true combat. Before his fall to dark magic, he had been hailed as a prodigy, living a life of privilege most envied. He never had to risk the monster-infested wilds; his tutors procured every rare ingredient he needed. Even after his fall, he'd faced no opponent who forced him to truly fight for his life. This smooth, unchallenged path had forged a man who crumpled into panic the moment things grew difficult.

"Impossible! I am a Level Four Mage! You cannot defeat me!" Dyke screamed, his hands trembling violently, eyes bloodshot with terror and disbelief.

"Thought you'd be tougher. Turns out you're just a man-child." Glen's final strike shattered the faltering barrier. His furred hand shot forward, clamping over Dyke's mouth and nose, muffling any spell or scream. With brutal strength, Glen slammed the dark mage's head down into the dirt. Warm blood welled up thickly between Glen's fingers.

The Old Man approached, looking down at the barely conscious, moaning Dyke. His tone held a tinge of regret. "So many destructive spells left unused... defeated like this..."

"The outcome would have been the same. I wasn't using my full strength either." Glen straightened up, brushing dirt from his hands. The fur and claws on his arm were already receding.

"Was that your sole transformation? Turning into a werewolf? Does it alter your temperament as well?" The Old Man's gaze lingered on Glen's rapidly normalizing arm, his expression deeply thoughtful.

"Who knows..." Glen deflected, his tone vague.

The Old Man's internal questions ran far deeper than he let on. To his knowledge, werewolves didn't possess such precise, localized transformations. Every record described only two states: fully human or the monstrous hybrid form. Moreover, every transformation was documented as agonizing, taking several seconds – nothing like Glen's fluid, seemingly painless shift.

"Better hurry," Glen said, his nostrils flaring slightly. "This one wasn't your real target, was he? Someone else is here. Aren't we moving?" He could clearly scent the other presence lingering nearby.

"No need," the Old Man replied, his voice unnervingly calm. "That one will have fled already. Of that, there is no doubt."