Chapter 71 : Cradle of the Demon

The words the demon had woven in its silvered tongue—had they been spoken to another sorcerer, they might well have worked. After all, to reach the realm of Gold at Curtis ‘s age was nigh impossible. A true-born prodigy, nurtured by a prestigious House and graced with fortune’s smile, might just scrape that summit.

And so, for any ordinary mage, the demon’s whisperings—of doubt disguised as destiny—might have taken root. One who had only ever known triumph may, paradoxically, fear the moment when fortune ceases to smile.

But Curtis  was no ordinary mage.

He was an anomaly—a sorcerer shaped not by privilege but by sheer force of will. And so, the moment he heard the demon’s petty pitch, Curtis  knew: this creature—this imitation—possessed no gift for reading hearts.

That realization left only one question:
Why had the demon singled him out?

If it couldn’t read his soul, how had it known he was one of the strongest among the hunting party? How had it known he was young… and yet worthy?

Simple.
Someone had told it.

And the traitor’s identity now unveiled itself—right before his eyes.

BOOM!

Another fireball bloomed before him, only to be drowned beneath the crashing tide. Curtis  narrowed his eyes.

“So it really was you.”

Moritz had said it himself: he had already ventured into the fog once—and nearly become lost. He’d even chuckled as he said it.

Had the demon remained silent on that first meeting? In a place devoid of holy protection, with fewer witnesses and no clerics?

It was possible.
But if Moritz were truly innocent… would he be attacking Curtis  instead of the demon?

Everything fit too well: a contract forged in secret, a hunting party lured into a trap, then offered up as sacrifice.

BOOM!

A third explosion fizzled into steam, extinguished once again. Curtis  clicked his tongue.

“Still pretending, are we? You really want to win without trying.”

“Phantasmal Domain!”
Moritz snarled, his face twisted not with wisdom, but with raw envy.

Those who ascended to the Gold tier in magic unlocked a realm all their own—a Phantasmal Domain, a space shaped by the sorcerer’s will. At first, it extended only an arm’s reach, but with mastery, it grew wider.

Invisible to all but its wielder, it granted subtle but powerful corrections to magic within it—making one’s own spells stronger, and others’… heavier, slower, more difficult to conjure.

Moritz had tried to detonate his flame directly at Curtis . But within Curtis ’s domain, the fire had sputtered under pressure—losing potency, snuffed before it could truly burn.

“You’re… actually Gold?”

“What, did you think I was just gilded on the outside? Your son seemed to suspect. Didn’t he tell you?”

“At your age? That cursed, blighted genius—!”

Moritz’s face, once regarded as shrewd and scholarly, now twisted into something grotesque—ravaged by jealousy and wrath.

“Don’t think your Domain makes you untouchable!”

“Never said it did.”

Curtis  shrugged.

Phantasmal Domains weren’t impenetrable shields. If they were, battles between Gold-tier mages would all end in stale-mates.

Spells forced into being within a rival’s domain simply took more effort—and spells hurled from outside still packed plenty of punch, even if their paths wavered.

Take this, for instance:

SSSHHHRRAAA!

Curtis  stomped lightly, and the water pooled at his feet rose like a serpent, coiling and snapping into a whip.

Moritz’s eyes widened.

BOOM! BOOM!

A rapid series of blasts tore the watery lash apart mid-air.

Sure, within Moritz’s Domain, Curtis ’s control was weakened—but water itself was still weighty, tangible, real. Even a weakened strike could crush bones.

So Moritz intercepted it entirely—exploding it before it reached him.

But the air was wet, thick with magic—and where one stream broke, others formed anew. Scattered droplets twisted into spears, lancing toward Moritz.

“Pathetic!”

With a shout, Moritz raised blazing shields. Fire bloomed and clashed with water in a fury reminiscent of Cane’s technique, though this time the battlefield was far greater, the clash fiercer.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

Steam surged as magic met magic in a cacophony of crashing waves and bursting flame.

For a breath, the fog thickened—but Curtis ’s senses caught it. Ahead, moisture surged—evaporating with unnatural speed.

<Aegis of the Water Spirit>

Suryungbyeok.

Curtis  thrust his left hand forward, and the spirit responded.

From all five fingers, torrents of water flowed—slower now, but voluminous. They coiled in mid-air, spinning outward into a broad, whirling barrier. A perfect, circular wall. An umbrella forged from water and magic.

He’d practiced for moments like this. When magic was formalized—named and trained—it flowed faster, with less thought required. It saved precious seconds.

KRRRRRAAAAANG!

The wall shattered like glass under the force of Moritz’s Phantom Blaze—a firestorm driven by sheer fury and brute mana.

The remnants of the explosion surged past the broken shield, slamming into Curtis  with a guttural roar.

“Urgh!”

The impact sent him stumbling back, body rattling from the shock.

Even as his limbs screamed with pain, Curtis  clenched his teeth—and raised his hand again.

Because if you flinch now, you fall again.

He’d seen what happened to those who let themselves fall—like that demon writhing beneath his heel.

And Curtis  would not be the next one to grovel.

Thanks to Curtis ’s sudden shift in tactics, Moritz found himself robbed of momentum. No longer could he press the offensive; he was forced to turn inward, focusing once more on defense—waiting, hoping, for Curtis ’s concentration to slip just long enough.

“Blocked it, and it still rattled me like that? Gods, that Phantom Blaze is monstrously strong.”

One day, it would be his Phantom Blaze as well—something to look forward to in the future. But now? Now it was a blade hanging over his head. If even a single strike landed, it would mean death. This was no duel. It was a dance atop a razor’s edge.

The only reason he was still standing was thanks to his own Phantasmal Domain. If that last blast had struck just a little closer, he might not have had a body left to stand with. Sure, he couldn’t cut off Moritz’s breathing using water vapor as he sometimes did—Domain interference made that trick unusable—but Curtis  would take a breathless minute over a full-body immolation any day.

“Ghh…”

Curtis  grimaced and glanced toward the demon.

“Hahh… Hahhh…”