Greatest Legacy of the Magus Universe-Chapter 1646: Misfortune

Among the Dark King’s eight generals, each man could be traced back to something, whether it be an academy, a noble Magus house, or a military order.

They had roots. They had allegiances. Histories that could be read and weighed.

Ulric had none.

No one knew where he had learned his craft. There were no records of him in any arcane academy across the Empire, no mentor who claimed him, and no noble house that vouched for his rise.

He had never stood in the lecture halls where Magi were trained, never worn the colors of any faction, and never sworn oaths that bound the others. He came and went as he pleased, like a man with no roots and no banner to betray.

A wandering Magus, they called him.

And it was not meant as praise.

Men who wandered did so for a reason. Either they had been cast out, or they had something to hide. In Ulric’s case, most believed it was both.

The other generals did not trust him. He did not belong to the Empire in the way they did. He simply stood beside it... for now.

There were whispers, of course. That he had learned forbidden magic from a legacy left behind a dark Magus of olden days. That he had killed his own master, if he had one. That he had no master at all, and that was worse.

But whispers were all they remained.

Because Ulric had been chosen by the Dark King.

That alone was enough to still every tongue that gossiped about the man’s mysterious origins.

The Dark King did not explain his choices. He did not need to. A man chosen as a general of his army was beyond question, beyond challenge. To speak against Ulric was to question the Dark King himself, and no one among the elite force was foolish enough to do that.

Not openly, that is...

When the Dark King gave Ulric his first command, word quickly spread in the Red Wind. The other generals naturally took notice. Even the second-in-command, Balthazar, made no effort to hide his interest.

They wanted to see what the wandering Magus would do. They were curious to see his abilities, to see how we would do with the men the Dark King had given him, to see how he would succeed.

Yes. Succeed. Failure was never an option.

The Dark King had chosen five hundred elite Magi from across the empire and created this special force. These were proven Magi, tempered by battle, each capable of standing among the strongest of their rank.

So, yes. Failure was never a part of the equation. For it was never expected in the first place.

The elite force looked for a victory that would elevate the morale and their moods, of course. They all knew the atrocities committed by the Cult of Bones in the Mourning Mountains. Edward and the rest had told them.

And how the Dark King also never left his cabin for several days spoke louder than his words ever could.

It had left a mark on them. They were angry, of course. But they also felt something... heavier. A heavy quiet spread through the ranks, the kind of feeling that dulled the army just as their great campaign began.

The army needed a shift. It needed something to turn that weight into motion.

It was time for Ulric the wandering Magus to show why head been handpicked by the Dark King.

***

The road to the frontline was busy and tense.

On one side was a vast plain, and on the other were dense woods.

A long line of supply caravans moved in steady formations. Wooden wagons carried food, weapons, spell components, and medical supplies. Each wheel left deep tracks in the dirt, proof of how heavy the load was.

Among them walked the guards. A dozen Mana Vortex Magi and countless more Mana Liqefaction and Foundation Magi of the Haynam Empire.

They didn’t talk much. Each one kept their senses open, scanning the surroundings. Some walked beside the wagons, others moved ahead or stayed behind, forming a layered defense.

Suddenly, the Magus in the lead raised a hand, signalling the caravan to stop. His brows furrowed as he noticed a vague silhouette present itself in the distance.

Upon squinting, he realized it was an overturned cart and a...

"What the?" He muttered under his breath.

"Help! You out there!" A distant voice echoed in the ears of the Magus, as well as the others behind him.

"Lend a hand to me, won’t you, sir? I cannot get stuck in this place. My wife awaits!"

The strange bewitching voice echoed in their ears, causing their pupils to dilate ever so slightly.

The Magus in the lead slowly lowered his hand, as well as his guard.

"Someone’s gotten stuck under his cart," he said loudly to his men behind him. "Imagine the misfortune of this fellow."

A ripple of laughter echoed through the forefront of the caravan. Some of the mortals, who had found themselves driving the cart, looked around at the men jeering, and so, they, too, joined in on the fun.

"Come on, then." The Mana Vortex Magus, as well as a few other Mana Liquefaction Magi, who had heard the man’s words, stepped forward, choosing to help the poor man who wished to return to his wife.

To the others further back in the caravan, it seemed strange why so many people — strong Magi, that too — would have to step in to help the man with something so insignificant and less labor-intensive.

But everything just happened so fast.

From the moment the stranger had called out for help, to the Magi mocking his misfortune, and finally, them stepping forward to help him, everything had happened in the span of just a few seconds.

So when the Magi at the back of the line realized something was amiss, it was already too late.

"Ah, you finally came to help me, good sir!" Trapped under the cart was a middle-aged man with a light stubble. He had brown hair and strange, gray eyes.

The Magus stretched out a hand, still mocking the man. "Come on now, you dumb cunt. Get off the road so that we can pass."

"Ah, yes, yes, of course, good sir." With a happy smile on his face, the stranger, too, stretched out his hand, seemingly about to clasp the Magus’.

But instead, at the last moment, he pointed two fingers at the man’s head. In the next split-second, an orb of pure mana rapidly materialized on the tips of his fingers.

Then, with the same smile on his face, he attacked.

Magic Missile!