Of all the Magic achievable by humans, the 9th Tier stood at the very summit.
Why?
Was it because of the powerful Magic that dominated the space? Or perhaps the complexity of the Magic structures belonging to such a pristine category? Perhaps both?
Well, if anyone mentioned all of these, they would be right. However, what differentiated two Tier 9 Mages was a critical element that could never be overlooked. It was the height of Magic itself, and the hallmark of a Mage.
It was also the ultimate manifestation of Archamage Denzel's Principle Of Magic Warfare.
"... [Magic Territory]."
With this whisper, time seemed to stand still—or rather, it was everything around that froze. In their stead, a droplet of light fell from above, planting itself onto the ground to create a ripple—as though it fell on an ocean floor.
>SHIIIIIINNNGGGGGG!!!VWUUUUUUUSSSSSSHHHHHHH<
The world of light disintegrated, and colors slowly began forming once more. After a while, details appeared, and structures became established. In no time, the world was back to normal, with Denzel on his chair and Noir kneeling on the ground.
"... Brat."
Denzel felt drained, but his expression hardly showed it. He realized his current weakened condition, so he relied on his Runes and magic Items to defend himself with a barrier, while also creating several spears of light in the air.
"Don't try anything else. Or…" The suspended projectiles danced around Noir, almost as if warning him against even rising from his position.
It was evident who had the upper hand, wasn't it?
"I understand." Noir's statement was cool.
He raised his head, revealing his stoic face—unnerving Denzel a little. Still, his expression did not connote any form of aggression, so the Archmage decided to move his projectiles further away from Noir. Thus, the defeated one had more room to breathe.
'I'll be a fool to let them vanish, though.' The Archmage smiled wryly.
"You may rise, Noir Novo. However, as you do so, remember that my previous question still stands. I require a response."
Denzel watched, from behind his desk, as the mysterious young man rose to his feet and finally answered his question.
"My name is Noir Novo, and I am affiliated with the Ducal Household Versacee Dunroe. I have been appointed as the guardian of Ciara De Versacee Dunroe—a ward at this Institute."
"That does nothing to tell me who you are!" Lord Denzel was getting a bit impatient at this point.
How many times would this impertinent youth dodge his question?!
"Apologies, but I can not say that. I have been commanded to remain anonymous per my employer's instructions." Noir bowed slightly and spoke.
The moment he heard this, the Archmage clicked his tongue and glared at Noir. Unfortunately, he could do nothing more at that point.
Mages handled the realm of Magic, while Nobles had their domain in politics and administration. While these two areas overlapped when a Noble became a Mage, there was still a limit of influence and authority said Mage could achieve in the political sphere.
Denzel, though he was an Archmage, could not challenge the authority of the Duke's household, as well as their decision to employ Noir and keep his true identity a secret. The most he could do was feel regretful that the Tower hadn't gotten a hold of him yet.
"I see… that's a shame. I take it you're loyal to your Employer?"
"Extremely so. That is the reason behind my refusal to reveal my identity." Noir's voice hardly contained the saltiness that filled it prior to their fight.
His words almost sounded like an excuse… though they made too much sense to be dismissed.
"You could have simply explained your condition from the start, instead of—"
"If I may, you assaulted me first. Everything I did was an act of self-defense and preservation. I simply went along with your actions."
The Archmage smiled at Noir's use of words, as well as his interpretation of the scenario. All he said indeed added up, but Denzel felt played.
'Did he intentionally provoke me? Maybe…' Unfortunately, Denzel doubted Noir would confess to such a thing.
Besides, what proof did he have?
"I trust Trevor Netherlore's judgment concerning your character and identity. If he brought you here, then you are indeed who you say you are. I suppose I could hear you out."
The next thing the Archmage did was offer his visitor some measure of hospitality. With the sleight of one hand, a very exquisite chair was assembled directly in front of his desk.
"Here. Sit." Denzel smiled while pointing at the newly appeared chair.
For a moment, both men looked at each other. Noir remained stagnant, while Denzel kept watching, refusing to even blink. However, after a while of uncomfortable silence…
"Thank you."
… Noir finally budged—albeit awkwardly.
Finally resting both his buttocks and back on the strangely comfortable chair, Nir exhaled deeply—another pure sign that he was indeed exhausted. Denzel noticed all of this as he continued to observe every of the young man's moves.
"So, why are you here again? What was so urgent that you had to come here and interrupt me, despite my express orders not to be disturbed?"
This was one of Denzel's main causes of annoyance—and ultimately suspicion. Not only had the youth wasted both his time and Mana, but there was also still no productive exchange between the two. All he wanted to know was who the guy was and what he wanted.
"The lady under my care, Ciara De Versacee Dunroe, has been targetted in your institute by a certain stranger. He set a whole scenario up, and he almost took her away—right under your roof."
"Really? Why her?" Denzel sighed.
He never expected to be about a girl—or even if it was, that such a person would be shrouded in such trouble. Surely this seemed like a far, tall tale