The Dreamer's POV

Oswald took in the smug figure before him, his heart pounding against his chest.

But, it wasn't fear that spurred his heart rate, rather, it was the indignation and resolve to protect the family that had been under his care for so many years.

The Duchess and her daughters were visibly shaking, their expressions terrified.

"Are you the one leading this attack?" Oswald asked, his gaze steady on the brown-haired man.

The stranger clicked his tongue, a sneer crossing his lips. "Old man, you don't need to know that." His tone was dismissive, almost bored. "Just know that if you don't attack, I will."

Oswald's gaze flickered to the frightened faces of the Lyma family and then back to the cocky stranger. He could feel the tension thrumming in the air.

They were in the open, exposed, vulnerable. He had to end this quickly.

His thoughts traveled back to his prime, when he was one of the top five Grand Knights.

His skills might have rusted over time, but his will was stronger than ever. His role had shifted from being a knight to being a butler, but his duty remained unchanged - to protect.

With a deep breath, he drew himself up to his full height. A staff instantly appeared in his grasp, and a flow of energy sauntered around him.

His grip on his weapon tightened, determination etching lines on his weathered face.

He was ready to face whatever was coming. He was ready to protect the Lyma family at all costs.

"Then let's get this over with," he stated, his voice leaving no room for argument.

The threat was clear and Oswald was prepared to rise to the challenge.

Oswald's voice began to fill the courtyard, his tone stern and clear as he began to chant, each word a testament to his resolve.

Magic stirred in the air, a potent, crackling energy that sent shivers down the spines of those nearby.

"[Guardian of the North, heed my plea]," he called out, his voice echoing in the tense silence, "[Erect a barrier of protection, a fortress against those who wish harm. Ostarion Barrier]!"

When utilizing Magic, Spells were often shortened for the sake of efficiency. However, using the full Spells meant the power behind it would be even more effective.

In such a grave situation, Oswald knew he couldn't bear pulling his punches. As an aged Mage, he knew how to chant Spells incredibly quickly, utilizing the same amount of time others would use for a shortened version.

The result of this was the activation of more powerful Magic than most Mages could dream of using in such a short instant.

~FSHIIIIIIII!~

With a flash of light, a semi-transparent wall of magic sprung into existence, enveloping the frightened Lyma family.

The barrier shimmered like a soap bubble, but it was unyielding, a bastion of safety.

Next, Oswald turned his attention to the guards flanking him.

"[Warriors of the South, lend me your ears]," he chanted, his tone growing more powerful, "[Increase their strength, make their attacks unerring. Blessing of Might]!"

A warm light enveloped the guards, their muscles bulging, their eyes alight with renewed vigor.

Oswald saw them readying themselves, their grips tightening on their weapons.

Their stances mimicked the elegant, deadly dance of the [Crimson Ogre's Dance], a Martial Art unique to the Lyma family.

"You attack," Oswald instructed, his gaze locked on the smirking figure in front of them, "I will support from here."

As a Mage, maintaining a distance from his opponent, who was already donning a blade, was the wisest choice.

"Raaahhhhhhhhhhh!!!" With a battle cry, the guards rushed forward, their movements fluid and fast, a blur of lethal intent.

Oswald fell back, his focus shifting to the spell he had been preparing, a spell that was his trump card.

He started to chant again, his voice low but unwavering, his body becoming the conduit for the raw energy that pulsed in the air around him.

His fingers moved in complex patterns, tracing runes in the air, his voice slowly rising in pitch.

"[Lord of the skies, hear my call]," Oswald cried out, "[Bring forth your wrath, let your fury fall.]!"

His hand shot up, palm open, pointing towards the darkening sky.

This Spell required some time before completely charging up, so he needed the guards to hold the fort while it was being prepared.

A few seconds… all he needed were a few seconds!

However…

'W-what?!'

Oswald's breath hitched in his throat as the scene before him unfolded in a horrifying spectacle.

One moment, his guards were there, their bodies brimming with vitality and resolve, and in the next, their heads were severed from their bodies, tumbling to the ground in a gruesome rain.

Time seemed to slow as the bodies crumpled, falling limply to the stone-paved courtyard, blood pooling beneath them.

The young man stood in their midst, a grotesque grin on his face, blood dripping from his blade.

"Impossible," Oswald muttered, his voice a mere whisper as horror clenched his heart.

His body screamed at him to move, to run, but he was rooted in place, his gaze locked on the nightmare before him.

But then, the young man started to approach, each step echoing ominously in the courtyard, a predator closing in on its prey.

Oswald was snapped out of his shock, fear replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

With a low growl, he turned his attention back to the spell.

The chanting reached a fevered pitch, his voice echoing off the surrounding walls. The sky responded to his plea, a massive thunderhead forming above them, the air pulsating with energy.

"[Thunderous Judgment]!" He bellowed, his arm stretched out toward the advancing figure.

In that moment, the world fell silent, all eyes trained on the spectacle unfolding before them.

~VWUUMMMM!~

With a thunderous roar, a pillar of lightning lanced down from the sky, hurtling towards the young man with a speed that seemed to defy the laws of nature.

The courtyard was bathed in a blinding light as the electric bolt struck its target.

~BOOOOOOOOOMMMM!!!~

An explosion of energy burst forth, the sheer force of it sending Oswald skidding backward, his heels digging into the cobblestones.

The air crackled around them, the smell of burnt air mixing with the coppery tang of blood, a scent that made his stomach churn.

'It's been… some time since I used a Grade 6 Spell.'

Magic had different Grades, the numbers ranking higher depending on the difficulty and power it possessed.

The same applied to Martial Arts.

For Mortals, Grade 9 was the highest amount of Magic available. Beyond that was the Transcendent realm of Ancient Magic.

No one could use it.

Still, Grade 6 Magic was more than enough to level a small army. Concentrating all of that power on a single target should have been more than enough to finish the job.

Oswald's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the smoke clear, hoping against hope that his attack had been effective.

"Hehe… ow, that hurt…" A voice emerged from the smoke, instantly causing Oswald's heart to sink in despair.

"That really hurt."

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[A/N]

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