Magus Supremacy-Chapter 243: The Wysteria squad!

At the border where the towering mountain ridges of Velzoria met the dense, mist-laced forests of Drakesville Kingdom, a thunderous gallop shattered the tranquil silence.

A formidable cavalry of over five hundred men charged forward, their horses kicking up clouds of dust as they crossed into Velzorian soil.

At the head of the battalion, two men rode sleek black stallions, their presence eclipsing even the army that followed behind.

The first was a hulking figure, broad-shouldered with an intimidating aura. A jagged scar ran from the base of his chin to just beneath his right eye, like a permanent reminder of battles won and blood spilled.

A long, grey coat billowed behind him in the wind, clinging to his battle-worn frame like a second skin.

Despite his ashen hair fluttering wildly in the breeze, his youthful features betrayed the truth—it wasn't age, but choice. He had dyed it grey, perhaps as a symbol or a warning.

Beside him rode a man just as striking. His silver hair streamed behind him like a comet's tail, and a twisted, gleeful smile curved his lips—an expression both mocking and unnerving.

His own grey coat mirrored the other's, fluttering as though eager for the carnage ahead.

"Halt!" a voice bellowed from up ahead.

A dozen men emerged, clad in silver-tinged robes bearing the Velzorian emblem—a radiant golden griffin emblazoned upon a crimson background.

The emblem shimmered with brilliance under the morning sun, its eagle wings spread wide, lion's body poised with pride. It was more than a crest; it was a symbol of unyielding valor and sovereign might.

In contrast, the cloaks of the invading soldiers bore the emblem of a black dragon, muscles coiled and teeth bared as it spiraled around a burning core.

The glinting black scales appeared almost alive in the flicker of sunlight, and its ember-like eyes seemed to peer into one's soul. It was the emblem of Drakesville's elite—a symbol of wrath and domination, an omen of destruction.

"You have no right to be here!" barked one of the Velzorian guards, stepping forward with resolve.

These were no common soldiers. They were royal enforcers, men who reported directly to the Emperor himself.

The scarred man turned slightly, a subtle scowl marking his face. "Want to do the honors?" he asked.

"Gladly," the silver-haired man replied with an almost playful sneer, urging his horse forward. Its hooves pounded rhythmically, echoing like war drums as he approached the defenders.

"We said halt!" one of the Velzorian soldiers shouted again, but the man did not flinch, his grin never wavering.

"Fine then—mages, prepare your spells! Fire at will!"

In unison, the twelve raised their hands, conjuring an array of elemental spells—slicing wind blades and jagged earth spikes—aimed squarely at the silver-haired rider.

"Let's see you survive this!" the commander yelled.

But just before impact, a shimmering ripple distorted the air. A wormhole materialized in front of the man, its edges crackling with dark energy, and swallowed the spells whole.

"Is that all you've got?" the rider asked, amusement dripping from his voice.

"Again! Hit him with everything you've got!"

Another volley of destructive magic erupted toward him, only to be consumed by yet another yawning wormhole. The smile on his face widened, arrogant and composed.

"Tsk. If this is all Velzoria has to offer, then this battle's already over," he said with a chuckle.

Suddenly, the Velzorian leader's expression shifted. His eyes widened in sheer terror, his voice trembled. "I... I know who you are. You're... Drakesville's Silent Executioner."

A sinister grin bloomed across the silver-haired man's face. "Glad you recognize the man who's about to take your life."

And with that, an oppressive force crashed down like an avalanche. The sky dimmed, the air thickened.

An invisible pressure crushed the dozen soldiers, shattering their bones and sending them collapsing like broken dolls.

Blood burst from their mouths, and within moments, their heads exploded in a gruesome, simultaneous finale.

The scarred man approached slowly on horseback, unshaken. "These were supposed to be the Emperor's men? Velzoria must've grown weak."

"We worried over nothing," the Silent Executioner replied with a scoff. "Let's keep moving."

And so, the invasion marched forward.

In just thirty minutes, they crushed every obstacle in their path, cutting a bloody trail to the royal capital. Their first destination: Goltas Village.

The townspeople, unaware, bustled in peace—until the cavalry stormed in like an omen of death.

Panic erupted. Screams pierced the air. Families fled, vendors abandoned their stalls, and children cried for their parents.

"You know what to do," the scarred man said, his tone calm yet merciless.

The command was received.

The five hundred men dismounted in unison, releasing destruction with no restraint.

Waves of elemental attacks—razor-sharp wind blades, erupting earth spikes, and raining metallic shards—tore through the village.

Within moments, chaos reigned.

Flames devoured homes. Blood soaked the dirt roads. Lifeless bodies littered the streets, and those who ran were shredded by another barrage of spells. The massacre was swift and unforgiving.

"Now this is fun to watch," the Silent Executioner said, eyes gleaming with perverse delight.

"I thought the famed squads would've shown up by now," the scarred man said with mild disappointment, watching the bloodshed unfold like a dull performance.

"If they won't come to us," the silver-haired man replied, "we'll bring the fight to them."

Just then, a voice echoed from above.

"You've certainly made a mess."

All eyes turned skyward.

A colossal wind bird soared above them, its wings spreading with majestic grace. Upon its back stood a man, youthful and sharp-eyed, with a squad of young warriors poised behind him.

He appeared to be in his late twenties, with jet-black spiky hair swaying in the wind. His piercing green eyes shimmered like emerald blades, and a few freckles adorned his heart-shaped face.

Though lean, his posture exuded authority. Draped in a flowing black robe pinned with a silver crest, he stood like a sentinel of judgment.

The squad behind him, clad in shorter black robes, watched silently, awaiting orders.

Without warning, the man leapt from the wind bird. As he descended, his robes fluttered and his hair danced in the air. He landed smoothly, unscathed, a stern frown etched across his face.

"The famous Ryan Kim," the Silent Executioner said, his smile returning. "Glad you could join us. We were getting bored slaughtering the weak."

"Silent Executioner, your crimes are unforgivable," Ryan said coldly. "And as Captain of Wysteria Squad…"

The earth trembled.

Cracks split the soil as jagged, luminous crystals erupted from beneath. These weren't delicate ice-like formations—they were true crystals, dense and deadly, their sharp edges glinting in a glowing violet hue.

"…I declare death as your punishment."

With a powerful gust from the wind bird above, Ryan's squad descended, the battlefield bracing for the storm about to be unleashed.