The Glitched Mage-Chapter 49: A Friendly Spar

The night air hung thick with silence as Riven leaned against the cold stone of the mausoleum, his mind already churning through the next steps. Sana was in place, a perfect infiltrator, but she was still an unknown variable. The Undead Advancement System had given her cognitive abilities beyond a mere puppet, yet how much of her former self remained was uncertain.

He had to be sure she would not falter.

Closing his eyes, Riven focused inward, feeling the lingering threads of mana connecting him to his undead minions. His connection to Sana pulsed faintly, an echo of awareness tethering them together.

What else can I do with this bond?

The thought struck him like a slow, creeping realization. He had felt it, just for a moment, when she first awakened—a flicker of something deeper than mere control.

What if…

He inhaled sharply, his abyssal flames flickered to life, wrapping around his fingers as he reached out—not with words, but with will. A soft ripple ran through the flames as they danced around his body, slowly pulsing as he pushed his consciousness outward.

For a split second, nothing happened.

Then, everything shifted.

A disorienting lurch gripped him as his vision fractured. The darkness of the mausoleum vanished, replaced by something else entirely.

A grand corridor.

Dim torchlight flickered around the borders of his vision, something soft and dark fastened across his eyes.

His field of view was slightly off, as though filtered through something not quite his own. Sound was muffled, distorted, the world sluggish yet unbearably sharp.

Then—he heard it.

The rustling of parchment. The whisper of robes brushing against stone.

This… this is Sana's perspective.

The realization was staggering. He wasn't just commanding her—he was seeing through her eyes. Hearing what she was hearing.

Riven fought the sudden nausea threatening to unsteady his mind. The experience was jarring, unnatural. The world tilted at strange angles, like peering through a lens that wasn't meant for him.

His vision blurred, static crackling at the edges.

Not yet… I can't hold this for long.

Still, he focused. He watched.

Sana moved gracefully, unnervingly precise. She carried herself as an Acolyte would—unhurried, silent, her presence barely a whisper among the other library attendants.

And although she wore the black silk blindfold across her eyes, she could still see — just not in a normal sense. Soft outlines of people and objects appeared in her vision but she couldn't see any specific details, just enough to be able to move around.

No one looked at her twice as she moved — it was working.

A pair of acolytes stood by the restricted archive doors, their hushed conversation barely discernible.

"…Seals have been reinforced again… after what happened last month…"

"…Only the High Curator can access the lower chambers now…"

"…Tome of Silent Oaths—moved it deeper…"

Their words melted into static as Riven's grip on the connection faltered.

His head snapped back to reality.

The mausoleum.

His own body.

His breath came ragged as the foreign sensations bled away, leaving him momentarily disoriented. His fingers twitched, the phantom echoes of Sana's movements still clinging to his nerves.

He exhaled sharply.

That had been… something else entirely.

A grin slowly crept onto his face. He had only held it for a few seconds, but if he could train this—if he could refine it—then he wouldn't just be commanding his undead.

He could become them.

That changed everything.

Footsteps approached from the darkness. Nyx emerged from her post, golden eyes flicking to his face.

"You look pleased with yourself," she noted, cocking her head to the side.

Riven chuckled, shaking the lingering haze from his mind. "I am."

Krux appeared next, stretching lazily as he leaned against a stone pillar. "Did our dear undead Acolyte do well?"

"She's already inside, blending seamlessly," Riven confirmed. "And I saw through her eyes. Not just felt her presence—I saw what she saw."

Nyx's brows lifted, and even Krux straightened slightly, his grin faltering.

"…That's new," Nyx murmured, folding her arms. "A side effect of the promotion?"

"Maybe." Riven exhaled. "I could only hold it for a few moments, but I was there. I heard what she heard, saw what she saw." His lips curled into a smirk. "If I can extend that time, I won't need scouts anymore. I'll be my own informant."

Krux let out a low whistle. "That's one hell of an advantage."

Nyx nodded. "But you'll need practice. If it's as unstable as you say, pushing too hard could cause some backlash."

"I know." Riven ran a hand through his hair. "That's why I won't rely on it—yet."

His gaze sharpened.

"But once I've mastered it?" His smirk deepened. "Then no secret in this academy will be beyond my reach."

A knowing silence settled between them. They all understood the implication.

The possibilities were endless. When they departed to survey the Shadow Kingdom, they could leave spies within the academy, ensuring a constant flow of information. Their reach could extend far beyond these walls—silent watchers embedded in every corner. This wasn't just an advantage; it was a revolution.

—x—

Riven spent the rest of the morning refining his connection with Sana, pushing the limits of his control. But when his latest attempt sent his head spinning, his stomach lurched violently. He barely had time to turn before he doubled over, retching onto the ground.

"My liege, perhaps it's time for a break." Nyx was at his side instantly, wiping his mouth with practiced efficiency. Krux steadied him, looping an arm around his shoulders to keep him upright.

Riven exhaled shakily, his vision swimming. "Maintaining the connection… is a lot harder than I thought." His voice was hoarse, his mind pounding with residual strain.

"You can improve your mental fortitude, but it's not easy—far from it," Krux said, arms crossed. "Martial artists like myself rely on an unshakable mind to execute our techniques at the highest level. I have my own method for strengthening the mind, a technique passed down through the generations. I can share it with you, but I'll need some time to prepare."

Riven's brow arched in surprise. "A mind-strengthening technique? That could be invaluable." He nodded in appreciation. "I'd appreciate that, Krux."

"Uhm—of course! Haha!" Krux's face flushed slightly before he burst into a hearty laugh. "Leave it to your number one General, my king! I won't disappoint!" With a wide grin, he vanished in a swirl of shadows, his excitement almost palpable.

Nyx watched him disappear, then scoffed, shaking her head. "That idiot's going to be walking on air for the rest of the year after that praise."

Riven let out a quiet chuckle as Nyx helped him lower himself onto a stone bench within the mausoleum.

"A mind-strengthening technique," he murmured, the words lingering on his tongue as if testing their weight. "I didn't even know such a thing was possible."

Nyx gave him a knowing smile. "All things are possible, Riven. I've seen things—experienced things—that defy all reason. After witnessing the impossible enough times, you stop doubting what can be done."

A thoughtful silence settled between them.

For a brief moment, the sharp edge of Riven's gaze softened. "I understand," he said simply.

Leaning his head back against the cool stone, he allowed his turbulent thoughts to settle. The world felt clearer, more precise. His mind no longer raced with endless calculations—it simply focused.

Decision made.

He stood abruptly.

"I've decided what I'm going to do today," he announced, his voice steady as he stepped toward the mausoleum's exit.

Nyx fell into step beside him. "Oh?"

"I'll stop by the market district first," Riven said, a smirk tugging at his lips as anticipation stirred in his veins. "And then—I'm going to pay Elder Thorne a visit."

His smirk deepened, his pulse thrumming with a quiet excitement.

"It's time to claim what I'm owed."

—x—

The midday sun broke through the shifting clouds, casting golden light across the familiar training grounds where Riven had once spent countless hours under Elder Thorne's instruction. The scent of sweat and dried earth filled the air, punctuated by the rhythmic sounds of magic-infused strikes colliding against training dummies.

"Huh? Riven?!"

Lucenya was the first to notice him. She froze mid-motion, the wind blades she had been firing dissipating as she turned toward him. A grin stretched across her face, her green eyes alight with excitement.

"I can finally see you again!" she exclaimed, jogging toward him, strands of her pale blonde hair sticking to her forehead from exertion. "I can't believe you just disappeared after becoming a second-year like that." She pouted, crossing her arms.

Riven chuckled at her expression. "I've been busy."

"Tch."

A familiar, irritated glare met him from across the training field. Valis barely spared Riven a glance before turning his focus back to his own training, striking at a practice target with aggressive precision.

Lucenya leaned in slightly, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "You know, Valis was furious when he found out you ascended. His family has been spending a fortune buying up mana potions just to force his breakthrough to the second year."

Riven smirked, amusement flickering in his gaze. "Is that so? How pathetic."

"I know, right?" Lucenya scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Apparently, your father's been rubbing it in Valis's father's face every chance he gets."

The smirk on Riven's lips faded for a fraction of a second, his expression hardening before he carefully schooled it back to neutrality.

So his father was leeching off his success.

Before he could dwell on it further, a new voice cut in.

"Hey, Riven!"

Jerrik jogged over, looking noticeably bulkier since the last time Riven had seen him. His sharp, stoic demeanor remained, but there was something new in his stance—an air of confidence, of quiet anticipation.

"Are you free for a moment?" Jerrik asked.

Lucenya blinked, surprised that the usually aloof Jerrik was initiating conversation.

Riven crossed his arms. "What's up?"

"Spar with me." Jerrik's lips curled into a grin. "I want to see how I measure up against the first student in decades to ascend so quickly."

Lucenya scowled. "Jerrik!"

Riven, however, let out a low chuckle, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Interesting."

"What's all the commotion?"

A familiar deep voice carried across the grounds.

Elder Thorne approached, his sharp, weathered features set in an expression of mild surprise. His gaze settled on Riven, and for a brief moment, something like approval flickered across his face.

"Ah, you're here, Riven." Elder Thorne folded his arms. "Congratulations on your ascension—I haven't seen you since you left."

Riven inclined his head in acknowledgment. "I apologize. As you can imagine, I've had much to focus on."

"Understandable." Elder Thorne gave a rare, faint smile before his expression turned serious. "So, what brings you back?"

"I came to arrange my visit to the fire-dense mana island," Riven explained before gesturing toward Jerrik. "But I've also been challenged to a spar."

Elder Thorne studied both of them for a moment, his keen gaze assessing. Then, he nodded. "Very well. Show us how much you've improved since your ascension."

Jerrik's grin widened as he stepped back, rolling his shoulders. Lucenya let out an exasperated sigh but moved out of the way, watching intently. Even Valis, despite his clear irritation, drifted closer, arms crossed as he observed.

Jerrik cracked his knuckles. "Don't hold back—give me everything you've got."

Riven's smirk sharpened. "Don't blame me if you get hurt."

The air around him shuddered.

A pulse of unseen energy rippled through the training grounds as darkness curled at his fingertips. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, abyssal flames flickered to life around his hands, licking at his skin.

Lucenya inhaled sharply. "What… are those flames?"

Jerrik's stance tensed.

Elder Thorne said nothing, but his gaze darkened, sharpening like a blade.

The atmosphere grew heavy.

Riven simply tilted his head, abyssal fire crackling softly around him.

Jerrik exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulders before dropping into a low stance. His muscles coiled like a drawn bow, his body completely still—unnaturally so.

Riven's gaze sharpened.

Jerrik had always been strong, his power honed through raw physical endurance intwined with mana… but now? Now there was something refined about him, something deliberate. He wasn't the same brute who relied on instinct and strength alone.

A small smirk tugged at the corner of Riven's lips.

This would be interesting.

"Begin." Elder Thorne's voice rang clear.

Jerrik moved.

He shot forward like a blur, his foot barely brushing the ground before he was already in striking range. A palm strike, fast and precise, aimed for Riven's chest.

Fast. But not fast enough.

Riven twisted his body at the last moment, his robes whipping around him as he sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the strike. The force of Jerrik's palm grazed past him, stirring the air.

A feint.

Jerrik pivoted on his heel, using the missed strike as a setup for a devastating follow-up. His other hand clenched into a fist, driving upward toward Riven's ribs.

Riven's abyssal flames surged.

A flick of his wrist, and a tendril of black fire lashed out, intercepting Jerrik's fist mid-strike. The force of the blow sent sparks flying as raw physical strength met abyssal energy.

The moment of impact forced both of them to disengage, each leaping back to reassess.

Jerrik grinned. "Not bad."

Riven smirked. "Likewise."

Lucenya, standing on the sidelines, had wide eyes. "He actually countered Riven's flames…"

Valis' expression was unreadable, his arms crossed as he observed.

Jerrik didn't waste a second. He adjusted his stance, his breathing measured, before vanishing from sight again.

He's getting faster.

Rivens abyssal flames coiled around him, responding to his will. This time, he didn't wait for Jerrik to reach him.

He moved first.

This 𝓬ontent is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

The ground cracked beneath Riven's feet as he lunged, meeting Jerrik head-on. Their strikes clashed in a blur of speed—Jerrik's fists a storm of controlled aggression, Riven's fire-laced counters precise and unrelenting.

Palm strikes turned into elbow blows. Kicks into parries. Abyssal fire meeting raw physical power.

Jerrik's martial arts weren't just brute force—they were adaptable. Fluid. He twisted through Riven's flames, using his footwork to maneuver through gaps in the attacks.

But Riven wasn't just relying on his fire.

He adjusted. He anticipated.

Abyssal flames flickered before vanishing entirely.

Jerrik's next strike came fast, a knee aimed at Riven's stomach.

Too predictable.

Riven sidestepped and pivoted, grabbing Jerrik's arm mid-motion and using his own momentum against him. With a swift twist, he redirected the force—sending Jerrik flying backward.

Jerrik skidded across the dirt, but he caught himself with a roll, flipping back onto his feet.

His grin widened. "You're even faster than before."

Riven straightened. "And you're more refined than I expected."

Elder Thorne watched them carefully, his gaze unreadable. "This is an excellent exchange. But…"

His eyes flicked toward Jerrik. "Your breathing is starting to slip."

Jerrik exhaled, realizing the same. His shoulders rose slightly with exertion. He was already burning stamina trying to keep up.

Riven was barely winded.

"You sure you don't want to end this here?" Riven taunted, his smirk deepening.

Jerrik scoffed. "Not a chance."

He rushed in again, but this time, Riven could see the slight hesitation in his movements.

He's already tiring — It was time to finish this.

As Jerrik closed the distance, Riven raised his hand.

Abyssal flames roared to life, but instead of forming a direct attack, they split into dozens of small embers—floating, flickering, surrounding them both in a controlled field of fire.

Jerrik didn't falter. He lunged forward, fist cocked back. Just as planned.

The moment he entered the range of the embers, Riven clenched his fingers.

Crimson Mirage.

The embers shimmered.

And then—Riven vanished.

Jerrik's fist struck nothing but air. His eyes widened.

Riven reappeared behind him in a flicker of dark fire, his palm crackling with condensed abyssal energy.

Before Jerrik could turn, Riven struck.

His palm landed against Jerrik's back—not as an attack, but as a controlled burst of abyssal force.

The impact sent Jerrik staggering forward, his body momentarily freezing from the shockwave. It wasn't painful, but it was over.

Jerrik steadied himself, blinking. Then, he sighed. "Damn."

The embers around them died down.

Riven lowered his hand. "You would've lasted longer if you weren't burning so much energy trying to keep up."

Jerrik exhaled, rubbing the back of his head. "Guess I still have a long way to go."

Lucenya let out a breath. "That… was insane."

Valis turned away without a word, but the tension in his jaw said everything.

Elder Thorne finally spoke. "A well-fought match. Jerrik, you've improved significantly. Your technique is solid, but against someone like Riven, you need to focus on endurance and adaptability."

Jerrik nodded. "Understood."

The elder turned to Riven. "And you…"

Riven tilted his head, waiting.

"You are not the same student you were before," Elder Thorne mused. His gaze flickered to where the last remnants of abyssal flame faded from Riven's fingertips.

"I'd like to know more about those flames."

Riven smirked. "Wouldn't you?"