The Glitched Mage-Chapter 59: The Assassin

Riven remained seated, unmoving. The fire-dense island roared around him, heat pressing against his skin like a living entity. But amid all that infernal energy, he could feel it—a flicker of cold, a presence that did not belong.

A silhouette crouched behind the jagged obsidian rock formations, their form almost indistinguishable from the waves of heat radiating around them.

Almost.

Riven's eyes narrowed.

His fingers drummed against the Staff of Ignis, the artifact still pulsing with raw energy. How long had they been here? Watching? Waiting?

And who sent them?

The king wouldn't risk sending an assassin before the royal summons—that was a political game that required patience. The academy wouldn't be foolish enough to eliminate him outright. That left one person left who hated him enough to want to kill him.

Riven chuckled under his breath and with one slow motion, he raised his right hand.

And snapped his fingers.

BOOM.

A surge of abyssal fire exploded toward the intruder's location with violent speed. The inferno swallowed the rock formation, melting obsidian into a molten pool, twisting the air into a shimmer of black and crimson flames.

For a moment, there was nothing but heat and destruction.

Then—movement.

A shadow darted out of the blaze, moving unnaturally fast. Too fast for a human.

But not too fast for him.

Riven's Dragon Eyes tracked every movement, the assassin flickering in and out of sight, their form shifting with dark enchantments—stealth magic.

It would have worked on anyone else.

But Riven wasn't just anyone.

With a flick of his wrist, his abyssal flames twisted outward, spreading like grasping hands. The heat in the air compressed unnaturally, his mana focusing with dangerous precision.

Then—he clenched his fist.

The flames collapsed.

Like a trap snapping shut.

A choked gasp came from the intruder as blackened fire coiled around their limbs, locking them in place mid-dash.

They collapsed onto the scorched earth, twitching.

The assassin's cloak burned away in places, revealing a lean, armored figure beneath. A mask covered the lower half of their face, enchanted runes glowing faintly across the metal. Their pale silver eyes glared at him with thinly veiled hatred.

Riven approached, slow, deliberate.

He crouched beside them, elbows resting on his knees, watching them like a predator toying with its prey.

"Let's skip the introductions," he mused, his voice low, almost lazy. "You wouldn't be here unless you were sent by someone important."

The assassin didn't respond.

Riven smiled.

"You were watching me for a while, weren't you?" He reached out, plucking the dagger strapped to their thigh. A sleek, curved blade—runes etched into its hilt, humming with poison magic.

He whistled. "Lethal stuff. You weren't just watching, were you?"

The assassin jerked forward, trying to move—trying to kill him.

They failed.

Riven pressed a single finger against their forehead. Abyssal fire ignited.

The assassin screamed.

Their body convulsed violently as black fire ate into their armor, burning just enough to make the pain agonizing—but not enough to kill.

Not yet.

This chapter is updated by freēwēbnovel.com.

Riven leaned in, his smirk never faltering. "I only need one answer," he murmured. "Who sent you?"

No response.

Riven exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "I was hoping you'd be smarter than this."

With a sharp flick of his wrist, abyssal fire slithered from his fingertips, seeping into the assassin's body like a living entity. The moment it latched onto their mana veins, the real agony began.

The assassin convulsed violently, their muscles locking as the fire burrowed deep, burning from the inside out. It wasn't just pain—it was destruction laced into every fiber of their being, crawling through their bloodstream like molten venom. Their veins glowed black beneath their skin, the corrupted fire coiling tighter around their mana heart, suffocating it.

A strangled scream tore from their throat, their body writhing, but there was no escape. Riven watched impassively, his abyssal flames eating away at them from within.

Then—finally—they cracked.

"T-The Countess!" they gasped. "She sent me!"

Riven went still.

For a long moment, there was nothing but the crackle of flames.

Then, his smirk widened into something sharp.

Riven tilted his head, watching as the assassin writhed beneath the weight of his abyssal flames. Their body trembled, the black fire carving through them like searing brands, yet he kept the pain precise—controlled. Just enough to make them understand the depths of their mistake.

The Countess… he knew it.

His dear stepmother, who had locked him away like a caged beast, who had stripped him of everything and tormented him just for existing. And now, when she had finally learned that her perfect little son had been humiliated, she had acted.

Sending an assassin?

It was almost disappointing.

Riven exhaled through his nose, his smirk fading into something colder. "So, she's finally decided to deal with me herself."

The assassin panted, their breaths ragged, but despite the agony ravaging their body, Riven could see it—the glint of defiance still burning in their eyes.

Loyalty.

Misplaced, useless loyalty.

Riven's fingers twitched, and the flames surged deeper, wrapping tighter around the assassin's mana heart. A sickening crack echoed as the abyssal fire dug into their very core.

The assassin choked on a scream, their body arching in torment.

Riven crouched lower, voice quiet. "You weren't even given a chance, were you? Sent to die without realizing who you were dealing with." He let out a mock sigh, shaking his head. "Pathetic."

His abyssal fire flickered hungrily, the tendrils tightening around the assassin's mana circuits, siphoning the very essence from them. If they had been a worthy opponent, perhaps Riven would have considered raising them into something useful.

But this one?

They weren't even worth turning into one of his undead.

"Hah… what a waste." Riven murmured.

And with that, he clenched his fist.

The assassin's body convulsed violently as the abyssal flames consumed them from the inside out. Their veins ruptured under the sheer force of the corruption, their mana heart collapsing as fire swallowed them whole. A scream barely escaped before their form was reduced to nothing but flickering embers, their existence erased from reality.

Riven rose to his feet, rolling his shoulders as the last remnants of the assassin's ashes faded into the air. The infernal heat of the island welcomed the destruction, as if the land itself had devoured the soul that dared trespass.

He stared at the empty space where the assassin had been, his expression unreadable.

His stepmother thought this would be enough?

A single assassin?

Riven chuckled darkly.

If she truly wanted him dead, she should have sent an army.

He flexed his fingers, the abyssal fire crackling in response. This was just the beginning. If she had taken this step, then she would try again. And again.

That was fine.

Because once the royal summons was over, once he was finished dealing with the king's attempt to bind him—

He would take a visit home — and when he did?

The Countess would regret ever letting him live.

—x—

Thursday morning arrived with a creeping stillness. The sky was draped in deep violet hues, the final remnants of the night stubbornly clinging to the horizon. Riven stepped through the darkened pathways of the academy, his robes billowing in the cool morning air.

His time on the Fire-Dense Mana Island had been productive. His mana reserves had expanded far beyond their previous limits and he was almost at the threshold of forming his third circle.

With quiet, measured steps, he made his way toward the mausoleum, slipping through the underground passageways. The scent of old stone and death greeted him like an old companion.

His Generals were already waiting.

In the dim chamber, Nyx sat lazily atop Krux's broad back, her legs crossed as if he were nothing more than a living bench. Krux, to his credit, grumbled under his breath but continued his push-ups, muscles straining beneath his shirt as he kept pace with her silent, unspoken demand.

"Fifty more," Nyx mused, resting her chin in her palm. "Maybe then I'll consider letting you breathe."

Krux let out a scoff between push-ups. "One of these days, Nyx…"

"Hmm?" She yawned, stretching luxuriously. "You'll what? Drop and disappoint me?"

Krux just grunted and kept going.

At the far end of the chamber, Aria sat with perfect poise, a porcelain teacup cradled between her fingers, steam curling from its surface. The scent of jasmine and something subtly spiced drifted through the air, a sharp contrast against the dust and death that clung to the mausoleum's walls. It was as if she had pulled the delicate drink out of thin air, untouched by the grim reality surrounding them.

Sana, as always, lingered near the entrance, her blindfolded gaze unreadable. Unlike the others, she neither teased nor indulged in idle amusement—she merely listened, her head tilted ever so slightly, as if attuned to something beyond their senses.

Riven strode forward, his boots echoing against the stone floor. He ran a hand through his hair, revealing the sharp glint in his eyes.

"Well?" he said, his voice calm but commanding. "What did you find?"

They all moved to stand before him, their heads inclining in silent acknowledgment. Nyx was the first to break the silence.

"The noble factions are restless," she said, tapping her fingers against the hilt of her sword. "Word is spreading fast about your duel with Cedric. Some are impressed. Others? They're worried. The ones in power don't like unpredictability, and you being an illegitimate son makes them uncomfortable."

Riven smirked. "Good."

"Here's a list of all the nobles attending the summons." Nyx handed him a scroll, her expression unreadable. "But the one worth focusing on is Duke Deveroux. He controls the merchant guild and, by extension, most of the kingdom's trade. Win his favor, and the rest of the nobles will follow his lead."

Riven unrolled the scroll, his sharp eyes flicking over the names, each one carrying weight in the empire's tangled web of politics. Many were familiar—noble houses clinging to their old power, ambitious upstarts looking for opportunities, and those who thrived in the shadows of court politics.

Duke Deveroux.

That was the one that mattered.

He was more than just a noble—he was the linchpin of the empire's economy. The merchant guilds operated under his command, and through them, he controlled everything from food supplies to rare magical artifacts. If Deveroux backed him, the others wouldn't just tolerate his presence—they would actively seek his favor.

"Deveroux, huh?" Riven mused, rolling the scroll back up. "What's his angle?"

Nyx smirked, folding her arms. "Pragmatic and greedy. He doesn't care about bloodlines, only about who can make him richer. He's already wary of the crown raising taxes on trade to fund the northern campaign. If we give him an alternative—something he can profit from—he'll listen."

Riven nodded. "Then he's the key to turning the nobility in my favor."

Aria took a sip of her tea before speaking, her tone smooth. "The king knows that as well. That's why the Deveroux family has been given additional privileges at court. They're being pulled into the royal faction, but Deveroux himself isn't entirely convinced yet. He prefers to have more than one option."

Riven's smirk deepened. "Then I'll give him a better one."

Nyx chuckled. "That's what I was hoping you'd say."

Riven turned to Krux. "And the underground?"

Krux stretched his arms with a lazy grin. "They're listening. The duel put you on their radar, but it's your connections to the academy and nobility that make you interesting. No one's sure if you're playing the noble game or planning something else. Some want to back you, others are waiting to see how you move."

Riven raised an eyebrow. "And if I want control?"

Krux's smirk sharpened. "Then we make an example. The underworld respects power, but they bow to dominance. If you want them under your heel, we take out someone important. Someone they fear."

Riven considered it. A direct show of strength could solidify his position, but it would have to be the right target. Not just a statement of power—but a shift in control.

"I'll think on it," he said finally. "We'll move after the summons."

Krux nodded, satisfied.

Finally, Riven turned to Aria. "The palace district?"

She placed her teacup down with quiet precision. "The king is watching, but he's not acting—yet. There's rumours of war brewing between the Solis Kingdom and the Danu Empire which is keeping his focus divided. That's the only reason we have any breathing room. But he's preparing a counter to your rise."

"Oh?" Riven arched an eyebrow, amusement flickering in his eyes. "And what exactly is that?"

Aria exhaled, setting her teacup down with quiet precision. "You already know." Her voice was measured, calm, but beneath it was something colder. "The king has acquired an incredibly rare and costly binding pact scroll. He plans to use it on you tomorrow." She met his gaze evenly. "It's as if he's already decided the outcome of the summons before it's even begun."

Riven let out a low chuckle, tilting his head back as a wry grin tugged at his lips. "What a bastard." His abyssal flames flickered at his fingertips, shadows curling between his knuckles like restless serpents. He took a slow, measured breath, forcing down the simmering rage coiling in his chest, though the fire in his veins refused to fully settle.

"The headmaster will be in attendance tomorrow," Sana said softly. "I heard some of the upper Acolytes confirm it today."

"Ah, that relic only cares about the academy's reputation," Riven said with a smirk. "If the tide shifts in my favor, he'll adapt. I'm a rising star here—he'd rather nurture that potential than see it extinguished prematurely."

"So, our best move is targeting the Duke," Krux mused, stroking his chin, his brows drawn together in deep thought.

"Exactly." Riven nodded, and with a flick of his wrist, a skill book materialized in his palm, its cover pulsing faintly with power. A smirk played at his lips. "And I have just the skill to win him over."