The Glitched Mage-Chapter 92: Cassiel

"His mana…" Riven's voice was barely more than a whisper, his hands clenching into tight fists at his sides.

Nyx's expression twisted with disgust, her lip curling as she spat onto the ground. "One of them," she hissed, as if just speaking of it dirtied her tongue. "A Solis Paladin."

"Well… one in training, anyway," Riven muttered, his jaw locking. His mind flickered back—memories of the Shadow Kingdom's final moments, of a battlefield drenched in gold and crimson, of the Solis Paladins cutting through his people without hesitation, without mercy.

And now, standing before him, was one of those bastards in the flesh.

Cassiel let out a slow, exasperated sigh, dragging a hand through his golden hair as if this entire ordeal was nothing more than a tedious inconvenience. "You pulled me out of training at the palace for this?" His honeyed eyes flicked toward Hardren, unimpressed. With a casual flick of his wrist, his divine blade shifted, its golden glow intensifying as if responding to his will. He leveled it toward his challenger, his voice smooth, dismissive.

"Make it worth my time."

The moment Cassiel finished speaking, the air itself seemed to tighten, as though the mana in the atmosphere bent to his presence. His golden blade pulsed, radiating a warmth that wasn't comforting—it was suffocating. Riven could feel the divine energy humming in the air, pressing against his skin like an unspoken warning.

Hardren stood firm, unfazed by the oppressive force rolling off his opponent. He flexed his hands, muscles tensing, then exhaled slowly, eyes sharpening with determination. "Tch. Arrogant as ever," he muttered, shifting his stance. His fists clenched, crackling with raw mana, and a thick, translucent aura formed around his body—defensive reinforcement magic.

The students watching barely breathed, anticipation thick in the air.

"The top two ranked second-years are actually fighting."

"This is insane. When was the last time someone challenged Cassiel?"

"They say he doesn't even train with us anymore… Just the royal paladins."

"He's been fighting in actual war zones, hasn't he? This isn't just a normal Academy duel."

Riven stayed silent, watching. Calculating. His fists were still clenched, but the raw anger simmering beneath his skin had twisted into something else.

Understanding.

Cassiel wasn't just a strong opponent. He wasn't just Rank 1.

He was something else entirely.

He's already walking the path of the divine.

Riven's jaw tightened. Divine magic—the antithesis of everything he was, everything he embodied. It was the power that had erased the previous Shadow King's rule, that had purged the Shadow Kingdom in holy fire, that had wiped out an entire legacy of necromancers and left their bodies to rot. He had spent so long preparing for this moment, knowing that one day he would stand before its wielders again.

Now, he could finally see it for himself.

Feel it for himself.

And with that realization came the bitter truth—

He wasn't strong enough.

Not yet.

Cassiel sighed again, clearly unamused by the growing tension. He rolled his shoulders, letting his blade lower just slightly, then smirked. "If you're not going to move, Hardren, I'll make the first strike."

A golden flare erupted from his sword as he stepped forward—and then he vanished.

No, not vanished.

Moved.

Fast.

Riven's eyes barely tracked the motion before Cassiel was already in Hardren's space, divine energy crackling around his blade as it swung in a wide arc.

Hardren reacted instantly, his reinforced arm snapping up just in time to block.

A shockwave exploded outward.

The sheer force of the impact sent a powerful gust ripping through the crowd, knocking back students who stood too close. The stone beneath Hardren's feet cracked from the pressure, but he didn't falter.

For a brief moment, there was a deadlock—Cassiel's golden sword pressed against Hardren's reinforced arm, divine magic clashing against raw physical power.

Then—

Cassiel tilted his wrist.

The golden energy surrounding his blade expanded in an instant, bursting outward like an eruption of holy fire.

Hardren's eyes widened.

The force sent him flying back, crashing against the stone platform with enough power to make the entire dueling ground tremble.

Gasps echoed through the crowd.

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"He—he blocked the hit, but—"

"He still got sent flying!"

"Hardren's defenses are insane. What the hell kind of attack was that?"

Riven's fists clenched harder. That attack—it was more than just a simple reinforcement of mana. Cassiel had let the blade clash, let the pressure build up before detonating divine energy outward like a controlled explosion.

Calculated. Efficient.

Dangerous.

Cassiel didn't wait. He took a slow step forward, the movement almost casual, his blade still crackling with divine light. "If this is all you've got," he mused, "this is going to be a waste of time."

Hardren wiped blood from his mouth, already pushing himself back up. His aura pulsed, flaring brighter, stronger. "You're the one who's all talk," he spat, rolling his shoulders. "Let's see if that holy glow of yours can handle a real fight."

The tension in the arena skyrocketed.

Students whispered, some backing away as the weight of mana between the two fighters grew heavier.

Riven, however, didn't move. He just stared at Cassiel.

Watched him.

Felt the heat of that divine power saturating the air.

He understood now.

If he wanted to climb higher—if he wanted to burn through the Academy, through the noble houses, through the very kingdom that destroyed his home—

He would have to kill men like Cassiel.

His blue eyes darkened, abyssal flames simmering just beneath his skin.

The battle resumed with an explosion of force.

Hardren launched himself forward, his reinforced mana roaring around him like a protective barrier. His speed was deceptively fast for someone of his massive build—his sheer weight and strength turning him into a human battering ram.

Cassiel, unfazed, simply tilted his sword.

A single movement—clean, effortless.

A vertical golden arc cut through the air, slicing downward with frightening precision. Hardren dodged, barely managing to shift his body to the side as the divine blade cleaved into the dueling platform, splitting the stone beneath it. A bright flash of divine energy flared on impact, sending golden sparks scattering like embers in the wind.

Riven's eyes narrowed. That wasn't just swordsmanship.

Cassiel wasn't swinging his blade randomly—every movement was purposeful, measured, as if he was playing a game he'd already won.

Hardren didn't falter. He adjusted immediately, pivoting on his foot and delivering a powerful punch toward Cassiel's exposed side. His reinforced arm shimmered, layers of mana hardening like a barrier around his knuckles.

Cassiel sighed.

He raised his free hand, palm open.

A radiant golden shield formed just as Hardren's fist struck.

The impact sent out another shockwave—but Cassiel remained rooted in place, completely unfazed. The divine shield barely cracked. The crowd gasped.

Hardren gritted his teeth. "Tch."

Cassiel's golden eyes gleamed. "Not bad."

Then he pushed.

The divine shield expanded outward in a sudden burst of energy, sending Hardren skidding back against the cracked stone.

Before Hardren could recover, Cassiel moved.

Faster than before.

This time, Riven barely followed the motion.

One second Cassiel was standing on the shattered remains of the dueling stage.

The next—

His golden blade was at Hardren's throat.

Silence.

The entire crowd held their breath.

Cassiel smirked. "Yield."

Hardren's jaw clenched, his muscles still tensed to fight—but he knew. They all did.

It was over.

Hardren exhaled sharply, his reinforced aura dimming.

"I yield."

The elder overseeing the duel quickly stepped forward, confirming the match. "Winner—Cassiel Vaigne."

The crowd erupted—some in cheers, some in murmurs of disbelief. The top two second-years had fought, but it hadn't been a clash of near equals.

It had been a demonstration.

A warning.

Riven watched Cassiel lower his blade, watched the golden energy recede from its edge as if it had never existed. He exhaled slowly through his nose, the embers beneath his skin simmering dangerously.

So this is divine magic.

It was fast. Precise. Overwhelming.

And it had to be destroyed.

Cassiel turned away from Hardren, dusting off his sleeves as if the duel had been little more than an exercise. Then his gaze lifted.

And met Riven's.

Riven didn't look away. Didn't flinch.

Cassiel's honeyed eyes studied him, lingering—assessing.

Then he smirked.

A slow, knowing smirk.

And walked away.

Riven's jaw clenched, his abyssal flames surging beneath his skin, licking at his bones. His breath came steady, his body still, but his mind roared.

Nyx stood beside him, her gaze locked onto Cassiel, eyes gleaming with something sharp—something murderous. She tilted her head slightly, voice low and edged with malice. "That," she murmured, "felt personal." Her fingers twitched at her sides, as if itching to drive a blade into his throat.

Riven didn't comment.

Didn't need to.

Because for the first time since arriving at the Academy—since fighting his way through the rankings, since carving his name into the minds of every student here—

He had found his real target.

The air in the arena was still electric, the aftershocks of Cassiel's effortless victory rippling through the watching students like a wave. Whispers broke out in hushed murmurs, some filled with awe, others with nervous excitement.

Riven remained silent, his mind already calculating. Cassiel Vaigne. Rank 1. A Solis Paladin in training. And beyond that… an obstacle.

Not yet.

But soon.

His fingers uncurled from his fists, and he released a slow breath, willing his abyssal flames to settle beneath his skin. This was no different from the rest of his plan. He would climb the Academy's rankings, rise higher, gain strength, and when the time was right—when he was strong enough—he would drag Cassiel from his golden throne and set it ablaze.

The students continued murmuring around him.

"He made it look easy. Hardren didn't even push him."

"That's what happens when you train with the Paladins. He's already fighting on a completely different level."

"It's unfair—he shouldn't even be in the rankings if he's trained outside the Academy!"

"Then why doesn't anyone take his spot?" Someone scoffed. "Oh, right. Because no one can."

Riven's eyes remained locked on Cassiel's retreating figure. A different level? No. That was an excuse. Cassiel wasn't untouchable. Not yet. He was simply ahead.

And Riven would close that gap.

Cassiel hadn't looked at him by accident. That final glance, that smirk—it wasn't a challenge, nor was it amusement.

It was acknowledgment.

Riven exhaled slowly. He knows.

Maybe not the full truth, not yet. But something in Cassiel's gut had already recognized Riven as a factor. A presence. A threat.

He would let that thought fester.

"Come on," Nyx muttered, stepping away from the dueling stage, her arms crossed as she scowled at Cassiel's fading figure. "We're wasting time watching these divine bastards flaunt their arrogance."

Riven didn't respond immediately, his gaze still following Cassiel's every step. His mind was already ten steps ahead, visualizing every battle, every climb up the ranks, every future challenge.

Finally, he turned.

"Not yet," he murmured, just for her to hear.

Nyx shot him a sidelong glance, her expression unreadable. "Not yet?"

He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to.

Cassiel had taken notice of him.

Now, all Riven had to do was make sure that by the time he reached him, by the time he could challenge him—

Cassiel would already be afraid.