Chapter 151: Principal Bartolmew’s Final Stand

The skies above the Verdant Dawn Academy crackled with raw magical energy as the battle between Principal Bartolmew and Ingranad, the Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenants, raged on. The night was ablaze with elemental fury and the ringing clash of steel against arcane barriers. The very air trembled under the force of their fight, sending shockwaves through the battlefield below.

Bartolmew stood firm, his long silver robes fluttering around him as he wove his magic through the air with the practiced ease of an Archmage who had long since mastered his craft. His wrinkled face, aged with wisdom rather than frailty, was alight with an unyielding determination. He had faced many foes in his lifetime—powerful warlocks, monstrous aberrations, and rebellious mage factions—but never had he encountered a creature quite like this.

Ingranad, the so-called Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenants, was a towering figure clad in armor as dark as the void, the red engravings on his plates glowing faintly with a sinister light. His wild crimson eyes gleamed with unholy excitement as he swung his massive greatsword in wide arcs, each strike carrying enough force to carve through solid stone like butter. Yet, despite his sheer might, he was fighting without his demonic magic. Only his raw physical prowess and skill with the greatsword were being used—and even that was enough to make Bartolmew struggle.

Ingranad let out a booming laugh as he blocked a barrage of flame spears with his blade, the infernal weapons shattering into sparks upon impact. He grinned, licking his fanged lips. “Not bad, old man! It has been centuries since I last felt the thrill of battle! But you—you are different from the feeble mages I crushed in the past!”

Bartolmew ignored the taunt, his hands weaving an intricate spell. The ground beneath Ingranad erupted as massive ice spikes shot upward, aiming to impale him from all angles. But the demonic prince merely let out a pleased chuckle, his massive greatsword whirling in a blur as he shattered the incoming ice with effortless swings.

“Your magic is impressive,” Ingranad admitted, stepping forward without hesitation, the shattered ice crunching beneath his boots. “You wield elemental forces with the precision of a master and the creativity of a true warrior. But—” He vanished in an instant, reappearing right in front of Bartolmew in a burst of speed. “—you are not the only one with skill!”

The greatsword came down like a meteor, splitting the air with a deafening boom!

But Bartolmew was already moving.

With a flick of his wrist, space distorted, and in a blink, he reappeared several feet away, completely unharmed.

Ingranad’s blade slammed into the earth, sending out a shockwave that tore through the academy’s ruined courtyard, toppling what remained of several buildings. The power of the impact alone was enough to rupture the ground like an earthquake.

Bartolmew wiped the sweat from his brow. “I must say,” he mused, “you’re rather enthusiastic for someone trying to kill me.”

Ingranad grinned, hoisting his greatsword onto his shoulder. “Of course! What greater joy is there than a worthy opponent? And you, old man, have earned my respect!”

Bartolmew’s eyes narrowed. “Respect, is it?” He lifted his hand, and a surge of lightning crackled through the air, forming into a spinning vortex of electricity that expanded outward. “Then allow me to honor that respect—” He clenched his fist.

The vortex exploded forward in a blinding storm of pure lightning.

BOOOOM!

The impact was tremendous. The entire area was engulfed in a dazzling flash, followed by an earth-shattering explosion. Even the students and professors battling below had to pause, shielding their eyes from the brilliance of the spell.

And yet—

As the light faded, Ingranad emerged, standing amidst the destruction, laughing. Smoke curled from his armor, small arcs of electricity still dancing across his frame. But aside from a few scorch marks, he remained largely unharmed.

“Magnificent! Absolutely magnificent!” He let out a hearty chuckle, shaking his head. “You humans—fragile creatures that you are—never cease to surprise me! You may be weaker, but your creativity in battle is something even demons can admire!”

Bartolmew’s expression remained unreadable, though inwardly, he was frowning. That lightning spell was strong enough to incapacitate a high-level Archmage… yet this thing is shrugging it off like it was a mere spark.

Ingranad gripped his greatsword with both hands, taking a more serious stance. “However,” he said, “as fun as this is, I am growing tired of simply defending. Show me more, human! Push me further!”

Bartolmew inhaled deeply. He was beginning to understand the nature of this fight. Despite the vast difference in raw power, he had been able to keep up with Ingranad because of his diverse skillset. Elemental magic, spatial magic, even his knowledge of magic-infused martial arts—it was the only reason he hadn’t been crushed already.

And yet…

Ingranad was adapting.

Even without his full demonic magic, his body was getting used to Bartolmew’s spells. His armor, his muscles, even his reflexes were becoming more resistant to the attacks. If this continued, it wouldn’t be long before his spells barely left a scratch.

Bartolmew had fought countless powerful beings before. But this… thing… This so-called Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenants… He had never heard of creatures like him before. Are there more like him? If so, then this battle was only the beginning of something far, far worse.

But there was no time for speculation.

With a sharp breath, he extended his hands, gathering energy. The ground trembled as the surrounding elemental forces bent to his will.

“I hope your excitement has not dulled your senses,” Bartolmew said coolly, his voice carrying the weight of an archmage at the peak of his craft. “Because I’m not finished yet.”

Ingranad grinned wildly. “That’s what I like to hear!”

The battle resumed.

With a flick of his fingers, Bartolmew summoned dozens of fiery orbs, each one pulsating with unstable magical energy.

Ingranad’s eyes flickered. “Ah… interesting.”

With a mere gesture, Bartolmew sent the orbs flying forward in an unpredictable barrage, twisting through the air like guided missiles. But just as they closed in—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The greatsword swung, shattering the orbs before they could reach him. Explosions rocked the battlefield, flames surging in every direction.

But Bartolmew was already moving.

As the fire burst around Ingranad, he shifted space once again—appearing right above him. His hands clenched together, and with a thunderous cry, he slammed them downward.

“CRASHING METEOR STRIKE!”

A gargantuan boulder materialized in mid-air and plummeted toward Ingranad with terrifying speed.

The demon prince’s eyes widened in brief surprise—before his grin widened further.

“Now this… THIS is battle!”

With a roar of excitement, he lunged upward, swinging his greatsword with all his might—

And the entire sky shattered with the impact.

Meanwhile, Principal Bartolmew’s sharp eyes flickered as he sensed the tide of battle shifting—not just in his own fight against Ingranad, but across the entire academy grounds. His connection to the magical barriers of Verdant Dawn allowed him to feel the auras of his professors and students as they struggled against the invading demons. And right now… the situation was getting worse.

The captains of the Nightmare Legion—those powerful commanders who had been fighting the professors—had finally begun to use demonic magic. Up until now, they had been relying on their overwhelming physical prowess, but the moment they unleashed their true power, Bartolmew could feel his professors faltering. One by one, their magical presences flickered with strain, their once-confident spellcasting turning into desperate defensive maneuvers.

’Damn it… they won’t last much longer.’

He had to make a choice. If the professors fell, the students would be helpless. They would be slaughtered like insects.

Bartolmew’s gaze snapped back to Ingranad, who was grinning like a beast enjoying his prey’s struggle. There was no time to waste. He reached into the folds of his robes, fingers closing around the smooth, cold surface of an artifact—one of the most precious treasures he possessed.

The Eternal Shackles of Omiron.

A one-time use artifact that could completely seal the movements of even an Archmage or a Martial Saint for an entire day. A relic so valuable that nations had waged wars over similar ones.

And he was about to waste it on a demon who would break free in minutes.

’But it’s the only way.’

With a steely resolve, he activated the artifact. A surge of pure spatial magic erupted from his hands, twisting the very fabric of reality around Ingranad.

The demon prince barely had time to react before his entire body froze in place. His wild grin stiffened, his muscles locked mid-motion, his blade hanging inches above the ground where he had been preparing to strike.

For the first time in the battle, Ingranad’s eyes widened in mild surprise.

“Well, well… this is unexpected,” he mused, though his voice had lost none of its amusement.

Bartolmew wasted no time.

In the next instant, he vanished—warping across the academy grounds, reappearing beside Professor Maelis, who was barely holding up against a monstrous demon captain wielding twin axes wreathed in black flames.

Bartolmew didn’t hesitate.

With a single hand movement, the air cracked as a jagged bolt of pure arcane energy lanced forward, piercing straight through the demon’s skull.

The beast let out a garbled roar before its head detonated, sending a black mist of corrupted blood splattering in all directions. Its massive body collapsed, lifeless.

Maelis, panting, looked at him in shock. “P-Principal?!”

“Take the students and retreat. Now.”

Before Maelis could even respond, Bartolmew had already teleported again, appearing next to Professor Lilliana Valtor, whose elegant ice magic was barely holding back a feral, four-armed demon captain.

Bartolmew’s hands clapped together—and in an instant, the temperature plummeted.

The demon captain barely had time to snarl before his entire body froze solid, a look of pure rage still locked in his expression.

With a single flick of Bartolmew’s wrist, the ice shattered, and the demon was reduced to a fine, glistening mist of frozen remains.

“Lilliana,” Bartolmew said curtly. “Retreat with the students. That’s an order.”

Though her icy demeanor rarely cracked, the urgency in his voice made her nod without argument.

Again, Bartolmew disappeared.

He moved swiftly, taking down three more demon captains in rapid succession, aiding Professors Yularen, Seraphis, and Greaves, ensuring that they and their students could flee.

And then—

Just as he was warping to his next target—

The air behind him shuddered.

A chill ran down his spine.

His instincts screamed at him.

Something was wrong.

He turned sharply—

—And saw Ingranad standing there, completely unbound.

The demon prince casually rolled his shoulders, as if shaking off stiffness after a long nap. He smirked.

“Now that,” Ingranad said, stretching his arms, “was quite an interesting artifact. I felt my very essence being locked down.”

Bartolmew narrowed his eyes. “You broke free too fast.”

“Ah,” Ingranad chuckled. “That’s the thing, old man… Your artifact stimulated the demonic magic within me.”

A dark, sinister energy coiled around his body. His once controlled aura suddenly surged—doubling, tripling in intensity. The ground cracked beneath his feet, the air itself vibrating from the sheer pressure of his power.

Bartolmew’s stomach twisted.

’He’s been holding back even more than I thought…’

“Now,” Ingranad continued, his grin widening. “This is where the real fight begins.”

And he attacked.

In the blink of an eye, he closed the distance, swinging his greatsword in a brutal arc.

Bartolmew barely managed to warp away—

CRASH!

The force of the swing alone split the earth apart, carving a trench through the battlefield that extended for hundreds of meters.

Bartolmew reappeared in the air, hands already weaving protective spells—

But Ingranad was already there.

The demon prince materialized right above him, his body flickering with unholy speed.

“Going somewhere?”

Bartolmew barely raised a barrier before—

BOOOM!

Ingranad’s fist drove through the barrier, sending a shockwave of raw force exploding outward. Bartolmew was hurled through the sky, his robes burning from the impact.

He spun mid-air, casting multiple layers of protective enchantments just in time to block the next attack—

Because Ingranad was not stopping.

Blow after blow, strike after strike, the demon prince relentlessly pursued him, his movements impossibly fast, his strength monstrous. Bartolmew found himself dodging, deflecting, evading—using every bit of his mastery over spatial magic just to avoid being hit.

There was no opportunity to counterattack.

Each time he tried, Ingranad’s blade was already there, ready to intercept.

It was all he could do to just survive.

And yet—

Even as he was forced back, even as his robes were torn and his mana reserves drained, Principal Bartolmew remained calm.

He was buying time.

The professors had already begun the retreat. The students were being teleported away. If he could just keep Ingranad occupied long enough, then at the very least—

They would survive.

And if nothing else… that was a victory in itself.

Bartolmew exhaled, his grip tightening.

’Just a little longer…’

~~

Principal Bartolmew could feel it.

His body was failing. His mana reserves, vast as they were, had been nearly depleted from the relentless battle. Every spell, every warp, every counterattack had drained him. His once-flawless robes were tattered, soaked with his own blood, and his limbs felt like they were weighed down by mountains.

And yet—he still stood.

Ingranad, the Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenants, had proven to be beyond anything Bartolmew had faced before. Even with all his mastery of the arcane, his mastery of spatial magic, elemental destruction, and combat arts—he could not defeat this demon through conventional means.

The demon prince loomed before him, still smirking despite the numerous scorch marks, deep cuts, and even a frozen gash across his chest. His body was regenerating—slowly, but surely.

“You’re persistent, old man,” Ingranad admitted, rolling his shoulders. “I have to say, I didn’t expect you to push me this far. Most humans are dead the moment I get serious. But you—” he lifted his greatsword, pointing it lazily at Bartolmew, “—you’re something else.”

Bartolmew exhaled slowly. His aged, wrinkled face remained unreadable.

’If I had another hundred years of youth… perhaps I could have won this battle outright. But there’s no time for regrets now.’

His students and professors were escaping. He had done what he needed to do. But if Ingranad and his army of demons weren’t stopped right now, they would chase them down.

’Then there is only one option left.’

Bartolmew straightened his posture, his old bones cracking. His breathing became steady. His mana core, exhausted beyond its limits, suddenly flared with a new source of energy.

His life force.

From the moment he had entered this world, Bartolmew had spent every year refining his magic, refining his skills, refining his will. But all things, no matter how strong, had an end.

This would be his.

A faint, almost unseen smirk appeared on the old man’s lips.

“What’s so funny?” Ingranad asked, narrowing his glowing, red eyes.

Bartolmew simply lifted his trembling hands and clapped them together.

At that moment, the world itself shuddered.

The sky above the Verdant Dawn Academy turned black, dark clouds forming in an instant, swirling in chaotic patterns, streaked with veins of blue, crimson, and gold.

Three forbidden spells—elemental magics so destructive that their mere existence could alter landscapes—began to take form around him.

The ground cracked beneath his feet, unable to withstand the raw magic flowing through his body. His veins glowed an eerie silver as his life force converted into pure magical energy. His very soul was being burned away to fuel this attack.

And yet, his smile remained.

“You asked me what was funny, demon?” Bartolmew said, his voice now layered with echoes of power.

His eyes shone, brighter than ever before.

“It’s amusing that you think you’ve already won.”

He lifted both hands—and the three spells ignited.

“The Sun’s Calamity!”

From above, an enormous sphere of pure, condensed flame formed—a miniature sun, burning with blue and white fire that could reduce anything it touched into nothingness.

“The Howl of the Void!”

From below, the very ground shattered, giving way to a swirling storm of darkness, filled with razor-sharp winds that could carve through steel as if it were paper.

“Titan’s Verdict – The Gauntlet of Heaven!”

From the sides, two colossal fists of pure energy formed—each one glowing with the combined force of lightning, earth, and spatial destruction magic.

It was impossible to dodge. Impossible to escape.

Bartolmew wasn’t just attacking Ingranad.

He was attacking everything.

The entire demon army that had invaded the academy—thousands of creatures—were caught in the cataclysm that followed.

The sun of destruction crashed down, consuming everything in fire.

The void storm howled, devouring all that tried to escape.

The titanic fists slammed together, crushing everything between them.

For a single, terrifying moment—there was only silence.

And then—

BOOOOOOOOOM!

The entire Verdant Dawn Academy was erased.

The explosion of the combined forbidden spells created a shockwave that tore through the land, obliterating every demon in sight.

The very air itself burned as waves of fire, darkness, and lightning rippled across the battlefield, annihilating thousands of demons in a single instant.

Even Ingranad, the mighty Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenants—was engulfed in the destruction.

For the first time, his confident grin vanished.

For the first time, he truly felt fear.

For the first time… he questioned if he could win.

The pain—oh, the pain—was unlike anything he had felt in centuries. His body, durable as it was, was ripped apart by the combined elemental forces. The fire burned even his demonic flesh. The abyssal winds tore through his muscles. The lightning and spatial distortions shattered his bones.

And then—

Silence.

The battlefield was gone.

A massive crater, kilometers wide, lay where the Verdant Dawn Academy once stood.

Ash fell from the sky like black snow. The air was thick with the stench of burned flesh and the lingering remnants of destructive magic.

And in the center of it all—

A lone figure stood unmoving.

Principal Bartolmew.

His body was frail, his once-magnificent robes now nothing but tattered cloth hanging from his thin frame. His beard, once long and proud, had been burned away. His skin had become pale, nearly translucent, as if he were already fading from existence.

His breathing had stopped.

Yet—

He still stood.

His hands were still raised, as if waiting for another spell to cast.

But there was no more mana.

No more life force.

Nothing.

He was already dead.

And yet, he remained standing, his unwavering posture the final declaration of a man who refused to kneel, even in death.

Ingranad, his body half-destroyed, stumbled forward, coughing up dark blood. His usual grin was gone. His mocking amusement was gone.

He looked at Bartolmew’s corpse—at the old human who had fought him harder than any other being in centuries—and for a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, finally, he exhaled.

“…What a terrifying old man.”

He wiped the blood from his lips and let out a low chuckle—but this time, it was not mocking.

It was respectful.

“You were strong, Old Man” He gave a slight nod. “Stronger than any human I’ve fought in the last hundred years.”

His fingers clenched. His body screamed in agony, his demonic regeneration struggling against the damage he had sustained.

But he had survived.

The war was far from over.

And for the first time in centuries, he felt truly alive.

“This kingdom… this world…” Ingranad murmured, staring at the empty sky above. “Has warriors worth fighting after all.”

And with that, the Third Prince of the Obsidian Revenants turned, walking away from the ruins of Verdant Dawn Academy, his smile never once fading.