Chapter 269 Alaric Makes His Move

The air in the Steele manor gardens, usually serene and fragrant, now crackled with a terrifying amalgamation of energies: the pure, golden light of Saintess Ceanna, the biting, arctic chill of Sect Mistress Meng Yao’s Martial King aura, the raw, untamed arcane force thrumming around Professor Maelis, and opposing them, the noxious pestilence of one Archdemon, the disorienting nightmare-fuel of another, and the cold, calculating spatial distortions emanating from the corrupted Principal Bartolmew.

“Three against three,” Bartolmew rasped, his black eyes sweeping over the human women. He recognized Maelis instantly. ‘Formidable. Her Magic Martial Arts were always a direct, brutal counter to conventional casters. And her power… it feels even more refined than before.’ He also noted Ceanna, a beacon of holy light, and Meng Yao, radiating an unfamiliar but undeniably potent Martial King aura. ‘Steele has gathered strong allies indeed.’

“Pestilus,” Bartolmew directed the bloated Archdemon of Plague, “deal with the radiant one. Her light is… irritating. Sunder, you handle the ice martialist. Her speed could be problematic.” He, the Illusionist Archdemon, would handle Maelis personally. He knew her straightforward, overwhelming power was the greatest immediate threat to their coordinated assault. “I shall personally instruct Professor Maelis on the futility of resisting the inevitable.”

The Archdemon of Pestilence, Pestilus, let out a gurgling chortle and lumbered towards Ceanna, noxious green fumes already coalescing around its decaying form. “Pretty little light! Soon to be extinguished by glorious rot!”

The Illusionist Archdemon, Sunder, its form shimmering and indistinct, flowed towards Meng Yao like living shadow. “Ice and wind? Such fragile elements against the artistry of true despair, my dear.”

Bartolmew himself advanced on Maelis, his corrupted spatial magic already subtly warping the air around her, creating minute gravitational distortions, trying to throw off her balance. “Professor Maelis. A pity we meet again under such… altered circumstances. I always admired your dedication to the martial application of arcane theory. A true innovator.” His voice, though chilling, held a strange, almost nostalgic respect.

Maelis met his gaze, her own expression a mixture of sorrow and grim determination. “Principal Bartolmew… what they have done to you… it is a travesty.” Her voice was heavy. “But the man I respected is gone. Only a monster remains. And I will grant that monster the peace it no longer desires.” She crouched slightly, her Archmage power gathering, her body becoming a coiled spring of arcane energy.

Alaric, observing from the watchtower through his myriad surveillance artifacts and his own keen senses, nodded slowly. ‘Maelis understands. No sentimentality. Just a target to be neutralized. Good.’ He had immense respect for Bartolmew’s intellect and former integrity, but the corrupted Principal was now a critical threat.

The battle erupted with blinding speed.

Ceanna, facing Pestilus, didn’t flinch from the wave of plague-fumes. Her [Emperor’s Presence!] (channeled through Alaric’s System) imbued her with an unwavering divine resolve. “By the Light of my Lord Alaric, be cleansed!” She unleashed a [Radiant Sunburst], a concentrated sphere of pure, searing golden energy. It wasn’t just holy light; it was imbued with Alaric’s unique System energy, making it anathema to demonic corruption. The sunburst slammed into the plague-fumes, incinerating them, and struck Pestilus squarely in its bloated chest. The Archdemon roared in pain and surprise, its decaying flesh sizzling, its advance momentarily halted. Ceanna’s clerics, positioned safely behind her, began chanting, their combined energy feeding into her, amplifying her power further. She had temporarily advanced herself to the Archmage rank, a desperate measure but a necessary one.

Meng Yao, confronted by Sunder’s shifting, illusionary form, didn’t rely on sight. She closed her eyes, her senses extending outwards, feeling the subtle disturbances in the air currents, the faint traces of Sunder’s chaotic energy. Her Martial King aura, the Azure Sovereign Gale, exploded around her. “Illusions are for the weak!” she declared, her ice-aspected longsword appearing in her hand, shimmering with chilling power. She didn’t attack Sunder directly, but the very ground around it. “Ice Lotus Prison!” Thousands of razor-sharp ice lotuses erupted from the earth, forming a dense, rapidly expanding cage around the Illusionist, their petals like spinning blades. Sunder shrieked as its illusionary forms were shredded, forced to solidify partially to avoid being torn apart.

Bartolmew and Maelis engaged in a brutal, high-speed ballet of power. Bartolmew’s spatial magic was terrifying. He teleported short distances, his attacks coming from unexpected angles – a [Spatial Rend] that tore at Maelis’s defensive aura, a [Gravity Crush] that tried to pin her to the ground. But Maelis was his equal in speed and reaction. Her Magic Martial Arts flowed, each block, each parry, each strike imbued with Archmage power. A [Dragon Scale Shield] materialized on her arm to deflect a rend. A [Phoenix Feather Step] allowed her to glide effortlessly away from a gravity well.

“You always were too reliant on direct force, Maelis!” Bartolmew rasped, teleporting behind her, a blade of solidified void energy forming in his hand.

“And you always thought too much, Bartholomew!” Maelis retorted, spinning, her leg lashing out in a [Tiger Tail Sweep] that forced him to shift space again. “Sometimes, a punch to the face is the most elegant solution!”

Their battle was a breathtaking display of Arch-level combat, skill against skill, power against power. Maelis felt a deep sorrow fighting her former Principal, the man who had guided her, mentored her. But she knew she had to end this. For his sake. For the kingdom’s.

Alaric watched these three duels unfold, his primary attention on Bartolmew. ‘He’s trying to draw Maelis away from the others, isolate her. Classic Bartolmew. But Maelis is holding her own, even surprising him with her raw power output.’

He then shifted his focus to the wider Labyrinth. The other five Archdemons were still struggling, separated and disoriented. Martial King Patrick, the demonic brute, was currently trapped in an illusionary swamp, swatting at phantom giant insects, his roars of frustration echoing. Archmage Gideon, the magma-lightning horror, was repeatedly incinerating illusionary Steele guard patrols that dissolved into smoke, his fury mounting. The Archdemon of Frost was trying to freeze an entire section of the Labyrinth that kept reforming around it. The Archdemon of Rage was smashing its way through an endless series of shifting mirrored corridors, growing increasingly, well, rageful. And the demonic Archmage Rahel, mistress of dark wards, was meticulously trying to deconstruct a small section of Alaric’s illusionary barrier, her progress painstakingly slow.

‘They are contained, for now,’ Alaric noted. ‘But Bartolmew… he’s too smart. He’ll realize the Labyrinth is designed to separate them. He’ll try to regroup his Archdemons.’

As if on cue, Bartolmew, while engaged in a furious exchange with Maelis, suddenly disengaged with a rapid series of spatial blinks, putting distance between them. His black eyes swept across the illusionary landscape, his corrupted mind piecing together the true nature of Alaric’s trap.

“Fools!” Bartolmew’s voice, amplified by magic, suddenly echoed across the entire Labyrinth, cutting through the demonic roars and illusionary chaos. “This entire battlefield is a deception! A cage designed to scatter our forces! Commanders! Disregard the illusions! Focus on my spatial signature! Converge on my position! We strike at their heart together!”

A cold smile touched Alaric’s lips. ‘Predictable. He figured it out. But a little too late, Bartholomew. And I planned for this.’

The moment Bartolmew’s command went out, Alaric acted. He didn’t intervene personally, not yet. He simply focused his will on the Labyrinth’s control matrix, an artifact embedded deep within the manor, linked to his mind.

With a silent command, specific sections of the Labyrinth shifted, reconfigured. Illusionary walls became solid, infused with temporary arcane force. Pathways that led towards Bartolmew suddenly twisted, leading instead into pre-prepared kill zones. Pockets of intense magical interference erupted, scrambling demonic senses, disrupting their attempts to lock onto Bartolmew’s spatial signature.

The Archdemons, who had begun to respond to Bartolmew’s call, found themselves utterly stymied. Patrick, charging through what he thought was an open field towards Bartolmew, slammed headfirst into a newly solidified wall of obsidian illusion, roaring in frustration. Gideon, attempting to fly towards the signal, found himself caught in a sudden, violent downdraft of illusionary wind, spiraling back into a maze of burning mirrors. Rahel’s meticulous deconstruction of one barrier section was instantly repaired and reinforced by another, more complex illusionary weave.

“What is this trickery?!” Patrick bellowed, smashing his fists against the unyielding obsidian wall.

“The illusions… they are adapting! Responding to our movements!” Gideon snarled, incinerating another phantom patrol that lunged at him from the mirrors.

Bartolmew, witnessing his attempt to regroup his Archdemons fail so spectacularly, felt a flicker of genuine surprise, then a grudging respect. ‘This Steele… his control over this grand illusion is… absolute. He anticipated my move. He is playing us like puppets on a string.’

The lesser demons, already confused and demoralized by the Labyrinth and the relentless hit-and-run attacks from Lyra, Cassandra, and Fiora’s strike teams, fell into even greater disarray. Their commanders were trapped, their formations shattered, their senses overwhelmed. They became easy prey.

Lyra’s team emerged from an illusionary grove of whispering trees, her Solar Empress aura blazing. “Sunfire Salvo!” she commanded, and her guards unleashed a coordinated volley of fiery sword beams, incinerating a panicked company of demonic infantry blindly trying to follow Patrick’s roars.

Cassandra’s team dropped from an illusionary cliff face, azure wind blades tearing through a coven of Shadowflame Sorcerers who had been trying to support Gideon. “Gale Force Execution!” Cassandra’s voice was cold as her strike.

Fiora, her Imperial Dragon Heart beating like a war drum, led a devastating charge through a section of the Labyrinth that resembled a crumbling temple, her team shattering a legion of heavily armored demonic brutes that had been attempting to guard the Frost Archdemon. “Dragon’s Might Crush!”

The slaughter of the lesser legions intensified. Their numbers, once a terrifying advantage, were now a liability, their confusion and panic creating a chaotic, self-destructive maelstrom within the Labyrinth.

Bartolmew knew he had to act decisively. He couldn’t rely on his Archdemon brethren to break free quickly. He had to deal with Maelis, then find a way to disrupt the Labyrinth’s core, or reach Steele himself.

He turned back to Maelis, his expression grim. “It seems, Professor, your former student is more resourceful than either of us anticipated. No matter. Your end remains the same.” He unleashed a barrage of [Spatial Shards], razor-sharp fragments of distorted space, each one capable of tearing through conventional defenses.

Maelis met his assault with renewed ferocity. “Arcane Bastion!” A shimmering shield of pure arcane force erupted around her, deflecting the shards. She then launched herself forward, her body a blur. “Phoenix Fury Strike!” Her fist, wreathed in crackling energy, slammed into Bartolmew’s chest.

Their duel resumed, a desperate, brutal clash of power.

Meanwhile, Ceanna, with Pestilus, found herself in a grueling battle of attrition. Pestilus’s plague magic was insidious, its noxious fumes constantly trying to bypass her radiant defenses, its touch capable of inflicting festering wounds. Ceanna countered with waves of purifying light, her holy energy, amplified by Alaric’s System, burning away the corruption, healing her minor injuries instantly. But Pestilus was relentless, its bloated body surprisingly resilient.

“Your light is an affront to Nurgle’s glorious gifts!” Pestilus gurgled, unleashing a torrent of diseased bile.

“Your filth will not defile this sacred ground!” Ceanna retorted, erecting a [Wall of Holy Radiance] that incinerated the bile mid-air.

Meng Yao’s fight against Sunder, the Illusionist Archdemon, was a battle of wills as much as power. Sunder constantly shifted forms, weaving terrifying nightmares, trying to break Meng Yao’s concentration. But Meng Yao’s icy discipline, honed by centuries of meditation, held firm. She fought with her eyes closed, relying on her heightened senses, her Azure Sovereign Gale creating a protective vortex of razor-sharp wind that shredded any illusion that came too close. Her ice-aspected sword, ‘Frostfang’, lashed out with blinding speed, seeking the true essence of the shifting Archdemon.

“Your despair is… unconvincing,” Meng Yao stated calmly, her Frostfang nicking Sunder’s ethereal arm, drawing a hiss of pain and surprise.

The battles raged across the Steele manor gardens, three desperate duels against Archdemons, while the Labyrinth outside continued its work of bleeding the lesser demonic legions.

Alaric watched it all, his mind a nexus of information and command. He saw Maelis beginning to tire against Bartolmew’s relentless spatial attacks. He saw Ceanna holding firm against Pestilus, but the constant need to purify its plague magic was draining her reserves. He saw Meng Yao skillfully countering Sunder’s illusions, but the Archdemon’s ability to phase and reform was proving frustratingly difficult to pin down.

‘Time to intervene. Selectively.’

His first target was Sunder. The Illusionist was the weakest of the three Archdemons currently engaged, its power more in deception than raw force. And Meng Yao was the newest Martial King, her stamina perhaps not yet fully attuned to prolonged Arch-level combat.

Alaric focused, his ruby eyes gleaming. He didn’t teleport. He didn’t fly. He simply… reached out… with his will. The Labyrinth outside shifted subtly. A section of illusionary wall near Meng Yao and Sunder dissolved, revealing a pre-placed ‘Infernal Nullification’ charm array, one of his potent anti-demonic artifacts.

Simultaneously, he spoke, his voice echoing directly in Meng Yao’s mind, a privilege reserved for his most trusted. ‘Meng Yao. Now. Force it towards the western ice sculpture. Your ‘Frozen Soul Imprisonment’ technique.’

Meng Yao reacted instantly, her trust in Alaric absolute. She feigned a misstep, allowing Sunder to press an attack, then, with a burst of Azure Gale speed, she maneuvered the Illusionist Archdemon directly into the path of the now-activating Infernal Nullification array.

Sunder shrieked as the array pulsed, its illusionary powers flickering violently, its connection to its dark energy source momentarily severed. In that instant of vulnerability, Meng Yao struck.

“Frozen Soul Imprisonment!” she roared, her Frostfang plunging deep into the ground. A cage of black ice, etched with soul-binding runes – her Sect’s most powerful sealing technique – erupted around the stunned Archdemon, trapping it, suppressing its powers, freezing its very essence.

Sunder thrashed, its form flickering between horrifying nightmares and its true, shadowy self, but the black ice held, draining its strength, its will.

‘One Archdemon neutralized,’ Alaric noted with satisfaction. ‘Meng Yao performed flawlessly.’

His attention then shifted to Ceanna and Pestilus. The Archdemon of Plague was proving resilient, its noxious aura constantly regenerating, its attacks relentless. Ceanna was holding, but she couldn’t maintain this level of purification indefinitely.

‘Pestilus… its strength lies in corruption, decay. Pure, overwhelming destructive force should be… effective.’

Alaric didn’t need to move. He focused his will, drawing upon the immense power of the Seventh Order core fueling his entire defensive network. He identified Pestilus’s energy signature. Then, with a silent command, a section of the ‘Arctic Warden’ barrier, far above the manor, pulsed.

A beam of pure, concentrated azure energy, similar to the one he had used against the Necromancer Lord but amplified by the full power of the Seventh Order core and the barrier array, lanced down from the sky with terrifying speed and precision.

Pestilus, in the midst of unleashing another wave of plague-fumes, looked up, its bloated features contorting in sudden, absolute terror. It had no time to react.

The azure beam struck it squarely. There was no explosion. Just… annihilation. The Archdemon of Pestilence, its noxious fumes, its very essence, were utterly vaporized, leaving only a faint, lingering stench of ozone and a patch of scorched, purified earth.

Ceanna stared, her golden eyes wide with awe. She had felt the surge of power, recognized Alaric’s signature within it. He had intervened. Decisively. Effortlessly. ‘My Lord Alaric… his power is truly… divine.’

‘Two Archdemons dealt with,’ Alaric thought. ‘Now, for the main event. Bartolmew.’

He looked towards the duel between Maelis and his former Principal. Maelis was fighting valiantly, her Magic Martial Arts a dazzling display of power and skill. But Bartolmew was relentless, his corrupted spatial magic insidious, his attacks unpredictable. Maelis was tiring, taking minor hits, her defensive aura flickering.

‘She needs help. And I owe Bartolmew… a personal farewell.’

This time, Alaric moved. With a surge of his Azure Spirit Lion essence, he blurred from the watchtower, reappearing instantly beside Maelis, his presence radiating an aura of absolute power.

Maelis stumbled back, surprised by his sudden arrival. “Alaric! I had him!” she protested, though relief flickered in her eyes.

Bartolmew paused, his black eyes narrowing as he faced Alaric. “So, the prodigy finally deigns to join the fray himself. I was beginning to think you’d let your women do all your fighting, Steele.”

Alaric ignored the taunt. He met Bartolmew’s gaze, a flicker of something akin to respect, or perhaps sorrow, in his ruby eyes. “Principal Bartolmew. It is… regrettable… that it has come to this.”

“Regrettable?” Bartolmew sneered. “I feel… invigorated, boy. Freed from the shackles of mortality. Embraced by true power.” He gestured, and spatial rifts began to tear the air around Alaric.

Alaric didn’t try to dodge. He simply raised a hand. The Azure Spirit Lion avatar materialized fully behind him, its ethereal form blazing with azure light, its roar a silent shockwave of spiritual energy that momentarily disrupted Bartolmew’s spatial magic.

“You were a man of intellect, Principal,” Alaric said, his voice surprisingly soft, yet carrying an immense weight. “A seeker of knowledge. This… corruption… it is a betrayal of everything you once stood for.”

“Knowledge?” Bartolmew laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “The demons have shown me true knowledge, boy! The secrets of the void! The power of oblivion! Your pathetic human understanding is but a child’s scrawling in the face of eternity!” He unleashed a barrage of [Void Lances], spears of pure, annihilating emptiness.

Alaric didn’t counter with elemental magic. He met the Void Lances with his own focused spiritual energy. “Azure Soul Parry!” The lances dissipated harmlessly against the Lion’s radiant aura.

Maelis watched, her breath catching in her throat. The power Alaric now wielded… it was beyond anything she had imagined. The Azure Spirit Lion… it felt ancient, primal, divine in its own terrifying way.

“I respected you once, Principal,” Alaric said, his voice filled with a genuine, cold sorrow. “As a teacher. As a scholar. As a man who stood for reason. That man is dead. And this… mockery… must be laid to rest.”

He took a deep breath, gathering his power, his Azure Spirit Lion essence blazing to its absolute peak. He wasn’t just channeling mana; he was channeling his very soul, his will, his respect for the man Bartolmew had been, and his determination to end the monster he had become.

He didn’t use a complex spell. He used a technique born of pure, focused intent, a technique from the deepest, most secret archives of the Steele Family, amplified by his unique essence – a technique designed not just to destroy, but to… purify. To grant peace.

“Principal Bartolmew,” Alaric said, his voice resonating with an otherworldly power, his ruby eyes glowing with an almost sorrowful light. “May your soul find the true peace you were denied in this corrupted form. Azure Spirit Lion’s Requiem!”

He thrust his hand forward. Not a beam of energy, not a physical strike, but a wave of pure, incandescent azure light, imbued with the very essence of the Azure Spirit Lion. It was a light of profound sorrow, of cleansing fire, of absolute, final judgment.

Bartolmew stared, his black eyes widening, not in fear, but in sudden, shocking clarity. For a fleeting instant, the demonic corruption seemed to recede, and the face of the wise, kind Principal Bartolmew flickered into existence, his eyes filled with a deep, weary sadness, and a flicker of… gratitude?

Then the Azure Requiem washed over him.

There was no explosion. No scream. Just a silent, incandescent implosion. Bartolmew’s demonic form dissolved, not into ash, but into motes of pure, white light, which then faded into nothingness, leaving behind only a faint scent of ozone and a profound, echoing silence.

The corrupted Archmage Principal Bartolmew was gone. Laid to rest.

Maelis stared, tears streaming down her face, though she didn’t know why. She felt a sense of profound loss, yet also… peace. Alaric had not just killed him; he had… freed him.

Alaric lowered his hand, the Azure Spirit Lion avatar slowly fading behind him. He looked at the spot where Bartolmew had stood, his expression unreadable.

Three Archdemons dealt with. Five remained, still trapped and raging within the Labyrinth. The battle for Steele Manor was far from over. But a significant blow had been struck. And Alaric Steele had once again demonstrated that his power, and his ruthlessness, knew no bounds. The fate of his fortress, and perhaps much more, still hung precariously in the balance.