SPELLCRAFT: Reincarnation Of A Magic Scholar

~VWUUUUSH!~

The shimmering portal of violet energy collapsed behind them as Neron, Serah, and Legris landed on the craggy surface of a desolate mountaintop.

The air was cold and thin, the wind carrying a faint metallic tang of decay and disuse.

Before them stood the remnants of what was once the legendary hideout of the Great Sage Lewis Griffith—a forgotten relic of a bygone era.

The stone structure was in shambles.

Walls that had once been indomitable now lay in jagged heaps, and the mighty tower at its center leaned precariously, a skeleton of its former grandeur. Charred marks streaked across the rubble, and the faint glow of residual energy pulsed weakly, a remnant of whatever violent means was used to bring the place to ruin.

Legris let out a bitter sigh, breaking the uneasy silence.

"So this is it," he said, his voice laced with frustration.

He kicked a loose rock, sending it skittering down the slope.

"The Great Sage's hideout… or what's left of it. Whoever did this made sure nothing useful was left behind."

Serah stepped forward, crouching beside a pile of shattered stone inscribed with faint runes. Her fingers brushed against the weathered markings.

"It looks like this place has been destroyed for quite some time," she murmured. "Whatever secrets it held are probably lost forever."

Neron, however, remained silent, his gaze fixed on the ruins.

His mind raced, dissecting the scene with a detached intensity. The destruction was deliberate, that much was clear, but there was something else—an anomaly in the very fabric of the area.

He could feel it, subtle but persistent, like the vibrations of a taut string.

"Not necessarily," he finally said, stepping forward. His tone carried a quiet confidence that drew his companions' attention. "There might still be a way to uncover what happened here."

Legris turned to him, a skeptical eyebrow raised. "And how exactly do you plan to do that? This place is a graveyard."

Neron didn't respond immediately.

Instead, he reached into his coat and withdrew [The Hermit], the Arcana card glowing faintly in his grasp. Its power radiated through him, and he felt its familiar call: the ability to delve into the past, present and future—to unravel the threads of time and restore what was once lost.

"I'll reverse the time of this place," Neron explained, his voice calm but resolute. "If I can rewind the flow of time here, we can see this hideout as it once was—before it was destroyed. Maybe then we'll find what we need."

Legris folded his arms, watching as Neron closed his eyes and began to channel the Arcana's power.

"You better hope this works," he muttered. "We don't have time for dead ends."

Serah shot him a reproachful look but said nothing, her attention fixed on Neron.

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The glow of [The Hermit] intensified, bathing the ruins in a pale light that shimmered like water. Neron concentrated, extending the Arcana's influence outward, seeking to rewind the events imprinted on the very stones.

He could feel the echoes of the past, faint but present—a tapestry of moments waiting to be unfurled.

But then, something pushed back.

The light faltered, flickering as though caught in a strong wind.

A wave of energy, alien and chaotic, surged through the ruins, disrupting the Arcana's flow.

"Hmm?!"

Neron's brow furrowed in concentration as he pushed harder, but the interference only grew stronger, resisting his efforts like a tangled knot of threads.

"What's happening?" Serah asked, her voice tense.

Neron opened his eyes, his face pale with strain.

"There's interference," he said, his tone laced with frustration. "Something—or someone—has tangled space-time here. It's like the past has been… locked away."

Legris stepped forward, his expression grim. "Locked away? By what?"

Neron shook his head.

"I don't know. But whoever—or whatever—it is, they're strong. Strong enough to block the Arcana's power."

Before he could delve further, a deep, resonant voice cut through the air behind them, carrying a weight that sent chills down their spines.

"Well, well. Look what the wind dragged in. I had a feeling you'd come back here for whatever reason, and it seems my patient approach paid off…"

Neron's blood ran cold.

He turned slowly, his heart pounding as the voice struck a chord deep within him—one he had hoped to never hear again.

Standing a short distance away, amidst the rubble and shadows, was a figure cloaked in an aura of serene menace. His tall, imposing frame was unmistakable, his every movement exuding control and precision.

His sharp eyes, like molten gold, bore into Neron with a piercing intensity that seemed to strip him bare. He wore a blue robe, like a kimono, and his long auburn hair danced with the wind.

A blade hung at his side, simple yet radiating an aura of unmatched lethality.

It was him.

The Martial Blade God.

The man who had killed Lilith.

Neron's fists clenched at his sides, his body tensing instinctively.

His breath came short, and his mind raced, a storm of emotions threatening to overwhelm him. Anger, fear, grief—they all surged to the surface, battling for dominance.

"Martial Blade God," Neron said, his voice low and steady, though it carried a tremor of suppressed rage. "What are you doing here?"

The Martial Blade God tilted his head, a faint smirk playing on his lips.

"What am I doing here? That's an interesting question, considering you're the one trespassing on sacred ground."

Legris stepped forward, his hand on his weapon.

"Who the hell are you?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

The man didn't even glance at him.

His attention remained fixed on Neron.

"Your companion has quite the temper," he said mildly. "But I suppose introductions are in order. I am regarded as the Martial Blade God, but Neron here knows me as the man who killed his dear friend and Master, Lilith."

Legris froze, his eyes widening as the weight of the man's words sank in.

"Isn't that right… boy?"

Serah gasped softly, her hand flying to her mouth as she looked at Neron.

The boy was enraged.

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