A Returner’s Magic Should Be Special - Chapter 21

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Episode 21. The Final Confrontation (1)

Part 5. The Final Confrontation

-Final Quest unlocked.
Stop the Clock Tower.

-The top of the Clock Tower houses the power source that drives the mechanism. Destroy the power source, and the Clock Tower will cease to function.

The Blue Moon Party stepped through the creaking doors of the Clock Tower and into its interior.
They were not greeted by the grinding noise of turning gears, nor by traps designed to stop intruders.
Survivors stood in opposition to one another. Six survivors still among the living occupied that space.
The moment Azest entered the Clock Tower, the heated conversation that had been passing between them faltered and died away, one voice after another.
At last, silence filled the interior of the Clock Tower, and every eye turned toward her.
“…….”
Azest surveyed them all.
“Two have been eliminated.”
Sixteen people currently remained alive. Thirteen of them stood in this place.
Yet none of them appeared to be a Wind attribute Sword Mage. At that moment, Azest became certain that the party that had launched the sniper attack was Dezir Armang’s party.
Meanwhile, a strange current of air flowed through the interior of the Clock Tower.
Until the Blue Moon Party’s arrival, the remaining parties had been warily containing one another, right up to the brink of combat.
With roughly equal strength, it would not have been surprising if fighting broke out at any moment.
But the arrival of the Blue Moon Party changed the board.
The single party holding the greatest number of survivors.
The survivors were no fools—they understood that if they fought amongst themselves here, it would be futile, neither victorious nor profitable.
Gazes exchanged among the survivors.
Without anyone having to say a word, they moved to block the Blue Moon Party.
“Everyone, form ranks.”
Following Azest’s calm command, three tanks stepped forward. Behind them, two Swordsmen drew their blades and prepared to charge, while a single Mage in the rear began calculating spells.
The unified formation and strategically arranged frontline filled those who faced them with an overwhelming sense of pressure.
Yet the survivors had formed their own ranks as well.
Two shield-bearers stepped forward, followed by one Swordsman, two archers with nocked bowstrings, and one Mage.
They too were survivors who had endured to the very end.
The air inside the Clock Tower grew taut with tension.
In the atmosphere of an imminent explosion, Azest drew her sword. Cyan light blazed from the blade.
“So it was the Blue Moon Party that launched the sniper attack.”
A figure stepped forward from among the survivors, moving toward the Blue Moon Party.
Ranking 2nd among first-years, Gabriel Iznete.
A three-Circle Fire attribute Sword Mage of the Red Dragon Party.
Upon hearing his words, Azest raised an eyebrow and spoke.
“……Were you also targeted by a sniper attack?”
“Don’t play dumb. There’s no party other than the Blue Moon Party capable of executing such a high-level sniper attack.”
Azest’s eyes narrowed.
It was not because of Gabriel’s misunderstanding that they had launched the attack.
‘Dezir Armang attempted sniper attacks against other parties as well, not just ours.’
He must have discovered the Clock Tower first. Yet instead of progressing with the quest, he summoned all the parties? Did he truly believe he could strike down everyone with sniper attacks alone, abandoning the advantage of being the first to progress with the quest for such a reckless strategy?
No—that made no sense.
“…….”
Azest closed her eyes for a moment, then opened them.
“Clearing the quest was never the goal.”
Gabriel’s brow furrowed.
“What are you talking about?”
Without answering, Azest stepped closer to him by one pace. But her gaze was fixed on what lay behind him.
Whoooosh!
In the next instant, Azest’s sword was positioned on the opposite side.
Dust erupts in all directions.
A draw executed without warning. Gabriel turned his head downward to gaze at his own chest before scattering into particles of light.

-One participant has been eliminated. Remaining members are…….

“No! The party leader is dead!”
“All units, charge!”
A cry arrived too late, rippling through the air.
Azest watched those rushing toward her and swept her blade clean.
‘Five of them, and…… an uninvited guest.’
Azest looked upward.
There was nothing visible, but the absence of sight did not mean the absence of presence. Azest pointed toward the staircase above and issued orders to her party.
“All party members are to intercept the sniper attacks from Dezir’s party.”
All party members?
Then what of those rushing toward them?
At this absurd command, Percival, the vice-leader, spoke up.
“Then you, captain, will…….”
Azest held her weapon firmly, regarding the Survivors bearing down on her.
She spoke in a voice utterly devoid of emotion.
“I will subdue those five alone.”
“F-five of them by yourself?”
There was no answer to the question, uttered as if in disbelief. Azest had already thrown herself into combat.
Boom.
Followed by a heavy detonation.

* * *

Creak.
An ungreased door released a sound that grated against the nerves.
Before long, a figure emerged slowly from the center of the corridor opposite them, sliding toward them.
It was a girl clad in a distinctive coat—a hybrid of plate armor and leather.
Blood ran across her body, and at the tips of her fingers rested a blade shimmering with blue light.
Not a single drop of blood marred her hair, which only made her already alien appearance all the more striking.
Eyes sharp as a lioness’s surveyed with predatory intent. By the time Dezir noticed two party members positioned behind him, she had already closed the distance.
“A transparent strategy.”
At her contemptuous tone, Dezir’s expression hardened slightly.
“It would have worked, had you not been here.”
Azest Kingscrown.
The mightiest Sword Mage of Hebrion who had survived until the end.
She had even served as commander of the expedition forces during the time when warriors rallied under that name—a woman gifted in tactics.
For that reason, he had anticipated she would grasp the outline of his scheme to some degree.
The fatal flaw in Dezir’s strategy was not merely that it had been seen through, but something more decisive.
“I never thought you’d manage to subdue every last Survivor by yourself.”
A melee erupted. But it was one in which there was no room to intervene.
The entire Blue Moon Party held Dezir’s team in check while Azest subdued every member of the opposing party and, by the time she had placed her captives in the safe zone within the Clock Tower, Dezir’s party could do nothing at all.
They could only stand helpless, watching the overwhelming display of force.
“While you accomplished nothing, our party captured ten members alive.”
Without striking down Azest, there was no way to touch the remaining ten.
Every strategic variable had been neutralized. In the current situation, forced upon them as they sought to advance to Alpha Class, there remained only one option.
Azest declared it.
“All that’s left is all-out war.”
Fram and Romantica stood on either side of Dezir.
Percival and Doneta took their positions behind Azest.
Percival, whose gaze met Fram’s, broke into a thin smile. The smile of a slayer, sent from absolute strength to absolute weakness—a smile that seemed to promise this battle would be no different.
“My party and yours. Prove you have earned the title of Ranker by striking me down, Dezir Armang!”
The interior of the Clock Tower was damp and dark.
The only light came from a small window cracked open at the corner of the corridor—barely enough for them to make out each other’s outlines.
The sound of gears meshing and turning echoed loudly. Yet no one raised a hand to cover their ears.
They regarded each other, reading thoughts through breath, through eyes, through stance.
Tick-tock.
In that instant, the gears ground to a halt.
Simultaneously, Azest began to move. Mana swirled around her, gathering and condensing into a defined shape.
Dezir’s counter-calculation activated as well.
He grasped immediately what spell Azest was constructing.
He possessed the ability to identify the type of magic from its form during the calculation process, before the mana was even complete.

Frozen Jail.

Ornate pillars shot upward, and the temperature plummeted, yet Dezir’s party felt no change in warmth at all.
“Counter-calculation complete.”
Under Dezir’s control, the space around them remained untouched by any magic.
Whoosh!
The moment the spell came under Dezir’s dominion, Azest released her hold without hesitation.
The pillars that had risen dissolved into vapor in an instant. Thick fog obscured their vision.
“Coming through!”
Fram stepped forward and drew his blade, slashing it across. Steel met steel.
In that breath, he twisted his head to the right.
A sword aimed at his face cut through empty air. The mist cleared. It was Doneta. Fram seized the opening and drove his heel into Doneta’s abdomen.
“Ugh!”
Doneta’s body doubled over. At that same moment, Romantica’s spell reached completion and surged toward him.

Wind Strike!

A deafening boom erupted as the high-density wind bullet exploded. Yet the expected notification chime did not sound.
Between the parting mist, a shield of truly massive proportions emerged.
Percival lowered the shield and spoke to Romantica with an arrogant expression.
“For a Second Circle spell, that was pathetically weak.”
Romantica bristled and shouted back.
“I’m exhausted from all that sniper fire, you idiot!”
The thick fog settled between them once more.
Doneta whispered to Percival.
“That swordsman… he seems remarkably strong. We should be careful.”
“Fool. You’re simply weak.”
Percival scoffed. He had faced Fram before.
According to his recollection, Fram was not particularly skilled. A Beta Class swordsman whose blade was merely swift, but nothing more—the Fram he knew would tire himself out and collapse in failure.
“Take this!”
He swung his sword at Fram, but the blade only cut through mist. There was nothing there.
“What?”
Percival froze in confusion. The thick fog obscured everything.
On instinct, he spun around. Sure enough, their blades collided as Fram launched his ambush.
“Cowardly wretch.”
“But you started the ambush first, didn’t you?”
A sharp metallic ring sang out.
Percival’s sword, forged in the north where he was born and raised, was savage and brutal.
He pressed forward relentlessly with overwhelming power, a battering style that ground opponents down into exhaustion.
The blade of a Fon-class swordsman whose talent was now awakening was devastating.
He unleashed attacks at fearsome speed, while shielding himself with his massive guard and forcing his advance forward—an image like a towering mountain itself.
Fram too was a swordsman who prized speed, yet he lacked Percival’s overwhelming power and battering force. In a direct clash with him, holding the advantage was difficult.
To others’ eyes, Fram appeared to be losing ground. But his movements were measured. With each moment, he evaded or deflected Percival’s blade along the shortest possible arc, searching for any opening.
In truth, it was Fram who held the upper hand. The way he pressed his attack with only the tip of his blade while maintaining distance was less like a duel and more like an elegant sword dance.
Fram clearly understood his own limitations. For that reason, he eschewed any test of raw strength, and instead methodically exploited every gap in Percival’s defense.
Slowly, incrementally, Percival’s blade was being driven back. At this rate, defeat was inevitable.
Unable to bear it any longer, Percival threw down his trump card—hurling his shield directly at Fram.

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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