A Talentless Mage Devours a Disaster-Class Future - Chapter 34

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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 34

“……And you are?”

Mark’s displeasure swept across Eion’s face from head to toe.
Eion met that gaze evenly, though he clicked his tongue softly to himself.

Lenar de Balua. And Mark de Sennel.

The petty crowd who fed on belittling others in the Basic Magical Combat lecture hall.

Particularly that Mark—a viper of a man who dangled the simple Lenar in front as a pawn while reaping all the rewards from behind.

‘Of all the rotten luck. Running into these two here.’

The day was turning sour.

Eion was about to avert his gaze from them to avoid unnecessary trouble with Aria at his side, when the hot-tempered Lenar’s mouth already began to twist into a sneer.

“Well, well! If it isn’t Sir Eion Iskar, Knight of the collapsing kingdom?”

Lenar glanced around with exaggerated gestures, then broke into a bitter laugh and clapped his hands together with a sharp slap.
His voice carried the delight of someone who’d just spotted a curiosity worth gawking at.

“Ah, now it makes sense~? So that’s why Aria is here—you remnants of the kingdom gathering to clean up after your defeat? Has your naked king already fled?”

His contemptuous laughter echoed through the corridor.

“Well, I should have expected—”

Then it happened.

Shhhhhiing—

The very air around them shifted and froze to a bitter cold.

‘…Is that… presence?’

Before Eion could even respond to Lenar’s mockery, the moment unfolded.

Aria’s violet eyes fixed on Lenar, and his body went rigid as if he’d been taxidermied.

Aria’s enigmatic face transformed fluidly with each emotion she harbored.
The crescent-moon eyes that had bent playfully toward Eion just moments before had vanished without trace.

Skin so pale it seemed translucent, luminous even, set against lips of deep crimson.

‘…I’d forgotten to notice.’

Her expression and words toward him today had made him overlook it.

The poisoned fang of beauty that Aria kept hidden.

It was like a treasured sword sheathed in a firm scabbard, capable of freezing everything around it the moment it was drawn.

Just as when Eion had first met her at her residence.

That distinctive aura was like a skill honed over decades of discipline.

She is the kind of woman who commands attention even in a hall crowded with hundreds.

“How….”

Aria was the greatest actress of the present age.
She was anything but ordinary.

“How vulgar….”

A voice cut through the frozen hallway—steady, untouched by even the slightest tremor.

The moment Lenar’s gaze met that overwhelming beauty, violent and absolute, the sneer dying on his lips froze solid.

“I….”

He stood like prey before a great predator, unable to even avert his eyes, his lips working soundlessly.

“Perhaps I was too greedy, expecting even a modicum of decorum in greeting you.”

A suffocating silence fell.
Lenar’s face drained to a sickly pallor, his breath coming in ragged gasps, his mind unable to form a coherent sentence.

“I… I….”

It was then that Mark, who had been observing the scene, stepped forward.

“Lenar, stand down. I thought I told you to refrain from crude behavior in the presence of a lady?”
“B-but….”

The moment Mark fixed Lenar with those characteristic serpentine eyes, Lenar had no choice but to retreat.

“…Tch.”

Leaving the deflated Lenar behind, Mark stepped slowly forward.

A smile crafted with precision, mimicking elegance without flaw.

He had permitted Lenar’s base provocation until now, testing the waters, but the moment Aria’s reaction proved unusual, he pivoted in a heartbeat—the noble aristocrat stepping in to mediate the disturbance.

‘Just like last time. …Sickening creature.’

Eion swallowed his displeasure.
Yet he could not afford to openly challenge such conduct.

His judgment of Mark was suspicion at best; more likely, Mark was hoping Eion would take issue with him and step forward.

Mark bowed with measured courtesy toward Aria.

“I regret that our first acquaintance should come amid such commotion, Aria. I am Mark de Senel.”

He placed a hand lightly over his heart and smiled with impeccable aristocratic decorum.

“Allow me to apologize first for his rudeness. Though I keep him at my side and endeavor to teach him manners, he has yet to fully shed his uncouth nature.”

An apology that elevated himself in the very act of apologizing.
As Mark straightened, his gaze lingered briefly on Aria’s beautiful face before sliding toward Eion like tar—viscous and sinister.

“And yet… perhaps his words were not entirely without merit.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I cannot fathom why someone of Miss Aria’s noble standing chooses to associate with those who are beneath her station.”
“……!”

Eion’s gaze, which had been observing from the sidelines, turned toward Mark.

He dressed his words in courtesy and elegance, yet the substance was no different from Lenar’s crude insult—merely cloaked in veneer.

Mark directed a theatrical look of pity at Aria while casting cold venom toward Eion.

“Those who walk the path of greatness ought to have their journey perfumed by flowers, and yet… filth?”

Mark made a show of brushing his collar as though dodging refuse, then spoke to Aria in an elaborately tender voice.

“Miss Aria, if you would permit me, I could ensure your path to victory remains unmarred.”
“…How so?”
“Professor Donabel receives patronage from our house. He would surely grant a small favor from me. For instance….”

It was a blatant display of power—that even the academy’s rules could be bent by wealth and influence. Whether such a thing was truly possible remained uncertain.

Mark smiled, drunk with victory, as though convinced this was a merciful offer none could refuse.

“Bringing Miss Aria into our kingdom would hardly prove difficult.”
“……!”

Aria was about to respond with icy words to such vulgar presumption when—

Snap!

Eion stepped forward first, grasping Aria’s hand firmly.

“Aria, you need not answer.”

A warm, calloused hand.
Eion drew her behind him with those hardened palms, completely blocking the sticky gaze Mark had been fixing upon her.

At the ease Eion displayed, Mark’s brow twisted into an ugly scowl.

“I’ll ask that you spare me your misdirected concern.”
“Misdirected? And what of your own lack of understanding about proper station?”

Even beneath Mark’s threatening words, laced with killing intent, Eion remained unmoved.

Instead, he dismissed Mark with the indifference one might spare a pebble in the road, driving home his point with calm, weighty finality.

“Aria is a Knight of Cassius. She was, and she will be.”

A declaration solid and unshakeable—that such pitiful displays of power would never hold sway here.

“What?”
“I believe that concludes our pointless pleasantries.”
“…Miss Aria!”

Desperate now, Mark cried out to her, but Aria simply held Eion’s hand and passed by them slowly, following where he led.

The chill that had frozen the corridor moments before dissolved into nothing.

In its place, a soft smile lingered at the corner of her lips.

“I must decline your offer. I prefer this kingdom.”

Mark could not fathom why she—a woman who made even the great nobles of the Imperial Capital grovel before her—would choose such a wretched, filthy kingdom.

He wanted to demand an explanation on the spot, but her serene composure left him speechless.

Instead, he forced himself to gather the tattered remnants of his pride and issued a warning.

“…The pairings for today’s match have been decided. Are you aware that your kingdom will face Cassius?”
“Is that so?”

At Aria’s utterly unmoved response, the elegant aristocratic mask Mark had struggled so hard to maintain finally shattered with a sickening crack.
His lips, twisted hideously with contempt, trembled uncontrollably.

“You will come to regret today’s choice.”

Even at this ominous curse, Aria did not break her stride.
She merely turned her head slightly, regarding Mark with a smile that curved in elegant arcs.

And then a voice—bewitching enough to ensnare the very soul of the listener—drifted across the corridors of Exion, serene and graceful.

“I have no regrets. It is my destiny.”
……

Mark trembled violently, unable to contain himself. All trace of his usual composed, arrogant aristocratic bearing had vanished.

His eyes glinted with murderous intent; his features twisted into an uncontrolled, vicious mask.
Lenar, sensing the shift, opened his mouth carefully.

“…Mark?”
“I swear… I will make her suffer a terrible fate….”

Mark’s serpentine eyes blazed with crimson venom. Between his lips, a name emerged—carved into his very bones, ground out through clenched teeth.

“Eion Iscar.”

***

Late into the night, in the private training grounds of the Arcane Hall.
Kael Pairon hurled a heavy iron ball suspended in the air, breathing in ragged gasps.

Pant… pant… ugh…!

Screeeee—

Crash—!

The target shattered, yet Kael’s expression remained troubled. An unpleasant image kept churning through his mind.

His own cowardly retreat from the door of the Small Auditorium as flames consumed it.

— Why didn’t you save the students trapped inside?

“Damn it all…”

— Then, Eion. Did you see Kael at the site of the fire? Near the Small Auditorium?

It was him. Every unwelcome thought spiraling through his mind—all of it came back to him.

“That’s… not it.”

His Telekinesis was far faster and more powerful than this.
He’d maintained perfect control of the Iron Ball, obliterating the target two hundred meters distant with a trajectory so precise it admitted no margin for error.

Eion. The man’s cool gaze kept flickering through Kael’s mind.

Kael had always been called a genius.
Long before coming to Exion—for a very long time indeed.

“Damn it all…”

He clenched his teeth and shook his head roughly.
He couldn’t accept it—that someone without talent, without connections, kept cutting into his field of vision and needling him like this.

“Focus.”

He was lifting a fresh Iron Ball into the air, trying to force away the stray thoughts, when—

Clap. Clap. Clap.

A leisurely round of applause echoed from the entrance of the training grounds.
Kael turned his head irritably.

“Well, the young master of House Pairon is training so late? The genius who entered Exion with overwhelming scores, they say. And yet… you seem rather unable to concentrate on your practice?”

The figure who emerged from the darkness was Lenar de Valois.

“…Who the hell are you?”

Kael’s response was cold—clearly displeased that someone had been watching his training without his knowledge.

Lenar paid no heed to his irritable reaction, approaching with an unpleasant smile.

“Don’t bristle at me like that. I haven’t come to annoy you. Rather… I’ve come with a proposal that could resolve that foul mood of yours quite perfectly.”
“A proposal?”

Lenar’s eyes gleamed in the darkness.

“I hear you’ve taken rather a dislike to Eion. Is that true?”
“……!”

He smiled sharply and stepped closer.

“Ever heard the saying that the enemy of my enemy is my friend?”

One corner of Kael’s mouth lifted slightly at those words.

He gave an answer befitting the question.

“That’s… a rather interesting story, actually.”

The Talentless Mage Swallows a Catastrophic Future — Chapter 34

Author
Wang Mo-tchi
Publisher
Daon Creative
Planning / Editing / Production
Yeon
Cover
Dali

UCI
G720:N+A036-20260706063.0033

© 2026, Wang Mo-tchi

※ This electronic book is a work protected by the copyright law of the Republic of Korea.
No part or all of the contents of this work may be reprocessed in any form without the permission of the author and publisher.

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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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