Fire Mage-Chapter 695: Keaton

Chapter 695: Keaton

Diego turned and saw Runeth seated cross-legged on the bed, appearing to meditate deeply.

"But why can’t I sense his presence with my wisdom power?" he muttered, stepping closer. The moment he crossed into the bedroom, a strange sensation gripped him, as though he’d entered a different dimension.

Runeth remained unbothered, showing no sign of awareness.

"This isn’t right," Diego muttered and reached out to touch him.

Suddenly, the illusion shattered. The room fractured into countless glass-like mirrors, and Runeth vanished.

"It was some sort of hyper-realistic illusion," Diego said grimly, stepping back. "Come with me."

Michael followed without a word.

But the moment he exited the guest house, his expression twisted in shock, then horror.

"W-What the hell happened?" He released his wisdom power and scanned the estate.

"S-So many... dead?" His face turned as pale as a corpse.

In one of the mansion’s corner rooms, he spotted his son suspended mid-air—lifeless.

"P-Patrick!" His voice cracked. He expanded his search, only to find his third son also lying motionless.

"No... no! What the hell happened here?!" Regret washed over him like a tidal wave. He had been completely unaware.

"The enemy is stronger than we are. And clever," Diego growled. "But what’s more puzzling is his target selection. He only killed certain people—those with ties to the Truelords."

He glanced toward Michael with grim eyes.

"Elder Lucy and I suffered the worst. I lost my first and second sons, my wife... even my grandsons."

"I’m going to find that bastard and rip him apart!" Michael shouted, summoning a broadsword from his space ring.

"I’ve already sent word to the other Guardian Houses for help. In the meantime, gather every available fighter. Go bring Kyle from the Palace. If possible, seek an audience with His Excellency Keaton," Diego ordered sharply.

"Keaton? Isn’t that overkill? Wait—do you think the enemy is a Legend?" Michael’s expression turned rigid.

"Most likely. Otherwise, how could Elder Luna be defeated in seconds? I’ll head to the Magic Tower and bring the mages. Meet me in the living room in thirty minutes. If you run into that man, don’t fight him alone." With that, Diego soared into the air toward the cylindrical tower beside the mansion.

Michael took off toward the Royal Palace.

...

Thirty minutes later, the Nightwind Family had gathered in the mansion’s living hall. Patriarch Diego stood on an elevated platform, with Michael and Kyle behind him. Thirty people—mages, warriors, and mystics—stood before them in tense silence.

Suddenly, the entrance creaked open.

A frail elderly man stepped inside, drawing every eye. His stark white hair and wrinkled face marked his years, but it was his crystalline eyes—sharp and discerning—that commanded respect. Leaning on a sleek black cane, he wore a plain white gown and matching pants, appearing more like a fragile sage than a warrior.

He was one of the Five Royal Mages of the Ember Kingdom—Keaton.

Gasps and whispers died down immediately. All present bowed their heads, including Diego, Michael, and Kyle.

"Greetings, Your Excellency," they chorused. 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

Keaton slowly scanned the hall. "So, who are we hunting?" he asked.

As he spoke, a wave of powerful spiritual energy rippled out from him, sweeping through the mansion and mapping every soul within its walls.

Then his gaze shifted toward the terrace.

"Found you."

Just as he prepared to strike with a spell, a wave of crushing pressure descended upon the hall, forcing him to squint in alarm. His eyes lit up in silver as a flurry of visions assaulted his mind.

Twenty future glimpses flashed before him, and in every one, the moment he attacked the crimson flame entity, his head was severed.

Before he could act, the crimson flame on the terrace vanished—and reappeared directly in front of him.

A humanoid flame solidified, revealing a young man with deep blue hair.

"Oh? A rat from the Truelord Family?" Charles asked coldly.

Though the young man appeared calm, the oppressive pressure from his wisdom power was suffocating.

Keaton’s heart raced.

My sixth sense is screaming... He’s stronger than Lord Franco—maybe even stronger than Founder Joe! This isn’t someone I can fight!

Damn it! Why did these Nightwind fools have to offend a monster? If you want to die, do it on your own time! Don’t drag me into this mess!

Charles’s name left Diego’s lips in a whisper. "Charles...?"

He reached for his sword, but before he could react, a sharp blade of ice slashed down from Keaton’s hand, severing his wrist.

"Ahhh! Y-Your Excellency?!"

Confusion spread like wildfire through the room.

And then, to everyone’s shock, Keaton dropped to his knees.

"Forgive me, My Lord! I had no idea the Nightwind Family had provoked a Legendary Figure... and dragged me into this disaster!"

"I have some questions. Answer them truthfully, and I’ll let you live," Charles said coldly.

"Yes, My Lord." Keaton didn’t dare to lift his head. He remained kneeling, eyes fixed on the floor.

"Why did the Truelords kill Harry Nightwind?" Charles asked.

"Who, My Lord? I don’t even know such a person existed," Keaton replied instantly, his voice wavering as he slowly glanced up.

Why is he asking about Harry? D-Does he know the truth of our race, too, like Harry did? No... this is bad. I need to warn Founder Joe!

Meanwhile, Charles crouched in front of him with a cold smile.

"You see, I also entered the Star Tombs two months ago. By sheer coincidence, I ran into members of the Truelords. Thanks to their openness, I overheard a little chat between Alistair and Nyx," Charles said casually.

Keaton’s eyes widened. He couldn’t help but blurt out, "You met Alistair? H-How is he, My Lord? Is he still alive?"

Does he know Alistair? Confusion twisted across Keaton’s face.

"Oh? So you’re the brother he mentioned during that conversation with Nyx," Charles continued. "But Nyx also said something else... What was it again? Ah, right—he said the person who ordered Harry’s assassination was none other than his own brother. Would you like to explain that?"

Keaton opened his mouth to deny it.

"Derios," Charles added softly.

Keaton froze.

The name alone shattered his composure. Panic gripped him as the hidden truths of the Truelords threatened to spill open. Reflexively, he summoned a burst of ice-elemental energy and tried to cast an Ice Shield spell.

"Did I give you permission to move?" Charles said sharply.

An illusory Crimson Eye formed on his forehead. A ray of pure chaos fire burst forth.

Before Keaton’s shield could form, the ray shot through the gap, striking his forehead directly and disintegrating his head into ashes.

Charles exhaled sharply.

"What the f*ck is wrong with these morons? Killing someone just to hide their racial identity?" he muttered, glaring at Keaton’s remains before turning his gaze toward Patriarch Diego.

"You lot are even worse. If Runeth hadn’t told me to restrain myself—and if we didn’t share a family name—I’d have razed this whole mansion to the ground," Charles said coldly, walking toward Diego while unsheathing his long sword.

"Not only did you kill your own family member, but you also cursed my mother’s Raven Family with a Dream Curse. From today on, you are no longer the Patriarch of the Nightwind Family."

He slashed.

Diego’s hands were severed into countless fragments.

"Aaaargh!" Diego screamed, collapsing to the floor.

But Charles didn’t stop. Another slash—his legs fell next.

"Spineless bastard," Charles spat. "Live out the rest of your life as a cripple. Consider it penance for your sins."

"NOO! Help! Somebody!!!" Diego cried, writhing and crawling in agony.

Charles turned to the bald Elder Michael.

"I know you hate me for killing your sons. But the blame lies with you, for turning into the Truelords’ puppet."

He paused, meeting Michael’s bloodshot eyes.

"And if I leave you alive, I know you’ll try something stupid."

With a flick of his wrist, Charles slashed across his neck.

"F*ck off to the underworld."

Elder Michael felt his world flip. Darkness claimed him before he could react.

Charles barely glanced at the collapsing corpse. He turned to the last elder in the room.

"Kyle, you’re the only one who stayed neutral. You neither helped nor harmed anyone. What should I do with you?"

The old man trembled under the pressure of Charles’s presence and dropped to his knees.

"Have mercy, Your Excellency... This old man begs you."

Charles sighed.

"Making elders beg for their lives... Does that make me the villain?" he muttered. "But if I kill you, this household might collapse entirely."

He paused, then spoke decisively.

"I’ll give you one year, Kyle. In that time, gather every member of the Nightwind Family and head to the Iron Kingdom. It’ll make it easier for me to keep an eye on Diego."

He turned briefly toward the crippled patriarch, then continued.

"Also, the young ones must be sent to the Rebirth Tower for ten years of education. Whether they rise as mystics or remain mortals—that choice is theirs. And from now on, only someone appointed by the Iron Kingdom’s Queen will become the next Patriarch. That’s the best I can offer this family."

Suddenly remembering something, Charles looked at Diego.

"Do you know where my grandparents are? My paternal grandparents. Eve told me they helped her escape from the Nightwind Family."

Diego’s face turned ghostly pale. He lowered his head, silent.