Tale of a Hedonistic wizard-Chapter 460: Let’s get this party started!

The marketplace transformed into a tableau of magical tension.

The Council witches—Mirabel, Evanore, and Yasmine—stood frozen, their gazes locked on Jaegar. Each of them recognized the raw, uncontrolled power that had just been unleashed; while coming here, they felt it. The immense yet sharp energy waves of Jaegar.

Evanore, whose gaze locked onto Angelina, her voice trembling with a mix of shock and recognition, broke the silence.

"Mother", she whispered, staring at Angelina, "what are you doing here?"

Mirabel was anxious while Yasmine was staring at Jaegar.

Angelina stood tall, despite the visible strain of supporting Jaegar. Her presence was a reminder of her legendary status—the former Reverend Witch of the Spire, a title she had once held with unquestioned authority. The years had weathered her, but none of her inherent power had diminished.

Mirabel’s eyes narrowed, studying Jaegar with intense scrutiny.

The young wizard stood at the centre of a magical crater, his body trembling from the exertion of channelling chaos arts—a magic so rare and dangerous that most magical practitioners would never dare to touch it.

Yasmine, equally captivated, watched how Jaegar’s magical energy still crackled around him—unpredictable, wild, yet somehow controlled.

The tattoos of the Dark Arcanist had been scorched away; the spectral beasts dissipated by Jaegar’s explosive display of power.

Veronica and Ewen remained motionless, processing the scene before them.

Ministry representatives caught in the midst of a gathering that they never expected.

What they didn’t notice was Shaewyra’s silent departure.

While all eyes were fixed on Jaegar, the Dark Arcanist had slipped away undetected. His purpose was singular—to track Melusina, following the direction she had taken.

They were here for Melusina in the first place and had unexpectedly met with the lot present before them.

Yasmine caught sight of Veronica and Ewen, recognizing their insignias, and said, "What’s the ministry doing here?"

Veronica answered her, "We are on our way to the spire, but we saw the explosion and came here."

At the marketplace’s edge, Elsbeth’s lips curled into a calculated smile.

With a gesture that seemed almost casual, she tore open a portal—a shimmering, dark gateway that pulsed with forbidden energies.

Everyone present turned their gaze towards the sudden formation of the portal.

Jaegar’s brows furrowed deeply as he felt the familiar energies from the portal.

The portal slowly turned bigger, its blue radiance filling the streets with an eerie glow.

From this portal emerged the beasts, large wolf-like creatures with black fur.

Jaegar recognized them instantly.

Laigurs and he saw the men riding them.

Black Hound Legion, his father’s army.

They rode creatures that defied natural description—massive beasts resembling wolves but with fur so black it seemed to absorb light. Their riders wore armour that matched the darkness, each movement precise, each posture suggesting deadly intent.

The marketplace, once a bustling centre of commerce, had transformed into a battleground of magical factions.

The Spire’s witches, the mysterious Ministry representatives, Angelina’s unexpected arrival, and now the Blackhound Legion—each group represented a different strand of magical power, all converging around Jaegar.

"I think," Jaegar muttered to his grandmother, his voice weak but defiant, "we might have a problem."

Angelina’s hand, gnarled but strong, gripped his shoulder. "We always have problems, grandson," she replied, a hint of dark humour in her voice. "The question is whether we’ll solve this one before sunrise."

The air grew thick with anticipation, a suffocating blanket of raw magical potential.

Elsbeth’s fingers traced arcane symbols in the air, each gesture a knife cutting through the fabric of reality. Shadows began to writhe and pulse, no longer content to merely exist—they hungered, they breathed, and they transformed.

From the darkest corners of the marketplace, nightmarish creatures emerged.

They were not mere shadows but living nightmares given grotesque form. Limbs twisted from impossible angles, faces a horror of distorted flesh and bone. Mouths formed where no mouths should exist—rows of razor-sharp teeth glistening with an oily, phosphorescent sheen. Eyes—if they could be called eyes—burnt with an unholy intelligence that spoke of realms beyond mortal comprehension.

The shadows moved with a liquidity that defied natural law. Where a normal creature would walk, these abominations flowed like liquid darkness, their forms shifting between solid and spectral with each horrifying breath.

Bone-like protrusions erupted from their forms, then melted back into writhing darkness. They were wounds in the fabric of reality, bleeding nightmare into the physical world.

She was called the Witch of the Night for nothing. She summoned her abomination of creatures from the depths of the abyss.

And she wasn’t done.

She raised her other hand, and another portal tore open—not a gentle rip, but a violent assault on the boundaries between dimensions. It was just a transportation spell.

From its swirling depths emerged Norimar, a half-orc sorcerer whose very presence radiated power. His skin was a tapestry of magical scarification, each mark a testament to forbidden rituals and conquered magical boundaries.

"What’s so urgent that you called me here, Elsbeth?" Norimar’s voice was a low growl, part bestial, part arcane calculation.

Elsbeth’s finger pointed toward the assembled forces.

Norimar’s eyes scanned the marketplace.

Council witches.

Angelina. Eradarin, the old sage.

And lastly, his gaze stopped on Jolthar.

A smile played across his lips, more predatory than human.

"Hmm," he muttered, "we have a lot of company here. I can understand."

Eradarin and Ironshade moved with the synchronicity of warriors who had fought countless battles together. The wizard’s staff erupted with a cascade of arcane energy—pure, disciplined magic that crackled like controlled lightning.

Eradarin recognized the half-orc, as he had come across him a couple of times. And he wasn’t a simple sorcerer but a very dangerous foe one shouldn’t face.

Ironshade’s enchanted greatsword sang a song of steel and sorcery, its edge cutting through the very concept of physical resistance.

"Why are we waiting? Let’s get this party started!"

Elsbeth gave her word of approval to the Blackhounds leader.

The Blackhound Legion charged.

Their wolf-like mounts were creatures of ferocity and pure wildness in them. They ran faster and attacked the old sage.