Magus Reborn 220. Treant (2)

After the beast wave, the forge never rested.

Where once it had only crafted swords and armor, now it pulsed and thrumd with energy and purpose. Under Kai’s guidance and the sharp eye of the dwarf mastersmith Tharnok, the forges turned mana cannons to sothing greater. They had been powerful already, capable of shooting out concentrated bursts of mana, but Kai believed that wasn’t their limit. They could beco much more.

And they did.

Tharnok’s new sealwork changed everything. Inside each cannon, there were fresh pathways lined the core, inscribed with runes that twisted and flickered when charged with Aethum. The result? The cannons now took in the raw energy of Aethum stones and released it not just as a single beam—but two. One was pure, condensed mana. The other, a blazing inferno of liquid fire. Both erged together through twin barrels, spiraling like dragons locked in a dance, ripping through air and enemy alike.

Kai stood on a hill above the battlefield and watched as they fired.

The twin beams scread forward—white mana and molten fla coiling around one another. Where they struck, everything ceased to exist. Roots that once surged like serpents were gone in an instant, turned to smoking ash. The very air cracked with pressure. The treant’s hulking form reeled, black veins bulging across its bark as if in agony or confusion. For a mont, the forest stilled, the remaining roots hesitated—as if the treant was trying to understand what had just happened.

Then the counterattack ca. Not from the front—but from behind.

Dozens of roots burst out of the ground, encircling the very wagons that carried the cannons. The soldier manning one of them froze—but the roots never reached. A wall of stone exploded upward, intercepting them with brutal timing. The second after, both wagons rose. A thick platform of earth lifted them, grinding upwards like a moving fortress, placing the cannons out of reach. Kai glanced at Magus Elias—who stood with hand raised—and gave a short nod. The man nodded back.

Kai inhaled and let the winds move him. They burst out around him as he leapt into the air, the army below shifting into their roles under Killian’s command. From above, Kai could see the flow of battle—soldiers fighting to hold the flanks, Enforcers clashing with weavers and fiends rushing in waves.

He rose higher, faster, fire licking at his palms.

Below him, roots snapped up, reaching for him—but his response was imdiate. Twin bolts of [Fiend fire] exploded from his hands, spiraling downward and turning the tendrils into molten slag. He flew further still, higher into the canopy’s edge, just past the treant’s reach. His hands ford spell structures midair and mana surged outward. Then ca the spells—ones he rarely used.

[Magma Halo], spinning disks of superheated stone that scythed through branches and fiends.

[Wind Sever], a compressed arc of air sharp enough to slice steel.

[Blazing Shardstorm], countless flaming shards rained down like teorites, hamring the treant’s limbs.

But even as his strongest spells struck, the treant barely affected. Its bark was charred but not broken. Kai circled it, hitting it from every angle—fire spells and wind torrents carved gouges into the side—but still, it stood, its massive body barely budging.

And worse—it was adapting.

From beneath its thick canopy, fiends began leaping at him—small, fast ones, crawling from hidden hollows like insects. They lunged at him midair, claws glinting, but Kai was faster. He sent wind daggers into their eyes, and flaming spears attacked their bodies, turning their wings to ash. Most never reached him.

The rest plumted into the chaos below.

Still, the roots didn’t stop. Still, the treant endured. And above it all, he hovered—eyes narrowed, mind racing.

“This thing… it’s stronger than I thought,” he muttered, fire crackling along his arms. “Much stronger.”

But he didn’t turn back. Because the guardian of the plague lands had to fall.

His hands flared with fire and wind, the elents rging into a single devastating blast that roared through the air and slamd into the center of the treant’s chest. Bark split open, the impact leaving behind a deep crater—his strongest spell yet.

But even that barely dented the beast’s enormous body. The bark was just too thick. He narrowed his eyes. Then changed tactics.

Two massive magma spheres spun into existence over his palms, heat rippling off them like the breath of a volcano. With a grunt, he hurled them—not at the treant’s trunk, but beneath it. The twin orbs fell like teors, striking the ground. Flas burst outward in all directions, devouring fiends and weavers caught in the radius, and the soil hissed and bubbled from the impact.

But that wasn’t the goal.

His aim was the ground itself.

If he couldn’t burn the treant down, he would bring it down.

The earth cracked, splintered, and caved in under the weight of the treant. Steam billowed upward, flas licked the roots, the terrain grew unstable, revealing more of the gnarled roots buried beneath.

And that was when the treant reacted.

The ground trembled again.

The roots ca faster—wilder, angrier, with a will that felt almost desperate. They lashed and coiled, stabbing toward him with deadly speed. But Kai was still faster. Frost burst from his outstretched hand, forming ice walls that wrapped around the treant’s base. The roots slamd into them, cracking but not breaking through. He followed it with a second spell—freezing the soil itself, buying him ti to dig deeper, to expose more of the treant’s lifelines.

He knew this was the only way.

If he couldn’t reach its core, he had to sever it from its foundation. Without its roots, the treant was nothing but a fat old tree too large to hold its own weight. It would fall under its own size—and Kai would be there to finish it.

But then, a sound pierced the battlefield.

Not the screech of fiends, nor the groan of trees, but a roar. It ripped through the air like a blade, loud enough to silence even the crackling of his flas. Kai flinched mid-cast, his instincts forcing him to twist his body as roots struck from the side. He slashed with a wind blade just in ti—cutting through them before they could pierce his side.

And then, from the corner of his eye—he saw it. A shadow in the branches. A shape he hadn't seen before. Sothing watching him.

Three glowing eyes stared through the leaves—unblinking. And then it moved.

Stepping out from the dense branches, the creature revealed itself fully.

It was hideous—not because of its form, but because of what had been done to it. It was a mix of the body of a bear—dense with muscle, dark fur matted with blood and scars—and the face of an owl. It was twisted and warped, covered in black lines of cracked, pulsing dead mana. Its third eye glead with a sickly light. A corrupted owlbear. This one was grade 4, probably touching grade 5.

It was massive, standing over ten feet tall, every limb thick with strength. Its presence radiated pressure. The dead mana inside it didn’t just glow—it spread, seeping into the air like poison.

Kai's mouth tightened. A mory flickered—a fight with an owlbear long ago, and how much effort that had taken. This one was larger. Before he could co up with a plan, the third eye flashed. A beam of destruction scread through the air.

He shot upward, wind blasting from his legs, dodging the attack by inches. The ground below exploded into shards and fla as the beam touched him. He spun in the air, steadying himself mid-flight.

And he realized one thing.

If the treant had a guardian… this was it.

***

Battles were interesting.

Elias had always thought so—ever since his very first one. They were brutal, yes. Bloody. Loud. But there was sothing in the chaos of it all, sothing raw and honest. War stripped away the masks people wore. It didn’t care for bloodlines, titles, or philosophies. Only power. In battle, being a killer wasn’t a sin. It was a skill. A virtue.

And winning?

Winning was jubilance—pure, thrilling superiority.

But sowhere along the way, that feeling had left him.

He didn’t rember when exactly. A decade ago? Two? It didn’t matter. The mont his power had risen beyond his peers, battles had stopped being exciting. There was no challenge left in Vanderfall. No rival Mage who could force him to dig deeper, think faster, or feel alive. And challenging another kingdom’s Mage was tantamount to declaring war. Politics had bound his hands.

So he turned to beasts. But even that had grown stale.

You didn’t find a worthy beast every day.

But today... was different.

The battlefield in front of him was unlike anything he'd ever seen. A sea of roots writhed, crashing through the ground with unnatural speed. Weavers darted between them, their sickly forms slashing with their claws while fiends sprinted through gaps in the chaos like wild dogs off leash. At the center of it all, towering like a dark monunt, was the treant.

A monstrosity of bark, blight, and rage.

He was certain that if the army of Vanderfall saw this battlefield, half of them would flee. But this force—this strange, mismatched army—held the line.

The stronger warriors took the front without hesitation, fighting as though this were their fate, not just their duty. The weaker ones stayed in formation, shielded by shimring barriers and golems that acted with coordinated precision. Mages and other ranged attackers hit from the back. Clerics darted between the lines, using their blessings for the wounded, dragging them back and replacing them with fresh fighters. And above and beyond it all, the cannons.

Elias’ eyes lingered on the strange devices mounted atop the wagons, still elevated on the stone platforms he had raised. He had never seen anything like them—twin-barrelled constructs that spewed out beams of destruction strong enough to vaporize mana-born creatures. Their inner chanics were alien to him, but they used aethum stones that burned hot and long. The way those beams sliced through the battlefield...

If he got out of this alive, he would study them. He had to. For now, he was given a job: protect the cannons. And he did—effortlessly.

Earth was his domain. When roots surged, they t stone. When weavers rushed in, spikes erupted beneath their feet, impaling them in mid-stride. No fiend crossed his threshold with its heart still beating. The battlefield around him was in constant motion, yet Elias barely had to move. He controlled the ground beneath his feet like it was part of his body.

And yet…

He felt wasted.

He knew it wasn’t true. Strategically, he was in the right place. Losing those cannons would an losing the fight. But emotionally, it didn’t sit well. This wasn’t the kind of magic that made his heart race. So, from ti to ti, he sent out volleys of stone shards—tearing through enemy ranks, crushing skulls and limbs—but it brought no joy.

No satisfaction. Until his gaze drifted upward.

And there, above the battlefield, where the light of fire and mana t the shadows of twisted branches, there was Arzan.

The young Mage soared through the treetops, fire circling one hand, wind roaring around the other. And before him, locked in a savage midair duel, was a creature Elias hadn’t seen in years, an owlbear. But this one was unlike any before. Bigger. Darker. Its fur was riddled with scars, its body pulsing with threads of dead mana. Its third eye fired beams of ruin, chasing Arzan through the air as the man danced just out of reach, retaliating with precise spells and elental bursts.

Interesting, Elias thought, tilting his head slightly.

He had underestimated Arzan at first. Young, yes. Rough around the edges, yes. But he had a presence. Power. And now, as he fought sothing even Elias would hesitate to take lightly, he did not falter.

Not many Mages dared stand so close to death.

Therefore, he watched. His interest already piqued. For the first ti in years, a battle had started to feel less stale.

At the sa ti, the roots surged upward—curling and spiraling to trap the young man mid-air. Elias raised an eyebrow.

Not bad… he thought. At least for a tree.

Arzan was fast, clever, and more capable than most Third-Circle Mages had any right to be. Elias had little doubt he’d eventually handle the owlbear—logic said otherwise, but instinct said yes. Still, he couldn’t help but feel the boy was risking too much. The way he flew, darted, burned—like he didn’t care to survive in his pursuit to win.

Perhaps he was just waiting to call in his elental warriors once the field was cleared. Or maybe he had sothing else in mind. But Elias had begun to understand the young man a little by now. Arzan didn’t like asking for help. He didn’t trust easily. His entire strategy had clearly been drawn without factoring Elias into the equation. And Elias didn’t bla him. He’d himself not trust a higher circle Mage from an enemy country to stand together against such a creature.

Still… he was bored.

Protecting supply wagons from roots had long lost its charm. It was a job for apprentices, not him. And frankly, watching a treant and an owlbear put on a show while he stood idle felt like an insult to his power. So, even if Arzan hadn’t asked, even if the boy didn’t trust him, Elias wasn’t about to let the battle end without getting involved.

He raised his hands. A complex spell structure lines lit across his palms.

From the earth around him, five massive stone spears erupted. They hovered for a mont in front of him, humming with dense mana. Without delay, he shot them—not at the enemy, but toward the supply wagon. The n manning it flinched, ducking down in panic, until they realized the spears weren’t ant for them.

Elias gave a short nod and spoke dryly, “These will take care of any roots that co near. I’m going to go lend your lord a hand.”

Before they could even reply, the ground beneath Elias surged. A stone platform burst upward and launched forward like a moving walkway, speeding him through the battlefield. He couldn’t fly—he didn’t use wind spells, nor did he carry enchanted artifacts for levitation. But this was better.

The speed, the control—it was almost fun.

Within monts, he was upon the treant. His eyes caught the blur of movent—Arzan and the owlbear still locked in aerial combat, the beast lunging from branch to branch. Elias didn't hesitate. From his palm, a large, brutal spell ford—a spiked stone sphere the size of a wagon wheel, glowing faintly with compressed force. He lobbed it with ease.

The projectile arced through the air, collided with the owlbear’s chest mid-leap. The beast howled and staggered, claws scrabbling to grip a thick branch, barely catching itself from plumting to its death.

Arzan turned, hovering mid-air. “What are you doing here?”

Elias shrugged, unbothered. “I was bored watching supply wagons. Did you really think my power was only good for guarding a box on wheels?”

Arzan exhaled sharply. “I would have finished the treant by now, but it’s far stronger than I anticipated.”

“So you need my help,” Elias said, voice flat.

Arzan didn’t respond directly. His eyes narrowed instead. “Look out.”

The third eye of the owlbear flared.

Elias reacted instantly. A wall of stone surged upward—followed by three more, each layered behind the other in quick succession. The beam slamd into them, carving a path through the first two before fizzling against the third.

“Well,” Elias muttered, stepping forward as more platforms rose to match Arzan’s altitude, “this is a bit more like it.”

Now, side by side with the younger Mage, he glanced over the battlefield again. The treant lood above them, a wall of bark and blight. The owlbear circled warily beneath the canopy.

“So,” Elias asked, “what’s your plan? Because if it were up to , I’d break through the bark, reach its core, and end it.”

Arzan shook his head. “Won’t work. The bark’s too thick—it’d take hours. And we don’t have hours.”

Elias raised a brow. “Then?”

“I do have a plan,” he said. “Once we deal with the owlbear, I’ll tell you. You’ll like it.”

“Oh?” Elias grinned. “Giving sothing big to do, are you?”

Arzan’s eyes stayed fixed on the enemy, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You are probably happy to know you’re not just decoration.”

Elias cracked his knuckles, mana humming through his arms. “Then let’s kill the damn bird-bear, and see what you’ve got.”

Without another word, both Mages launched into motion.

Elias raised his hand, and thick stone walls erupted from the branches below—four in total—slamming upward in an attempt to trap the owlbear in a tight, jagged cage. For a heartbeat, it almost worked. The creature paused, its massive body squeezed between the sudden rising barriers. Then it roared.

That ugly sound it made, would haunt anyone at sight for nights. Dead mana pulsed through its veins like lightning.

The walls shattered under its strength, chunks of stone raining down as the owlbear smashed through with raw force. Elias clicked his tongue. The corruption really has pushed it past its grade…

Arzan moved then.

Even as roots clawed their way toward him, he surged forward, fire blazing in one palm, wind circling the other. He released the flas with precision, guiding them with wind to spiral and engulf the owlbear’s massive body, trying to cook it from the outside in.

The wind fanned the inferno, spreading it over the beast’s fur, but it only seed to enrage it further. Roots lashed out toward Arzan, but he turned mid-air, countering them with blasts of compressed air while keeping his flas steady on target.

Elias watched all this—and frowned.

The boy was holding his own. More than that—he was triple casting, and doing it with a level of control that belied his circle. Elias had seen Magi fumble while dual casting, yet Arzan flowed through it like it was second nature. But even with all that, Elias could tell—it wasn’t easy on him.

Ti to show him why I didn’t beco a Magus by playing dress-up in royal halls.

He extended both arms. Mana surged through his veins like molten iron, and from his right palm, the plague-ridden dirt below began to rise. Not simply lifted—shaped. It molded and transford. A knight ford—massive, dense, and crude.

Ten feet tall, forged from the corrupted earth itself. Its limbs were rough, its armor patchy, and yet it radiated strength. Elias grinned slightly. The plague grounds had given it an edge—texture, toughness, and a bit of bite.

“Go,” he whispered.

The earthen knight launched forward, crashing through the treetop maze and straight into the owlbear. Sword t claw. Weight t fury. They slamd into each other, the branches beneath them groaning under the force. The owlbear snapped its beak, trying to line up its eye-beam, but Kai’s timing was impeccable—he interrupted it each ti, fire and wind hamring into its side before it could retaliate.

Elias, anwhile, wasn’t finished.

He raised his hands again, and this ti, small shards of stone began to swirl into the air—dozens, then hundreds. Tiny, sharp, fast. They hovered, gathering above him like a swarm of steel-gray insects. And they kept multiplying. More and more. The sky above them thickened with them, humming with suppressed force.

Arzan took one look and blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. “Your mana control... it's far better than I expected for that kind of spell.”

Elias gave a rare smirk. “First ti anyone’s said that to since I beca a Magus.”

And then he unleashed it.

The knight dove to the side, and the stone swarm struck.

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t elegant. It was relentless.

Thousands of tiny projectiles tore through the air and slamd into the owlbear from every direction. Roots tried to intercept them—shielding tendrils that twisted upward—but the swarm overwheld them. So bounced off, others broke through, and a critical number pierced deep into the creature's hide.

Several struck its glowing eyes.

The owlbear shrieked. It flailed, blinded, falling from the branches in a tangle of wings and limbs. Roots shot upward to catch it—but Arzan was already moving. A wave of fire surged out from his hands, burning them before they could grip.

The creature crashed down, limp and still. Dead.

Arzan exhaled and drifted down beside Elias, wiping soot off his sleeve.

“That saved a lot of mana,” he said. “Thanks.”

Elias rolled his shoulders. “It was fun. Haven’t had to do real math for spell density in years.”

Arzan gave a slight nod, then looked up toward the treant.

“Tell ,” Elias said, stepping beside him. “What’s the plan?”

Arzan turned toward him, eyes sharp and burning with intent.

“Tell , Elias… do you know a spell called [Earthquake]?”

***

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