End of fight 1

Evening was approaching.

The battle was still far from over.

The staff’s rage surged higher and higher—still unaware of the vast difference in power between them.

Using Dion’s body, the staff pointed its tip toward Arga, preparing a spell circle.

The magic circle was highly complex—

—or rather, it looked complex.

In truth, the circle was chaotic and moss green in color, with overlapping, disordered shapes—

the worst kind of formation for casting.

Not only was the design terrible, but the color choice was also the worst possible.

In the discipline of magical studies, Arga understood the fundamental rules:

to perform magic, one must possess Manna.

And according to Sudirja, Manna is carried by particles called Manneons. These particles serve as residue during the alignment of a spell and a magic circle.

Sudrija—who is, in fact, William from the future—had discovered that magic is part of physics.

A chanted incantation carries a random value, while magic circles have fixed numerical values based on their symbols and colors.

From Sudirja’s previous research in another timeline, he learned that moss green was the highest-value color for a magic circle.

Only a few spells could match its value.

This meant most spells cast using such a color would fail.

Sidran Gasra was oblivious to this and attempted to strike Arga with that flawed spell.

"Lan suoro kian numpok roso dadi Soro seng loro dadi mati,"

the staff chanted using Dion’s voice.

Sudirja and Arga weren’t worried.

If a spell’s chant and circle don’t match in value, the result is a random effect.

And they knew—thanks to the time vector lens—that Sidran’s spell would barely qualify as exampler class magic, the kind used to teach children.

A fireball appeared from the chaotic circle—

—it shot toward Arga’s massive form, aiming for his navel.

Nothing happened.

“What kind of attack was that?” Arga mocked.

“Honestly, I didn’t even feel a tickle.”

The staff grew even angrier.

The three facing the staff already knew—via the time vector lens—that the staff would try casting again.

Not one spell circle, but three.

Predictably, they were as flawed and disordered as the first—perhaps even worse.

“Your Majesty, if we let this continue, it’ll take forever,”

Arjuna said to Sudirja.

Sudirja looked to the sky.

Arjuna was right—the sun was nearly set.

“Forgive us. We’re bored now,” Sudirja interrupted just as the staff tried to chant again.

The knight spirit summoned by Arjuna hurled his spear at Dion.

It wouldn’t harm him—only sever the staff’s control.

Slowly, Dion began to regain consciousness.

As he opened his eyes, he realized one thing:

He was floating.

“Damn it! I’ve lost control!”

The staff shrieked—now speaking without Dion’s voice.

Dion’s body gradually returned to normal.

The hand-like hair fell away, his youthful appearance aged back to his elderly form, until he was as he was before the possession.

“Dion, drop the staff!” Arjuna shouted.

“Are you stupid? If you drop me, you’ll fall and die,” the staff warned.

“Then now’s the time for me to die,” Dion replied calmly.

Without fear, Dion let go of the staff.

The serpentine dragon summoned by Arjuna soared in and caught him mid-fall.

“You should’ve just let me fall,” Dion muttered.

“You don’t have a successor yet. I won’t let you die,” replied the dragon.

“I’m just an old man who owns the Lindru Temple. I’m not nobility,” Dion countered.

“Temple caretakers are nobility. That’s an official decree from His Majesty Sudirja,” the dragon answered.

“You’re just a dragon snake. Why call Sudirja Your Majesty?” Dion asked.

“I am Arjuna Wisangga. If you must know—I’m a physical manifestation of his organ,” the dragon said.

From this, Dion understood why the dragon addressed Sudirja so respectfully.

Exhausted from resisting Sidran Gasra’s control, Dion fell asleep on the dragon’s head.

Seeing that, Arga immediately used his power to lift Dion away with wind,

knowing that his majestic-class body could accidentally kill him.

Even though the staff no longer had a puppet to control, its raw power was still formidable.

Spells of normal to advanced level would barely affect it.

Had it not used Kromopati, it might’ve used one of its fragments as a puppet.

But the spell that gave life to fragments could no longer be cast.

The only way to regain it was by absorbing human negative energy—

specifically, the energy born from cruelty.

After all, its name was Sidran Gasra—the Staff of Cruelty.

Having no one left to possess, the staff began preparing multiple magic circles at once.

All were still flawed—

terrible colors, chaotic overlapping forms.

The staff didn’t care.

If it had been a human, its only thought would be: just attack—regardless of success or failure.

Unsurprisingly, the resulting spells were weak.

Even after chanting, the highest spell class it could reach was advanced.

No heavenly, mythic, or majestic-class spells appeared.

The sun had now fully set.

The sky glowed a beautiful orange.

Arga didn’t want the battle to drag on.

Neither did Sudirja or Arjuna.

Arga struck the staff with his giant hand—

Arjuna bound the staff using his summoned dragon—

—and Sudirja began unlocking the first seal of his branched magic circle.

“Sang wereng Sido ayoo sang Wiro Ra sido redup LAN kawangan ciloko dadi pusoko,” Sudirja recited.

The first key incantation was cast.

From the sky, a spear of light shot down and pierced the staff.

“Suryo rupo seng perkoso dadi mulyo,” Sudirja chanted again.

The second key was cast.

The already-set sun suddenly flared with blinding light,

its blaze scorching the staff.

“San urep dadi rupo san mati dadi asmo,” Sudirja recited.

The third key activated.

The staff began to feel pain.

Suddenly, it had a body, and even thoughts.

In that state, it tried to counterattack.

But it didn’t realize—this was part of Sudirja’s perfect sealing ritual.

“Lan rogo rekso rupo Lan mimpi rekso roso,” Sudirja continued.

The fourth key was triggered.

A sword of light descended and stabbed Sidran Gasra’s new body.

The body became paralyzed.

“Karmo rekso kan roso dunyo rekso kan rupo,” Sudirja cast the fifth incantation.

Now in physical form, Sidran Gasra was in excruciating pain.

For the first time—he felt despair.

“Seng rupo iso ngeroso lan wujud iso diroso,” Sudirja invoked the sixth key.

Sidran Gasra was blinded—all he saw was darkness.

And then came fear.

“Kan roso dadi tresno LAN oleho karmo,” Sudirja’s voice echoed the seventh key.

Regret crept into Sidran’s thoughts—regret for no known reason.

“Karmo dadi roso lan Nyoto sempurno,” Sudirja declared the eighth key.

All the pleasure Sidran once felt from cruelty turned to grief.

“Karmo lan Nyoto dadi roso lan mulyo,” Sudirja chanted the ninth.

Sidran Gasra’s new form began to tremble.

Terror overtook him.

“Rupo seng sempurno dadi karmo wiro,” Sudirja uttered the final incantation.

The tenth and final key was complete.

Sorrow overwhelmed Sidran Gasra.

He wept uncontrollably, unable to stop the tears.