The Legendary Mage (Alavin) novel Chapter 5

"Word has it you've fumbled your way into the ranks of the Novice Mages, feeling proud and smug? Today, I'll make it crystal clear—that you and I are worlds apart. We're not even fated to the same destiny!" Tyral's presence surged as he bolted forward, taking a dozen strides before leaping into the air, spinning a full 720 degrees to land deftly behind Alavin. His movements were fluid and fierce, a cold smirk playing on his lips as his fist, engulfed in raging flames, rocketed toward the back of Alavin's neck.

Fierce flames were boiling intensely in his right fist. He's not just aiming to beat Alavin; he's determined to give him a brutal lesson. He's been waiting for this moment for far too long.

His followers erupted in excitement, cheering raucously.

"Tyral, that's too much!" Carlys quickly intervened.

But in the flicker of a lightning strike, Alavin spun around. His clenched right fist suddenly splayed open, with lightning crackling chaotically between his fingers, dazzlingly brightly.

Boom!

Alavin's open palm caught Tyral's fiery punch, an impossible move, and lightning and flame intertwined in a wild dance, neither yielding an inch.

Alavin stood unshaken, and his feet were rooted firmly on the stone bench.

Tyral's eyes widened in disbelief. How could this be? He was confident in his ambush. He was a Stage III Novice Mage, while Alavin was merely in Stage II, right?

Carlys gaped, equally dumbfounded. Alavin was Stage III? Since when?

With immense strength, Alavin closed his hand around Tyral's flaming fist, crushing it like a vice.

"You..." Tyral suddenly realized the truth.

Alavin blinked, a sly grin on his face as he gathered his energy, powering up from his waist. With a swift step, he lifted Tyral off his feet, spinning him around before slamming him hard into the ground.

The thud echoed through the courtyard. Tyral plastered to the earth, and his arm twisted nearly into a spiral. His screams pierced the air.

"Tyral!"

"You bastard! Let him go!"

His cronies rushed in, panic-stricken.

"Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm also of in Stage III! You talk big, but indeed, we're not on the same level," Alavin said as he swung Tyral about the yard like a sack of grain. The pitiful screams added a grim soundtrack to the exaggerated scene.

With a sudden twirl, Alavin let go, sending Tyral crashing into the warehouse's iron gates.

Carlys covered her mouth in shock.

"Alavin, you scum! You've truly done it now," Tyral’s cronies cursed as they charged, but Alavin glared fiercely and bellowed, "Begone!"

The group halted in their tracks as if struck by a spell.

Tyral struggled to his feet, and was about to explode with rage, only to see Alavin striding towards him. "Alavin... stay back... we can talk this out... don't come any closer..."

Alavin stood before him, cracking his neck and flexing his muscles, the sound crisp in the air. "Does it hurt?"

"It hurts! Really hurts! Let's not be hasty..." Tyral was both shocked and panicked. How could Alavin become Stage III?