Chapter 42: An Ordinary Sixth-Tier Magic Spell

Looking at his smile, the formidable intuition granted to Talitha by her transformation into a demonic wolf sent a chilling wave of horror through her.

Discarding her initial thought of capturing the mage alive, she swung her wolf claws straight toward his neck without a moment's hesitation.

Screech—

A grating sound, reminiscent of teeth grinding against metal, echoed through the room. Talitha felt her attack completely repelled by some sort of defensive magic.

"When did you cast a protective spell?" Panic washing over her, Talitha scrambled backward in a desperate retreat until she crashed against the wall.

Whenever a mage casts a defensive spell, there are invariably signs—such as fluctuations in magical energy. For a demonic wolf with hyper-sensitive perception, such traces were virtually impossible to mask.

Talitha had not let down her guard for an instant; she had been closely monitoring Zohan’s magical fluctuations, which matched the same tier as Bourget’s.

Since their magical fluctuations were on par, it meant their strength was roughly equivalent. Since Talitha could comfortably handle Bourget, dealing with Zohan should have been effortless.

That was the exact confidence that had prevented her from striking the very moment she infiltrated the room.

Yet, without the slightest shift in magical fluctuations, a spell had been cast silently. Bourget was utterly incapable of such a feat!

A mage even a full tier stronger than Bourget could never achieve this!

At the very least, it was impossible to do so without Talitha noticing.

What on earth was wrong with this guy?

Could he possibly be an even higher-tier mage—a sixth-tier, or perhaps even a seventh tier?

How absurd!

Talitha felt her scalp tingle as a cold sweat broke out across her skin.

"Carriage of thunder, gaps of the spinning wheel, light manifest, divide into six—Binding Spell Number Sixty-One: Six-Rod Light Prison!"

Without even looking back, Zohan chanted an incantation that had practically nothing to do with the spell he was casting. He turned around as his staff, floating in mid-air of its own accord, pointed straight at Talitha.

Talitha desperately tried to dodge, only to find six beams of brilliant white light plunging directly into her body.

Silent, instantaneous, and painless.

The beams vanished as quickly as they appeared, but Talitha's body plummeted from mid-air, crashing heavily onto the floor with a dull, echoing thud.

A wave of pleasant surprise washed over Zohan. Standing two meters and three centimeters tall, she ought to weigh around two hundred and fifty or sixty pounds, but judging by the heavy thud of her landing, she must have exceeded three hundred.

After all, unlike the demonic wolf Sese, who possessed a rugged and massively muscular physique, Talitha leaned closer to a tall, slender, and distinctly feminine build. It now appeared she carried a fair amount of padding in all the right places.

Of course, weight was also tied to bone density, and the physical attributes of demonic wolves in this regard likely far surpassed those of ordinary humans.

"What did you do to me—" Talitha struggled fiercely, only to discover her efforts were entirely in vain. She forced herself to reevaluate the mage standing before her.

Her heart sank to the abyss. Always priding herself on being rigorous and professional, she seemed to have committed the most fatal and unforgivable error—underestimating her enemy.

This fellow was undeniably in a completely different league from Bourget.

Normally, while Bourget might occasionally talk back to Talitha, his actions were always impeccably obedient; he kept his distance and never dared attempt to teach Talitha a lesson using magic.

Consequently, Talitha had grown accustomed to looking down on mages of the same tier, never once anticipating she might cross paths with someone vastly more powerful.

"Just an ordinary sixth-tier binding spell, with a few minor debilitating status effects tacked on." In truth, as long as it wasn't resisted, a fifth-tier spell would have been more than enough to subdue her.

However, Zohan still lacked a thorough understanding of these modified demonic wolves. Relying solely on the dissection of Sese and observations during sampling simply wasn't enough.

To be on the safe side, Zohan had opted for a sixth-tier spell—making this the first time he had ever used anything above the fifth tier since setting out on his travels.

"Ordinary?" Though bound, Talitha's body wasn't completely paralyzed; at the very least, she could still tremble.

Since when was a sixth-tier spell ordinary? Nothing of the sixth tier could ever be considered ordinary!

A fifth-tier mage was already the absolute limit for most so-called "geniuses." Placed anywhere across the Roland Continent, such individuals would be treated with the utmost courtesy, eagerly courted as powerhouses by every major aristocratic house.

Many legendary heroes or heinous outlaws hailed from this exact tier of strength—

Because only upon reaching this level could one possess the power to turn the tide of a desperate situation, capable of moving through the pursuit of national law enforcement forces as freely as walking through an empty realm.

"Just what kind of person are you!" Talitha stared at his ridiculously youthful face. This had to be the result of age-retention techniques or the use of some rare magical materials to alter his appearance.

Bourget had been recognized as a "genius" scouted by the Clement family in his youth, yet even he had not stepped into the realm of a fifth-tier mage until he was fifty years old.

If *he* counted as a genius, then what on earth was this mage before her? If his facial age was his true age, was he the reincarnation of Jörmungandr?

Indeed, as the young lady of the Clement family, it was impossible for Talitha not to know of the renowned Jörmungandr, widely hailed as the ultimate legend among mages.

"Zohan, student of the Archmage Jörmungandr," Zohan proudly stated his moniker once again.

"Mr. Zohan, so you are a student of Teacher Jörmungandr," Nina said with a hint of pleasant surprise, feeling she had gained a bit more insight into Mr. Zohan, which only deepened her sense of affinity toward him.

"You've heard of my teacher?" Zohan asked Nina in surprise. On the very day he arrived at the Aldous Manor, he had announced his title, only to find out that Lord Aldous had never even heard of him, which had left Zohan somewhat disgruntled.

"No." Nina shook her head.

Zohan was left speechless, too baffled to ask why she was acting so pleasantly surprised. Nina's train of thought was vaguely different from ordinary people.

Talitha remained silent, maintaining a mask of expressionless indifference, preserving the poise and dignity of a soldier reduced to a captive.

She had no desire to insert herself into such idle banter.

How could he possibly be a student of Jörmungandr? That was likely the ultimate fantasy of every single mage on earth. It was rare, however, to find someone so thoroughly intoxicated by a fabricated identity that they spoke of it as if it were absolute truth.

"Do you know of my teacher, Jörmungandr?" Since the topic of his teacher had come up, Zohan naturally decided to ask as well.

Unwilling to be toyed with, Talitha lifted her chin slightly, meeting Zohan with a cold glare.

Zohan was in no rush to interrogate her. In truth, he was certain that she had heard of him... yet it hardly mattered. Aside from remote backwaters like Red Hazel Town, anyone with even a sliver of worldly experience and education outside should have heard of the meritorious mage who founded the Sakura Roland Empire.

The crucial part—the whereabouts, current movements, and recent news of his teacher—was not necessarily something everyone knew.

He produced a collar and walked toward Talitha.

"What are you doing! I am no dog, if you dare to put that on me—" Seeing the object in his hand, genuine panic finally gripped Talitha.

She was not afraid of death, but she refused to endure humiliation before she died.

To be collared and treated like a dog would cast a shadow over the glory of the Clement family and utterly obliterate every honor she had ever earned.

It would make her feel like a young girl violated by a pack of drunkards, thugs, scoundrels, and perverts, weeping in despair as she scrubbed her body over and over again in vain.