Return of the Runebound Professor Chapter 875: Confusion

Had Mordred been observing with his own eyes, he would have surely blinked in disbelief. It seemed too impossible to be real. However, that small measure of relief was not granted to him. His magic, incapable of blinking, could not be so easily deceived. No, there was absolutely no question about it.

A woman was in the process of removing all her garments with mere seconds remaining on the countdown.

A number of the individuals engaged in combat nearby had certainly taken notice. If her intention was to cause a distraction, it was undeniably effective. At least fifteen mages were fixedly staring at her. Their expressions spanned a wide spectrum from utter astonishment to eager anticipation, with most leaning significantly towards the latter.

Yet, Mordred found a sliver of relief, as some onlookers seemed to register disappointment, upon discovering the woman was not entirely unclothed. Her entire body was tightly swathed in skintight white bandages, and judging by the subtle inscriptions of runes woven into them, these wrappings served a purpose beyond mere aesthetics.

Mordred found himself compelled to learn more. The situation was simply too peculiar. His intense curiosity had nothing to do with the woman herself, naturally. This was purely for research purposes. He considered himself far beyond any base or foolish desires. He could not be so readily sidetracked by something as common as a person disrobing.

He concentrated his senses, focusing on the specific area of the arena where the woman was positioned. His lips thinned into a severe line. Magic surged within him, and then the world warped, and Mordred's perception found itself immersed within the arena.

A spectral manifestation of himself materialized just a few feet from the woman and the discarded pile of clothing on the ground. The assembling group of mages, as expected, continued to gaze past Mordred, their attention fixed on the woman behind him. He turned to join their ranks, the ambient sounds of conversation amplifying as the timer overhead edged precariously closer to zero.

“Are you trying to bribe your way into our alliance?” a stout, broad-chested man inquired, appraising the woman with a critical eye. “Or do you simply wish for a swift defeat?”

The woman offered him no response whatsoever. She merely clasped her hands behind her back and directed her gaze upwards toward the descending timer.

“Pay him no mind,” another man interjected, approaching the woman with a lascivious grin. “I appreciate your boldness. Join our ranks. We have five mages, all at Rank 5 and boasting prior adventuring experience. We are more than capable of ensuring your safety. Simply remain with us, and we guarantee you’ll advance to the next stage of the tournament without issue.”

The initial man scoffed. “Only a fool would fall for that offer. I currently count only three of you. My own group comprises four members, and one of us is nearing Rank 6. There won't be any other Rank 6 cultivators in this initial round. I'm certain they segregated them into separate brackets to prevent the Rank 5s from being prematurely overwhelmed. We represent the most advantageous alliance to join.”

“Would you kindly cease your incessant noise?” the woman inquired, exhaling a small gust of annoyed breath. “You are quite loud.”

“Hah,” the second man declared with a smug chuckle. “You see? She doesn’t—”

“You as well.”

“Ah.” The man’s expression stiffened. Then, his eyes narrowed ominously. He glanced upwards at the countdown display. Thirty seconds remained until the commencement of the tournament’s first round. He audibly cracked his neck. “Very well, have it your way then. I shall deal with you first. I have no patience for individuals who lack the courtesy to speak with proper respect.”

The lips of the other man curled into a scornful sneer. He raised his fists, his intent clear as he prepared to channel his magic. “I couldn’t agree more. People who refuse to accept the boons bestowed upon them by life irk me more than anyone else. I eagerly anticipate putting you all in your rightful place.”

Mordred felt a strong conviction that he could have dispatched everyone in his vicinity with minimal effort and mere seconds. While this group may have attained Rank 5, there were no stringent prerequisites for entry into the tournament itself. These initial stages were precisely for the purpose of culling the weaker participants.

These individuals were undeniably the dregs destined to be filtered out. However, not a single clue explained the woman’s actual strategy. She remained motionless, her eyes closed as if deeply engrossed in meditation.

Mordred’s gaze sharpened.

He was far from being the most adept at navigating social intricacies. His companions frequently reminded him of this deficiency. Yet, if there was one skill he possessed with exceptional talent, it was the analysis of natural reactions to various stimuli. This was an integral part of understanding monstrous beings.

And this woman displayed not the slightest trace of fear. She didn’t even seem to anticipate the impending confrontation. There was no apprehension or disquiet evident in her features or her posture. There was nothing at all. She appeared… serene. It was as if the countdown timer had not just plummeted into the single digits.

She didn't even try to put on alluring airs, nor did she attempt to turn those men vying for her attention against each other – a tactic Mordred herself would have employed. After all, if her rivals eliminated each other in their pursuit of her favor, advancing to the next round would become considerably easier.

“Here we go, Bird,” the woman murmured, her voice so faint that Mordred suspected she was the only one who could hear. “This is what you’ve trained for. This is the trial. The proof of your abilities.”

“Last chance to come to your senses,” the man with the barrel chest declared, abandoning his previous stance and attempting a different approach. He made no effort to conceal the direction of his gaze. “You won’t find a better offer elsewhere. I pity you. I’ll watch your back if you join me. I promise.”

“You are formless. Elusive. Uncatchable,” Bird whispered. She lifted her eyes toward the heavens. “This is your Pattern.”

Mordred looked up, following Bird’s gaze.

The timer struck zero.

“Begin!” Baun’s voice boomed, echoing mightily throughout the arena.

A pained shriek ripped through the air.

Mordred’s head snapped around, eyes fixed on the barrel-chested man as he stumbled backward, blood gushing from his pulverized nose. The man’s eyes were wide with disbelief, the magic he had been amassing around his hands sputtering erratically.

Bird’s leg blurred through the air with a speed far exceeding normal human limits. Stone materialized before the man’s head as he utilized his Rank 5 rune to transmute magic into matter—

The stone inexplicably failed to impede anything. Despite it being directly in the path of Bird’s assault, her heel still connected with the side of the man’s skull with a sickening crunch. He was flung away, hitting the ground twice before skidding to a halt near the feet of another competitor.

A column of brilliant yellow light descended, engulfing him as a clear chime rang out. When the light dispersed, the man had vanished. It happened so swiftly that Mordred had a fleeting moment to process the event. However, a dozen subsequent flashes of light within moments clarified the situation. Those who were defeated were instantly teleported from the arena to the healers.

The other man who had been courting Bird took a hasty step back. Molten green flames erupted across his palms as he retreated to the safety of his allies. Simultaneously, the fallen man’s teammates cried out in anger and charged forward.

Bird made no move to evade. She remained stationary, as if in anticipation.

“You piece of trash!” one of the charging men roared, thrusting his hand forward and unleashing a thick bolt of lightning—

Intense heat surged. A massive torrent of verdant fire engulfed Mordred’s senses, along with every member of the fallen man’s team and Bird herself. Several sharp cracks echoed.

Three beams of dazzling yellow light struck down, consuming a trio of scorched bodies. Mordred was fairly certain they were not yet deceased, but he held little concern either way. The barrel-chested man’s entire team was now out of the fight.

“Serves them right,” the second man growled from the other side of the conflagration. The flames sputtered and died, revealing the man and the remainder of his team. “That foolish woman should have accepted my offer.”

And, standing before them, completely unharmed and precisely where the inferno’s center had been, was Bird.

She appeared entirely uninjured.

“Was that your strongest attack?” Bird inquired, tilting her head slightly.

Mordred’s heart momentarily faltered.

The man retreated a step, his confidence dissolving instantly.

“What? How? You were hit!”

“I most certainly was not,” Bird stated. A bolt of dark magic streaked through the air behind her— and she seemed to shimmer through it, allowing the errant attack to pass harmlessly by. “How could such a feeble attack strike me? I am one with the world. As close to the magic as I can possibly be without being truly exposed. This is my Pattern. How could a mage so detached from his power ever land a blow on me?”

“What?” the man questioned again. He took a step back, his team mirroring his movement. “That makes absolutely no sense!”

“Does it not? Then you are too obtuse to warrant any further of my time,” Bird informed them. “I require someone capable of genuinely assisting me in probing the limits of my abilities. You are entirely unsuitable for my research.”

Then, she became a blur.

A wall of green fire crashed down upon her, accompanied by a jagged blade of yellowish wind and a barrage of icy shards. And, as flashes of magic and the screams of other combatants filled the air around Mordred, four more yellow pillars descended from the sky.

The magical energies subsided.

Bird stood alone, completely unscathed. She turned, surveying the arena, then swiftly departed in pursuit of her next adversary.Mordred's gaze lingered in the direction she had disappeared. He knew he couldn't dedicate the entirety of his attention to her pursuit during the tournament; other participants warranted observation. Yet, his eyes remained fixed until her figure was completely swallowed by the throng. He then swallowed hard, drawing his senses back to survey the remaining fighters. Only one thought occupied his mind.