Return of the Runebound Professor Chapter 879 & ANNOUNCEMENT UPDATE

Victory was Vincent Lionsheart's birthright.

His parents, deeply desiring this very outcome, had bestowed upon him a name that echoed the sentiment. Both names commenced with 'V' and comprised precisely seven letters. Furthermore, his parents had spared no effort in ensuring this resemblance extended beyond mere nomenclature, providing him with the finest tutors and guiding him in the creation of the most potent runes achievable by a family of their standing—a truly significant accomplishment. Vincent's existence could be described as remarkably straightforward, summarizable by a singular concept.

Vincent triumphed.

It would have been exceedingly difficult to achieve anything less. He freely admitted that nearly everything had been effortlessly provided for him. While Vincent had not neglected his studies, nor had his tutors permitted him to bypass any crucial steps.

The Lionsheart lineage was one of warriors, uninterested in indolent offspring who would merely subsist on the legacy forged by their ancestors through hardship and sacrifice. Power, by its very nature, entailed responsibility—a truth Vincent had understood from the moment he first grasped a sword.

He was meticulously shaped. Every lesson, every single moment of his life, had been purposefully designed and refined to leave no shred of doubt regarding his character and ultimate purpose. The Lionsheart family disdained weakness, and he represented the pinnacle of their enduring efforts.

For twenty-six years, Vincent had consistently met the exacting standards set for him. He had engaged in combat, attained a level of strength even his family had deemed improbable, and emerged victorious. Time and time again.

Certainly, Vincent Lionsheart had faced defeats. Minor setbacks in sparring sessions had repeatedly tested him, serving as stark reminders of his limitations.

Yet, he would inevitably rise again. He would dedicate himself to training. He would grow stronger.

And then, he would challenge anew.

And he would emerge victorious.

Perhaps not on the initial attempt. Perhaps not even on the second. But his triumph was assured, an inescapable certainty.

He had never allowed a single loss to define him. That was simply his essence. He possessed a purpose, a mission far too significant to permit the notion of failure against any lesser obstacle. Every facet of his life had been orchestrated to culminate in one singular objective.

Vincent Lionsheart was destined to win the Tournament of Heaven’s Path.

His ultimate aim was to elevate the Lionsheart name to unprecedented heights, to become the favored disciple of the kingdom's most formidable mage, and to achieve levels of power that would eventually eclipse even his mentor’s.

Vincent Lionsheart aspired to nothing less than divinity.

This was the expectation of his family, the price they had paid with their very essence—their blood, sweat, and tears. All their aspirations and dreams rested upon his shoulders. Bearing such a profound weight, he could not afford to falter now.

It seemed even the cosmos recognized this undeniable truth.

When the summons for the first round finally arrived, he was heralded by music.

The melody was profoundly moving, imbued with power. It caused the fine hairs on his arms to stand on end, his heart to pound with an intensity akin to an eager adolescent on the cusp of a first confession of love. The music filled him with such potent determination and thrilling anticipation that containment became a struggle, leaving him barely able to await the countdown timer displayed high above.

It felt like an anthem—and while Vincent harbored no illusions that it was specifically composed for him, he chose to embrace it as such. Such tributes deserved proper acknowledgment. As the other cultivators formed their groups, their eyes nervously fixed on the digital countdown in the sky, Vincent simply immersed himself in the sound.

The music ebbed and flowed, occasionally seeming to vanish altogether. At moments, he believed it had ceased entirely. There were intervals of complete silence, only for it to resume, as if the performer had suddenly remembered their task was not yet complete.

It was utterly captivating.

He felt a pang of nearly disappointed anticipation when the overhead timer finally reached zero.

But Vincent was bound by duty.

The very instant Baun’s voice resonated through the arena, Vincent was in motion.

The arena erupted in a symphony of magical flashes and deafening roars as chaos instantly engulfed the battlefield. He remained unfazed. Deep within his consciousness, Vincent could still perceive the exquisite melody, a thread of beauty piercing through the thunderous cacophony of clashing spells.

He bypassed the clustered groups of mages, deeming them unworthy of his immediate attention. Instead, his focus narrowed onto the closest solitary opponent—a young woman with sun-kissed skin and long, raven hair. Her sharp, defined features hinted at an origin from the distant frontiers of the Empire.

Vincent surged toward her like lightning. Embers flared across the ground in his wake as his elegant sword was brought to bear. He halted abruptly several paces distant, his weapon held high and aimed directly at her throat. She reacted, turning, but it was an instant too late. Vincent was quite confident he could have ended her life in the time it took her to fully register his presence.

But any victory that comes with ease can hardly be called a true triumph.

“You stand alone,” Vincent stated. “As do I. Shall we commence?”

“A group?” The woman inquired, her focus seeming to drift. It was as if her thoughts were occupied elsewhere.

Vincent nearly let out a chuckle. “No. A fight. I am not here to seek shelter behind another.”

The woman’s gaze snapped to him. She then lowered her fighting stance. “Certainly. More courteous than I had anticipated. I hadn’t expected individuals to inquire about fighting prior to initiating an assault. Why not?”

She slammed a foot into the ground, and with a sharp crack, a circle of jagged earth burst forth around her.

Vincent leaped backward, narrowly avoiding a sharp growth that threatened to impale his chest. He rolled as a swirling disk of wind materialized in the air behind him. A crackle of electricity snaked across his limbs. Bracing himself against the surge, he propelled himself forward with a delighted laugh.

His form became a blur as he accelerated. The woman pivoted, her hair flying wildly around her. She narrowly evaded his path, the very spot where she had been mere moments before becoming the target of Vincent’s impact, sending stone fragments flying. Rivers of crackling magic coursed down his body and into the earth below.

He spun, his rapier flashing out to strike the woman, but she deflected his arm with her hand as she twisted, launching a vicious kick directly at his head. Vincent ducked beneath the onslaught, then thrust his free hand forward. A torrent of electric energy erupted with a sharp, hissing sound.

She sprang back, landing on the precipice of the spike ring she had conjured earlier, then launched herself away to create distance.

Vincent would not allow it. His body blurred into motion, pursuing her as electrical power surged through his limbs.

The pair weaved through the arena. Pillars of radiant energy descended, consuming the fallen mages scattered around them. They exchanged a flurry of blows, each searching for an opening in the other’s defenses, only to find none.

“Who was your instructor?” Vincent called out, sparks showering from his sword as it screeched against a stone spike. “Your fighting style is unlike any I have witnessed!”

The woman grasped the spike and propelled herself forward, unleashing a downward kick aimed at Vincent’s skull. He spun aside, and her heel impacted the ground with enough force to fracture it.

“My father,” she responded, her hands held defensively before her, her eyes warily tracking his movements. “Far-sed. And yours?”

“I have never heard of him. Perhaps I should have,” Vincent replied. “As for me, I have learned from many. I am Vincent Lionsheart.”

Vincent surged forward. He materialized directly in front of the woman, driving his sword upwards towards her chest. Something flashed in his peripheral vision. Reacting instinctively, he summoned a howling vortex of wind at his side just as a heavy stone bludgeon smashed through it.

However, the wind disk provided just enough time for him to drop, allowing the lethal projectile to soar harmlessly overhead. Vincent rolled to the side as the woman stomped her foot onto the ground where he had been moments before, then sprang back to his feet.

“I am Seleth,” the woman stated.

Then, she brought her hands down. A platform of earth lurched upwards beneath Vincent, launching him skyward. His eyes widened briefly as she sent a sharp stone spike rocketing upwards towards him.

Drawing upon his magic, he pushed off from the air itself, propelling himself back towards the ground and landing in a roll wreathed in sparks. The music began to play again. It was closer this time, originating from just beyond their immediate vicinity. But the proximity was not the only change.

Vincent’s eyes widened slightly. He felt himself slowing, as if his body were being compelled to obey an unseen force.

He rose from his roll, but the attack he had been preparing failed to materialize. He simply stopped a foot away from Seleth, his gaze drifting towards the source of the music.

Beyond a cluster of mages engaged in combat, a masked figure stood. He was garbed in black robes intricately embroidered with shimmering silver threads resembling a spider’s web. A beautiful stringed instrument rested against his chin, emanating the haunting melody that now permeated the battlefield with increasing intensity. Confusion mingled with awe within Vincent’s mind.

The momentary lapse was almost fatal. Vincent narrowly jerked his head away from one of Seleth’s attacks. She, too, seemed somewhat distracted—but she hadn’t noticed the masked man. He was positioned behind her. His music alone had been potent enough to disrupt both of their focus.

And that brief pause was enough for the tide of battle to turn.

Something streaked through the air. Not Vincent, but a dark projectile, heading directly for the side of Seleth’s head. It originated from a mage within one of the surrounding groups.

Seleth was unaware. She remained focused on launching an attack towards him. It was the music. There was something about it that demanded such profound attention that Vincent knew, with absolute certainty, that he himself would not have perceived the incoming attack had it been aimed at his own head.

He lunged forward.

A spike of stone narrowly missed his shoulder, leaving a shallow gash on his flesh as it whizzed past his extended arm. Seleth dodged out of the way, but the projectile hadn't been intended for her. A whirling vortex of air materialized in his hands, crackling with aggressive yellow lightning.

The bolt struck his magic, fragmenting into swirling shards of dark energy.

Vincent drew upon his arcane power, steeling himself. His maneuver had left him critically exposed to a swift counterattack from Seleth, who was mere inches away.

Yet, no strike followed. His boot found the ground, and he pivoted back towards Seleth. She remained precisely where she had been moments prior, just a foot distant. A puzzled expression clouded her features.

“Did you… just shield me from an attack?”

“It was disrupting our duel,” Vincent responded with clear annoyance. “I detest close-quarters combat. It lacks any semblance of refinement. A victory earned through another's intervention is no true triumph.”

The edges of Seleth’s lips quirked. “Absurd. But I suppose I ought to express my gratitude. I… ah, shall we continue our bout?”

“Naturally,” Vincent declared. He offered a closed fist with a grin. “Have you experience with fencing?”

“A fist bump?” Seleth inquired, blinking. A laugh escaped her, and she extended her hand to tap his. But before their knuckles could meet, her eyes widened dramatically. “Behind you!”

Vincent spun around – only to find a short figure standing an inch away, residual crackles of Spatial Magic still flaring around him. A vicious grin was already plastered on the man’s face, and a long blade forged from dark energy in his grasp was already arcing towards both Vincent and Seleth.

He channeled his magic, attempting to erect a shield of tempestuous energy. It proved futile. The blade moved with blinding speed, far too close for his defenses. He had been enjoying himself too much, letting his guard down. Vincent’s teeth clenched.

Then, a sickening thud echoed.

The world fell utterly silent.

Vincent froze, but felt no agony.

The blade in the attacker’s hand flickered and died. His eyes bulged, his lips parting in sheer disbelief. A thin crimson line then traced across his shoulder.

His hand dropped, hitting the ground with a heavy splash. A shriek erupted from the man as he convulsed, his other arm detaching and falling to join the first. The man slipped in his own blood, collapsing onto his backside as he stared upwards in utter terror.

It dawned on Vincent at that precise moment that it wasn't silence at all.

The music had merely ceased momentarily.

The masked individual stood before them all. He held the bow of his instrument loosely, casually, yet a single drop of blood traced a path down its taut string. A bead of sweat trickled down Vincent’s neck.

An overwhelming aura radiated from the masked figure, so intense it felt like it was crushing the very air from Vincent’s lungs.

The masked man glanced down at the incapacitated mage.

“I yield!” the mage bellowed, his senses flooding back.

A brilliant column of light descended, engulfing him completely. He vanished in an instant, leaving Vincent face-to-face with the musician.

The suffocating aura assaulted Vincent’s mind, like an invading army laying siege to his very thoughts. There was something profoundly unnatural about the man standing before him.

“Seleth,” Vincent stated, a tremor in his voice. “My perspective has shifted. Would you consider joining forces? Temporarily, of course.”

Seleth offered no reply. Her gaze remained fixed upon the mysterious man, her expression one of sheer horror.

“It's no use,” Seleth whispered, her eyes locked on the musician in stunned disbelief. “We are doomed.”

“Seleth, was it?” the masked man inquired. His voice resonated as if from a great distance, ancient and spectral, rather than belonging to a mortal man. It was as if his attire distorted his vocalizations. “I was unaware of your presence. How fortunate. You will suffice.”

Then, he disappeared.

Blood pounded in Vincent’s ears. He whirled around, seeking any trace of the man or his music, but found nothing. There was not even a hint of his passage. The man had simply… dematerialized.

His gaze returned to Seleth. Her face was ashen.

“Was he…?” Vincent began, his heart hammering against his ribs. All thoughts of continuing his duel with her had vanished. “Was he your confederate?”

“No,” Seleth replied, her eyes still fixed on the empty space where the masked figure had stood. “I do not believe he is an ally.”

“Then why did he intervene?” Vincent pressed. “And what did he imply by…?”

Seleth shook her head slowly. Then, she swallowed hard.

“I haven’t the faintest idea.”