Tale of a Hedonistic wizard

The recent body strengthening by the black flames, seemed to have a significant effect on him, and he wanted to know the extent of his physical might.

The knights attacked with coordinated precision, their movements a deadly dance of steel and skill.

To any ordinary observer, it would have appeared as an overwhelming display of martial prowess.

But to Jaegar, it might as well have been a practice session with wooden swords.

He moved through their attacks with almost contemptuous ease, his body flowing like water between their blades.

A knight lunged with a thrust that should have been too fast to dodge—Jaegar simply wasn't there when the blade arrived, having shifted his weight a fraction of a second earlier.

Two more attacked from opposite sides, their timing perfect, leaving no apparent escape route.

Jaegar dropped and spun, his leg sweeping out to take both knights off their feet in a single fluid motion.

Ser Neale, watching intently, noted with growing concern that Jaegar was not just defending—he was systematically dismantling their formation, using their own attacks against them.

A knight would thrust, only to find his blade meeting empty air as Jaegar used the momentum to throw the attacker into his comrades.

Another would attempt a defensive stance, only to find himself suddenly airborne, his perfect form turned against him by Jaegar's superior understanding of leverage and movement.

These were men who had spent their entire lives mastering the art of combat and who had faced down demons and rival champions.

Yet in the face of Jaegar's martial skill, they might as well have been children playing at war. Jaegar was exceptional when it comes to close combat.

One by one, they were dispatched—not killed or seriously injured, but thoroughly defeated, their golden armour now dented and scuffed as they lay groaning on the marble floor.

Finally, only Ser Neale remained standing.

He had held back, watching Jaegar's technique, and what he had seen chilled him to his core.

Jaegar wasn't using any magic; it was all his physical power.

This was not just physical strength or speed—this was the movement of someone who had transcended normal human limitations, and pushed their body to heights that most martial artists could only dream of achieving.

"Impressive," Neale said, his sword still held at the ready. "You've clearly been doing more than just studying magic."

Jaegar inclined his head slightly, acknowledging the compliment. "The body and the spirit are one, Sier Neale. To truly master magic, one must also master the vessel that channels it."

The entrance hall of the Imperial Palace had become an arena of tension and power.

Ser Neale, the last knight standing, faced Jaegar with the weary determination of a veteran who knew he was outmatched but bound by duty to continue.

"Prince, I advise you, don't escalate this anymore," Neale's voice carried the weight of his years of service, a final attempt at diplomacy.

Jaegar's response was cold and precise. "Then bring me Lorcan, and I will leave."

The request hung in the air like frost, causing Neale to frown deeply. "I don't know about that, but you have committed a crime, attacking Prince Castor and the guard knights. I can't stay still anymore."

By now, the commotion had drawn attention throughout the palace.

The grand entrance hall, with its soaring ceilings and ornate pillars, had filled with knights from every corner of the palace complex. Their golden armour created a sea of metallic gleaming as they moved to surround the confrontation, hands on their sword hilts.

Instead of backing down, Jaegar raised both hands, his movements deliberate and precise.

The air crackled with arcane energy as he began to cast a spell of breathtaking magnitude. From his left hand, azure energy spiralled outward, coalescing into a massive serpent of pure ice. The creature's scales gleamed like diamonds, its coils thick enough to crush a war horse.

Simultaneously, his right hand called forth a horned wolf of equally impressive proportions, its ice fangs as long as swords and its eyes gleaming with an inner light that spoke of both intelligence and barely contained fury.

The temperature in the hall plummeted dramatically, far colder than the winter air outside.

Frost crept across the marble floors and up the pillars, creating intricate patterns that seemed to pulse in time with the magical constructs.

The knights, for all their training and bravery, found themselves frozen in place - not by magic, but by sheer awe and terror.

The ice creatures towered nearly to the ceiling, their presence so lifelike that several of the younger knights instinctively stepped backward.

Ser Neale, despite his years of experience in magical combat, felt his jaw slacken in shock. This was no mere display of magical skill - this was a demonstration of power on a scale that hadn't been seen in the palace for generations.

The creatures weren't just constructs of ice; they seemed to breathe, to think, to hunger for violence. Their eyes tracked the movements of the knights, and their bodies shifted with a fluidity that defied their frozen nature.

It was into this tableau of frozen power that Prince Vlaran entered, his timing as impeccable as ever.

The eldest son of the Emperor paused at the threshold, taking in the scene before him with remarkable composure. His eyes moved from the scattered and defeated knights, to his half-brother Castor still slumped against the wall, and finally to Jaegar standing between his ice behemoths.

A smile, equal parts admiration and calculation, formed on his lips. He watched the whole scene and observed Jaegar carefully. It was his first time seeing Jaegar fight, and he concluded that he does live up to his name. Vlaran could tell that Jaegar may look like an apprentice wizard; his power far exceeded that of a master level.
Your journey continues at empire

Vlaran moved forward with measured steps, his rich robes of state rustling softly in the frigid air.

He came to a stop before Jaegar, seemingly unperturbed by the massive creatures of ice that flanked his cousin. "It's been a while, brother," he said, his voice warm despite the arctic temperature of the hall.