Wizard: The Emperor of Magic.

Author Note

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Chapter 15

The battle Lucas fought was broadcasted across the entirety of the Silvery Family Territory by none other than his elder brother, Ryler.

Through the intricate use of enchanted mirrors and long-range projection magic, the entire event was transmitted to the furthest reaches of the Zenith Continent.

In a matter of minutes, the once-quiet prestige of the Silvery Family ignited like wildfire.

As a Duke household, they were already respected.

But this—this spectacle—was unlike anything seen in decades.

Their influence surged overnight.

Nobles paid attention.

Royalty whispered.

And the common folk?

They cheered.

But Ryler had been careful.

The recording only showed the decisive moments:

Lucas defeating two formidable opponents and unleashing a terrifying spell, one so potent that only Tier 4 or Tier 5 beings could normally endure its effects.

Every Knight, Mage, and even regular citizen who witnessed the broadcast understood one thing—Lucas Von Maximilian was no ordinary man.

It was a revelation.

He was instantly the subject of rumors, praise, and awe in every city and village under the Silvery banner and beyond.

The discussions were the same no matter where one stood.

How could a single man—one at Tier 3 Arch Mage—stand against two others, one of whom was a Tier 3 Golden Knight and the other a Tier 3 Mage of the same rank?

By all known logic, Lucas should have lost.

And yet, the magical recording made it undeniable.

Lucas Von Maximilian, who had long since renounced the Silvery name to forge his own path and create the Maximilian Family, had emerged victorious.

But far from the celebratory halls of nobles and the stunned murmurs of taverns, in a commoners' district on the outskirts of the Sky Empire's capital, a girl stared at the projection with disbelief hardening into fury.

A glowing illusion hovered mid-air, projected from a polished Magic Stone embedded into the wall of a rundown study hall.

The girl stood motionless, golden hair catching the low light like a curtain of fire, her fists clenched at her sides.

Her name was Ava Heart, seventeen years old and already infamous at the Academy for her relentless pursuit of excellence—and her stubborn refusal to acknowledge Lucas Von Maximilian's authority as a professor.

Her eyes, golden like polished topaz, brimmed with anger and confusion as they fixated on the image of Lucas standing tall, wand in hand, surrounded by the scorched remains of the battlefield.

The lingering echo of his spell's destruction glimmered across the illusory screen.

"How did he do it?" she muttered, voice sharp, cracking the silence around her.

She had seen him just two days ago, standing before their class, calmly teaching magical theory as a Tier 1 Adept Mage.

That wasn't speculation—it was confirmed, acknowledged even by the Academy's detection stones.

Everyone in Class knew it.

And now… now he was Tier 3?

In four days?

Ava's heart pounded. Even the rarest potions designed to accelerate mana cultivation couldn't grant such monstrous progress.

At best, they improved speed by 40%, and only if consumed in perfect conditions and backed by top-tier meditation techniques.

But this wasn't 40%.

This was a leap that made no sense.

All this time, Ava had believed the titles and legends surrounding Lucas Von Maximilian were overblown, exaggerated stories crafted by the Silvery family to elevate their prestige.

A false genius, she'd thought.

A convenient myth.

But the world had just been reminded of a truth many had chosen to forget.

Lucas wasn't some late-blooming noble child.

He had reached Tier 1—at seven years old.

He had been casting basic spells with ease before most children could even control mana threads.

The legends were true.

Now, the same people who once whispered about his faded potential were echoing a new thought, one that buzzed through the Empire like lightning through storm clouds:

"Maybe he could have reached Tier 3 when he was seven... and just didn't bother cultivating anymore."

Writers from the Empire's top publications were already penning dramatic headlines, all variations of the same narrative:

"The Prodigy Returns."

"Lucas Von Maximilian—The Genius Who Chose to Sleep."

"Four Days to Greatness: A Master Awakens."

And Ava?

Ava Heart—the same girl who had stood against Lucas during every one of his lessons, who challenged him, argued with him, tried to expose him—stood frozen in front of the magic screen.

Because she couldn't deny it anymore.

Lucas Von Maximilian wasn't a fake.

He was a legend in the making.

She was the same girl who had tried to challenge Lucas in every lesson they shared.

Her name was Ava Heart, the daughter of Vincent Heart, the lead researcher in Lucas's Mana Stone project

She hated him.

Ava Heart, seventeen years old and full of fury, couldn't tear her eyes away from the floating projection of Lucas Von Maximilian.

Her teeth clenched.

Her shoulders trembled.

All around her, magic danced through the illusory screen—replaying Lucas's devastating victory over both a Tier 3 Golden Knight and an Arch Mage.

Everyone saw a genius.

But all Ava could see was the man who had destroyed her family.

Because of Lucas, her father—Vincent Heart, the head researcher of the Mana Stone project—was lying in a hospital bed, locked in an unending coma.

A brilliant man brought low, mind shattered by a backlash he had suffered while working under Lucas's lead.

And the worst part?

Lucas never apologized.

Not once.

Not a word.

He just carried on, like nothing had happened.

Ava's fists tightened at her sides, fingernails biting into her palms.

The world saw a hero.

But to her, Lucas was a coward hiding behind fame and silence.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from beside her, calm and far too neutral for her taste.

"Wow," her older brother Lee said, his golden eyes reflecting the projection's flickering light.

"Very few could fight a Mage and a Knight of the same Tier at the same time. That's... something else."

That casual admiration made something snap inside her.

"Don't praise him!" Ava shouted, spinning toward him.

Her voice cracked like lightning through the quiet room.

Lee Heart was a handsome young man in his early twenties, tall and lean like their father had once been, with the same golden hair and calm disposition.

But right now, Ava didn't see her brother—only someone who refused to hate the man responsible for everything they'd lost.

Lee sighed heavily, brushing a hand through his hair. "Holding onto hate won't bring us anything, Ava."

"Why do you always say that?!" she snapped, eyes wild.

"This man took away our father! He left him like that! And you—you just sit there and do nothing!"

She stood now, voice rising to a scream. "We can't just sit here and let him roam around free, smiling, teaching, living, like he didn't break our family!"

Lee's expression hardened. His tone, normally soft, dropped into something cold and sharp. "And when you do kill him, Ava—will that bring Dad back?"

Ava flinched.

Lee stood, facing her now. "You're not trying to save Dad. You're trying to soothe your own pain by pretending revenge is the answer."

His eyes narrowed. "You think that by hurting Lucas, you'll fix what's broken. But that's not how this works."

Ava's breath caught in her throat.

Lee kept going, voice low but steady. "Instead of finding ways to heal our father—to actually restore him to full health—you've wrapped yourself up in hate. It's easier to blame someone than to work toward something difficult, isn't it?"

"Lee—" she began, but he cut her off.

"I don't like Lucas either," he said, "but I won't insult our father's choices by acting like he was some helpless victim. Dad chose to work on that project. He knew the risks. He believed in it—and in Lucas." His words struck deep.

"He wasn't a fool, Ava."

Silence settled between them like a thick fog.

"I'm not at the Academy to chase ghosts or vendettas," Lee finished.

"I'm here to find a way to bring our father back—not to mourn what's already broken, and certainly not to throw blame at a man who might be fighting battles we don't even see."

He glanced at the screen one last time. "Lucas nearly died in that attack. Whatever you think of him, he's being pushed too. Maybe harder than either of us."

Without waiting for a reply, Lee turned and walked toward the door.

As his footsteps faded, Ava sank slowly to the floor.

Her fists uncurled.

Her breath came in shallow gasps.

Her voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper.

"...Sorry, brother."

Tears rolled down her cheeks, hot and bitter.

Lee was long gone from the room.

Alone now, she stared blankly at the screen—at the image of the man she hated, and maybe, deep down, feared.

"I just…" she murmured, voice shaking, "I don't know any other way to save Dad. The only thing I have left is revenge…"