The Glitched Mage-Chapter 99: One month

The mausoleum was silent.

The kind of silence that only came after a storm, thick with the weight of something unspoken. The moment Riven and Nyx stepped inside, the air itself seemed to recoil, sensing the fury simmering beneath his skin.

Riven didn't bother suppressing it.

He strode deeper into the ancient chamber, his movements precise, controlled—but the shadows around him betrayed his restraint. They coiled violently, writhing against the stone walls, feeding off the abyssal energy leaking from him.

The king's words echoed in his mind.

"Necromancers, those who tamper with the dead, must be rooted out and dealt with before their corruption spreads."

His fingers curled into fists, abyssal fire sparking along his knuckles.

That self-righteous bastard.

Riven exhaled sharply, forcing himself to breathe past the rage clawing at his chest. He had expected nothing less from the Solis King. Hatred for the Shadow Kingdom was embedded in their very history. But tonight's meeting had made one thing clear—the kingdom was preparing for war.

And Cassiel…

Riven's lips curled into a snarl at the thought of that paladin bastard standing there, basking in the adoration of the Academy.

"His holy power cleansed the battlefield. His blade struck down countless undead. Without him, we would have been overwhelmed."

Lies.

Riven had ended the attack. The undead had been drawn to her— the spirit that now resided in his sword. When he forged her into a blade, the attack had stopped.

But none of them knew. None of them would ever know.

They would sing Cassiel's name as a hero. They would build him higher, elevate him, strengthen him.

Riven's breath came slow and steady.

Fine.

He would just have to tear him down.

"I need to get stronger." His voice was sharp, unwavering, cutting through the mausoleum's stillness. "I need to push myself further… I'm giving myself one month."

Nyx remained at his side, her expression unreadable. "For what?"

"I'll take myself to the very threshold of the fourth Circle." Riven turned to face her, his abyssal flames flickering at his fingertips. "And just before I break through, I'll challenge the Power Leaderboard."

A pause.

Nyx's gaze sharpened, but she said nothing.

"I'll climb my way to first place," Riven continued, his smirk cold, "before I ascend to the third year. And then, I'll leave this place behind. I'll return home."

The words settled between them, final and absolute.

Nyx studied him for a long moment, then nodded. "Whatever you need, I will do it."

Riven exhaled, some of his tension easing at the certainty in her voice.

"I know."

A brief silence stretched between them before Nyx reached into the shadows at her side. Slowly, she withdrew something—a small, solidified gem, its surface dark and gleaming, pulsing faintly with abyssal energy.

She held it out to him.

Riven raised a brow. "What is this?"

Nyx's lips curled, but the expression was softer than usual. "Happy birthday."

Riven blinked.

Of all the things he had expected her to say—that had not been one of them.

He looked at the gem again, his fingers brushing against its cool surface. "Nyx…"

"I siphoned a part of my mana into it," she explained, her voice steady. "And some of my life force."

Riven's head snapped up at that, his expression turning sharp.

Nyx met his gaze evenly. "It's a protection measure. If you are ever critically injured, the gem will break and restore you once."

Silence.

Riven stared at her, something unreadable flickering behind his gaze. "That's a steep cost."

Nyx shrugged. "I have lived a long time, my king." She lifted the gem slightly. "And I would rather see my life force spent protecting you than wasted doing nothing."

Riven was quiet for a long moment.

Then, slowly, he extended his hand and took the gem from her.

The moment his fingers curled around it, abyssal energy surged between them—a connection forming, sealing the magic she had woven into it.

A quiet hum of power pulsed from the gem as Nyx reached forward, her fingertips brushing against his ear.

Before he could react, she pierced it through.

A brief, sharp sting. Then warmth.

The gem settled against his skin, black and glinting like a lone star.

Nyx's gaze lingered on it for a moment before she stepped back.

"There," she murmured. "Now, you'll always have me watching your back."

Riven reached up, fingers brushing against the gem's smooth surface. His smirk returned, slow and amused.

"Tch." He rolled his shoulders. "How sentimental of you."

Nyx scoffed. "Don't get used to it."

Riven chuckled, his rage from before tempered—just slightly. His thoughts shifted back to his plan. His path.

One month.

Four weeks to take himself to the absolute limit.

Then, he would claim the top of the Power Leaderboard.

And once he had crushed them all—once he stood at the peak—he would finally leave this place behind.

The Shadow Kingdom awaited him.

And nothing in the Solis Kingdom would stop him.

—x—

The next morning, Riven stood at the edge of a Mana Beast Isle, the mist rising around him in thick, icy swirls. Unlike the other islands he had visited before, this one pulsed with a frigid presence, the air sharp and biting against his skin.

Ahead of him, jagged ice formations jutted from the ground like frozen spears, their surfaces slick with an unnatural sheen. Frost coated the sparse trees that clung stubbornly to the terrain, their bark twisted and blackened by years of exposure to the island's mana-rich environment.

A tundra, blanketed in the raw power of ice-aspected mana.

Nyx adjusted her cloak, her breath visible in the chill. "I take it fire magic's going to be a problem here," she mused, glancing at Riven.

Riven flexed his fingers, feeling the abyssal heat that normally coiled at his fingertips. Here, it was duller, suppressed—not extinguished, but weakened. The ice mana was already at work, pushing against his own elements, making it harder to wield his flames freely.

He smirked. "Good."

Nyx arched a brow. "You enjoy making things harder for yourself, don't you?"

Riven stepped forward, boots crunching against the frost-covered ground. "If it's easy, I don't get stronger."

A sudden pulse of mana rippled through the air.

Nyx's expression sharpened, her stance shifting slightly. "We're not alone."

From the dense fog ahead, glowing blue eyes flickered to life.

Then another.

And another.

Shadows moved within the mist, their forms large, their breath curling in the cold.

Frostfang Direwolves.

Their fur gleamed like freshly fallen snow, their bodies massive, each the size of a warhorse. Ice mana coiled off them in thick waves, their movements eerily silent as they stalked closer, their jaws parting to reveal razor-sharp fangs coated in frost.

A low growl rumbled from the pack leader.

Riven exhaled.

Perfect.

He summoned the newly forged sword from his inventory, and the moment it materialized in his grasp, an unnatural weight settled over him.

A pressure—deep, suffocating.

The abyssal spirit inside the weapon stirred.

It resisted.

Riven gritted his teeth as his mana veins burned, his muscles locking up for a split second as his body strained against the overwhelming force within the blade.

It was like trying to wield a raging storm trapped within steel.

'Control me, or be devoured.'

The spirit's voice slithered through his mind, sharp and cold.

He tightened his grip.

"No," Riven murmured, forcing his will into the blade. "You'll obey me."

The sword pulsed violently in defiance, the abyssal presence inside thrashing against his control, demanding dominance. Riven's mana surged in response, clashing against it—an invisible battle of wills.

The Frostfang Direwolves lunged.

Riven moved.

Pain flared through his arm as he forced the sword to comply, his mana veins straining under the resistance. The first wolf closed in, its massive body a blur of white and blue—

And Riven swung.

The blade howled.

A distorted wail echoed as abyssal energy lashed outward, clashing violently with the ice-aspected mana in the air. The moment the sword made contact with the wolf's flank, there was a crack—then a sudden implosion.

The direwolf disintegrated, its body collapsing into shards of ice, its core torn apart by the sheer force of the abyssal sword's strike.

The other wolves hesitated.

Riven exhaled, his breath shaky, his body screaming from the effort of just one swing. His veins felt like they were on fire, his mana struggling to circulate properly after the sheer strain of controlling the weapon.

But he grinned.

One strike. One kill.

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Again.

He forced his body forward, gripping the sword tighter. His mana surged, trying to stabilize, but the spirit inside the blade continued to resist.

His veins burned.

His muscles protested.

But he didn't stop.

The wolves attacked again, their hesitation brief.

Riven met them head-on.

The next swing sent another direwolf crumpling, its body torn apart in a single arc of abyssal destruction. But this time, the backlash was worse—his vision blurred, his body trembled, and his mana pulsed violently out of sync.

His breath came ragged, his grip on the sword tightening.

Push through.

Another wolf lunged.

Riven forced himself to move, to strike again, to carve through the frost-touched beasts with sheer willpower.

Each strike hurt. Each swing sent searing pain through his mana veins, his body fighting against the unnatural weight of the weapon, against the abyssal spirit that refused to submit.

But he didn't stop.

Again.

And again.

Until his body could withstand it.

Until the sword stopped resisting.

Until it was his.

The final direwolf fell, its glowing blue eyes dimming as its body shattered into crystalline dust.

Silence settled over the tundra.

Riven staggered, his vision tilting as the strain threatened to pull him under—but Nyx caught him, her grip firm as she steadied him before he could collapse. Her fingers pressed against his arm, grounding him as his breath came in short, ragged bursts, his limbs heavy, his veins pulsing erratically from the strain.

But he was still standing.

Nyx let out a low whistle, her hold lingering as she leaned in slightly, her sharp gaze flicking between him and the weapon still pulsing with restrained abyssal power. "That looked painful."

Riven let out a rough chuckle, his grip still firm on the sword. "It was."

Nyx's eyes narrowed, studying him as he exhaled slowly. His body still ached. His mana was still unstable.

Riven exhaled slowly. His body still ached. His mana was still unstable.

But…

He raised the sword.

The abyssal energy inside it stirred—no longer violently thrashing, but waiting. Watching.

It had not submitted fully.

But it was acknowledging him.

Riven smirked. "Not yet. But it will."

Nyx folded her arms, tilting her head slightly. "And how do you plan to make that happen?"

Riven turned his gaze to the frozen landscape ahead, where the deeper parts of the island loomed, untouched.

By going further.

By pushing until the sword had no choice but to obey him.

"We keep going."

Nyx smirked. "I figured you'd say that."

With that, they moved forward, deeper into the frozen abyss.

—x—

For the next two weeks, Riven followed the same relentless pattern.

Each day, he and Nyx would travel to a different Mana Beast Isle, each one teeming with creatures molded by its distinct elemental force.

Each day, he would fight until his body refused to move.

And each day, the sword would resist him—until it didn't.

—x—

The second day brought them to a volcanic island, a land of scorched black rock and rivers of molten mana. Magma Serpents, their bodies coiled with living fire, slithered through the craggy landscape.

Riven wielded the sword again.

And again, it fought him.

It resisted with every strike, burning through his veins, testing his limits, forcing him to exert his will over its abyssal presence.

His body strained. His mana buckled under the weight of the sword's defiance.

But he kept going.

Slash after slash, kill after kill, he burned his way through the serpents, his sword clashing against their flame-wreathed bodies, abyssal energy devouring their bodies.

By the end of the day, Riven was barely standing, his muscles trembling, his vision dark at the edges.

Yet, the sword was quieter.

Not yet obedient.

But watching.

—x—

The third day, they set foot on a jungle island—a domain where beasts of pure wind and lightning ruled the skies.

Stormclaw Harpies.

Their screeches split the air as they descended like living tempests, talons crackling with lightning. Their speed was blinding.

Riven could barely track them with his eyes, let alone react.

But the sword forced him to adapt.

It pushed his mana circulation to its limit, forcing him to refine his movement, forcing his mind and body to act as one. The more he fought, the more his body adjusted, his instincts sharpening to match the creatures' erratic speed.

His strikes became faster.

More precise.

By the time the sun set, the harpies lay in ruins around him, abyssal fire smoldering in their remains.

—x—

On the fifth day, Riven found himself on an island ruled by Titanboars, massive beasts covered in unbreakable stone armor. Their defenses were impenetrable.

His sword, despite its raw power, wasn't enough—his mana still fell short.

Every strike he made against them sent shockwaves through his arms, the feedback of his own strength rattling his bones. The strain was unbearable, his muscles screaming from the impact of every blow.

It was a test of endurance. A test of raw, brutal force.

If he could not break the sword's resistance, he would break himself trying.

By the end, his bones ached, his mana circulation was unstable, and his sword arm felt like it was no longer part of his body.

But the Titanboars lay dead.

And his body had strengthened.

—x—

The days bled into one another.

Each island, each relentless battle, forged him anew.

He slaughtered mana beasts until his body was wrecked, until his mana reserves were dangerously low, until he was on the verge of collapse.

Each night, he forced himself into meditative recovery, repairing the damage he had inflicted upon himself—forcing his mana veins to expand, forcing his muscles to fortify and adapt.

The sword no longer fought against him as fiercely.

It no longer lashed out with every strike.

By the twelfth day, it had stopped resisting altogether.

But it still watched.

Still waited.

Demanding something more.

—x—

On the fourteenth day, Riven stood at the base of an island where the strongest beast yet awaited him.

A Frostbound Tyrant—an apex predator, towering twice his height, its entire body encased in layers of enchanted ice so dense that even abyssal fire struggled to burn it. A relic of Varethun, untouched by death, a behemoth that had reigned over this frozen domain for centuries.

And Riven was going to kill it.

His fingers tightened around the hilt of his sword as he exhaled, breath misting in the frigid air. Across the battlefield, the Tyrant's piercing blue gaze locked onto him—mana-infused fury given form.

It didn't hesitate.

It charged.

And Riven met it head-on.

Their clash shook the island. Ice cracked beneath their feet, the force of impact splitting the ground apart. Riven's arms screamed under the strain, his body pushed to its absolute threshold. If his sword still resisted, he would die. If his body faltered, he would be crushed.

The Tyrant roared, jagged ice forming along its massive claws, the next strike inevitable—a killing blow.

Riven's abyssal mana flared.

His sword sang.

The resistance vanished.

In that moment, he and the weapon were one.

The sword did not fight him. It did not push back.

Instead, it answered.

Abyssal fire erupted from the blade, so dark it consumed the very air around it.

He swung.

The world split apart.

The Tyrant's arm was severed instantly, abyssal flames devouring the enchanted ice faster than it could regenerate. A guttural, earth-shaking roar ripped from the beast—a sound of something ancient realizing, too late, that it was dying.

Riven didn't stop.

He drove the sword through its chest, abyssal flames spreading like a plague, consuming it from the inside out.

For the first time in centuries—the Frostbound Tyrant fell.

And the island fell silent.

Riven stood over the cooling corpse, his muscles burning, his mana reserves dangerously low, his body barely holding together. But he had won.

And the sword?

It was his.

No more resistance. No more defiance. The spirit within had submitted.

He exhaled, lowering the blade. His hands were steady. His veins no longer burned when he wielded it.

Nyx, who had been watching from the edge of the battlefield, stepped forward, her sharp gaze scanning him. "You did it."

Riven smirked, breathless. "Took long enough."

Her eyes flicked over him, noting the changes. He was different.

His muscles had thickened, not just in size but in density, compacted and refined by two weeks of relentless combat. His mana veins had expanded, reinforced by the raw strain of controlling the abyssal sword, allowing him to cycle and wield his power with a fluidity he had never known before.

He had ascended.

Stronger. Sharper. Reforged.

Nyx let out a low whistle. "And now?"

Riven rolled his shoulders, fingers flexing against the hilt of his weapon. He felt it—the raw power coursing through him, the sword no longer testing him, but waiting for him to use it fully.

His gaze shifted. Past the frozen island. Past the vast waters.

Back toward the Academy.

Back toward his next challenge.

"We need to go shopping."