Magus Supremacy - Chapter 645

Chapter 645: A Problem
Chapter 645

“How long has it been now?” Killian impatiently asked as he kept staring at the door, waiting for it to creak open and for the Supreme Magus to step out holding his swords.

“I think it’s been twenty minutes now,” Ash replied, only to hear Killian groaning in frustration:

“The wait and anticipation is killing me. How much longer will he take?”

“Who knows, he might even be working on Brook’s shield instead of your swords,” Ash answered with a casual chuckle. The sound earned him a long, heavy glare from the warrior beside him.

“Tch.” Killian scoffed under his breath and turned his head away.

“By the way,” Ash began again as he crossed his arms over his chest, “Doesn’t the Supreme Magus’ confidence seem too glaring and unsettling?”

“Meaning?” Killian asked while raising a brow.

“I mean he is extremely sure that his supposed coup will succeed. Why does a simple alchemist have that much assurance? He is not physically strong.

I cannot sense a trace of Ki inside him at all.” Ash released a tired breath and shook his head. “So why is he acting so confident?”

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Killian said with a lazy cock of his shoulders before adding;

“If he believes in himself that much, then he must have some kind of strategy. We just need to trust Alba’s decision and see where all this leads.”

“You are right. There is no need to question it,” Ash admitted.

“If he is this confident, it is possible he will create a powerful weapon that could change the war. Even if his body is weak, his craft might be monstrous.”

“Let’s hope so,” Killian muttered before dragging both hands through his hair in pure frustration.

“But seriously though, how much longer is this going to take?!”

__

“Damn it. Another failure.” Grey spat in anger as he flung a tower shield across the room.

The heavy slab of reinforced metal screeched along the floor before crashing into a disorganized pile of other discarded shields.

Out of the ten tower shields originally delivered, only four remained intact.

Three destroyed ones lay twisted and broken, while the final three sat motionless, almost staring back at Grey as if waiting to learn whether they would become masterpieces or failures.

He had not gotten the chance to check the swords at all.

His irritation was growing sharper with every passing minute, every wasted attempt, and every flawed outcome.

“I refused to follow the grading system of this world. I created a fresh set of grades for my modified weapons, yet none of these useless things can reach the standard I want.” Grey’s voice echoed off the empty walls as he moved across the room.

He knelt and began carving new symbols again. “I created five grades for my modified weapons. I named them myself. They are: common grade, rare grade, epic grade, legendary grade, and mystic grade.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing at the ruined shields scattered around him.

“But those failed tower shields are at the common grade, which is the lowest level I allow myself to produce.

I want these weapons to be at least at the epic grade. They refuse to hold the strength. They collapse every single time.”

He paused.

He threw his head to the ceiling. His teeth gnashed before shouting:

“Shit!”

Grey then proceeded to slam his chalk on the ground, grabbed a fresh piece, and began drawing another set of circles.

His movements were sharper yet still controlled.

The room filled with the quiet scrape of chalk and the faint metallic smell drifting from the ruined shields.

In a few minutes, he finished the new set of symbols, exhaling slowly as he prepared to try again.

‘Maybe I should just change my pace,’ he sighed, staring at the swords.

Without hesitation, he grabbed a pair and tossed them carefully into the circle.

He then picked up a few beast cores, placing them precisely at each corner, and infused the circle with his mana.

The runes glowed vividly as the air around the symbols shimmered, almost vibrating with energy, and Grey began his meticulous work.

The faint scent of metal and magic filled the room, mingling with the tang of sweat from his exertion. He could feel the subtle hum of energy beneath his palms as he focused intently on the modification process, his breathing slow and deliberate.

__

Outside, Killian’s impatience grew. He tapped his feet against the floor with increasing urgency, folding his arms as he glared at the closed door. A bright light occasionally glimmered from underneath, causing him to squint.

‘Damn it! Thirty more minutes have passed and still no result,’ he thought, frowning angrily inwardly.

“Will you stop that? It’s annoying,” Ash called out, his voice echoing in the corridor.

Killian ignored him, his feet continuing to drum a rapid rhythm against the worn wooden floor.

“And shouldn’t you be in one of the rooms, cooking up more potions and poison? Why are you even here?” Killian asked, pausing his tapping and turning to Ash with a raised brow.

“I decided to take a short break,” Ash murmured, his cadaverous fingers flexing slightly as he gazed at them.

“If I didn’t, I was certain I would reach the verge of madness.

The constant exposure to poisonous potions and experimental pills was pushing me to the edge. I was almost dying inside while trying to perfect my craft.”

“You know why I sometimes enjoy your company?” Killian asked, his expression softening into a small smile.

“It’s because we’re somewhat alike. Both driven by obsession, by the need to improve ourselves and break through our limits. We are consumed by refining our techniques.”

“That’s your own problem,” Ash muttered icily, turning his gaze back toward the door.

“My problem right now is hoping we aren’t making a grave mistake by trusting him.”

“Stop worrying so much. Think of other things,” Killian said with a wide grin. “I still wonder when you’ll actually talk to Judy.”

“What do you mean?” Ash sharply asked, a faint blush creeping across his cheeks. He quickly turned his face away, embarrassed.

“That blush of yours tells me everything. You care for her, but you refuse to act. I can’t understand why.” Killian’s voice carried amusement as his eyes drifted toward the ceiling.

“I don’t know what y…”

Click, click, click!

Rapid footsteps echoed through the corridor, snapping both Killian and Ash to attention.

One of Ash’s assistants came sprinting toward them, sweat streaming down his face and ragged breaths shaking his frame as he skidded to a stop.

“What happened? What do you want?” Ash demanded, his brow furrowed deeply.

“Did one of the rooms blow up?” Killian asked with a half-mocking tone.

“I knew sooner or later, with all these dangerous experiments, something like that would happen.”

“It’s not that,” the assistant panted, trying desperately to catch his breath.

“Then? What is it?” Ash pressed, voice tense.

“Th…the…The Behemoth Clan. They are on their way with five hundred men, led by one of the vice leaders.

I’m certain they are not coming to talk,” the assistant gasped, inhaling sharply for air as he struggled to explain.

“Wait, what?!” Killian shouted, the mocking smirk wiped clean from his face.

His chest tightened, and his heart began pounding like a drum.

“How far away are they?”

“They are…”

Bang, bang, bang!

The clamorous sounds of impact resonated from the lower floors, shaking the walls and rattling their ears.

Both men’s eyes widened in alarm and dread.

“They are already here,” Ash muttered, his voice trembling with apprehension.