Given that he needed, first, to trick the old man so badly it would make his heart ache, and second, to walk away with something that belonged to the other party's founding ancestor, Allen felt that he ought to put in a little extra effort with his acting skills. As for whether his conscience would hurt afterward—well, that wasn't an issue at all.
Since the other side had already made the first move, he couldn't be blamed for responding in kind. When neither side could really claim the moral high ground, it all came down to ability.
Just as the old man was smugly introducing how incredibly powerful his lineage was, Allen rudely cut him off.
"Sorry—let me interrupt for a moment. You just said that all of your past successors were extremely strong?"
The old man's beard practically bristled. "Of course! Although our family inheritance isn't very conspicuous, if you look through the history of Japanese wizards, you'll see traces of us every few pages."
"Oh, so it's a long-standing family wizard lineage," Allen said thoughtfully. "Like how many wizarding families in Britain don't send their kids to Hogwarts and instead teach them at home, right? In other words… just a makeshift troupe?"
Allen's words nearly made the old man blow his beard straight upward. What do you mean, 'makeshift troupe'? Before formal schools existed, wasn't everyone passed down their arts like this? Why does it sound like a downgrade when it comes out of your mouth?!
Unfortunately for him, Allen paid absolutely no attention to the old man's anger. He deliberately looked around the surroundings, clicking his tongue as he went.
"Doesn't look like your inheritance is all that impressive. Just compare this place to Mahoutokoro2—wow, they're not even in the same league. That place looks grand enough to shock people. As for here…"
Allen didn't finish his sentence, but the constant shaking of his head and the expression in his eyes neatly filled in the rest.
Just as the old man was about to dig through the junk pile to pull out some treasure and show this ignorant brat what real heritage looked like, Allen suddenly added another remark.
"Come to think of it—are you sure it's really your inheritance that's strong? If it's truly that powerful, why do you have to be so picky when choosing a successor? Is it the successor who's impressive, or the inheritance itself?"
A critical hit—dead center.
The old man laughed in anger, yet his tone strangely calmed down. "Very well. Arrogant brat. Perhaps I didn't use my full strength earlier and gave you the wrong impression. In that case, let me show you just how powerful my swordsman lineage truly is. Maybe when you're kneeling on the ground, you'll understand what you almost missed."
It was clear that although the old man was furious, he still hadn't given up on the idea of taking Allen in as his disciple.
Unfortunately, Allen had no intention whatsoever of joining him. One-on-one instruction under a master—especially a lineage passed down since ancient times—was no joke.
Master is master, father is father. Accepting a legacy like this meant becoming a disciple in every sense: teaching from morning till night, meddling in every aspect of life. Was he insane, looking for another dad for himself?
He wasn't some trash-tier protagonist who couldn't survive without an old grandpa guiding him. Why make life uncomfortable for himself when he didn't need to?
Even if the other party was stronger than him—and that wasn't guaranteed—so what? Spend some resources, go into seclusion for a while, and sooner or later it would be "Don't bully the young for being poor."
That said, once the fight began, he still had to be cautious—because the old man had already gripped a sword.
The old man hadn't been exaggerating too much. With or without a sword, he was like two completely different people.
How should one put it? It felt as though the old man had finally farmed enough gold to buy his full equipment set. The aura pouring off him was impossible to suppress, and a sensation like facing a giant dragon suddenly welled up in Allen's heart.
"Brat, perhaps you're outstanding among wizards of your age, and perhaps you even managed to deceive me earlier. But if you think that was my true strength, you're gravely mistaken," the old man said calmly. "My sword has not been drawn for nearly twenty years."
He wasn't boasting. He was neither a pure swordsman nor a pure mage, but a fusion of the two—using magic and swordsmanship to counter magic, using magic to close the distance, then relying on refined sword skills enhanced by magic to shatter an enemy's defenses.
A perfect combination—its only flaw being the extremely high demand on talent.
In other words, a so-called spellsword or magic swordsman: flashy and impressive, yet ultimately rather useless in the late game.
Relying on talent to learn magic faster than others, relying on talent to master swordsmanship better than others—but if that same talent were invested into a single discipline, the early results might be less eye-catching, yet in the long run it would absolutely crush these dual-path practitioners. Of course, swordsmen being outclassed by archmages in the late stages was perfectly normal—after all, this was the world of wizards.
Enough talk. In the end, it came down to fighting. Almost in an instant, the old man's figure appeared right in front of Allen, and a sharp sword wind swept toward him. He had no intention of dragging this into a prolonged battle—his plan was to subdue Allen in a single exchange, delivering the greatest possible psychological shock and forcing him to acknowledge true power.
A fine plan. But not only did the sword itself fail to strike Allen—even the sword wind meant to slice his clothes missed its target. Instead, several green vines burst straight up from the ground, attempting to bind the old man in place.
Faced with this sudden change, the battle-hardened elder showed no sign of panic. With magic poured into the blade, his aged yet still powerful arm gave a light slash, and the tough vines were severed instantly, like butter meeting a hot knife.
"Not bad, brat—I'm liking you more and more," he said. "But how many times can you use spells like that to protect yourself?"
His answer was a rapid, whistling rush of air. The fallen vines hadn't died at all—on the contrary, they rooted themselves on the spot, forming a vast network. Then, brilliant flowers bloomed forth. At the very instant the blossoms opened, high-speed seeds laced with poison shot out from the buds, hurtling toward the old man.
The old man, who had been praising moments earlier, no longer had the leisure to speak. The blade in his hand danced wildly, weaving a dense net that intercepted the incoming seeds. Though he looked somewhat flustered, not a trace of magic leaked from the blade-net—clearly, he was still handling the situation with ease.
Unfortunately, Allen had no intention of stopping there. Amid the flurry of seeds, several failed to reach their target and fell to the ground midway. Quietly, they began to sprout into extremely inconspicuous saplings. Once they had formed safely, these little things stealthily pulled themselves free from the cover of the vines and crept rapidly across the ground toward the old man—without making a sound.
Just as the saplings were about to close in, Allen pulled out his wand and shouted in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear:
"Petrificus Totalus!"••┈┈┈┈┈༓┈┈┈┈┈•••
100 Power Stones = Bonus Chapter
160+ Advance Chapters on P@treon(.)com/Veltoria