When Fantasy Glitches

It was only about twenty minutes after Niall left that Magnus started to get up, preparing to head back to the dorms. But just as he shifted, Basker's voice echoed in his head.

[Master, before you go, there's something I should mention.]

Magnus paused, settling back on the edge of the roof.

Hm? What is it?

[After tomorrow's raid, I believe it would be best if you stopped relying on the emotion isolation effect.]

Magnus frowned a little. He had a feeling where this was going.

Is this about what happened with my prideful self?

[Yes. Even though they agreed to shift eventually, that version of you wasn't exactly cooperative when it came to switching back.]

Well, yeah. They're the prideful version of me. Doesn't that kinda make sense?

[It does. But I don't think it's just that. I believe we're looking at a dissonance effect. You see, Master, a person's personality is formed primarily through memory, not just emotions. And since you and these emotion-based versions all share the same memories, technically, you're still the same person. But lately, I've noticed you've started treating them like they're completely separate.]

Magnus's frown deepened. His fingers tapped against the stone beneath him.

So what you're saying is, because I started thinking that way...

[So have they. If the lines were blurry before, they're becoming clearer now. The more you see them as separate versions, the more they start seeing you as just another version too—not the original. And even with the authority you've given me, if they truly resist, I won't be able to force them to switch back.]

Magnus got it now.

If even one of his emotional selves decided they didn't want to go back to being 'normal' Magnus, then nothing could make them. The simple act of treating them like alternate personalities had made them think of themselves the same way. There was no hierarchy anymore—just a bunch of clones. And any one of those clones could, at some point, try to replace the original, because in every meaningful way, they were him.

Just with different filters.

Well, shit...

[If I may offer a suggestion—for this raid, rely on your joyful side. From what I've observed, it's the least likely to cause issues no matter how it's viewed. The others—especially ones like pride—are far too risky right now.]

Yeah... I see your point.

•

Year 348 of the Great Sundering Era, 2nd Month, 21st Day of the Mistveil Cycle.

How long did battles between Master-levels last?

Surprisingly, there wasn't a clear answer.

You'd think that the stronger someone got, the faster and easier fights would become—but that wasn't the case. As methods of destruction evolved, so did the ways to defend against them. In the early stages, whether you were an Apprentice-level mage or knight, your ability to deal damage far outpaced your ability to take it. It wasn't until the Adept-level, where real spell and shield modifications became possible, and one's willpower began to reach new heights previously unimaginable, that things started to even out.

But what about battles between people who had already reached mastery?

Master-level mages could absorb so much mana every second that they could run multiple spells at once, constantly, without slipping up. And Master-level knights? Their senses and aura were so developed that they could predict and react to teleportation—even though it happened instantly.

At this level, waiting for your opponent to make a mistake on their own was useless. The only real way to win was to force them to mess up. But since both sides were doing the same thing, the length of these fights varied wildly. Some lasted minutes, others stretched on for days. That's why, whenever rogue mages were located, the academy usually sent multiple Master-levels instead of just one.

Otherwise, even if one side gained the upper hand, stopping the enemy from escaping—let alone killing them—would be nearly impossible.

And yet, Takerth Academy hadn't done that this time. They assumed there was only one group of rogue mages responsible for the storm, so the Master-levels had been split up. On the other side, the rogue mages they ran into couldn't flee; they were stuck in place, forced to guard a ritual. That made this a rare situation: the risk of escape was gone, but so was the advantage of backup.

It all came down to a head-to-head fight.

Scenarios like that were almost unheard of—but they revealed exactly what Master-levels were truly capable of.

Deep beneath the hill where Lazitha had found Istall and the rogue mages, the underground chamber had turned into an all-out war zone.

It was hard to even tell what was real anymore. Space itself was warped, twisted, and slashed apart in every direction by overlapping spatial spells, while other forms of magic seemed to run autonomously, continuously rewiring themselves even after being countered. Impenetrable barriers were ripped clean in half—not by raw force, but by stretching the space between their halves until it tore In another spot, taking a single step to the right could teleport you hundreds of meters away, as two different points in space were stitched together, the distance between them folding and unfolding in less than a blink.

Trying to see through the mess of distorted space was nearly impossible.

But none of that stopped the two Master-level mages locked in combat.

High above the cavern floor, Istall moved the tip of his staff in a slow, circular motion. In that instant, a ring of space nearly twenty meters wide collapsed inward at the point of his staff. It folded into itself and launched forward at blinding speed. Anything caught in its path was instantly compressed, then spat out the other end and returned to normal. But the sudden compression and uncompression of the space between particles tore apart anything it touched—whether it was air or any other form of matter, it all crumbled under the strain.

Floating in the air about ten meters above the chamber floor—far from where the battle had first begun—Lazitha didn't hesitate. Rather than dodge, she flew directly toward the spatial well. One hand outstretched, she reached toward the spell and let a single finger brush against it. In that moment, the mana formation behind the spell shifted.

Istall felt it at once—his control over the spell vanished. The compressed space unraveled, returning to normal as the mana fueling the magic was suddenly redirected by Lazitha's will, before being added to by her own reserves. Where space had just collapsed, a wave of raw mana burst outward, reshaped into thousands of glowing beams that sprayed in an umbrella-like arc. The light was blinding. Like a sudden downpour, the beams scattered upward and outward, flooding the air with deadly magic.

The beams didn't move in straight lines. Some traveled in clusters, while others zig-zagged, spun in spirals, or traced strange geometric patterns through the air.

In response, Istall moved instantly. Hundreds of portals blinked into existence around him—some hovering in the air, others close to the ground—intercepting the incoming spellfire. But the beams didn't simply fly into them. Many swerved at the last moment, splitting in new directions. Some twisted sharply at ninety-degree angles, others curved or darted around, while a few simply tore straight through the portals.

Like light piercing darkness, they ruptured the space, poking holes clean through.

"Impressive," Istall muttered—but there was no time for words.

Destroyed portals were instantly replaced, and the remaining ones began to move. He adapted fast. As the attacks kept coming, he created more and more portals at sharper angles, adjusting their positions to catch what he missed. Even the beams that had once broken through space found themselves trapped and sucked directly into the portal's maw.

In less than a second, Istall had analyzed Lazitha's method to bypass his portals and restructured his defense to counter it.

Seeing this, Lazitha didn't stay put. She teleported nearly a hundred meters away, vanishing just as several portals opened where she'd been. Her own redirected spells poured out of them in a flood, crashing into the space she'd just vacated.

The cavern trembled with blasts and shockwaves. The two Master-level mages moved like blurs—Lazitha through short-range teleportation, Istall through an ever-shifting array of portals. The space around them lit up with magic and mana strikes, twisting and clashing in every direction.

It was impossible to tell whose spells were whose.

Their spells and portals almost seemed to fight on their own, operating without pause as the mages focused on outmaneuvering one another.

With every motion of his staff, Istall carved through space, slicing it in a dozen directions at once. Each cut forced atomic-scale ruptures, splitting countless atoms and unleashing their raw energy in the form of violent explosions. Lazitha caught sight of it—and for a moment, seemed to consider using the four crystals orbiting around her to counter them.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

But she didn't.

Instead, she broke through the boundary of the world and vanished into the Liminal Veil.

In the void, a mage didn't navigate by sight alone. The view one saw while Void Walking—fractured, strange, and barely comprehensible—was never enough. Instead, mages, when they wanted to be precise at least, also relied on mana signatures that could be sensed and connected to even in the Liminal Veil. Like lighthouses for ships, these markers served as beacons in the emptiness. The most common method involved placing a unique mana imprint at the point of exit, and another at the intended re-entry location, allowing them to orient themselves within the void.

Right now, Lazitha was Void Walking.

Her perception of the world was shattered into endless fragments, the kind of view that made any action impossible without anchoring magic. But she had prepared for this. Before she slipped into the void, she had already placed mana signatures around Istall—and she could still sense them clearly.

Nothing could survive in the Liminal Veil on its own. Whether teleporting or Void Walking, a mage remained protected from the raw nothingness by the natural barrier of space-time that clings to all matter.

One might ask: What happens if something enters the void without that protection? But the answer is simple—it can't. Matter cannot exist without space and time. The question is meaningless.

Except when it comes to one thing:

Magic.

He's not following me?

Lazitha floated in the void, puzzled. She'd expected Istall to teleport after her, having prepared countermeasures if that had he done so, but no trace of him followed.

That gave her pause—then a chance.

In that case...

"Master Class Magic, Aether Spear!" She declared. Mana stirred and responded, forming what looked like glowing spears—slender poles of light, each one appearing to be five meters long and no more than five centimeters wide.

But appearances were deceiving. Though they seemed like pure ethereal mana, the ten 'spears' had mass—barely a gram each—but they didn't behave like anything bound by the physical world. These constructs weren't just estranged from space and time like mages were when in the void; they existed outside of it altogether. They took form in a realm that should've made form impossible.

This was the impossibility of magic.

In the pitch-black void, the spears shone a deep violet, like paint strokes on a blank canvas. Then, without warning, they launched—not flying, but arriving. In the void, at least for the Aether Spears, there was no distance to travel, no time to cover it. The Aether Spears didn't move toward the world; they simply were at its edge, as if they had always been there, piercing straight through reality at the points where Lazitha's mana signatures burned brightest.

Within the world, only a second had passed since Lazitha vanished—at least from Istall's perspective. Around him, the storm of magic still raged: portals clashing, beams crashing, redirected spells colliding in midair. Explosions bloomed endlessly, forcing Istall to stay in motion as his barrier deflected what it could from the chaos breaking through his defensive web.

But in that storm of noise and force, one of the many sensory spells surrounding his body picked something up.

An interdimensional strike!?

His automated defenses responded instantly. A hexagonal, slightly curved shield formed beneath him in mid-air. Everything else—the blasts, the beams—faded into the background.

He didn't see it. He couldn't even register it.

One of Lazitha's Aether Spears tore into the world, a lance of mana weighing just a gram. The moment it entered the realm of physics, it was forced to obey its rules—no longer moving as a timeless, spaceless impossibility.

It dropped to a speed measurable within the realm of reality:

One hundred and fifty million meters per second.

Half the speed of light.

The shield—crafted by a Master-level mage's magic—shattered like glass, just barely missing its target.

The spear continued forward, unimpeded, slamming into the far wall of the cavern. The entire hill rumbled as it bored through the rock and shot upwards, tearing a hole through the sky, punching cleanly through the clouds far above.

And the assault didn't stop there.

A second Aether Spear broke into the world, appearing out of thin air with the same impossible speed. This time, Istall reacted—barely. He opened a portal, trying to retreat through it.

But Lazitha's aim had been precise. At those speeds, there was no time for anyone but a knight to dodge.

Before Istall could even move through the portal, his right arm vanished—disintegrated—along with the sleeve of his cloak. Another boom echoed as the second spear struck the cavern wall, launching itself into the sky and disappearing over the horizon.

His face was hard to read, but the tension in his voice—his clenched jaw, the sharp exhale—made it clear.

He'd been hurt.

Grimacing, Istall stepped through the portal, just as the rest of the Aether Spears broke into the world. Each one struck a mana signature Lazitha had left behind. But Istall was no longer there. The spears missed their true target, instead punching through the hill, slamming deep into the earth, and carving massive holes into the clouds above.

Some vanished into the ground, burrowing so far it was impossible to say when—or if—their traces would ever be found.

Down below, Istall emerged from another portal, landing on solid ground. He clutched his staff tightly in his remaining hand.

But Lazitha had no intention of giving him even a moment to recover.

The second he stepped out, he felt it—a mana signature behind him.

Her re-entry point.

"I suppose I've kept it hidden long enough... It was only a matter of time before this style of fighting got me hurt," he muttered to himself, turning on instinct, pointing his staff in her direction.

Lazitha reappeared right then. Her expression was calm, unsurprised that he'd sensed her before she arrived. But what did surprise her when she saw it... was his injury.

He got hurt... from that level of interdimensional attack? Wait—what's going on with that wound?

Just like the rest of his body, even Istall's wound was obscured by that dark, misty blur. But what caught Lazitha off guard wasn't the visual—it was what she couldn't sense.

Magic capable of turning a person's body into another element—or even into something formless—wasn't unheard of. But no matter what form a person took, Lazitha should've been able to detect it. She could still feel the presence of Istall's entire body, even if the details were hidden. Yet around where his arm had been blown off, there was nothing.

It was like that part of him, even the section that should have been injured, no longer existed.

Her mind raced, trying to make sense of it—but she didn't have long. At the tip of Istall's staff, still pointed in her direction, a portal tore open. She expected another redirection spell—more of her own magic looping back at her. Even now, in the background, her attacks were still running wild on autopilot, clashing with Istall's remaining portals.

But this portal was different.

It wasn't a dark swirl like the others. She could see through it.

On the other side was a cavern—deep, cold, and made entirely of ice and snow. And within that frozen cave, something stirred. A pair of glowing blue eyes pierced the darkness, and in that moment, Lazitha felt it—an invisible weight settling over everything.

A chill swept across the battlefield. Not just around her—but through the entire area. She knew exactly what it was.

Intent?

And not just any kind—an overwhelming, crushing presence.

"This is…" She muttered, her breath turning to frost as ice formed along the cavern floor. Her eyes widened with sudden realization, just as the creature inside the portal opened its jaws. A wave of mana surged, condensing into a piercing blue light.

She didn't hesitate.

Didn't reach for her crystals and didn't even try to summon a shield.

She moved—darting high into the air and teleporting in the same breath. The portal followed, tracking her flight for a split second—then unleashed its attack. A blinding wave of blue light poured out of the portal like a flood.

Outside the hill, the storm still raged. The massive geographic formation, responsible for sustaining the ritual inside, had remained intact—riddled with holes from Lazitha's Aether Spears, but still standing.

Then the ground shook.

It wasn't just thunder, nor was it wind. The rumble that followed was deeper, louder, and more violent than anything the storm had produced. The entire hill trembled. And then—it erupted.

An explosion unlike anything before.

The entire right side of the hill detonated, as raw mana burst out into the open air in every direction. Chunks of earth, stone, and dust launched skyward. The tremors spread out like a quake, rippling across the land and shaking everything nearby.

And then—cold.

The violent mana that had been released instantly changed. The blinding blue light became solid ice. Everything it touched—air, dirt, even the rock flung high into the sky from the explosion—froze mid-flight. In the blink of an eye, the gaping wound left in the side of the hill crystallized, as glacier-sized masses of ice and jagged spears of frost erupted outward, tearing into the open world.

Had that blast been aimed at the hill directly—or worse, a town—it would've been wiped out completely.

Inside the cavern at the center of the hill, Lazitha managed to teleport just in time, dodging the blast. Where she'd just been was now buried under a massive wall of ice.

Hovering in the air, she stared at the enormous sheet of ice, muttering to herself, "Only a Master-level mana beast could pull off an attack like that."

Her attention shifted to Istall, now on the ground after closing the portal to the mana beast's den. The echoes of their autonomous spells still raged around them, but they could see and hear each other clearly.

"There's only one Master-level mage I know of who's this skilled with spatial magic. I should've figured it out sooner. Opening a portal straight to a Master-level mana beast's den, though... That settles it. You're Asim, the Gatekeeper." As she spoke the name, Istall hesitated, then let out a low chuckle. The mist hiding his features faded away, and his voice became easier to hear.

His figure became clear—a middle-aged man with a neatly trimmed brown beard, a few gray hairs streaking through well-kept hair. For his age, he still looked sharp. When Lazitha saw his face, she inhaled sharply; any lingering doubt disappeared.

"So it really is you," she said, her voice steady.

Asim looked up at her, grinning.

"I suppose you could say that."

Lazitha's gaze swept over him, and she finally saw his injury clearly. He wasn't bleeding, oddly enough. Where his arm should have been, there was a fading effect—as if the limb was slowly vanishing past the shoulder, turning invisible instead of exposing wounds or torn fabric.

She tore her eyes away from it and faced Asim, her tone shifting.

"How? Takerth Academy confirmed you died on a mana beast eradication assignment five years ago. Did you fake your death? If so, why turn rogue? You were one of the greatest spatial mages of your generation. In a few more decades, you might have become an Archmage."

Asim let out another, quieter chuckle.

"A mana beast? So that's the story they made up for me? Not as exciting as I'd hoped, but I guess it was easier that way." Lazitha frowned at his words, sensing there was more he wasn't saying, but Asim went on.

"As for why... I'm afraid I can't tell you. Dead men tell no tales. And even if I wanted to, I doubt I'd be allowed." He spoke with a distant calm, like he was talking about someone else's life—not his own.

Even so, his words clicked something into place for Lazitha.

He's being directed by someone else? But who...? Another rogue mage? Who could convince a former Takerth Academy professor to fake his death and turn traitor?

She kept that thought to herself as she pressed on.

"Fine. If you won't answer, I'll just have to search your mind after I kill you. I'm guessing you've been holding back with your magic these last few days to keep your identity hidden. But now you've lost an arm, and if you think I'll give you time to heal, you're wrong."

Asim glanced at his missing arm and nodded.

"Yes, it was careless of me. Holding back so much cost me dearly. I had to reveal my hand sooner than I planned. And with this injury, this body won't last much longer. But it doesn't matter. I've already finished my task—so killing me now won't change anything."

Lazitha didn't respond to him.

Her focus sharpened as she began weaving countless spells into the air, ready to unleash at any moment. At the same time, Asim tapped his staff on the ground, and a series of portals opened around him—much larger than before. Unlike his earlier portals, you could see right through these portals, and it was like staring into other worlds: some revealed the looming shadows of massive mana beasts, others showed scenes of raging natural disasters.

But every portal was sealed with only a thin barrier, holding the devastation, until they were ready to be unleashed.

•

Year 348 of the Great Sundering Era, 2nd Month, 22nd Day of the Mistveil Cycle.

Dark gray clouds rolled across the sky, flashing with lightning and rumbling with relentless thunder. Down below, in the streets of Arlcliff City, multiple forces were already on the move.

City guards rushed to evacuate entire neighborhoods, while soldiers flooded the streets, splitting into units and heading for key points throughout the Lower City.

The deciding day had come.

The raid on Nightshade had begun.