When Brendel saw the White Raven Sword Art of the Aouine royal family, he knew there was no need to watch any longer. He was certain that at this age it was impossible for someone in the palace to teach the young prince this art of swordsmanship. Haruz must have secretly seen the sword technique from there without knowing, and with his jerky stance, Brendel could tell at once that he was attempting to use it for the first time.
That pure, silvery moonlight had said it all.
Other than the Chosen One, Brendel could not really find a second possible explanation for the scene before him. What had been stated in that article on the forum was true, not only an Apocalypse existed, but an Apocalypse with both magical powers and swordsmanship.
He did not say anything and let out a sigh. It was only then he realized that the future enemy of the prince was probably just himself. If only Haruz could overcome his fear, and step out from behind the princess one day……
Then he could very well become an even greater hero than the late King Erik.
But for now, he was his student. No teacher would be dissatisfied with seeing his student excel, and Brendel could not help but smile a little as well.
“Mr. Brendel, I don’t have much power left.” Hipamila said at that moment.
When Brendel turned around, she was already sweating. He immediately asked Ciel, “How much longer?”
Ciel looked at him with a serious face, as if he was hesitating to say something.
“Isn’t there enough time?” Brendel frowned.
“No, no, no, it’s been ready for a long time.” The young mage looked odd. “It’s just that I see your interest in disciplining that little guy, my lord, so I can’t bear to interrupt your fun.”
Brendeln looked at this guy a bit unkindly, although each of the creatures he summoned had their own personalities, I’m afraid the only one who dared to torment him was Ciel. Even if it was Ferlarn, at most, he would just not give him a good look.
As if Ciel had expected to encounter bad luck, he hurriedly diverted his attention and clapped his hands, shouting loudly, “Come out, tower in the mist.”
The trick did work, and six silver lines descended from the sky and plunged straight into the earth, then more silver lines stretched horizontally from it, countless lines connected to each other, forming a hexagonal column in the blink of an eye, a scene that immediately caught everyone’s attention.
As soon as the cylinder was formed, it could be seen to be over thirty meters high and ten meters wide, and already had the shape of a mage tower. But Ciel’s summoning spell was clearly far from over, the thicker lines were still being subdivided into numerous finer lines, and silver lines began to expand across the six faces of the tower, gradually outlining windows, masonry, beams, doors, and steps.
The bright silver color of the earlier lines gradually dulled as it was subdivided step by step, finally settling b
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