Return of The 8th Class Mage

Novel resumed as promised. This translator is still learning so I ask for your understanding. Criticism is welcome but please be nice about it

The Return of the 8th Class Mage, Season 2, Chapter 30

‘Since when was it?’

Well, since a very long time ago.

Prometheus didn’t like the sense of entitlement that was characteristic of rulers.

This was true for his kin who ruled the world in the past, and also for the forces of the newly constructed Clock Tower.

‘As time passes, I find it increasingly detestable. So much so that it goes beyond mere dislike to the level of abhorrence.’

Prometheus knows.

That these rulers are certainly not gods.

Maybe if it was his blind father who wielded absolute time, ‘Chronos,’ things would be different.

But the rest were merely born lucky, endowed with excessive abilities.

‘And yet these rulers think of themselves as gods. Watching them makes me, who was once a ruler myself, almost ashamed.’

It was the same when his blind father and the children of chaos first invaded.

Even though his unique foresight had shown him the devastating defeat of the Titans, he did not share this information with his kin.

‘If they were to meet a being close to a god and be governed by it, I thought these rulers might become a little more humble.’

But that prediction missed the mark entirely.

The entities he deemed close to gods, his blind father and the children of chaos, simply dominated from atop the Clock Tower and made no interventions.

The defeated Titans hid in their homeland, and Olympus and Asgard took their places amicably.

In the end, the rulers’ nauseating arrogance remained unchanged.

‘One day, disillusioned that nothing had changed, my dormant foresight activated.’

One such day.

Just like the day he foresaw a future where the forces of chaos would win, he saw another vivid future: the ‘Fall of the Superiors.’

‘In Asgardian lore, they call that day Ragnarok.’

That is to say, ‘Ragnarok.’

A word appearing in the long-standing traditions of the Asgardians, signifying the downfall and end of all rulers in this world.

‘The future I saw was certainly Ragnarok itself. Only, it wasn’t a natural disaster too great for even the rulers to withstand; but a downfall meticulously executed under someone’s plan.’

All foresight is abstract.

Depending on how one interprets that abstract foresight, seers are categorized, and Prometheus had the highest level of interpretative skill among them.

The downfall of the Superiors he interpreted started thoroughly from below.

‘Some brought a harsh winter, some slaughtered the rulers with flaming swords, and some crossed over the obsidian walls to march on the Clock Tower. And they were all… outliers.’

Outliers.

Exiles banished from the heart.

People from the remaining eight realms.

Such an army made up of these individuals, topples the heart of the Superiors and even collapses the Clock Tower in an unrealistic future.

“That’s when it began. I, who was immersed in my disdain for my own kind, began to take an interest in the exiles and the people of the Middle Earth.”

Much time has passed since then.

Even though some races in the Middle Earth have evolved over an immense span of time, no changes have occurred in the dimension of the Superiors.

‘I became impatient.’

Cases where foresight doesn’t come true?

Honestly, it happens quite often.

But this time, I hoped that the prophecy of the downfall of all the Superiors would not miss its mark.

‘So I began to get involved.’

The exiles who were banished from the heart.

Humans of the Middle Earth with high potential.

I supported them unreservedly to help them survive and even to grow a bit faster.

‘At first, I only supported them as much as the other rulers were meddling in the Middle Earth. That way, there would be no suspicion.’

The problem was the language of the Superiors.

Although most couldn’t even understand the language of the Superiors, some manifested the powers within the language as they were taught. Feeling rewarded, Prometheus focused on teaching them the Superior language.

‘That became the root of the issue.’

The language of the Superiors.

The power within it is a privilege.

How would Prometheus look, spreading such a power, a privilege permitted only to those even among the Superiors blessed by the blind father, to the bugs of Middle Earth?

‘Rebellion and a crime against the rulers.’

In the end, Prometheus was branded a traitor by the unanimous vote of the Clock Tower Council and received the punishment of eternal imprisonment at the peak of this rocky mountain.

‘I don’t know what happened afterward. What became of Middle Earth and the exiles I had taught and supported. Whether the future I saw is still valid.’

From the peak of this rocky mountain, nothing is known. Even the flow of time isn’t felt. Just enduring eternal ages while being chained.

And then there was today.

‘Just when I thought I was starting to forget everything, a practitioner appeared before me, reeking of the smell of the Middle Earth.’

He introduced himself as Ian Page from the first Middle Earth.

His purpose was to complete tasks and gain the power to stand against the rulers.

The moment he heard that plan,

Prometheus was certain.

‘The future I saw, the fall of the Superiors, is still valid.’

He felt immense elation.

Because it’s not over yet.

But that elation was brief.

Something strange happened.

His foresight ability, which hadn’t activated for tens of thousands of years, activated now.

‘…Huh?’

But this guy.

Why is he already dead?

* * *

Buzzing noises…

The observer, who watches over the sinner on top of the rocky mountain, commonly known as the ‘Oldguard.’

Once a loyal knight to the former ruler Gaia, but now reduced to a trophy of Zeus, the entity approached, dragging its emaciated bones, aged joints, and toothless greatsword.

‘Dying? To this pile of bones?’

It’s ridiculous.

An inexplicable sense of defiance flares up.

“Lord Prometheus.”

“Um…?”

“If I win, what will you do?”

“Win?”

“Yes, without dying.”

“Then that’s fortunate, isn’t it?”

“….Excuse me?”

“If you manage your life yourself, then what do you want from me?”

“….”

“You’re putting your life on the line to complete tasks, and yet you complain.”

He makes perfect sense.

Is it because I only remember beating up the tribe of rulers since I arrived here?

I thought he would yield more, but surprisingly, he’s quite stern.

“…In that case, would you mind telling me a few more things, since you’ve already told me this much?”

“Like what?”

“Weak points, for example.”

“How would I know that? I’ve never fought him, so figure it out yourself.”

“Still, you must have seen a lot, right? Like other practitioners fighting and dying, or winning.”

“Well, they usually just fight well on their own? Since we’re talking about it, what was his name… Heracles? Anyway, that guy was amazing. He just cleaved the observer in half… even I felt invigorated watching it.”

That’s not helpful at all.

I have no choice but to figure it out myself.

“…Thank you for your advice.”

Ian took a deep breath and gathered his mana. He was preparing for battle.

‘Given its sluggish movements and the greatsword it drags on the ground, it doesn’t seem to excel in speed or agility. If I just stay cautious while approaching, I should be able to…’

Just at that moment.

Thud!

The true opponent of Ian’s task, the Oldguard, rushed in, kicking off the ground.

Its movements were entirely different from when it first appeared. Caught off guard, Ian quickly deployed a protective shield.

Clang! Clang! CLAAANG!

Who said it only moves slowly?

The destructive power of the wildly swinging greatsword also exceeded imagination. Just swinging it was enough to cause cracks in Ian’s protective shield.

‘How can a pile of bones be this strong?’

It truly was worthy of being the real target of his task.

So this is why Ares and Aphrodite warned him, saying the third task would be far from easy.

[????????]

“Wow, the pile of bones can talk.”

[??? ??? ???? ?????]

“What is it saying?”

“It’s the unique language of the Titans, a language that was only communicated among the higher-ups. It’s hardly used now that they’ve fallen.”

Prometheus interjected.

“Would you mind translating?”

“It’s calling you an intruder.”

“And?”

“It’s asking if you want to die.”

“Please answer for me. Say no.”

[?? ????, ???? ???.]

“It says if that’s your wish, so be it.”

“No, I said I don’t want to die…”

Clang! Clang! CLAAANG…!

It’s reached its limit.

The protective shield will shatter soon.

Having gauged its ability from the inside, it was time for Ian to strike back.

[?? ????? ??? ????? ???? ?????!]

“Is it saying to stop hiding and come out?”

“…You can stop translating.”

Right, he was planning on coming out anyway.

He thought of something worth trying.

‘Dispel.’

Ian swiftly withdrew his protective shield.

Normally, he would create distance between them.

But this time was different. Instead of creating distance, he rapidly moved toward the Oldguard, who was swinging its greatsword.

What was he trying to do?

The aim was clear.

‘Turn Undead.’

He couldn’t be certain yet. However, its appearance was clearly that of an undead.

Wasn’t this attack worth trying?

If it works, it would end things instantly…

Swish!

But that plan turned out to be a failure.

The Oldguard moved a beat faster than Ian and sliced him in half with its blade.

“…Damn it.”

At that gruesome sight, Prometheus sighed deeply. It was the exact scene he had just seen in his vision of the future.

“I had no chance to warn you.”

He felt unnecessarily guilty.

But what could he do?

His foresight ability activated too suddenly, and the practitioner from the Middle Earth was already dead.

‘Was his name Ian Page? Anyway, I can only hope that other people from the Middle Earth come up, or are already here and active…’

“Turn.”

That’s when it happened.

“Undead.”

Someone’s voice was heard.

And at the same time, golden light gathered in the center of the Oldguard, who had sliced the practitioner in half.

[???, ???…?]

Poof!

A handful of bone dust.

The pitiful body that should have faced death returned to its natural form.

“Just now.”

At the rocky mountain where the bone dust scattered.

The practitioner appeared once more.

Ian Page quietly asked,

“What did you say as I died?”

At the same time, the other Ian Page’s body, which had been sliced in half, turned into blue mana and scattered.

A spell he frequently used in the past, while assisting Oliver Raywood in the duel.

It was ‘Mirror Image.’