Absolute King Ch. 19

Chapter 19: The King vs the Magus trick.

-0-

The clash began with a storm of steel and shadows.

Artoria surged forward, her movements sharp and unwavering, her invisible blade carving arcs of silver death through the demons. Each strike carried the dignity of a knight and the force of a king. The monsters roared, regenerating, claws stretching for her flesh—but she was untouchable. Every slash they threw was met with flawless parries, her stance unshaken.

Mark could only watch in awe. She didn’t fight like someone struggling for survival. She fought like a sovereign on the battlefield—commanding, absolute, unstoppable.

But there was one problem.

The demons weren’t falling because of their own strength. Faust stood behind them, his twisted form glowing faintly as he poured magic into their bodies. Energy stitched their wounds instantly, dragging them back from the brink of death again and again. What should have been over long ago had turned into an endless grind, one that gnawed at Mark’s patience.

Clarent weighed heavy in his grip. His body screamed for rest, but this was his last shot. If he missed… there wouldn’t be another chance.

Artoria, meanwhile, was relentless. One demon managed to lunge past her guard, its sword thrusting toward her torso. Mark’s heart dropped—yet she didn’t flinch. Her hand snapped forward, catching the blade barehanded. Steel shrieked against steel. Then, with her free hand, she raised her blade high.

The swing was merciless. One clean arc, and the creature was bisected, the halves falling apart like broken clay. The fight ended in seconds.

Mark’s breath caught. He had nearly been ripped apart by those same monsters earlier, struggling against their brute force. And she had dispatched them as if they were nothing more than a warm-up.

But victory was an illusion.

The corpses trembled, shuddering unnaturally. Darkness twisted their forms until three bodies collapsed into one, a hulking abomination towering over them. Its weapon grew massive, its muscles bulged grotesquely, and when it roared, the air quaked.

It struck. The ground split, craters bursting open where its blows landed.

Mark stumbled back, the sheer force of the impacts rattling his bones. How the hell am I supposed to fight that…?

Artoria didn’t falter. With elegance, she moved between its swings, each motion graceful yet unyielding. Her invisible blade gleamed in flashes of refracted light, parrying strikes that could have flattened a building. She was immovable—calm even against the storm.

Mark swallowed hard. If he hadn’t summoned her… he would already be dead.

And then, in a single, perfect motion, she ended it. Artoria sidestepped a crushing downward slash, both hands gripping Excalibur as she channeled her will through the weapon. Her blade sang a blinding uppercut that cleaved the monster from hip to shoulder. The abomination fell apart, collapsing into dust.

Mark seized the moment. With Faust wide open, he dashed in, flipped Clarent in his hands, and slammed the flat of the blade into his chest. The blow sent Faust crashing through the dirt like a rag doll. His body landed limp, unconscious in an instant.

Mark exhaled heavily, his knees weak. “Whew… that was… harder than hell,” he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow. His muscles ached, his circuits still burning from the spells he had forced through them,but somewhere inside, he could feel a new current of magic. A new spell had carved itself into him, born from the fire of combat.

Artoria approached, her presence gentle despite the aura of power still clinging to her. She extended her hand. “You fought well,” she said softly.

Mark hesitated, then took her hand, pulling himself upright.

“Your swordsmanship has improved,” she continued, her smile carrying a rare warmth. “I am proud.”

Mark chuckled, though a flush crept into his face. “You were amazing. Honestly, if I hadn’t summoned you, I’d be nothing but demon chow by now.”

Her smile brightened, soft yet radiant. “Then I am glad I could be of service.”

For a moment, the world fell away. Mark found himself caught by her presence, the nobility in her bearing, the quiet grace in her voice. She was a warrior, yes, but in that instant, she was also something more. Something almost divine.

And then

A voice broke the spell.

“You gonna go for a kiss, mate?”

Mark’s head snapped around. Standing a few paces away was a man in a weathered brown overcoat, cigarette dangling lazily from his lips.

Shaggy beard, sharp eyes, an air of mischief and danger. He knew that face. Everyone in the occult world did.

“Constantine,” Mark muttered.

Artoria’s blade flickered into existence, her stance sharp and dangerous. The King of Knights did not take intruders lightly.

“Whoa, whoa, luv-easy now.”

Constantine raised both hands, palms out in mock surrender. His British drawl carried both humor and weariness. “No harm meant.”

Mark raised his hand, signaling Artoria to lower her guard. She obeyed, though her glare never softened.

“Tell me,” Mark said evenly, “what does the so-called Master of the Dark Arts want with me?”

Constantine blinked, brows arching. “Bloody hell, you do your homework, don’t you?” He smirked, taking a drag from his cigarette. “Didn’t think my shitty business was such public knowledge.”

He jabbed a thumb at Faust’s crumpled body. “Truth is, I’ve been keeping tabs on that wanker for a week now. Didn’t expect a teenager to do my job for me.”

Mark’s lips curled. “Didn’t know I had a stalker.”

“Stalker’s a harsh word, son. Call it… watcher.”

“And the difference is?” Mark shot back.

Constantine didn’t answer. He just shoved his hands into his pockets, smirking.

Before Mark could press him, a faint glow caught his eye. He turned—and his chest tightened.

Artoria’s form was fading. Fragments of light shimmered off her body, scattering like fireflies in the night. She glanced down at herself, then at him. Her expression softened, as if to say do not worry. And then, with one final look, she vanished.

The air felt colder in her absence.

“Well,” Constantine muttered, blinking at the empty space. “That was a bloody sight.”

Mark clenched his fists. He knew why—his mana reserves were bone dry. The summon couldn’t last. Still, he checked the system’s group chat in relief: Artoria’s presence remained there, safe.

Constantine, however, wasn’t done. His gaze sharpened. “You’ve got something powerful, son. But raw power without knowledge? That’s a recipe for disaster. Summoning magic like that… you’ll burn yourself out before long.”

He leaned in slightly, his grin sly. “What do you say we work together? I can teach you how to sustain your summons.”

Mark didn’t answer immediately. His instincts screamed caution. Finally, he said, “One question.”

“Shoot.”

“Did the League send you?”

For the first time, Constantine hesitated. His eyes narrowed, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. Then he chuckled. “Sharp little bastard, aren’t you? Yeah. You caught me. What gave it away?”

“You pushed too fast for an alliance,” Mark said flatly. “Too direct for a first meeting.”

Constantine sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, well… I’m not as good at this as Batsy.” He pulled out a comm, thumbed it on, and spoke into it.

“You pick that up, mate?”

A deep voice rumbled from the other side. “Yes. Put me on loudspeaker.”

Mark’s chest tightened as the voice filled the air. Cold, precise, commanding.

“This is Batman.”

The name alone sent a shiver through him.

“We need you to cooperate with John. He will bring you to the League’s headquarters, where we will meet.”

Mark frowned. “And if I refuse?”

“We won’t force you,” Batman said calmly, “but know this—you will be under surveillance, twenty-four hours a day. If you stray, we will detain you immediately. Not to mention… you’ve already attracted dangerous attention. With us is your best option.”

Constantine gave a shrug. “Much as it pains me to admit, the bastard’s right.”

Mark weighed his options, silence stretching long. Finally, he exhaled. “Fine. I’ll come.”

“Good.” Batman’s voice carried no hint of satisfaction. Only inevitability. “Constantine will bring you to us. Batman out.”

The line went dead.

Constantine slid the comm back into his pocket, his grin returning.

“Well then, son. Ready to go?”

Mark gave a slow nod. His path forward was changing, whether he liked it or not.