Mage Legend

In front of Lynch lay his spellbook, with a pale golden mead and writing tools placed beside it. He was concentrating his efforts on the translation of spells. The knowledge he had learned at the Mage Association was gradually transforming into something that could operate under the power of the Magic Origin. His spellcasting level had returned to that of when he faced the mage Kuziman.

Moreover, possessing the almost inexhaustible Origin power and the so-called strongest defense, the "Left Hand," Lynch's strength had surpassed that of his self in Moon Harbor City.

However, his heart was more filled with questions than ever before. The magical principles that were once clear and distinct were now as chaotic as a tangled skein. The longer the translation work continued, the more confused Lynch became: Why do the arcane arts, which should originate from the same principles, become unable to fuse under the drive of the Magic Network and Magic Origin? Even if they can form the same effects, they repel each other due to the different sources of power, ultimately causing an explosion.

"Could it be that these two are enemies by nature?" Lynch furrowed his brows, not quite believing this conclusion: "Why did the Magic God design a magic network completely different from the original Magic Origin Power, instead of simply limiting the strength of the Origin Power? What is his ultimate purpose by taking such a circuitous route?"

Yilinrui watched the mage with boredom, her eyes occasionally darting towards others in the theater. Although she always wanted to attract the mage's attention and frequently approached this human man to display her charm, Lynch always ignored her gestures. This was even more infuriating than a direct rejection. Yilinrui repeatedly recalled the visions she had foreseen, but a trace of doubt unknowingly sprouted in her heart.

"Is he really that person?"

Lynch closed his book and took a sip of mead, the sweet and refreshing taste putting him at ease. An elf approached; he wasn't carrying any armor or weapons, instead, he bore a flute decorated with feathers and shells. Bowing slightly to the mage, he said, "Mr. Lynch, I've heard of your name from my kin. First of all, thank you for siding with us elves at this moment. May I ask you a question?"

'This is a bard,' Lynch thought to himself, 'They are ardent lovers of poetry who regard it as their life.'

"Go ahead, elf friend." The mage noticed some elves casting glances this way and said, "I happen to have some time right now to answer questions from friends."

"Is Heather safe? Is our Empress safe?"

Lynch gazed steadily at the elf poet in front of him and said, "From what I understand, Heather is a fortress least resembling a castle, yet it possesses qualities that other constructs lack: it is impregnable."

The mage paused, seeing that he had captured the attention of everyone around, and said, "The reason for its impregnability doesn't lie in the mountains or that Holy River outside; rather, it's because Heather is built upon the Holy Land in the hearts of all elves. As long as elves strive for her, she can never be conquered."

The bard hesitated, then brought the flute to his lips. Lynch waved a hand to temporarily halt his playing, saying, "Leaving in the middle of another's performance is impolite, but I have other matters to attend to and can't stay to hear your music."

With that, he picked up the limp Soka and headed for the door. Yilinrui looked at the bard, then quickly followed out.

"He's the best singer in Heather." The elf said to the mage, "It's a pity you won't stay to listen."

Lynch did not want to bring up the mutual animosity that existed between mages and other arcane practitioners on this continent. Their relations with bards and sorcerers were not good. Although Lynch did not view these spellcasters as charlatans and thieves like some mages, he was also reluctant to interact with them too much.

Thus, the mage didn't answer Yilinrui's question, but instead asked, "Princess, how good is your archery?"

The elf seemed startled, stammering before responding, "Me? Arch...archery? My skills aren't bad."

"Then can you teach Soka this skill? I think the little guy should have a martial art to protect himself."

"That's no problem." Yilinrui was delighted in her heart; finally, the mage Lynch had noticed her and discovered her potential.

......

"What good does it do me to do this?" Fyyian said. "You drow want the elves to disappear from the surface while also wanting to retrieve the Undead Magic Bead; in exchange, you only offer some intelligence and support I would receive after success. Dear lady, I think the balance in this trade is far from its point of equilibrium."

"Things in this world aren't as simple as you imagine." Zilvra remained full of confidence. In the process of scheming against her own sisters, she had long honed her skill in deception. She said, "The capabilities of the Underdark are beyond your imagination. Cooperation benefits both parties. If you're attacking Heather just to control a ghostly mountain filled with undead, then you can ignore what I say. Know this, the Undead Magic Bead is only obeying your orders under duress, and those undead creatures could turn on you at any moment. Only the matron from our First Family knows all the secrets to controlling it. When that day comes, without allies and power, what will you be left with?"

Zilvra, relying on her vague memories of the Magic Bead, was bluffing to deceive Fyyian. A master of deception can always speak endlessly because all they say are lies; whereas honest people, having to verify the accuracy of their words in their minds, appear hesitant and slow in speech. Yet, most people tend to believe those who are fluent in their speech as truth.

Fyyian still couldn't completely trust Zilvra's proposal, but his heart was somewhat swayed. Conspirators always fear conspiracy, and those vague and shaky pieces of information made him feel hesitant. He invited Zilvra to temporarily stay in this Undead Tower and went outside alone to the polluted land.

A ghost drifted to him sluggishly, handing a scroll in its "hand" to Fyyian. Curious, the disfigured one opened it to find dense Drow language written all over. The complex words and patterns weren't entirely comprehensible to him, but it was clearly a Magic Scroll.

The vanished text indicated that the scroll's power had been forcibly interrupted during casting; the unfortunate spellcaster had not succeeded in reciting this complex spell. Fyyian reached into his pocket with his right hand, rubbing incessantly inside; the ghost in front of him contorted its transparent body wildly, becoming increasingly faint. Suddenly, as if struck by a holy spell, the ghost exploded and vanished without a trace. Fyyian nodded, looked at the tall tower behind him, and murmured to himself, "So that's how it is. Now, things are finally going to start becoming smooth and interesting."