The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Anser paced back and forth in the room, repeatedly trying to open Nornoth’s character sheet.

More than half an hour passed.

Nornoth finally opened its eyes, leapt out, and began running and jumping through the garden as if letting loose—flowers and plants were ravaged as though struck by a violent storm, with broken petals and snapped branches strewn everywhere in utter disarray.

”Stop right now!”

Anser’s mind went blank. He hurriedly called out to it through telepathy to make it stop.

Nornoth, not understanding what was going on, lifted its head to look toward the figure by the window. Its big eyes blinked innocently, wearing a completely blameless expression.

”Sigh—”

Anser let out a sigh, already prepared to pay for the damages.

From the very first day he learned of Nornoth’s alignment, he had known it would cause trouble sooner or later. Fortunately, this time it was only some flowers and plants; presumably the moon elves would not be that petty… right?

He sat back down in the chair and brought up Nornoth’s character sheet.

...

[Name: Nornoth]

Level: 1

Experience: 132/900

Hit Point: 46

Armor Class: 14

...

The changes to its attributes were obvious. Its Hit Point had increased to 46, Armor Class had increased by 1, and both Intelligence and Charisma had increased by 1.

High health, thick armor—this was probably the monster template.

It had also gained a spell-like ability: ”Resistance.” It could be used twice per day, with Charisma as the spellcasting ability.

The spell’s effect was to gain resistance to one type of damage for one minute, such as bludgeoning, piercing, cold, fire, necrotic, and so on, reducing damage by 1d4 (1–4) points.

In addition, the teleport distance of ”Fey Step” had increased by 18 meters, an increase of 50%, making it far more practical.

”Not bad, not bad!”

Anser was very satisfied.

”Heh. There’s no such thing as a perfect plan in this world. As the executor, you should have anticipated these risks…”

”Shut up. Tell me how I was supposed to anticipate them—I’m not a prophet…”

”Enough!”

A hoarse voice rang out, and the room instantly fell silent. ”Sir, I know this person. His name is Anser, a Dragonblood Sorcerer from Baldur’s Gate. He worships the God of Justice and has an extremely close relationship with the paladins of the Church of Last Hope.”

”He is also the one who killed the captain of the elite slaver-hunting team. The Holy Grail should be on him…”

”Oh?”

The leading man slowly sat down, a trace of interest appearing on his face. ”Is he an elite professional?”

”No. But this person is very abnormal. He was completely unaffected by the turmoil of the Weave, a bit like those blue-robed lunatics… The slaver-hunting team probably stumbled into an undead trap by accident. The other side likely just picked up a cheap victory…”

”What about those undead?”

”Unclear. Judging from the tracks, they should have headed in the direction of Baldur’s Gate.”

”Spread this information as soon as possible. Let that so-called warband and the paladins make preparations.”

Disgust flickered in the man’s eyes.

They wanted living people; the undead wanted the dead. The two sides were naturally opposed. The slave trade emphasized long-term development, while the undead were nothing but troublemakers—everyone loathed them.

”Yes.”

”Alright, speak up. How should this situation be handled?”

He looked at the short man who was soaked from head to toe. ”Ramas, you’re the captain. You speak.”

”Sir, the ship won’t be repaired anytime soon, but we can use the sea currents to drift farther away, find a place to drop anchor, and look for an opportunity at night to tow the ship away.”

Ramas was confident that nothing would happen during the daytime.

The authorities and capable fleets could all guess who was backing the Conch. Even if they held grudges, they would not rashly attack—it would be little different from declaring war.

Many forces publicly prohibited the slave trade, but behind the scenes their sordid dealings were hardly few.

In many people’s eyes, Nashivaar selling slaves was not a big deal at all. Baldur’s Gate itself had risen from piracy; no one was in a position to mock anyone else.

”Do as you say. Let the Conch undergo some repairs, then head straight to Snowdown. Do not appear near Silver Scale Bay for the time being.”

”Yes.”

”As for that Dragonblood Sorcerer—commission it to the Shadow Thieves. Deal with him as soon as possible and retrieve the Holy Grail.”

”I’ll make the arrangements immediately.”

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I will post some extra Chapters in Patreon, you can check it out. >> /TitoVillar

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