The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

More than thirty magic items were scattered across the floor of the Black Tower hall.

Besides the magic items obtained from the dragon-slaying battle, there was also a large amount of equipment Anser had previously accumulated, such as the fungus-woven armor, the Feather Fall ring, the Psychic Blade, the Deep-Blue Poison Blade, and others.

Anser sat in a chair, with the tall, cold construct Shield Guardian standing behind him.

”Everyone worked hard in the last battle. Each of you pick one or two that suit you. Once the black dragon is sold, I’ll distribute a bit more to everyone,” he said with a grand wave of his hand, looking very generous.

”So many?” Bratt crouched down to examine the appraisal documents beside the magic items.

Salian scanned the area. He did not see the two antimagic arrows, but almost everything he had seen while cleaning the battlefield was present, which meant that the lady of the fortress had taken almost nothing.

He glanced meaningfully at Anser but did not expose it.

”The black dragon has nothing to do with us.” Kaleno shook his head and picked up a pair of black short blades.

”Exactly.” Colin pulled out an ornament made from three black dragon scales from inside his collar, tapped it with his fingernail, and chuckled. ”This is enough for me.”

”We can talk about the black dragon later. The equipment is what everyone deserves—if you fought in the battle, you get a share.” Anser waved his hand.

Strictly speaking, the treant Old Moss had contributed the most, but none of these things were of any use to it, and it did not want them either. It could only be compensated later if the opportunity arose.

”I’ll take this one.” Giant Tail did not stand on ceremony and selected a handsome suit of armor.

Anser glanced at it. This was the slatted heavy armor seized earlier from the half-dragon—Rare quality, though slightly damaged, and the size was not quite right.

”Sure. Later we’ll find someone to repair it for you,” he said without refusing.

”I’ll go myself.” Giant Tail shook his head in refusal. He had just become captain of the guard, and he would spend most of his time outside anyway—he had plenty of time.

”I’ll pay for it,” Anser said with a smile.

Salian chose a kinetic bowstring that doubled the shooting range and increased damage.

Kaleno selected the Psychic Blades taken from the Shadow Thieves assassin, Colin chose a Rare shortbow, and Finn took the Feather Fall ring.

Bratt chose the fungus-woven armor. Although it had a small side effect, as long as it was not removed there would be no problem, and the +2 Constitution and corrosion resistance greatly improved a Fighter.

The others watched from the side—some envious, some curious—only regretting that their strength had been insufficient to participate in the battle.

”Good eyes.” Anser teased, putting away the remaining items.

The things they chose were all good items. They said they did not want them, but their bodies were very honest.

”This one is for you.” He tossed the Alchemy Jug to Bratt.

He often forgot to use it, so it was better to leave it with Bratt, the housekeeper-in-chief, so he could replenish a bit of supplies every day, such as honey, vinegar, alcohol, and the like.

Bratt took the Alchemy Jug, unable to put it down. When he smiled, his canine teeth showed, making him look like a wolf that had stolen a chicken. ”I’ve had my eye on this thing of yours for a long time.”

Anser was amused by him, waved his hand, and got up to head upstairs.

Today, he had not returned to Fort Jacqueline. After handling matters, he had brought Giant Tail and the others back to Holrewen.

Upon returning to the top floor, he saw dozens of round-bellied glass water bottles placed in one corner of the room. Each could hold one pound of fresh water. Beside them were also two large jars of silver powder. These were the materials he had prepared for Ceremony.

Ceremony was ritual magic. It required performing a certain rite according to the requirements of a religious ceremony, and the spell could only be completed through sustained casting. It did not consume Magic Power or a spell slot.

Ceremony contained a variety of rites: atonement, blessing holy water, coming of age, dedication, funeral rite, wedding, and so on. Besides spellcasting ability, it also came with quite a bit of folk ritual and ceremonial knowledge.

Every qualified ”holy charlatan” had to know Ceremony!

For clergy, the more solemn the ritual, the better. But simplifying it did not affect the final result.

For example, when blessing holy water, one could choose a certain time to stand in a church or before a divine statue, holding holy radiance while devoutly chanting or praying. It could also be done more simply by just holding the water bottle and concentrating on meditation, so long as one was not interrupted during the process.

Anser filled a water bottle with water, held it in his hand, and sat on the round platform, with the silver powder placed beside him. He closed his eyes and meditated. There was no prayer in his mouth, nor did he outline any divine symbol in his mind. He was simply using the method by which he sensed his oath to stir sacred power.

A rich platinum radiance blossomed from his body. The silver powder drifted upward, interweaving with the sacred magic power and little by little seeping into the water.

An hour passed.

He opened his eyes and raised the water bottle. The originally clear water had already turned a platinum hue, with its light contained within.

’Done. This bottle alone should sell for at least one hundred gold coins,’ he thought. He tightened the cap and set the holy water aside.

The material cost of this single bottle alone had reached 25 gold coins, and it also required one hour of a Paladin’s time.

Holy water was rarely given away for free. It was one of the important sources of income for churches. Clergy were people too, and they also needed to eat. Without money, that would not do.

Some churches of good-aligned gods, such as the churches of Lathander or Tyr, priced it at 25 gold coins, but only supplied it in limited quantities to devout believers. Other people could not buy it.

There were only a few small churches in Durlag’s Tower, and the churches’ strength was limited. On top of that, the Weave was in disorder, so they no longer had the ability to produce holy water. That made already scarce holy water even more precious.

’Continue!’

Anser did not feel tired, so he simply continued making blessed holy water.

Earning more than a hundred gold coins in an hour was not much worse than a Wizard copying spell scrolls. Working a little overtime was nothing.

...

In the early morning, Anser woke up naturally, feeling refreshed.

He had only rested after making five bottles of holy water the previous night. His sleep time had not been long, but it was enough.

He picked up the dragonhide pouch from the corner and opened it for a glance. There was no surprise—only a small extra pile of coins, of various currencies.

’From the black dragon, or from some other dragon hoard?’ He did not know, but he no longer dared to experiment recklessly.

If he ended up attracting the Green Dragon Queen next time, that would be trouble. He might not even be able to defeat an immature green dragon, let alone the Green Dragon Queen, who might have reached the level of an ancient dragon.

Green dragons were famous for being insidious and cunning. They usually did not act personally, but when they did, it was with extremely high odds of victory.

After breakfast, he took Giant Tail, the green dragonborn, and Kaleno to ”work.”

The moment the group teleported into the room, they saw Iris and Quentin sitting on the sofa.

”So early—did something happen again?” Anser glanced at his pocket watch. It was not even eight yet.

The Durlag Union was somewhat lax. Eight o’clock was already considered early. Someone as lazy as Iris would not show up unless there was an important meeting.

”Why didn’t you come back last night?” Iris crossed her arms and stared at Anser expressionlessly.

”Oh, it was too late. There was no need to go through the trouble,” Anser explained.

Quentin looked at the two of them and silently closed his mouth.

Iris glanced at him twice, did not pursue the matter further, and sat back down, signaling for Quentin to speak.

”Someone is causing trouble.” Quentin rubbed his brow, looking exhausted. ”Over the past few days, many refugees from the Claw Bay have arrived. Among them are also quite a few major families and organizations.”

”Early this morning, several groups came to cause trouble. They said the trading company of Councillor Graham owed them goods that had not been delivered. They demanded that the warehouses be opened so the supplies could be used to repay the debt, and they even injured several guards.”

”Oh~” Anser understood.

Causing trouble was only the pretext. They knew Stoll was gone and had set their sights on Durlag, this piece of ownerless meat.

This was, to some extent, looking down on him—the new president—and Fort Jacqueline.

Perhaps these forces believed that if an outsider like Anser could become president, then they could as well.

”There’s more.” Quentin opened the window and pointed upward. ”There are wyverns patrolling the sky. They’ve come twice already this morning. I have a bad feeling about this.”

Anser leaned out and looked upward. He could vaguely see two small black dots flying high above the Wood of Sharp Teeth.

”They might just be here to scout the situation,” he speculated. ”Didn’t we hear yesterday that Beregost was surrounded by Kobolds? Durlag isn’t that far away. It’s normal for the wyvern corps to expand their reconnaissance range.”

”Sigh… hopefully that’s the case. I’m just afraid…” Quentin’s face showed worry.

Stoll had slain a green dragon in rage, and Anser had brutally killed a wyvern and a half-dragon. In terms of hatred, it seemed even higher than that toward Beregost.

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