The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Anser’s heart stirred. They’ve found their way here—fast.

He couldn’t go out yet. The enemy’s strength was unknown; stepping out now would likely mean walking straight into an ambush—and it would expose the existence of his extradimensional space.

As for Alton, if this had nothing to do with him, going out would only drag him into it. If Anser stayed hidden, there would be no evidence to prove anything. Given the halflings’ unity, even the Prince of the Rock of Bral couldn’t deal with him arbitrarily.

If they couldn’t find him, they were unlikely to keep watch over the room forever.

Anser remained calm. The Holrewen mark was under the protection of divination magic—his safety was still guaranteed.

If the enemy was powerful enough to teleport directly in, then there was nothing he could say. In that case, behaving obediently might at least preserve his life as a dragon.

The safest course for now was to stay here for seven days. Once the Traveler’s Badge finished cooling down, he could teleport to the Traveler’s Rest and seek official assistance.

As long as he was willing to spend money, there were plenty of solutions.

For now, I should strengthen myself first.

He picked up the white Deck of Many Things card. The moment his fingers touched it, the die trembled slightly, blurred for an instant, then spun rapidly before coming to an abrupt stop.

Ding—

[All things are impermanent. Current roll: Misfortune]

Moments later, the die leapt into the air again, rolling once more as it fell.

[All things are impermanent. Current roll: Flux]

Anser didn’t rush. He simply waited.

After a few minutes, he noticed that this card tended to land on Flux most of the time, with only occasional rolls of Misfortune or Fortune.

What’s going on here? Do different cards have tendencies? He found that very likely.

Perhaps the creator of the cards could even adjust their expected outcomes.

He stopped overthinking it. The moment Fortune appeared, he immediately activated the card with his mind.

The card lit up abruptly. On its surface appeared a chaotic, indistinct pattern of lines—impossible to make sense of.

...

[Deck of Many Things: The Fates]

The very existence of reality is unraveled and rewoven, allowing you to avoid or erase a specific event that has already occurred, as though it never happened. You may activate this effect at any point before your death.

...

The next instant, the card shattered, dissolving into countless motes of light that gathered into an abstract face. It flew into Anser’s brow and vanished.

Do I actually have some kind of intimate connection with Tymora? Anser rubbed his forehead, finding it hard to believe.

[The Fates] was one of the strongest cards in the Deck of Many Things—it could directly alter reality, even reverse life and death.

The most common use would be to activate it before dying, erasing the entire battle as though it had never happened.

Right now, he could use [The Fates] to erase this trap and return directly to Fort Jacqueline.

The only question was how the effect actually worked. Would the memories of everyone involved also be erased?

His thoughts branched out, imagining all the possible scenarios where [The Fates] might be used—but in the end, it was all speculation. Altering reality itself was abstract by nature, entangled with numerous temporal and physical paradoxes.

There has to be a limit. It probably can’t exceed the Legendary level. He made a mental note of that.

If the event involved too much—if it couldn’t be erased and the card failed—he would truly be left in despair.

Just like the ninth-level Wish spell: the greater the wish, the higher the chance of something going wrong.

If someone wished for an artifact, they might immediately be teleported to the current owner of that item.

Good stuff. Really good stuff. His mood lifted instantly, his confidence surging. At the same time, he grew even more eager for the second card.

He picked up the second black card. The die spun and leapt, rolling once again.

Ding—

[All things are impermanent. Current roll: Fortune]

He didn’t wait—he activated it decisively.

The card flared with light. Multicolored radiance flowed across its surface before finally condensing into an icy blossom, surrounded by a faint mist of cold.

...

[Deck of Many Things: Element (Cold)]

Your body becomes immune to cold. You gain cold immunity!

...

”Nice!” Anser broke into a wide grin.

Though he couldn’t choose which element he became immune to, it didn’t matter much. Any elemental immunity was powerful—only the situations where it shined differed.

Of course, cold immunity only negated cold damage. Spells like ice spikes or ice blades that carried physical damage could still harm him.

Cold’s fine. He would’ve preferred fire immunity—fire attacks were far more common.

Bathing in flames or lava would’ve sounded pretty cool, too.

At that moment, the card crumbled silently. Strands of elemental energy circled around him, gradually seeping into his body.

A prismatic radiance bloomed across his body, like the glow of a genie, rippling outward in waves of magical light.

Anser didn’t feel cold—instead, a gentle warmth spread through his entire body. It felt comfortable, even his hands and feet warming slightly.

The process lasted for over an hour before gradually fading.

He opened his character sheet. A new line had appeared:

[Immunities]: Cold

Not bad. Time to think about breaking out of this situation.

Hiding for seven days felt too humiliating—it wasn’t his style.

He checked his condition. He was in excellent shape: Magic Power 132/137, enough to handle a small-scale battle.

What surprised him was that the eighth symbol on the twenty-sided die was almost fully lit.

But aside from the siege at Fort Jacqueline, he hadn’t experienced any other battles. He had only visited the Traveler’s Rest and then unexpectedly arrived at the Rock of Bral in the starry expanse.

No wonder it’s called an adventure trait. Seems like adventure matters more than combat.

He opened his pocket watch. It was seven in the evening—dusk in Faerûn—but time on the Rock of Bral might not align with Faerûn’s.

No rush. I’ll wait a bit longer.

He removed his combat attire, changed into the Robe of Stars, and began to meditate.

He could now attune to five magical items. With the Robe of Stars, he had to give up the Ring of Spell Storing—but the impact wasn’t significant.

...

Rock of Bral, Lower Caverns District, Burrow Tavern.

The entire tavern looked as though it had been ransacked. Debris was scattered everywhere; shelves overturned, barrels smashed, alcohol spilling across the floor. The heavy scent of liquor was so strong it could make someone drunk just by breathing it in.

Near the bar, two halflings had been nailed to wooden chairs with iron spikes. Their bodies were covered in signs of torture. Blood ran down their clothes and chair legs, pooling into a dark red stain that had already begun to congeal.

Even so, the gaunt, dark-skinned gnome interrogating them showed no intention of stopping. With a hooked claw in his right hand, he pried open the scalp of a young halfling, while his left hand steadily tore at it—his face twisted into a sick smile.

The halfling was already on the brink of death, no longer even able to scream—only trembling weakly from the pain.

Off to the side, Alton closed his eyes helplessly and said in a frail voice, ”I really don’t know where the person you’re talking about is…”

”Still being stubborn? My men clearly saw him come in,” the gnome sneered.

At that moment, a leather-armored tiefling with a bow on his back stepped out from a side door. He bowed slightly toward the shadow beneath the wall lamp. ”Boss, we searched again. Nothing.”

In the corner, beneath the dim light, a figure in a black robe sat quietly. The hood concealed their face. Their thin, pale fingers idly shuffled a deck of tarot cards.

”Teleportation… or another plane?” The figure casually drew a card and flipped it over.

The Star.

Bang, bang, bang!

A sudden, urgent knocking echoed from the tavern entrance. Faintly, someone could be heard calling Alton’s name.

Alton was about to respond when the gaunt gnome punched him in the jaw, forcing the words back down his throat.

”So annoying.” Near the door, a blue-skinned orc muttered irritably.

He was massive—over two and a half meters tall—clad in heavy armor, leaning on a giant axe, his expression full of impatience.

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