The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

Even after determining that Anser was the one with the problem, Brunhilde still couldn’t feel happy about it.

Anser’s divinity belonged to the domain of life and didn’t resemble that of an evil god at all.

What disturbed her the most was the way divinity identified the chosen of evil gods—it was far too extreme, clearly forcing both sides to fight to the death on the spot.

If the targets were all chosen of evil gods, that would be one thing, but reality was likely far more complicated than that.

What if deities of the same lawful or good alignment ended up fighting each other to the death? Their chosen would merely be helpless pawns caught in the middle.

Anser had already considered that possibility. The two looked at one another in silence, each weighed down by their own thoughts.

What he felt fortunate about was that this time they had encountered a follower of Azuth, someone whose faith had not overwhelmed their reason.

Had it been a follower of Tyr instead, one of them would definitely be lying on the ground by now.

’The chosen of the gods are stronger than I expected. I can’t attend the Bral royal banquet tonight,’ he thought to himself.

A place like Rock of Bral probably had no shortage of divine chosen. After all, the gods had to compete for faith, so naturally they would cast a wide net. Even weaker gods couldn’t possibly have only a single chosen.

Swallowing that strand of divinity would work too. Otherwise, people might misunderstand him whenever he went out. In any case, he could still use the dice to identify divine chosen, though the efficiency was terrible.

’Forget it. I’ll keep it for now.’

A sudden thought crossed his mind. If a fight really broke out and he exposed his identity as a Paladin, would those lawful and good-aligned divine chosen completely lose their minds?

”What are you thinking about?” Brunhilde tapped the stone table with her staff, her gaze fixed on Anser.

”Hm, I was wondering who the God of Wizards’ greatest enemy is,” Anser deflected.

Truthfully, he knew many deities existed and had a rough understanding of their alignments, but he didn’t really understand the grudges between them.

Or rather, throughout all of Realmspace, very few scholars truly understood such things. At most, people only knew scattered legends and ancient tales.

”The God of Divination and Fate, Savras. The God of Indulgence, Asmodeus. The God of Death, Myrkul. The God of Lies and Lord of Murder, Cyric. And various deities hostile to the Goddess of Magic. There are far too many.”

Brunhilde was clearly well-versed in mythology and ancient legends, casually listing off a string of divine names.

”Who knows,” Anser replied noncommittally.

Cyric had read the ”Cyricad” he himself wrote and gone insane. No one knew what state he was in now.

Myrkul’s power had waned, and most of the portfolio of death had been inherited by Kelemvor. Kelemvor was the truly competent and impartial god of the dead, so the two were probably mortal enemies.

Times had changed. No one knew what had happened among the gods anymore, and there was no point in making blind guesses.

Seeing the heavy atmosphere, Iris took the initiative to change the subject.

”Auntie, do you have any way to resurrect Uncle Stoll?”

Brunhilde’s eyes flickered as she probed, ”If resurrecting him came at the cost of all of Durlag, would he accept it?”

Iris exchanged a glance with Anser, both wearing subtle expressions.

”Auntie, aren’t you and Uncle Stoll friends?” Iris asked in confusion.

”And friends are supposed to help each other for free?” Brunhilde shot back as if it were only natural.

She had known Stoll for a very long time. The two had some minor conflicts between them, and they could hardly be considered friends. A wizard and a reckless brute rarely became friends.

”Then change the condition.” Iris did not become angry because of that.

The friend of my family isn’t automatically my family. Emotional coercion itself was immoral.

”No. Doesn’t he only have Durlag anyway?” Brunhilde curled her lips, looking rather ungraceful.

”Auntie, what do you even want Durlag for? Don’t you like wandering around?”

”To build a sanctuary, recruit apprentices, and spread the path of wizardry!”

”Oh~”

Compared to fighting and killing, Brunhilde had chosen a far steadier road.

Anser’s gaze darkened slightly. He knew his first-mover advantage was beginning to disappear. The God of Wizards’ divine chosen definitely would not remain constrained by magic-power casting and spell models.

He considered his words carefully. ”Ma’am…”

”How rude. Call me Auntie.” Brunhilde looked at him with an amused half-smile.

Anser took a deep breath and silently complained about her terrible sense of humor, though he didn’t argue with her over it.

”Auntie, Durlag is a city of adventurers. It doesn’t even have a government-run school, and most commoners can’t read. Recruiting magical apprentices there would be extremely difficult.”

”So how about this? I’ll provide the money, the land, and the manpower to help you build a comprehensive academy of magic. It would include enlightenment classes, foundational education, and magical studies, with all expenses fully covered by the Union.”

”You would serve as the headmistress and select students based on merit. Keep the ones you like, and let the ones you don’t find their own way in life…”

He spoke at length in a single breath. In truth, he had conceived this idea long ago. His original intention had been to cultivate talent—the magic academy was merely a temporary outer shell layered on top of it.

With the Weave currently in chaos, beginners had no choice but to start directly with magic-power casting, making the learning curve absurdly steep. Even throughout all of Durlag, only a handful of people could qualify, and most would inevitably be eliminated.

But those eliminated people were still talented in their own way, making them perfect candidates to absorb into the Union.

He didn’t care much about matters of faith. Believing in one god was still believing in a god, and at the very least, Azuth was far better than an evil god.

”Oh? You’re the one who gets to decide that?” Brunhilde straightened in her seat, her expression turning serious.

”I’m the current president of the Union. Everyone listens to me. What I say goes,” Anser replied firmly.

”Well now, little Iris, you’re the ruthless one after all. If Stoll came back to life, he’d probably die of anger from this alone.” Brunhilde instantly pieced together the whole story. Eyes wide, she pointed her wand at Iris through the air.

Iris simply turned her head away as though she hadn’t seen anything.

”I also own an island. We could build two magic academies,” Anser added with a cheerful smile. ”And if I gain more territory in the future, every city will have its own academy of magic—with you as the headmistress.”

”Deal!”

How could Brunhilde fail to understand Anser’s calculations? But she simply couldn’t resist such temptation.

Her knowledge was immense, but she had grown accustomed to living alone. She lacked resources, and very few of her friends ever managed to outlive her. If she truly had to build everything from scratch herself, it would give her an enormous headache.

A powerful alliance was the proper path forward.

The sanctuary and magic academy were only the first step. The second would be gathering destitute spellcasters and gradually restoring the influence of the wizard community.

As long as things showed even the slightest improvement, Azuth would surely bestow blessings upon her, helping her step into the realm of legends—or perhaps even higher.

The two discussed matters for a while and finalized several details, though they did not sign any magical contract.

Afterward, Iris pulled Brunhilde onto the flying carpet and headed straight for the castle.

Anser spread his dragon wings and followed easily behind them, his form flamboyant and eye-catching, though he had no choice but to retract the wings upon entering the castle.

They were simply too large and could easily damage things.

Brunhilde’s eyes seemed glued to him, staring without blinking the entire way. Only after they entered the underground chamber did she finally regain her composure.

For some reason, she suddenly felt that producing spellcasters might actually be easier than training them.

”Auntie?” Iris gently nudged her and pointed at the stiff corpse lying before them. ”Will this work?”

”Yes.”

Brunhilde snapped out of her thoughts and took a miniature cast-iron cauldron from her pocket. With a casual toss onto the floor, it instantly expanded until it was large enough to hold a Medium-sized creature.

Under her direction, Anser placed Stoll’s corpse into the cauldron and buried it beneath two hundred pounds of sea salt.

”That’s all. He’ll revive in eight hours.” Brunhilde clapped her hands, then looked at the cauldron with faint disgust.

Anser chuckled inwardly. He knew Brunhilde wasn’t disgusted by Stoll himself, but by something else entirely.

This was the ”Cauldron of Rebirth.” Not only could it resurrect the dead, it could also brew superior healing potions.

If someone had even a slight case of germophobia, there was no way they’d be able to drink from it.

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