Warlock Apprentice

Chapter 1283: Section 1284: Metheor’s Tears

Ollie, a maid in service to Angel’s daily life, had a quite close relationship with him.

Mana, the Head Maid, was essentially the butler of Pat Manor, having served both brothers since their childhood. It wouldn’t be an overstatement to call her an elder and family member.

When Angel did not see them in the underground wine cellar, he looked at Lyon with hopeful eyes, wishing for some good news.

However, Lyon’s expression faltered, and with a complicated look, he shook his head with a wry smile.

After a while, Angel arrived outside the room of Mana, the Head Maid.

Although separated by a door, his spiritual power’s probing feedback allowed him to clearly feel the situation inside the room.

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The Head Maid, Mana, was no different from the people in the wine cellar—emaciated, with lifeless eyes and mumbling incoherently. Because she was locked in her room, her clothes were intact. The usually slightly plump middle-aged woman was drowning in her large clothes that now hung loose like a child wearing an adult’s attire.

Angel did not push the door open; he just stood there quietly for a moment.

Seeing the Head Maid Mana’s once plump face now gaunt and hollow, her once gentle smile now stiff… the warmth in Angel’s memory, the softness deep in his heart, seemed to have torn into pieces.

After a long time, Angel looked at Sanders with a hint of pleading in his voice, “Is there really no hope left?”

Sanders remained silent.

Sanders’ expression had said it all. Angel closed his eyes, and there was a moment of silence.

Eventually, Angel’s voice, huskier than usual, was heard, “Let’s go see Lord Suise; he should know something.”

Sanders had also planned to visit Suise, so he did not object to Angel’s suggestion.

It was then that Lyon spoke up, “Aren’t you going to see Ollie?”

Angel paused, his eyes filled with realization, but then he shook his head, “What’s the use? It would only add to our sorrow.”

Ollie’s condition was the same as that of the Head Maid Mana; both were affected by the red light. Since their status was that of close servants, Lyon chose not to lock them in the cellar but in their own rooms instead.

Given how pitiable the Head Maid Mana had become, Angel shook his head at the thought of seeing Ollie… Ollie was a girl who took pride in her appearance; how saddened would she be if she knew others saw her in her unsightly state?

Seeing Angel’s resolve, Lyon did not try to persuade him further, merely nodding, “Mentor Suise is usually in the heavens, on the Cloud Soil. Unless something unexpected has happened, he should be there now.”

Angel nodded and turned to the terrace, taking Lyon with him as they flew up into the sky from there.

The Cloud Soil above Pat Manor was Angel’s own creation, hence he knew its position like the back of his hand.

When Angel arrived at the Cloud Soil, he saw that someone was already there: the White Bear, Hobson.

The White Bear looked bewildered, his gaze constantly fixed on the short staff standing on the Cloud Soil. Angel remembered that this staff was Hobson’s magical tool for prophecy.

“It should be nearby; why can’t I find it? Where could it be? Has fate deceived me? Why can’t I see anything?” The White Bear kept muttering to himself, his magic power continuously being directed at the staff, but the staff just stood there, perfectly still.

Only the White Bear was present on the Cloud Soil, and no one else seemed to be there. Judging from Hobson’s mumblings, he was probably using his prophetic magic to search for Eulica and ended up here, but upon arriving, he saw no one, which is why he kept casting on the staff, thinking he had got his prophecy wrong.

Angel, however, did not share this view. Even though Suise was not seen on the Cloud Soil, Angel recalled Sanders mentioning that Suise had taken Eulica to the Exile Space. Thus, it was possible that Suise was not in this world but had entered the Exile Space.

Angel turned his gaze to Sanders, seeking an answer from him.

However, Sanders had not noticed Angel’s gaze, as he was quietly observing the tree at the center of the Cloud Soil—’Goddess of Spring’ Metheor.

Metheor was a harpy halfway transformed into a tree, with half of her already fused with the tree, but the harpy’s upper body still maintained human shape, with feathers and scales distinctly visible, the fingers seemingly capable of movement.

“So it really is Metheor. When you said before that you had acquired one, I was somewhat skeptical, but it turns out to be true,” Sanders said, his eyes filled with wonder as he stepped toward Metheor.

He was adamantly aware of Metheor’s rarity. Metheor could enrich the land, promote plant growth, change the magical environment. The powerful capabilities made nearly every wizard wish to plant a Metheor on their territories.

The wizards of the Barbarian Cave were no different, but since they had good relations with the Pamiji Harpy Clan, to avoid conflicts with the harpies, there were no public claims of possessing a Metheor, although what happened in secret was another matter.

Notwithstanding, Metheor herself was rarely seen, as nearly every one of them was documented by the Harpy Clan. Hence, acquiring a Metheor was not an easy feat.

And the Metheor before them, according to Angel, was an unrecorded wild Metheor.

This was quite rare indeed.

Sanders stood still in front of the Metheor, which seemed to sense Sanders’s presence, its body visibly shrinking.

Sanders carefully observed the Metheor, noting that there were no markings on it, proving it was truly a wild one. This made him glance at Angel, whose luck seemed consistently good, encountering such elusive things.

Just then, a pure white, rounded marble suddenly rolled to Sanders’s feet.

Bending down, he saw not just one round bead but many, of all sizes, surrounding the Metheor, crystal clear and emitting a faint glow in the sunshine.

“Are these the Metheor’s tears?” Angel also stepped forward, his eyes filled with puzzlement, “Why are there so many?”

The tears of a Metheor were an ingredient for cultivating Demon Plants and held considerable value.

“The sadness and joy of a Metheor can both cause it to shed tears,” Sanders said as he caressed the cold bead, contemplation in his eyes. “A half-tree-formed Angel, apart from those blackened ones, usually retains its initial innocence. Generally, when something happy occurs within the Metheor’s guarded area, it will cry. Likewise, it will also cry in the presence of slaughter and bloodshed.”

Angel couldn’t imagine anything happening recently that would make the Metheor happy. Therefore, the truth must be the opposite.

The multitude of Metheor tears piled up around meant that too many acts of killing and violence had occurred in Pat Manor during this period!

Looking at the beads on the ground, Angel felt as though he wasn’t just seeing the beads themselves but living lives, one by one.

Noticing the change in Angel’s emotions, Sanders sighed softly and patted Angel on the shoulder, “Death is not the true end. Besides, things have not reached the worst point yet.”

After speaking, Sanders stood up and adjusted his hat’s brim, revealing an almost perfect face in the sunshine.

As Sanders’s lips moved, a small, cyan-white whirlwind formed before him in an instant.

“Cough, cough, cough, why is there no elemental energy at all?” The funnel-like whirlwind emitted a strange fluctuation, which Angel also perceived.

“We are on Edge Island,” Sanders said softly.

The little whirlwind, upon hearing this reply, twisted all over, and though it didn’t emit any more fluctuations, its anger and fear were evident.

Sanders reached out, as though he were stroking a child’s head, and ran his fingers over the whirlwind’s elemental tail, “If you want to return, find the Exile Space first and deliver a message for me.”

The whirlwind hesitated for a moment but then stirred. Shortly after, it transformed into a wisp of blue smoke and vanished.

“Is this an Elemental Life cultivated by the Mentor?” Angel had previously seen a flame Elemental Life cultured by Sanders called Spark, a very mischievous being that scampered about everywhere, from furnaces and chimneys to the kitchen.

“Indeed, this is one of the first Elemental Lives I’ve fostered, named Whirlwind. Unlike Spark, this fellow is quite lazy and usually stays idle in the Gravity Garden,” Sanders sighed, sometimes wishing he could rename Whirlwind to No Wind, which would suit it better.

“Because it is an air elemental, it is most sensitive to spatial fluctuations. Assigning it to locate the Exile Space is the easiest way,” Sanders explained, and then said, “You’ve reached the peak of being an Apprentice, and your breakthrough shouldn’t be far away. Once you become an Official Wizard, you should also consider cultivating your Elemental Life.”

That said, the cultivation of Elemental Lives comes with its good and bad sides, and encountering an unsuitable one can even lead to a backlash.

Therefore, the consideration of nurturing an Elemental Life requires long-term planning. Sanders didn’t expect Angel to immediately cultivate his own Elemental Life; it also needed fate, and visits to various Pan-Dimensional Planes to find one’s own opportunity.

However, Sanders was unaware that upon hearing about cultivating Elemental Lives, Angel immediately thought of the door in the King’s Court of the Goldfinches, barely larger than a mouse hole, behind which lay, barring any accidents, the Tidal World.

At the doorstep to the Tidal World, they had encountered some peculiar Elemental Lives, and there might well be more of them beyond that.

Moreover, Angel had a hunch that the mystery of the Elemental dissipation in Old Earth Continent might also be found there.

About two minutes later, Whirlwind emerged from somewhere again, and with its arrival, a large gate opened in the air.

Suise stepped out from the gate.

“Hurry up and send me back, I’m nearly suffocating here,” Whirlwind rushed to Sanders’s side.

Sanders didn’t say much, just tucked Whirlwind back into the Gravity Garden and then looked up at Suise opposite him.