The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

On another stone pillar.

The young man braced himself on his sword. His disheveled black hair was soaked, plastered messily against his cheeks and forehead, and the eyes hidden among his bangs stared straight at Anser.

”Caster… you should have a way, right?”

A few traces of hope showed in his gaze.

But when he saw Anser begin to sort through the loot without paying him any attention, he grew anxious.

”Hey, brother, nice job—”

His voice was clear and bright.

Anser casually tossed the weapons, packs, and other miscellaneous items he had collected onto the ground, then walked to the edge of the stone platform.

”Don’t rush. I haven’t forgotten you. The stone pillars are about to collapse—we have to save ourselves as quickly as possible.”

He gestured with a rope he had taken from the goblin’s pack.

The two stone pillars were about twenty meters apart. The other pillar was several meters lower and was being directly battered by the water flow above, making the situation even more dangerous.

”I get it, I get it. My name’s Bratt—do you think your rope is long enough?”

Bratt grinned, revealing a set of slightly yellowed teeth.

Anser untied the rope, tossed it on the ground, and measured it. It was only a little over ten meters—nowhere near enough.

”Not enough.”

Bratt’s face fell. Helplessly, he said, ”Do you have any other way?”

”I’ll go up first, then find a rope to save you.”

Anser had already thought this through.

The spells he had chosen were highly functional, meant specifically for the current situation.

If there were no rope, he would use Mold Earth together with Jump, relying on his climbing ability to make his way up directly.

With a rope, it would be even simpler.

”Huh? All right… I’ll… wait for you.”

Bratt lowered his head slightly. The hope that had just ignited was extinguished in an instant.

With monsters raging above, once the other party went up, he would likely flee immediately. The chance of coming back to rescue him was vanishingly small.

Anser didn’t say much, because he himself wasn’t sure whether he would save anyone.

The apprentices who had fallen together with him—there wasn’t even a body to be seen. They were almost certainly dead. Life was fragile, and staying alive was what mattered.

He bundled up the valuable items such as weapons and coin pouches, slung them over his back, and tossed all the other miscellaneous items aside.

”જાદુગરનોહાથ” (Draconic)

Accompanied by a deep, solemn Draconic phrase, a floating ghostly hand appeared on the slanted rock wall above.

This was the 0-level spell Mage Hand—something the original owner had obsessed over for years, yet could never learn.

Mage Hand lasted for one minute. It could fly and was as nimble as a human hand, but it could carry at most 4.5 kilograms, and it could not move more than 9 meters away from its caster.

The feeling of having an extra hand was wonderfully strange. A faint smile rose at the corner of Anser’s mouth as he used his will to direct the ghostly hand to roam everywhere, testing where the rock was more solid and avoiding cracks or loose earth-and-stone structures.

Time was tight. After quickly choosing the first foothold, he roughly mapped out a climbing route along the cliff face, then cast again.

Cantrip: Mold Earth!

After a short, forceful incantation, a section of cliff wall above began to writhe like mud, and in the blink of an eye, it turned into a small stone platform with a fixed ring.

Nine meters high—this was the standard casting range of Mage Hand and Mold Earth. He felt he could go farther, but for the sake of stability, he did not.

”Hoo—”

Anser took a deep breath, gave his body a simple shake-out, and at the same time calmed his restless mental power.

Cantrips did not require consuming one’s own magic; they only required drawing on the magic in the air to cast. But the Weave’s turmoil had greatly increased the difficulty of casting, placing a certain burden on the mind.

He grabbed the rope and threw it upward with force. Mage Hand easily caught the end of the rope and tied it to the fixed ring.

The rope was coarse hemp rope, about as thick as a thumb. Anser gave it a hard tug; it was fairly sturdy. He hesitated no longer, gripped the rope tight, and climbed quickly upward, using both hands and feet.

In a bit over ten seconds, he easily hauled himself onto the stone platform.

”Easier than expected. Keep going!”

Next came repeating the same actions as before. At last, just before the second Mage Hand’s effect ended, he climbed onto the fourth molded stone platform.

This platform was one meter below the pit wall—an intentionally chosen position.

He did not climb up rashly. He crouched on the platform and listened closely.

It was nearing evening, and the sky was dim. The light and shadows around the giant pit were chaotic; amid the rushing sound of water were scattered, disorderly footsteps.

”Someone!”

The spot where he was climbing was not far from the Wizard’s tower. The foundation here was solid, so the risk of collapse was relatively lower.

The Wizard’s tower was located in the southeastern part of the Brampton District. To the south, it overlooked the surging Chionthar River; to the east was the outer city district at the foot of Dusthawk Hill—the Rolling District. A city wall lay between the two districts, connected by the Cliff Gate.

”The underground creatures’ landing point is to the northwest. There are fewer monsters on this side, so the refugees will most likely want to pass through the Cliff Gate and flee toward Dusthawk Hill.” With a bit of thought, Anser understood the refugees’ motive.

He quietly poked his head out and swept a glance over the area. A scattered crowd was running toward the southeast, their steps chaotic, scanning around as they ran, panic-stricken like startled birds.

”Did they run the wrong way?”

Anser was puzzled. He turned his head and glanced at the breached Chionthar River. ”Could it be… that the Cliff Gate is blocked?”

Earlier, he had noticed several sections of the city wall between the two districts had collapsed and were now connected, but passage through them was difficult unless absolutely necessary.

The situation was unclear, but for the moment he had not encountered any monsters. Right now, he had two choices: either flee immediately, or find a way to save Bratt.

He turned his head and looked down into the deep pit. A black human figure stood quietly at the edge of the stone pillar, half of his body being battered by the waterfall. He did not shout; his eyes were hidden in the twilight, like a statue.

”This temperament… is quite unusual.”

Anser withdrew his gaze and still decided to save him.

If earlier Bratt had acted maliciously or been insufficiently alert and drawn the gray dwarves’ attention, he would not have been able to climb up so easily.

The two had preliminarily established trust and could try fleeing together. He also needed a helper—someone who could serve as the ”front line” and take some of the pressure in a fight.

”First, go to the Wizard’s tower to find a rope.”

After confirming there were no monsters nearby, he flipped up onto the ground, clenched the crystal tightly in his left hand, and sneakily hurried toward the already-tilted Wizard’s tower several dozen meters away.

The sky was dim, and the entire city lay in darkness, with hardly any lights to be seen.

Most creatures of the Underdark possessed darkvision. Visibility like this was no different from daytime for them, while the city’s residents were focused only on fleeing for their lives and did not dare light any lamps.

Anser avoided the debris scattered everywhere, frequently using shadows to hide himself, and quietly approached the entrance.

The Wizard’s tower had six floors and stood nearly twenty meters tall. It had once been the tallest building near the Cliff Gate. Now it was badly damaged: the tower leaned more than ten degrees, its walls riddled with massive cracks—a textbook dangerous structure.

”Won’t it collapse?”

But on second thought, those underground creatures likely did not want to stay inside a dangerous building either. That meant this place should be safe.

He peered inside through the shattered doorway and saw only several human corpses, with no sign of monsters or other unusual sounds.

Moving lightly, he went in, keeping close to the wall, and slowly circled the main hall, finally confirming that the monsters had already left.

He bent down, picked up a short stick, and tore a piece of torn cloth from one of the corpses to cover most of it.

”પ્રકાશકલા” (Light)

Magic power flowed in, and the short stick immediately lit up, bright white light illuminating most of the hall.

Anser quickly covered it, wrapping it in several layers of cloth and leaving only a tiny bit of the tip exposed. The light immediately dimmed.

”That should do it.”

Light could cause an object to shed bright light in a 20-foot radius (≥6 meters), with an additional 20 feet of dim light, lasting for one hour—very effective.

But being too bright was not necessarily a good thing.