The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

The three of them sorted all the supplies into their respective backpacks, letting Bratt shoulder more of the shared items. Since it was still early, they went to browse the trade market again.

There really were quite a few good things inside. In order to stay alive, many people had taken out their most treasured possessions to sell. Unfortunately, the three paupers could not afford anything.

The prices of Wizard-related items had collapsed. For example, spellbooks that had once been worth a fortune— even those filled with third-circle spells—no longer attracted any bids at all.

The prices of food and livestock had multiplied several times over. Anser had originally planned to use his remaining two hundred-plus gold coins to buy three riding horses, but even at triple the price he could not get them, so he had no choice but to give up.

Even so, he managed to pick out a set of studded leather armor in decent condition for Finn, and equipped Bratt with a shield and several handaxes. None of them were magic items, but they were sufficient.

At that moment, the sky changed abruptly. Dark clouds gathered, and visibility dropped to almost nothing.

They hurried back. Just as they shut the door, lightning flashed and thunder roared outside. Gale-force winds howled, and torrential rain poured down, hammering against the windows with sharp cracks, as if they might shatter at any moment.

Finn summoned the gray hawk back to the inn to rest, and used the opportunity to pass along the latest intelligence.

After probing attacks on the Flaming Fist fortress, the underground creatures quickly withdrew. While maintaining a standoff with the Upper City, they occupied the Outer City of Baldur’s Gate. They had not carried out large-scale destruction of buildings, giving the impression that they intended to settle in.

The good news was that Wyrm’s Crossing remained intact.

Inside the room, Finn sat on the floor, cutting jerky into small pieces. With a casual toss, each piece was snatched up by the gray hawk beside him and swallowed.

This gray hawk was exceptionally imposing. Standing on the ground, it was nearly a meter tall, and as it looked around, it carried itself with a majestic bearing.

At this moment, it leaned against Anser, allowing the man to wipe the water droplets from its feathers without the slightest resistance.

”It seems it’s not just humans who like you—animals like you too. Sorcerers really are universally beloved…” Bratt said, unable to hide his envy.

He liked the gray hawk very much, but the bird refused to let anyone other than Finn approach it. Anser alone was the exception. It even took the initiative to move closer to Anser, pressing itself ever nearer.

Anser smiled and tossed the damp towel onto the rack beside him.

The gray hawk liked him not merely because his Charisma was high, but because the magic power around him was as docile as a cat. Primal beasts instinctively avoided chaotic magical environments.

”Good work today. Here, have one,” he said, taking out the remaining Goodberry and casually tossing one to the gray hawk.

The gray hawk craned its neck, caught it with precision, swallowed it, and then narrowed its eyes, looking very pleased.

Off to the side, Bratt took out weapon oil and carefully maintained his magic longsword, the most valuable possession he carried.

”I heard the guild just issued a no-level-requirement hunting mission targeting underground creatures. A bounty is offered in exchange for their intact heads or left ears. The sponsors are the three dukes…”

Anser paused mid-motion, his face full of pain. ”That’s a huge loss. A huge loss…”

Bratt smiled faintly. ”One Goblin, 2 gold coins. One Hobgoblin, 6 gold coins. One bugbear, 20 gold coins. One Duergar, 35 gold coins. Professionals are calculated separately…”

”This is… way too stingy,” Anser said, speechless.

Even the weakest goblin lackey was still an armed monster, often appearing in groups. Risking one’s life for just a few gold coins felt somewhat not worth the effort.

”They’re already being quite sincere,” Bratt explained. ”If the bounty were any higher, the three dukes would probably be unable to afford it.”

In Baldur’s Gate, even a highly skilled old craftsman earned only a few silver coins a day.

’That makes sense,’ Anser felt that as long as the bounties could be paid out, there would certainly be many professionals or civilians willing to take the risk.

He ate a Goodberry and lay back down on the bed. ”I’m going to meditate. I’m not eating.”

”Alright…”

Bratt and Finn responded, and the movements of their hands became lighter.

Anser focused on meditation. Over the course of two hours, he successively completed Attunement with the Ring of Spell Storing and the protective cloak, and his magic power also recovered a little.

Next came storing spells inside.

This was more difficult than simply casting spells. The spells could not be fully released; they had to be controlled at the threshold just before discharge, and then stored into the ring. The resulting power depended entirely on the caster.

This posed no difficulty for Anser. His control over magic power was very strong, and he quickly completed the casting and storage.

Five 1st-level spells: three Magic Missile and two Chromatic Orb.

The blue magical runes on the ring lit up completely, as if coated in a faint layer of magical glow.

The spells stored in the Ring of Spell Storing likewise required activation and guidance. They were not instant-cast and could not be augmented with Metamagic, but their casting speed was faster. If unleashed in a short burst, even professionals below 4th level would likely be unable to withstand it.

After consuming 5 points of magic power, Anser felt somewhat hollow. He kicked off his shoes and flopped backward onto the bed.

The heavy rain poured down through the night, making sleep especially comfortable.

...

No one knew how much time had passed.

Boom—

A thunderous explosion rang out, actually overpowering the sound of thunder itself. The shockwave swept across Rivington.

Anser felt a sudden palpitation and abruptly opened his eyes. The room was pitch-black, and from outside the window came the patter of rain.

”Something’s happened!”

Bratt was already up, standing by the window. He reached out and pulled it open a crack; the sound of wind and rain suddenly grew louder, mixed with a cacophony of voices.

The window faced south, so they could not see what was happening to the north.

Click—Anser pressed his pocket watch open. It was 3:30 a.m., the time when people were at their sleepiest.

”Fuck!” Ever since crossing over, he had not slept a single good night. He was somewhat irritated; the magic power around him churned, and a faint glow rose in his eyes.

”Open the window,” Finn reminded him.

Bratt pulled the window open to its widest. The gray hawk sprang up onto the windowsill. After observing for a few moments, it pushed off with its legs, spread its wings, and vanished into the night.

”Pack up. Be ready to leave at any time.” Anser felt uneasy. He put on his clothes and shoes and set his backpack by his feet.

”I’ll go ask around for news.” Bratt was already fully dressed and equipped.

”Be careful. Don’t go far,” Anser instructed.

”Understood.”

Finn sat on the edge of the bed. The gray hawk had already flown far away and could not be contacted mentally; they could only wait passively for it to return.

A few minutes passed. His eyelids lowered, his gaze turned hollow, yet a trace of shock gradually appeared on his wooden face.

”What is it?” Anser’s heart sank.

”Wyrm’s Crossing collapsed, the river changed course, pouring into the city. The underground creatures…” Finn forced the words out one by one.

Anser’s whole body jolted, stormy waves surging in his chest, his fists unconsciously clenching.

”That just now was an explosion!” He was absolutely certain.

A large number of underground creatures had appeared in Rivington. Combined with the explosion, he already had a guess in his mind:

The Duergar launched a night raid. The Flaming Fist fortress collapsed at the first touch, so fast that there was no time to issue a warning.

However, the Flaming Fist commander had long been prepared and blew up Wyrm’s Crossing, causing the riverbank to be damaged. The southern section of the River Chionthar was cut off, and the surging river water changed course and poured into Rivington.

High tide, torrential rain, and the overdeveloped dock district became accomplices.

Clang, clang, clang…

As he was thinking, the shrill tolling of a bell rang through the Adventurers’ Guild, tearing through the night and carrying far, far away.

Bang—Bratt crashed through the door, panting.

”Move, move! The River Chionthar has breached, and the monsters have entered the city!”

”Go!”

Anser slung on his backpack, pulled up his hood, and hurried out the door.

Outside was pitch-black. He raised his hand and cast Light on his staff, and the bright illumination immediately forced back the darkness.

The corridor was in complete disarray. Many room doors stood wide open as adventurers panicked and ran toward the stairs, many of them improperly dressed.

The three hurried downstairs. The small hall of the Adventurers’ House was already empty, with only a wall lamp glowing with a faint, weak light.

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