The Archmetamagician: The Weave Collapses Again

The Turtle Warrior’s body suddenly shifted sideways, avoiding the meteor’s impact. In a bizarre posture, he stuck close to the ground and fled at high speed, as if there were a rope in front dragging him along.

Anser froze for a beat—Hold Person clearly hadn’t been broken.

That Shadow Thieves master… saving people without even showing himself. Ridiculous.

He spread his butterfly wings and dove like a great bird, the Elemental Orb sending out ring after ring of magical radiance. The closer the casting distance, the less time the other side had to react.

”ફાયરબોલકલા”

Metamagic: Quickened Spell + Fireball!

After that clipped Draconic, a flashing orb locked on with pinpoint guidance and, in the blink of an eye, appeared right in front of the Turtle Warrior.

The Shadow Thieves master reacted instantly, whipping the Turtle Warrior’s body away.

Boom—!

Fireball hit the ground. Flames swept over everything around it; fallen leaves and trees ignited in an instant. The Turtle Warrior, still in midair, didn’t escape either—only this time, he had no shell.

The moment the first blast went off, another flash dropped from above—still targeting the Turtle Warrior.

At the edge of the flames, the Shadow Thieves master—still thinking of saving him—turned his head and left, without a shred of hesitation.

Boom—!

The Turtle Warrior was blasted away again. Still airborne, the restraining effect finally dispersed, but his body was seared by fire; he couldn’t see, and the pain was unbearable.

His wail jammed in his throat. He didn’t even dare breathe—and there wasn’t any air for him to gasp, anyway.

Just then, a tiny meteor plunged into the sea of flames and, with a bang, smashed him flying.

Before his body even hit the ground, another brilliant flash descended from the sky—already waiting at the landing point for him.

Boom—!

The third Fireball exploded. The Turtle Warrior rolled in the flames, his body tossed by the heatwave, then tumbled back into the fire—and never reacted again.

[Target dead. Gained 1560 experience points.]

Relying on the flight granted by wind-element resonance, Anser shot upward at full speed, skimming along the upper edge of the firestorm into the high air.

Below him, heat billowed; black smoke rose like pillars. Trees crackled as they burned, and the flames, driven by the wind, kept spreading outward—over a radius of several hundred meters.

”This…”

Anser had only been thinking of taking the chance to finish the enemy off. Quickening three Fireballs was just to keep the target from catching his breath—he hadn’t expected the result to be so explosive that it would trigger a forest wildfire.

Iris stared at him blankly, shock filling her eyes.

She had never seen such a violently destructive spellcaster!

She could understand a Sorcerer mastering Quickened Spell, but how could he possibly quicken so many spells? Not only did Hold Person succeed every single time, even the power of Fireball was abnormally strong.

”That Shadow Thieves one got away,” Anser said, a little regretful.

From the title alone, that Shadow Thieves master was also a high-level professional. Invisible the whole time, he hadn’t been touched by any of the three Fireballs.

To be honest, that Shadow Thieves Master had been somewhat overly cautious. Or perhaps he had been unable to gauge Iris’s true strength—after probing several times and finding no opportunity, he withdrew.

Iris came back to her senses and beckoned to him. ”No pursuit. We’re leaving.”

”What about the forest fire?” Anser pointed downward.

”Don’t worry. It won’t spread,” Iris said with complete certainty.

The Wood of Sharp Teeth was very strange. No matter what caused a fire, it would quickly extinguish on its own. There had never been a case of it burning for days and nights on end.

Anser relaxed and sat down behind her on the flying carpet.

The Royal Butterfly Cloak was too slow, and Fly consumed too much Magic Power. Hitching a ride on the carpet was far more economical.

Iris remained silent, steering the flying carpet straight toward the small town ahead.

Yet before they arrived, the nearly thousand enemies had already withdrawn. To claim they had nothing to do with the attackers from earlier—only a fool would believe that.

Durlag was surrounded by two low walls, presumably meant to guard against wild beasts. It covered a considerable area, but the buildings were loosely distributed. It was larger than an ordinary town, yet lacked the facilities and scale of a city. By estimation, it likely housed several thousand—perhaps over ten thousand—people at most.

This place was called Durlag’s Tower, yet no tower could be seen—only ruins that appeared to be a tower’s foundation, and they were not even within the town itself.

Iris circled once above the town, then flew toward a small hill several kilometers to the east.

The hill rose only a few hundred meters, with gentle slopes covered in fruit trees and flowers in brilliant bloom. At its summit stood a castle—not too large, not too small—its walls painted with colorful murals that lent the otherwise solemn fortress a somewhat cheerful and lively air.

The castle was quiet. At a glance, aside from the walls and the dozen or so guards standing watch at the gate, hardly anyone could be seen.

The magic flying carpet went straight over the high wall and rushed into the main hall of the keep.

The guards did not react at all; clearly, they recognized Iris and her flying carpet.

”You go down first. I have something to deal with,” Iris said, turning to look at him.

”All right.”

The moment Anser jumped off the carpet, Iris shot out of the hall with a whoosh, disappearing from sight.

’Could she be going to revive that warrior?’

The third-circle necromancy spell Revivify could only bring back a creature that had just died—preferably within one minute. It could not restore someone who had died of old age, nor could it regenerate lost body parts.

The warrior named Stoll had died from poison, and more than half a day had already passed. At the very least, a fifth-circle necromancy spell Raise Dead would be required to bring him back.

However, that spell could only be mastered by Bards, Clerics, and Paladins. They were not easy to find even under normal circumstances; with the Weave in turmoil, it would likely be even more difficult.

Once the time since death exceeded ten days, even Raise Dead would be powerless.

At that moment, an elderly man in a black double-breasted formal suit walked over and gave a slight bow. ”Sir, I am Harold, the butler of Fort Jacqueline.”

”Hello, my name is Anser.” Anser turned around, quietly taking in the surrounding environment.

The hall was not particularly luxurious. Its furnishings and decorations leaned toward warm tones and carried a refined sense of taste.

”I have prepared meals and rooms for you and the young lady. Would you like to dine now, or return to your room to rest for a while first?” Harold discreetly examined Anser, a faint trace of a smile hidden in his clouded eyes.

”I’ll rest and wash up first.” Anser was still thinking about that section of dragon tail and was eager to enter Holrewen to take a look.

”Very well. Please follow me.” Harold gestured with his hand and led the way from the side.

As they walked, Anser observed the castle’s layout and details, pondering how he might decorate his own Black Tower.

The old butler had just said the castle was called Jacqueline. From its name to its appearance, it bore the typical style of human nobility. From every detail, one could tell the castle likely had several decades, perhaps even over a century, of history—yet he truly had never heard of it.

That was not surprising. The original host had been a shut-in, knowing little even about the affairs around Baldur’s Gate, let alone the distant Durlag’s Tower.

This place occupied a special position, separated from Amn only by the Cloud Peaks. It was perfectly normal for them to have set their sights on it.

Moreover, Amn’s intelligence capabilities were strong. After learning of Bluewater City and Iris’s movements, they had laid an ambush in advance along Iris’s inevitable route—thoroughly calculating and insidious.

If not for Anser, Iris would likely have suffered a heavy loss.

Her methods are too single-minded, but that should only be a matter of time.

With the Weave in turmoil, a Wild Magic Sorcerer should, in theory, be among the spellcasters least affected. Within a few years, Iris ought to recover most, if not all, of her strength.

Amn’s side likely understood this as well, which was why they were so eager to eliminate her.

”From your accent, Mr. Anser, you are from Baldur’s Gate?” Harold’s smile was warm, his attention never leaving Anser.

”Yes. You are very experienced,” Anser replied casually.

”I heard Baldur’s Gate suffered a catastrophe. Your family… are they well?” Harold lowered his voice, probing carefully.

”They are gone.”

”My apologies…”

”It’s fine. One has to keep moving forward.” Anser feigned magnanimity.

In truth, when he learned of the original host’s parents’ deaths, he had already decided to choose a good burial place for them. Unfortunately, even returning now was but a distant hope.

”Fort Jacqueline has beautiful scenery and is safe. Why not stay here for the time being? Everything will get better.” Harold spoke with a smiling expression.

”Mm.” Anser’s gaze turned strange.

The scenery was indeed good—but as for safety, that remained open to question.

Iris had left in haste, and the old butler had not seen that corpse. Otherwise, he certainly would not be so calm.

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